Shells, Smells, and the Horrible Flip-Flops of Doom Page 5

  They are studying zoology this year, so they have an ant farm and fish and three lizards, two bunnies, and twenty eggs that might start hatching soon. He said the only bad thing about Science Camp is that I am not there with him.

  Then we cleared our plates and played some games on his computer.

  When Mom picked me up, I mentioned that maybe I should switch to Science Camp for the rest of the summer. She smiled in a slanted way and said she was happy I had had a good time with Noah but that they had already paid for the whole summer at Camp GoldenBrook and anyway I am doing so well there, don’t be silly.

  I buckled my seat belt and didn’t be silly the rest of the way home.

  We went to Mom’s favorite restaurant for her birthday dinner. It has flowers on the table and also two candles, and even though the cups of coffee are very small, it takes Mom and Dad about an hour to drink them. But I didn’t complain, because it was Mom’s birthday. Only Elizabeth complained and then hid under the table pretending to be a cat while we waited for the check.

  She didn’t come out until it was time for Mom to open her gifts.

  Mom liked her lanyard bracelet, even though it didn’t fit around her wrist.

  She said it would make a perfect key ring, which she has been needing a new one of.

  Elizabeth made her a coffee mug at Art Camp. Mom said she has been needing a new coffee mug, too.

  Either we are very smart kids or Mom needs a lot of new stuff.

  July 26, Monday

  James/Jay made me do two laps around the soccer field in the middle of the game. I don’t know why I was in trouble. I was just standing there, minding my own business, thinking about if anything rhymes with the word pudding, which is now what all the Hawks call Penelope Ann Murphy.

  Which actually is my fault.

  But I wasn’t calling her that. I was just standing there, not thinking of a rhyme, watching clouds, maybe mumbling things like gooding and shoulding. And suddenly there was James/Jay, screaming my name right into my face with his stinky tuna breath saying, “Give Me Two Laps!”

  It took me a minute to figure out that he meant I should run around the field twice, instead of give him two of something I did not even own. My first thought was that maybe laps is something like pancakes, and he wanted me to give him two of them.

  I don’t even know why I was in such big trouble. I think he just hates me.

  July 27, Tuesday

  During breakfast, Elizabeth told us that her friend Eureka at Art Camp hated papier-mâché so much she asked to be excused from it yesterday. But at Art Camp, apparently, papier-mâché is a Must Do. So what Elizabeth’s friend Eureka did was she put both her hands into the papier-mâché goo, turned a funny color, and then she threw up. All in the papier-mâché goo, all over her project and the art table and a little on the art teacher.

  She got sent home, and from now on Eureka is excused from papier-mâché.

  Eureka is Elizabeth’s hero now.

  “I thought you loved papier-mâché,” Mom said.

  “I do,” Elizabeth said. “But now I know what to do if I don’t like something.”

  And that is how I got my plan of how to get out of playing the awful game of Knuckles.

  The only problem was it turns out I have about as much skills at throwing up when I want to as I do at hurdles or touching the bottom of the pool or swinging like a monkey on the rings. Which equals zero. Zero skills at any of those activities.

  The best I could do at making myself puke was a burping/grunting sound. By coincidence, it is the same sound I make when I do rings or hurdles. So maybe my special talent has finally been discovered.

  Hideous noises. By Justin.

  Hooray for me.

  July 28, Wednesday

  I won at Knuckles.

  That was the good news of the day. Also the big surprise. Because I still do not get how you play the game of Knuckles. I thought you just put down your pairs and then Cash says, “I win!” and you get hit with the side of the deck of cards.

  But that did not happen today.

  Today I put down my pairs, and then Cash said, “Hey, Justin won!”

  And I had to hit him and Xavier and Gianni and Koji with the side of the deck of cards.

  Everybody counts up the hits while the winner pounds away. Xavier and Cash got one hit, and Koji got two. Gianni had to get hit seven times.

  On the sixth hit, a little sound happened in Gianni’s mouth halfway between “Ow” and crying.

  And I still had to hit him one more time on those sore knuckles of his, which were red and maybe even had a drop of blood.

