Horse Camp (4 page)

Dear Mom,

I'm glad to hear that you've hired a good lawyer. I really don't know what I'd do if you had to go to prison for a long, long time! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that would be!? Do you realize what that would be like for Dad and all of us? Now that I'm here, I can certainly see why Stretch couldn't give you the money for your bail and why he offered to take us kids instead. This farm doesn't look like it produces much money at all. Everything's old. And Stretch doesn't look like he has a single cent in his pocket. No wonder he couldn't help you. Now that we're here, he'll probably just use us as slave labor.

Pauly and Percy are doing all right. Actually, they both sort of act as though they don't remember our entire family is falling apart right before our eyes! You'll be thrilled to hear, I bet, that Pauly has taken to Stretch very well. They're basically best pals. Stretch makes pancakes for Pauly every morning. Then Pauly follows Stretch around all day, working little jobs Stretch makes up for him, like pulling dandelions out of the potato field, picking slugs off the cabbage leaves, and digging for earthworms to put in the compost pile, the dirtiest job of all, which, of course, is Pauly's favorite. Wrapping worms around his fingers is his idea of heaven. He's so young and so simple. He doesn't even realize that we're not going to be the same old nuclear family ever again.

Since Pauly's adopted, he probably thinks that people get new families every now and again throughout their lives, and they just have to adjust. Do you realize how warped that is? I'm really afraid that all of this stress is going to leave him with trusting and bonding issues later in life. I've read about these Romanian orphans who grew up in state-run orphanages. They were never held or talked to and sat in wet diapers in crowded cribs all day, every day. They grew up not knowing how to love! Lots of families adopted these poor souls only to learn that the children couldn't bond and had reactive attachment disorder (I printed out some information on it and included it here, so I hope you read it!), and the families had to send them back to Romania.

I don't want that to happen to Pauly. I think you should really consider that, Mom. Was all this business with drug pedaling (that's what Dad called it once in an argument I overheard) really worth risking your children's bonding capabilities? Was it worth losing your husband? Why not just take the plea deal, say you're sorry to the court and to Dad, and get this all over with? I
know
Dad would forgive you and take you back. He even told me so. All you have to do is repent. Let's get back to normal,
please
.

When I get married, I am never, ever going to do anything that would make my husband want to divorce me. I might even move back to the Philippines so that my husband can never, ever divorce me, no matter what.

What happened to Stretch's wife? I saw a picture taken on their wedding day. You were in the picture, too. You had on a really pretty bridesmaid dress with a very silly hat. You looked happy, though, and so did Stretch. He looked much better without that dumb mustache, in my opinion.

When Stretch saw me looking at it, he barked at me and told me to quit snooping! So if he tells you I was snooping, I want you to know that I was not. I was organizing the closets. Then he told me I'm starting to look just like you did when you were young, before Dad ruined your life. I did not like that. It's not nice to pretend to be giving people a compliment and then slam them with an insult about their dad. Please have a word with him about saying bad things about Dad.

Stretch is trying to take Dad's place, and I don't like that, either! Pauly and Percy may be falling for Stretch's games, but I am not. What he's doing is called parental alienation syndrome (I've included a printout I made at the library, so you can read about it, too). Dad is a hundred times better than Stretch. Dad is a minister, and Stretch is just a dumb organic farmer whose horses don't even look like they could carry ten pounds. Anybody would agree with me. If this is a Horse Camp, then a Horse Camp is a disaster, a calamity, a fiasco, a mess, a hoax, a ruse. A Horse Camp is definitely something much worse than it was supposed to be. If there's one thing that Percy and I can agree on, it's that Horse Camp is a big, fat joke.

Percy had a short fight with Stretch. It ended up with Percy sleeping outside in the granary, which, instead of punishment, turned out to be a reward in Percy's dumb eyes. He's so immature. He spends tons of time there now. I think he's looking at old football magazines and stuff, though I don't know because I am
not a snoop
. Percy is totally obsessed with football. It's all he talks about, sometimes. I just know that at night, when he's supposed to be saying his prayers, he's actually thinking about football players.

Percy did tell me that when Stretch was yelling at him, he let it slip that he had a son who died. What happened to Stretch's son? Why did he die? Why didn't you tell me? I hope he accepted Jesus as his personal lord and savior before he died. From what I know of Stretch, though, this seems highly unlikely. The apple never falls far from the tree, Dad always says.

