“Hi, everyone,” I began. “I wanted to talk to you about something important. I came to this camp hoping to do something great with my life and feeling pretty disappointed that I hadn’t really done anything yet.”
“Nobody cares about your cliché male ennui!” a girl shouted.
Harsh. But this was still going a lot smoother than I’d ever expected it to.
“I thought I hadn’t accomplished anything!” I said, louder this time. “But then some friends told me something last night. I learned that, sometimes, saving the world means saving a bunch of little worlds.”
I waited for this to hit them, hit them so hard that I could see the sucker punch of epiphany on their faces, but they only stared back at me blankly. I needed to hone my public speaking skills. I caught Jimmy’s glance, though. He was standing by the entrance with his arms folded over his chest, but he nodded encouragingly at me.
“We all wanted to do great things at this camp. And we all had amazing causes. But instead, we chose to torture each other, sabotage everyone around us, and make enemies of each other when we should have been working together.” I walked down the long table. “But there’s still time to turn that around. Today I realized that if I want to do something as big as change the world, I need to start small. I need to start local. I need to focus on what’s personally affecting me and the people that I care about.”
“That’s literally what some of us have been doing the whole time,” Unity said.
“Because if we start small,” I said, ignoring him, “it is totally possible to feed all the children one day!” The last step I took landed in someone’s cereal bowl and I almost slipped off the table, but I recovered quickly and apologized to the girl whose breakfast I’d just ruined. I could see I was starting to lose them. (Even the ones whose breakfasts I wasn’t stepping on.) A few people in the crowd looked at each other, sharing skeptical glances. I needed to get to the point fast.
“We’ve forgotten what it means to be real activists. We need to protest Robert Drill!” I shouted.
And then the groans started.
“You already tried protesting Drill and it ended very badly!” Down With Styrofoam said. “And anyway, why would we protest him? Why not just protest you?!”
This last statement was picking up more steam than my entire speech had. It seemed most campers agreed with Down With Styrofoam. This was definitely not going my way.
“Just hear me out!” I said, my voice rising to try to counteract the growing din of protest. “As I was saying, if we want to save the world, we need to start by saving this camp. Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place looks like a wasteland. And you know why? It didn’t just start at Color War. And it didn’t just start when campers began getting thrown in the lake or when Alec Pent got blasted with paint or when Abstinence and Sex Positivity got locked in the sports shed together. It started when Robert Drill announced the internship!”
No comebacks. I had them. “As soon as this camp turned from being an inclusive and educational place for us into a cutthroat environment, we were all screwed! I mean, we all had names once! Feminism, you used to be Julie!”
Feminism nodded.
“And Men’s Rights’s real name is actually … Tomás!
“And Down With Styrofoam, you used to be …” She stared at me, angry, waiting, but I was drawing a blank. “I’m sure you had a name once!” I said. “Some of you know me as Feed the Children. Some of you even know me as Superman. But my name is GREGOR MARAVILLA!”
I paused, waiting for the inevitable cheering, but the silence was only punctuated when I stepped in another cereal bowl. Poe was staring up at me, droplets of milk spattered onto her face. I lifted my foot off her bowl and muttered a quick “Sorry.” I tried to recover quickly. “What I’m trying to say, people, is what the hell are we all fighting for? An internship that we all knew from the beginning would probably go to Win Cassidy?”
Some of the kids nodded. Even Win nodded.
“That isn’t fair! Because I know I didn’t come here for an internship! I came here for you guys. I came to be part of a community of people who were as passionate about global consciousness as I was. I came here to fight for what I believe in, not to fight each other!”
Finally the cheers were staring to come. I had to admit that was a good line.
“We can still be a united camp. We can still show that we’re worthy activists. We can show Robert Drill that we don’t need his stinkin’ internship!”
“Yeah!” the crowd yelled.
“I would still like that internship,” I could hear Win say, but his voice was mostly drowned out.
“Let’s take back our camp!”
We stood like sardines, every camper in camp crammed into the counselors’ office—some of us spilling outside onto the wraparound porch—watching Jimmy’s computer. We all squeezed together to try and fit our faces in the frame of the webcam. The only noise in the room came from the sound of elbows jabbing into soft stomachs and the bubbling ringing of the Skype call.
The ringing stopped and I involuntarily shushed everybody. It wasn’t Mr. Drill’s face that appeared on the screen. It was a woman’s.
“Yes?” she said.
“Uh, hi,” I said. “We’re looking for Robert Drill.”