  I hit him as light as I could, but Cash said, “No, you have to really give him a smack or it doesn’t count.”

  So then I had to hit him again, an extra hit.

  That was the bad news of the day.

  The worst news of the day, though, was I knew I could never play Knuckles again.

  Which meant I was going to have to do what I couldn’t do: Tell.

  July 29, Thursday

  All night last night, I had the word KNUCKLES in my mouth. I was daring myself to say it and daring myself to not say it. Then they made me take a shower when I wasn’t even that dirty so I had to fuss about that and then take the shower and then I think the shampoo didn’t get all the way out of my hair and then I had to play with my knights for a while and then it was time for Mom and Dad to say good NIGHT Justin fifty times even though I had an important thing to tell them but they said we can talk about it at breakfast.

  I thought I would never fall asleep, but I guess I did because it seemed like ten minutes after they were saying good NIGHT Justin go to sleep stay in bed, they were saying good MORNING Justin wake up get out of bed.

  I finally got up and brushed my teeth and went downstairs to breakfast, and while I was staring at my Toast-R-Cakes and my banana, I thought about telling them that I could not go back to camp because it was a horrible camp where they make you swing from rings even though you are not a monkey, and when the counselors are not looking, you have to play a horrible game called Knuckles.

  But Elizabeth had a huge panic because she couldn’t find the barrettes that she needed to wear, so I couldn’t tell anything.

  “I need them!” she kept shrieking.

  “You don’t need them,” I told her. “You want them.”

  “No, I need them!”

  “Elizabeth!” I yelled. “In life you need only food, water, shelter, and occasionally an umbrella. Everything else is a want.”

  Elizabeth, Mom, and Dad just stared at me. Nobody argued. Then my bus beeped, so I went off to torture camp.

  Luckily today instead of Rest and the secret horrible game of Knuckles after lunch, we had to work on our Obstacle Course skills. Because we all stink. Especially me and Penelope Ann Murphy and Bartholomew Wiggins.

  I didn’t even mind, that’s how much I hate Knuckles.

  July 30, Friday

  I sat at breakfast not telling. But then, after I cleared my bowl, I accidentally started telling.

  Dad interrupted by saying, “Knuckles?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “You’re playing Knuckles at camp?”

  I nodded my ashamed head.

  “What’s Knuckles?” Mom asked.

  “I played it at camp, too!” Dad said. He laughed two ha’s. “It’s totally brutal, am I right, Justin?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Justin?” Mom asked. “What’s wrong?” She stopped sponging the counter and stared at me and Dad.

  “It’s a great game,” Dad said. “Right, Justin?”

  “No,” I said. “It’s a terrible game. And I am not allowed to tell about it, but I have to tell you because you said it’s a rule I am not allowed to let anybody hurt me and they do hurt me! And I am not allowed to hurt anybody, but I do! I did! I hit Gianni Schicci with cards because I won, and…”

  “You won?” Dad asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Yesterday.�
��

  “Congratulations,” Elizabeth said, and slurped the milk from her cereal bowl.

  “Awesome, Champ,” Dad said. “What hand did you play?”

  “I don’t know!” I said. “I don’t even know how to play! And I hate it!”

  “How can you win a game you don’t even know how to play?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I don’t know!” I yelled.

  “Would you please let him finish?” Mom yelled.

  Qwerty sat down next to me and whined. I guess he figured he was in trouble, too. Elizabeth kept slurping her cereal and meowing, watching us all.

  I didn’t finish, though. Instead, I accidentally cried.

  Mom hugged my head. I might have drooled a little on her sleeve. Either she didn’t notice or mind. She told Elizabeth to stop purring go get her camp bag, and she kept hugging my head while I burped out the details in no particular order of the game of Knuckles and maybe also some about the rings and hurdles and that I am not a swim champ at all.

  “Where are the counselors while you are playing this?” Mom asked.

  “I don’t know,” I told her. “It’s during snack. They’re, I guess, eating.”

  “It’s no big deal,” Dad said. “It’s a camp game.”

  “Look at his knuckles,” Mom said.