Thanks for sending my Zombie Cowboy books to Stretch's farm. I plan to read them very, very carefully so I can develop a good lesson plan for the youth ministry program at Dad's new church. I can't wait to tell all those girls why it's a sin to read about falling in love with zombies or vampires or werewolves. I made a PowerPoint presentation to explain how books in the Zombie Cowboy series use clever, handsome, sweet-talking, 1800s zombie cowboys to romance girls with their southern drawls and good manners. I can't wait to tell all those naïve girls about how reading those books leads to promiscuity. I have a whole ten-minute lecture on how the Zombie Cowboy series encourages the occult and invites the devil into your life. Also, Percy and Pauly each liked the new shoes that you sent, but they probably won't remember to tell you thank you, so I will do it on their behalf.

Thank you. Well, that's about all for now, I guess.

God loves you,

Penny

Dear Dad,

How are the preparations for the new church building going? How exciting! I can't wait to see it. I've got some really good ideas for the youth ministry program that I could be in charge of. I am currently compiling a list of books about vampires, werewolves, zombies, wizards, and witches that no young person should read because, as you have preached many times, those kinds of books invite the occult and the devil into the readers' heart.

You must be very, very busy, since we haven't heard from you in a long time. No worries, though. I'm doing my best to keep the boys and myself out of trouble and in God's grace.

If at all possible, maybe you could arrange to have Percy, Pauly, and me come to the new church's inauguration? I think it's important for us to show the congregation a unified family. Stretch does not attend church, so we haven't attended one service since we've been here.

Please write! I miss you.

Love,

Penelope

Dear Diary,

Yesterday while taking a break from painting these run-down, old bird feeders, a job that Guess Who (yep, Stretch!) gave me, I was snooping around and found a picture of Stretch on his wedding day! Before we came here, I didn't even know Stretch had been married
and
had a son who died, which Mom failed to tell me, so I had to hear it from Percy. He acted like a big know-it-all in the process, of course.

Losing a wife and a son is so sad. These tragedies probably explain why Stretch is so crabby and why he doesn't go to church. He's probably mad at God for taking his family away.

I guess he doesn't know that you have to turn to God, not away from Him, when bad things happen. I've been praying night and day for God to restore my family to the way it was. I just know He can do it if I'm sincere and good enough to deserve it. He can help Mom see how bad she's been and help her change her life for the better. I'm trying to be patient.

Percy is driving me crazy. He never wants to talk about anything important. Like this morning, when I asked him how he was dealing with everything, he said that he was fine. Fine?! I don't think so! I mean, he's living in the middle of nowhere while our parents are getting a divorce! I think he's in denial. Maybe I will try really hard to get him to open up about his true feelings. It's not good to keep them all bundled up the way he is. He acts like everything is just fine, but it's not.

I had a really good talk with Pauly about everything. Since no one else is mature enough to help him through the disintegration of our nuclear family, I guess I have to. I almost wish my conversation with him would have been taped or recorded so Mom could watch it and see how terrible this is for Pauly. If my cell phone had any modern applications, I could have recorded it. But since it doesn't, I couldn't. Luckily, I remember everything.

Firstly, I told Pauly that I knew this was a really hard time for him. I said if he wanted to, he could ask me any questions. He asked me if he could have a Popsicle. I told him that's not the kind of question I meant. Then I told him that he should know that even though Dad and Mom sent us here for a little while, they both still love him a lot, especially Dad.

Pauly was just looking around, not concentrating, a sure sign of distress. I asked him if he was confused about anything. He inquired what the word
lackadaisical
meant, although of course he didn't say it right. When I asked him why, he said it was because Uncle Stretch had commented that Pauly's hair looked like a lackadaisical cat resting on his head. I told Pauly to never mind that, and that his hair looked fine.

Next, I asked Pauly if he was confused about who was in his nuclear family or who is in charge and who he should be listening to. He said that he thought Uncle Stretch was in charge of him, and I told him it was not just Uncle Stretch, but me, too. He asked if Percy was in charge of him, too, but I told him to never mind Percy, which made Pauly smile.

He must have been feeling better then, because he started talking about cartoons, some of which are violent, like SpongeBob SquarePants, but I chalked that up to Pauly's trusting me, and I decided not to shame him for watching cartoons. I just hope he isn't turning to false idols at such an early age!

I asked Pauly if he remembered to pray nightly, and I told him that if he needs guidance or feels lonely, to just talk with God. He said that he forgot to pray two days before, and then he asked me for a Popsicle again. He said Stretch wouldn't give him one because it would give him a tapeworm, which I cannot condone saying to a child. Putting all that fear in his heart is a terrible thing to do unless it's fear of the Lord. I gave him a red Popsicle and a big hug and told him if he wanted to cry on my shoulder, too, he could, but he said he'd rather just eat his Popsicle.