“And who may I say is calling?”
“We’re the campers of Camp Save the World.”
The woman stared at us through her glasses. In the upper corner, inside the small square that reflected what was coming up on her screen, all I could make out were dozens of eyes. “One moment, please,” she said.
We waited for a minute and then were transferred. I did not know you could transfer a Skype call, but then again, we were Skyping with a tech company. Robert Drill appeared before us on the screen, his face skeptically scowling.
“Who is this?” he said. “What’s going on?”
“Hi, Mr. Drill, we’re the campers of Camp Save the World,” I said, slowly, tentatively, testing out how this would all work. “Uh, I’m Gregor Maravilla. You probably remember me from the press conference?”
Mr. Drill squinted and leaned forward. “Where is Jimmy?”
“I’m here, Dad!” Jimmy’s voice came from the back of the room. “I mean, Robert. I mean, sir. The kids have something they want to say to you.”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s important.”
“Well, what is it that you want, young man? Are you out of food? Is the camp on fire?”
“No, nothing like that, sir. It’s just that the other campers and I got together because we have an issue we wanted to discuss with you.” I took a breath and went on. “We don’t think it’s fair for you to award the internship to just one person. By dangling it in front of us like a carrot, you turned the camp into a war zone. You ruined our summer.”
“I see,” Mr. Drill said. “I hereby rescind the internship prize. Now no one gets it. Is that it? I’ve got work to do.”
I looked around. We were all a little stunned. “Uh, well, you don’t have to resci—” But the Skype window went black. He’d hung up on us.
That didn’t feel as triumphant as I would’ve liked. Kind of anticlimactic, actually.
“So now no one gets the internship?” Unity said. “Great going, Gregor. I was a shoo-in.”
“No, you weren’t,” Win said. “I was. But we knew this was a possible outcome. And look on the bright side. Now we can enjoy the rest of the summer without worrying about competition or sabotage.”
“But there’s only one day of camp left,” Unity said.
So we finally had our camp back. And it had only resulted in the loss of The Prize. It was a steep price to pay, but still, talking to Drill, fighting for what we believed in, and getting results felt kind of good. We achieved something, and we did it together. And that was something to celebrate. So the bonfire was perfect.
Jimmy decided that we should have another bonfire. Since the first one signaled the start of our demise,
he figured this one could signal the start of something new. It was just like Camp Save the World to start with an end and end with a start, but I guess it kind of felt right. It was too bad it took us till the last night of camp to finally get our act together and truly be civil to each other, but at least we were finishing things right.
The bonfire finally resembled what it was always meant to: a picture of campers having fun. There were kids huddled together with marshmallows on long sticks, and others were roasting hot dogs and telling stories. Save the World With Song strummed a slow melody on his guitar, and a few kids lounged at his feet. Poe and Win sat together, talking, and it may have been the first time I’d watched them and not been hit with pangs of jealousy. I was also definitely not jealous when I spied Unity and World Peace, off in a shadowy corner beneath a tree, making out messily. I was happy for them. And I was happy for Feminism when Men’s Rights sat next to her and she completely rebuffed him.
This was the good stuff, the kind of camp I’d always pictured.
Jimmy felt bad that Robert Drill had rescinded The Prize after five weeks of hard work. He said it would be a shame to have all the points on the scoreboard go to waste, so he decided to go through with the final competition anyway. The competition was called Fund-raising! Fund-raising, as Jimmy explained before the start of the bonfire, is an important part of activism, and vital if we ever planned to start our own grassroots revolts. For every dollar we managed to collect for our causes, Jimmy would award us one point. At the end of the bonfire he’d tally up the scoreboard and give the winning camper The Prize. Only this time, instead of a paid internship it would be a plastic trophy with the words “For Saving the World” written across the bottom in Magic Marker.
Nobody really cared about winning a plastic trophy, which explained the happy camaraderie. Not me, though. The trophy would look great in my room. I walked up to Rights, who still sat by himself, and smiled down at him. “I wanted to thank you.”
“Why’s that, Supe … Gregor?”
I took a fat envelope out of my pocket. “For your contribution to my Feed the Children fund. Your generous donations throughout the summer totaled just over five hundred dollars. Camp turned you into the best young philanthropist I’ve ever met, Tomás. You should be proud of that.”