  “They’ll heal,” Dad said, and he passed his rough thumb gently over my bruised knuckles. “They’ll be okay, Justin.”

  “What kind of supervision is this?” Mom asked. “Is this what we’re paying all this money for? For our baby to be beaten up by a bunch of bullies with no adults taking notice?”

  “Hey,” Dad said. “If you don’t like playing, Justin, play something else.”

  “I can’t,” I whispered.

  “Yes, you can,” Dad said back. “Be bold…”

  “That’s just a dumb poem,” I mumbled.

  “I’m calling your counselor, this morning,” Mom said. “This game is not okay.”

  “You can’t,” I said. “Everybody will know I told.”

  “I’ll tell them it has to be anonymous,” Mom said.

  “Ooo!” Elizabeth yelled, jumping twirling around the deck. “Anonymous is my favorite poet!”

  That’s when my bus beeped.

  “I can’t go to camp without a plan!” I shrieked.

  Mom sent Dad out to tell the bus to leave without me. He tried to argue, but it is not possible to argue with Mom when her face looks like do not argue with me.

  I sank down into my chair and rested my damp face in my hands, listening to the bus pull away from my house without me. “I need a plan,” I said.

  “No, Justin,” Elizabeth said, patting my arm. “All you need is food, water, shelter, and especially an umbrella. Everything else is a want.”

  July 31, Saturday

  Mom keeps asking if I want to talk about it. The answer keeps being no.

  Because I do not want to talk about it.

  I want to forget what Natalia told my mom when she called camp yesterday to complain about the horrible game of Knuckles. Natalia, who I had been thinking might be the girl I was going to marry, told my mom that I was a, well, she did not use the word sweetie. Or loser.

  The word she used was maybe not having such a great summer at Camp GoldenBrook.

  She said she would sure keep a much closer eye on everybody at snack, and she was so glad my mom had called to let her know, especially because she has been concerned about me.

  She told my mom the words pretending to be hurt so he doesn’t have to participate.

  And also the words often close to tears and the words maybe not able to keep up physically.

  And when Mom said, “But he won the silver medal at Obstacle Course,” Natalie used the horrible, horrible words, I think you are mistaken.

  Sunday, August 1

  I am going to Science Camp.

  It is where I belong.

  I don’t ever have to go back to Camp GoldenBrook. I never have to deal with Cash again, or James/Jay, or the impossible rings that my fingers cannot grip, or the swimming pool the size of an ocean with pennies down in the unreachable depths.

  My parents are rescuing me from all that.

  I never even have to face it again.

  There is no shame in switching camps, Mom said. She and Dad are proud of me for trying something new. Not every new thing works out. They didn’t think this was the right kind of camp for me from the beginning. This camp is kind of rough and tumble, and I am not such a rough-and-tumble kid.

  And that is okay. That is not called being a failure.

  I just should have told them it was awful and hard for me earlier, Dad said.

  And then Mom gave me a kiss on my forehead and said, “Good night, sweetie.”

  So now I am lying on my bottom bunk with all my nice soft stuffties, not looking at my empty, crumpled Camp GoldenBrook backpack that I do not have to carry tomorrow, with Mom’s kiss still on my forehead and the word sweetie smogging up my bedroom air.

  And my oldest, best stuffty, Wingnut, looking sadly into my eyes.

  August 2, Monday

  I waited until the light coming through my window was enough to see Wingnut’s smile. He knew what I had decided. I didn’t even have to say it out loud to him. That’s how well he knows me.

  Then I tiptoed to Mom and Dad’s room.

  “Mom? Mom. Mom? Where are my swimsuits?”

  “Shhh,” she said. “Justin. Shh. Go back to bed. You aren’t going back to Camp GoldenBrook, remember? Dad will tell the bus to go without you.”

  “We’ll call Science Camp this morning,” Dad said. “For today, you can, mmm, come with us to the store. Mmm.” He rolled over and looked at his clock with one eye only. “It’s five A.M., sweetie. What are you doing up?”

  “I’m going back to Camp GoldenBrook,” I said.