I will have my hands full making sure I'm there for Pauly, so he doesn't crumble under the weight of his feelings of abandonment and confusion.

DEAR OKONKWO,

I ENJOYED RECEIVING THE PHOTOGRAPH OF YOU AND YOUR NEW GOAT. WHAT DO YOU FEED HIM? DOES HE HAVE A NAME? I USED TO LIVE IN AFRICA, TOO, BUT NOW I AM LIVING IN AN AGRICULTURAL COMMUNITY WHERE EVERYONE HELPS EVERYONE, JUST LIKE IN YOUR VILLAGE! I ALSO HAVE MANY CHORES. FOR INSTANCE, I HAVE TO BABYSIT MY BROTHERS, WATER THE HOUSEPLANTS, HANG THE CLOTHES ON THE LINE TO DRY, MAKE SANDWICHES FOR LUNCH, AND FEED THE HORSES AND OTHER ANIMALS. AS YOU CAN SEE, I ALSO HAVE A LOT OF WORK TO DO AND MANY ANIMALS TO CARE FOR, JUST LIKE YOU DO. PROBABLY MORE THAN YOU DO!

WE HAVE SOME COWS, PIGS, CHICKENS, DOGS, AND A COUPLE OF HORSES WHO ARE VERY OLD. WE HAVE MANY, MANY CATS AROUND HERE. DO YOU HAVE A CAT? I AM VERY HAPPY THAT YOU ARE ABLE TO BUY BOOKS FOR SCHOOL WITH THE MONEY I SENT. I HAVE LOTS OF MONEY FOR BOOKS, AND I READ A LOT. YOU WILL SOON BE SURPRISED BY HOW MUCH YOU CAN LEARN FROM A BOOK.

DO YOU HAVE A BIBLE? THAT IS BY FAR THE BEST BOOK THERE IS IN THE WHOLE WORLD. IT IS JUST FULL OF THE GOOD STORIES THAT TEACH YOU HOW TO LIVE YOUR LIFE. THE BIBLE TELLS ALL ABOUT JESUS, WHO SAID THE NICEST THINGS, LIKE THE MEEK SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH AND BLESSED ARE THE PEACEMAKERS. THERE ARE SOME OTHER RULES IN THERE, TOO, LIKE HONOR YOUR FATHER AND MOTHER AND DO NOT COMMIT ADULTERY OR STEAL OR MURDER ANYBODY. I READ THAT THERE IS A LOT OF ADULTERY AND STEALING IN YOUR PART OF THE WORLD, WHERE NOT EVERYONE KNOWS ABOUT JESUS YET. MAYBE WHEN YOU GET YOUR BIBLE, YOU CAN TEACH THE OTHER PEOPLE IN YOUR LITTLE VILLAGE JESUS'S LESSONS. THAT WOULD MAKE DONATING ALL THIS MONEY TO YOU WORTH IT IN MY EYES!

WRITE SOON,

PENELOPE PRIBYL

I
'VE BEEN SLEEPING out in the granary for a week now, and you know what? I like it. And I like talking to Elle, too. Elle is the finger-sucking woman in the rubber swimsuit with the diving mask on her head and her arm covering one of her breasts, which is bare because it is not covered by the swimsuit for whatever reason, which I don't mind. I know her name is Elle because, on the bottom of the page it says,
Elle's Lisa Lomas suit ($52) should give her an unusual tan.

The words and the picture are very interesting, but I have major questions. First of all, $52 for a swimsuit? I think my last one cost $9.99, and it does the job. Second of all, that's a lot of money for a swimsuit that only covers one breast. I can't imagine how much it would have cost if it was built for two breasts. Also, she's wearing an expensive-looking watch on her left hand, which is dangling close to the water. But what if the watch isn't water-resistant? I'm certain that watch would've gotten wet the day Elle had her picture taken, and I'm even surer Elle got real ticked if she ruined her watch. Or what if it was borrowed? Maybe she had to make a big apology to whoever's watch it was.

I started talking to Elle the morning after Uncle Stretch put me out of the house. I was just sitting there, wrapped in the old, dusty blanket after I woke up, thinking how one time Dad gave this sermon that wasn't as boring as most of his sermons, so I was listening, and it was about how if you feel alone, you're not, because God's watching you, and He will be your friend. Then I thought,
Hey, as long as God is watching, there might as well be another unreal person or thing watching, so why not a picture hanging on my wall showing a lady in an interesting swimsuit?

