Like Bug Juice on a Burger (5 page)

We told her who was who.

“I am
so
excited to be

your counselor!”

she said, grinning.

She had a swinging ponytail

and freckles

and a pretty smile.

“I
love
Wallumwahpuck,”

she said.

“I was a camper here for seven years!

Then I spent a summer in Vietnam,

and last summer I went to Thailand.

Now I’m back!”

I looked around that dirty, weedy, too-quiet lot

and figured there must be a different,

more spectacular part of camp.

The part Hope and Mom both loved so much.

“Come on!” Hope said, smiling her pretty smile.

“Don’t worry about your trunks;

someone will drive them over soon.

Let’s get you both settled!”

The walk

to our cabin

was horrible.

Hope,

very bouncy and happy,

led us down a steep path

through tall trees

that let in small patches of light.

“We’ll see the lake in a minute!” she said.

She moved fast down that path.

It was hard to keep up.

I had to wave swarms and swarms of gnats away, too.

They hovered in groups on the path,

not scared of me at all.

Like pigeons.

One even got on my tongue.

I was trying to pick it off

while I was hurrying to keep up with Hope,

so I wasn’t paying attention

and I didn’t see a tree root

that popped up out of the ground.

I tripped on it

and

flew.

When I finally landed,

skin had scraped off my hands

and my knees

and the bottom of my chin.

I just lay there,

sprawled on the ground

like dirty underwear.

And stinging all over.

“Eleanor!” Joplin shouted from behind me.

In a flash, Hope ran back up that steep path

and kneeled beside me.

“I’m so sorry!” she said.

“I was moving too fast!

I’m used to the roots now.

They’re tricky, aren’t they?

Everybody trips;

I don’t want you to be embarrassed.

Come on up—

we’ll take you right to the infirmary.”

“No!” I said

as she helped me up.

I looked at my dirty red scrapes.

I didn’t want to go the infirmary.

I wanted to go
home.

I wanted my mom to sit me down in my bathroom

and wet one of our washcloths

with cold water

and dab it gently on my knees

and hands

and chin

until they were cool and clean.

Thinking about her—

I couldn’t help it—

I started to cry.

“I’m fine,” I said,

turning away from Joplin and Hope.

But I sniffled when I said it.

Hope reached to take my hands,

carefully,

and inspected the scrapes.

“It could’ve been worse,”

Joplin said.

“Last summer a Cicada fell out of a tree

and broke her leg.

She had to go home.”

“Oh,” I said,

still sniffling a little.

I didn’t think I’d broken anything,

which was good.

But—to get to go home! How
lucky
!

“Can you walk?” Hope asked me.

“Yes,” I said, wiping my face on my sleeve.

“There’s a bathroom nearby,”

Hope said,

“with a first-aid kit.

Let’s go clean you up.

Then, if we need to,

we’ll take you to the nurse.”

“OK,” I said.

“We’ll move very slowly,” Hope said.

“Sounds good to me,” Joplin said.

They both stayed beside me

as I limped down the path

ignoring the gnats

and avoiding the roots.

At the bottom

I saw a big, sparkling lake with wooden docks.

And,

off the end of one of the docks,

a floating trampoline.

I tried to imagine jumping

high and happy

on that trampoline.

But my knees screamed

when I thought about the landings.

So I ignored the trampoline, too.

And focused on the path beneath my feet.

After cleaning me up

and covering me in Band-Aids

and telling me not to worry about

the
three
scary spiders I saw

dangling and crawling around me,

Hope took us to our cabin.

It was small and painted white on the outside.

Just like my mom’s, in her camp picture.

Do
not
think about that picture,

I told myself

very seriously.

Because it was too sad

to think about my happy mom.

I focused on Hope’s red sneakers instead

as I followed her up the cabin steps.

Those red sneakers saved me

from crying
again.

The screen door creaked when we opened it

and banged behind us when we got inside.

“Home sweet home!” Hope said.

It didn’t look like home.

No rugs, no curtains, no lamps.

No couches, no armchairs, no tables.

No television, no stereo, no computer.

No colors on the walls.

Just brown wood, from floor to ceiling.

And four bunk beds, one in each corner.

And a few shelves and cubbies along the walls

under the windows.

Only my trunk was familiar.

It sat next to Joplin’s, in the middle of the floor.

I wanted to curl up inside it.

“You both have top bunks!”

Hope said.

“Eleanor, you’re there.”

She pointed to a bunk bed on the left.

“And Joplin, that one’s yours.”

She pointed to the right.

Then she said,

“I have to meet our other campers.

Can you start unpacking without me?”

Joplin and I nodded,

and the screen door banged shut again

behind Hope.

Great,

I thought,

looking up at my bed.