  Their eyes opened. All four of their eyes looked at me, round and serious.

  I took a big breath and smiled.

  “I have to give it a shot,” I said. “I have to be bold. Mighty forces will come to my aid. Don’t worry.”

  Then I went down to the basement to find some swimsuits. By the time the rest of the family came down to the kitchen, I was finishing my bowl of cereal.

  “Justin, you don’t have to…” Dad started, but I interrupted him.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I do.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  I went to sit out on the front step with my camp bag to wait for the bus.

  At Free Play, time for Knuckles, Cash said, “You coming, Justin?” He flicked the top of his head toward the slide and waited, but I didn’t say yeah.

  The yeah in my mouth tried to get out, but I bit my teeth down hard and didn’t let it.

  “No thanks,” I said, and sat down next to Bartholomew Wiggins, across the Parcheesi board from Marcus Snoot-Slutsky.

  My heart was so pounding, but it was not just that I was not allowed to play the horrible game of Knuckles anymore that kept me there on the bench. It was also not just that Natalia kept winking at me and smiling encouragingly and staying close to me. It was also the idea in my head that if I was going to be brave at Camp GoldenBrook, I was going to have to be all the way brave. Even if my heart bursted right out of my ribs onto Bartholomew Wiggins’s Parcheesi set and ruined it with goo and blood.

  August 3, Tuesday

  At Free Play today, Xavier Schwartz, who was right next to Cash, said, “Hey, Justin Case, you playing today?”

  “I’m bored of that game,” I said.

  Xavier and Gianni and Cash and Koji all stared at me like I had said I hate candy or I love girls.

  “Bored?” Cash asked.

  “I mean, cards,” I said. “No offense.”

  Cash’s cheeks pinked up a little. “No,” he said, and his voice squeaked a little. He tried again. “I don’t care.” It still squeaked a tiny bit. Cash is a new friend who will probably never be an old friend, but still, he is hard to not like, despite my best efforts
all day.

  “Let’s play Bang Bang instead,” I suggested.

  “Yeah!” Gianni shouted.

  “What’s Bang Bang?” Xavier asked.

  “It’s a game me and Justin Case invented,” Gianni explained. Which was very weird because we hadn’t. I hadn’t even invented it myself, really. I just made up the name of it on the spot.

  “How do you play?” Cash asked.

  “Well,” I said. “You, just, you, what you do is, you make your hand into a gun…”

  “And shoot each other!” Gianni yelled. “And you have to say, ‘Bang bang!’”

  “And when you get shot you have to die,” I said. “Until you count five Mississippis. Then you come back to life.”

  “Awesome,” Xavier said.

  “Bang bang!” Cash said, and I died a very twitchy, flopping death and stayed down on the grass for five wonderful and not-at-all-painful Mississippis before I got up and chased everybody.

  August 4, Wednesday

  I signed up for the swim test for Friday. I walked right up to that clipboard and put my name on the list to try for Yellow. James/Jay muttered, “Seriously?”

  I heard him. He is probably right that probably I will fail and still be in Shallow. I still haven’t picked up a single penny from the pool bottom. But maybe I will squeak by.

  Also that is not a nice thing of him to say.

  So I turned around and asked him, “Did you say something? I couldn’t hear you.”

  I surprised both of us by asking that. We stood there on the pool deck, me skinny and little, him big and scary, looking surprised at each other about what I said.

  “No,” he mumbled.

  “Good,” I said, and walked past him, hoping the shaking of my whole entire body wasn’t as obvious to him as it was to me.

  “What are you still doing in this camp?” is what James/Jay asked my back. “I heard you were quitting.”

  I didn’t answer him. I watched my feet in the horrible flip-flops of doom walking to the bench, where I took them off and draped my blue-and-white-striped towel over the back. I told myself the words say nothing say nothing the whole way into the pool.

  I worked hard in second swim and didn’t come as close to drowning as usual, even though I tied again for last place with Bartholomew Wiggins the first lap. But I did a second lap, so if it had been a contest for who can do more laps—me or Bartholomew Wiggins—I would’ve won.