Besides having Elle watch me, I like to watch her. I like the look on her face. I like to wonder what she's thinking. She looks playful, or thoughtful, or just happy. And that swimsuit is really fascinating to think about. Like, why would someone make a swimsuit that only covers part of her top half? If you were actually swimming in it, your one breast would just be out there for everyone to see unless you were constantly remembering to keep your arm there. Also, her right pointer finger is up by her mouth, and she's biting on it like she's shy. Maybe she's nervous—probably about the one-armed suit. Or maybe she's a fingernail biter. I bite mine most of the time, so we have that in common. I think of her as very brave. It was one of the first things I told her. I really feel like she listens to me.

Elle is a big improvement over Pauly and Penny. All Penny does lately is brag about how she's sponsoring this African kid, sending him letters with five bucks—which she guilts Stretch into giving her since she doesn't even have her own money—inside the envelope. The kid probably doesn't even read her letters, just snatches out the five bucks and goes and buys some junk to eat because he's starving. He probably can't even read English. She should just draw him a picture, even though she draws like a kindergartner. Penny acts real nice to people she hasn't even met, which is easy to do until you meet them. You don't see her giving me, her own brother, five dollars. About the only thing she gives me is a headache.

This morning, I stained a hickory fence that pens in Bernie and Brenda. It was a real Horse Camp of a job, since it took about three hours when Uncle Stretch said it would take only one. You try wielding a paintbrush with that mean horse, Brenda, wandering over and trying to bite your hand off about every two minutes! Finally, I got into a groove, painting and dodging Brenda, running back and forth. Bernie just stood there, chewing something, watching me. Man, is he worthless. To think that our parents thought we'd be riding him around this summer! In the end, I think I got most of the fence covered, but I'm sure Uncle Stretch the Perfectionist will find a couple of spots I missed.

With the short remainder of my morning, I have been chucking walnuts, which I have to pretend are footballs since I forgot my real football back in our last home in Rockville, Maryland, which is where we moved after we left the Philippines. What little stuff we had was put into storage. I think there are other storage spaces, too, in different parts of the country, that have our stuff sitting in them. It doesn't bother me, really, other than the football, a couple of jerseys, and this one pair of jeans I had. They'll probably be too small for me by the time I get them back, if I ever do. So I'm aiming the walnuts at this ammonia tank, which I pretend is a wide receiver for the Minnesota Vikings, since it's about half a football field away. When I hit the tank with a walnut, which is hard to do, it sounds like somebody banging a metal drum underwater. It's cool.

After a while, Pauly comes up to me with a stupid red Kool-Aid stain around his mouth, and I say to him, “Hey, dork, nice Kool-Aid stain around your mouth.”

“Shut up, P.P.,” says Pauly.

“Just because Uncle Stretch is gone this morning doesn't mean you can drink all the Kool-Aid, Pauly,” I say.

“I didn't!” says Pauly. “Just a couple of dwinks is all I had.”

“Whatever,” I say. “You want to play catch or something?”

“Shoh.”

“Go over by the ammonia tank, then.”

“Whey-oh is that?”

“By that white tank, stupid,” I say, pointing.

“What tank?”

“That thing that looks like a big, white hot dog, see?” I point. “Over there where all those stinky green and brown walnuts are lying on the ground?”

“I see it,” says Pauly, “but why ow you thwowing walnuts at an aminal tank?”

“The reason I'm throwing walnuts at the
ammonia
tank is that I'm pretending the tank is a wide receiver for the Vikings.”

“Oh,” says Pauly, and runs off. He runs funny, like, his knees go way up. I don't know if they run different where he came from or what, but it just looks ridiculous to me. He looks like he's in a fast-motion marching band or something. The only thing he's missing is a miniature tuba.

“Here you go, moron,” I say, and chuck one hard at him. He doesn't realize I'm throwing at him rather than to him, and the walnut whizzes by his ear before he gets a chance to try to catch it. He runs after it, picks it up, and cocks his arm to throw it back.

“No, no, you dope,” I say, “you don't have to throw it back,” but Pauly's throw is already in the air, and it lands way short—about halfway between us. He runs after it again, picks it, up and fires. This time, the walnut goes straight out to the side, looping in a dumb arc. He runs after it again.

“Pauly!” I yell. “Leave it be! I got a whole pile here, so you don't have to throw them back. Just try to catch.”

He looks at me like I'm the foreigner, then what I've said sinks into his brain—I can see it on his face. I bet most kids his age are much smarter than he is. He'll probably flunk out of kindergarten next year. He runs back to his original spot by the ammonia tank.

“This one's for the Vikings wide receiver,” I say, and lob one really high, though I'm still aiming for Pauly's head. He runs in a pattern that makes it look like he's trying to draw a star with his feet, and he lunges at it before the walnut thuds just a couple of feet in front of him into the grass.

“You're supposed to stand still,” I say. “That one was for the Vikings guy, not you!”

“But why thwow it to the Vikings guy?” says Pauly. “He can't catch.”

“You must be legally dumb,” I say. “Now just hold still when it's the Vikings guy's turn or you're out of the game, Pauly!” I yell. He just looks at me with his eyebrows—which are really bushy for a kid's— scrunched down and his chin pointed into his chest. It's his mad look. “Get ready now,” I say, “ 'cause this one's for you.” I whip it at him, and it misses his head by inches. He reacts a second late again, swatting at it like it's a fly.

“All right, now this one's for the Vikings guy,” I say, and throw one high. It lands next to Pauly's side, but he doesn't move. Perfect. My target is secure.

“This one's yours,” I say, and fire. Way off. “You gotta dive for those,” I say. Pauly nods his head.

“Vikings guy's,” I say. It looks to be right on target, but Pauly ducks out of the way at the last second. It would've hit him for sure, maybe even knocked him over, which would've been really funny, even if I got in trouble for it. “You're supposed to stand still!” I bellow. “The Vikings guy will catch those.”

He looks confused, because he knows the ammonia tank isn't a Vikings wide receiver who can catch walnuts, but he just says, “Soh-wee,” and puts his little hands up to show he's ready for his turn.

After a while, Pauly kind of figures out that I'm trying to nail him with walnuts, so it isn't that fun anymore, and I tell him that I will be moving on to some cardio training.

“What's cow-dio twaining?”

“You're too young for it,” I say. “So go find something else to do.”

“Okay,” he says, and runs off. It's like he doesn't even get it sometimes when I'm slamming him.

I do five sets of forty-yard sprints across the farmyard. Then I decide to go on a longer run. If I want to be the best, I have to put in the work. At the end of the driveway, just before I have to decide to go left or right, up comes Uncle Stretch's pickup with a big trailer hitched to the back end. He turns in the driveway, and I stop running, suddenly feeling guilty about trying to hit Pauly in the head with those walnuts.

“What you running from?” says Uncle Stretch, hanging his head out the window.

“Oh, just training for football,” I say. “I was doing some cardio because if I want to be the best, I—” I realize there's another person in the cab of the truck. Two other persons. One old, one young. Both femaliens.

“Percy, meet Sheryl and Sherylynn.”

“Which is which?” I say.

Uncle Stretch glares at me.

“I'm Sheryl,” says the older woman, reaching across Uncle Stretch to shake my hand. I reach up to grab her hand, but when I do, I notice I can see right down Sheryl's shirt. Her bra is purple. Yii! I look away.

“You can call me June Bug,” says the younger one, smiling. She looks about my age.

“Hi,” I say. I don't smile back.

“You finish staining that hickory fence like I told you?” Uncle Stretch asks.

“Oh, shoot,” I say. “Forgot.”

Uncle Stretch looks at Sheryl like,
Oh, see what I have to put up with, with this kid around this summer?

“Just kidding!” I say. “I finished that an hour ago.” I show him my stained hands as proof.

Uncle Stretch squints at me like he's trying to think of a way I might be lying to him.

Sheryl says, “Just tell him about the chickens!”

Uncle Stretch looks over his shoulder toward the big trailer. “See that horse trailer? There's a bunch of chickens in there. You can use a couple of them, so you have something to show at the county fair coming up next month.”

“You mean we're still gonna be here next month?” I say.

Sheryl and Uncle Stretch look at each other. “Looks like,” says Uncle Stretch.

“I thought you already had chickens,” I say to Uncle Stretch.

“I do, but you'll find the birds in this trailer a little more, say,
qualified
for fair competition.”

“Sounds boring to me.”

Uncle Stretch gives me the
You better be respectful, buddy
look.

Sheryl smiles at me and says, “You ever been to a county fair?”

“Of course,” I say, even though I haven't.

“Well,” says Sheryl, “June Bug's gonna show you and your little brother how to clean these chickens up real nice and help you practice showing them. She's twelve, just like you.”

“Fabulous,” I say.

Sheryl looks past my head at Pauly jogging up the driveway. “So that's the little one?” she says to Uncle Stretch. “Oh, is he ever cute!”

“He's adopted,” I say. Uncle Stretch frowns and opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off by saying, “Well, I better get back to my workout now. See ya!” I begin jogging away.

“You'll need to sweep out that grain bin before supper,” says Uncle Stretch.

“Whatever,” I say over my shoulder.

I sprint away from the truck. I feel like running for miles.