It hadn’t exactly been fun every time Rights had thrown money at my face, or waking up to find it neatly placed under my pillow, but it had all been worth it. A lot of kids would go a little less hungry thanks to him. He didn’t seem to appreciate the situation as much as I did, though. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he flashed me a begrudging smile. “It was my pleasure.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I have a trophy to pick up.” Now that that was out of the way, there was someone else I needed to see.
Ashley was back at camp after her stint in the hospital, even though no one would’ve blamed her if she’d just decided to leave camp early. She was at the bonfire, holding in her hands a plate stacked with brownies, giving them out to anyone she saw. I couldn’t tell what she was saying, but she must’ve been promising that the brownies were not made of dirt, because people were actually eating them. Pika was with her. After she’d woken up in the hospital she’d called him. And though Pika and I didn’t have the best relationship, I was happy she’d brought him back. She needed her family right now. I caught his eye by mistake, and his glare was too powerful for me to look away from. He was already on his way toward me.
“Gregor.”
It was still strange hearing him speak. “Pika.”
“I heard about what you did for Ashley.” He paused and stared me down, and I honestly didn’t know whether he was going to thank me for saving Ashley or smash me for letting Ashley get poisoned. He kind of did both when he knocked the air out of me by wrapping me in a tight and sudden bear hug. “I’m thankful you were there for her when I couldn’t be.”
I tried to say something but, again, wind knocked out.
“I was wrong about you, Gregor. You are not a little shit after all.”
All I could do was try to hug him back, though my arms did not go all the way around him. Pika let me go and I caught my breath, and when he walked away, Ashley was there, grinning at me. “My favorite people hugging is my favorite thing ever.”
I smiled at her too.
“Enjoying the bonfire?” I asked her.
“Immensely. I can’t believe this is the last day. I feel like there’s still so much we didn’t do.”
“And so much we still don’t know. Like who was responsible for the lake-throwings.”
“It was the counselors,” Ashley said simply.
I watched her face for signs that she was kidding, but she looked absolutely serious. “What?”
“I saw them every night when I went swimming. They usually had their hoods off before they made it into the woods.”
Huh. That was weird. I guess the counselors wanted to get in on the mischief too. That or they hated us. “Wait, you went skinny-dipping every night?” I said. “So that means you went skinny-dipping with every camper who’s ever been thrown in the lake?”
“So fun!” Ashley said breathlessly.
I tried to keep my smile from getting too big. Impossible. “You know, I never got your autograph this summer.”
She beamed at me and started patting herself down, looking for something to write with, but I had it covered. I held up a Sharpie. I came prepared.
As was her custom, paper would not do for Ashley, so I presented her with my forearm. She wrapped her fingers around my wrist, and I wondered what her message would be. You are special, I thought. Or maybe You light up my life.
You’re the cat’s meow.
You’re better than dirt—and that’s something.
I took my arm back and read what she’d written.
I’m so glad I met you.
It was the first time she hadn’t focused her message on the other person. The first time she’d used “I” instead of “you.” A summer of firsts. I won’t lie: It made me feel incredibly special (and like I was the light of her life, the cat’s meow, better than dirt, etc.).
“This is probably going to sound so corny,” I said. “But I used to think you were my kryptonite.” I pushed my hair off to the side, shuffled my feet a bit. “I mean, I still think that. You’re kind of … my ultimate weakness.”
That smile. Bigger than ever, and matching mine. She was on her tiptoes in a second, and then her lips were on mine.
And when she pulled back, we were both surprised.
Neither of us tasted like dirt.
Hello, Mother, hello, Father, it’s the
last day of Camp Save the World.
I saved the world. I’ve got a trophy
to prove it.
P.S. I am totally in love with Ashley
Woodstone.
The end.
Thank you:
To Matt Ringler. I think every writer lacks some sense, and the editor’s job is to make some sense. At the start of this process this story made about 2% sense. So thank you for making up the difference. You were right about everything. (Except the rival French camp. I still love that rival French camp.) And to the rest of the Scholastic team, who continue to make my publishing experience so magical: Jennifer Abbots, Yaffa Jaskoll, Alexis Lunsford, Alexis Lassiter, Jacquelyn Rubin, Jody Stigliano, Tracy van Straaten, Rachel Feld, Isa Caban, Vaishali Nayak, Emily Heddleson, Antonio Gonzalez, Lizette Serrano, Kerianne Okie, Alan Smagler, Lori Benton, and Ellie Berger.
To my agents, Jenny Bent and Gemma Cooper, who loved this story when I worried it was too ridiculous to be lovable. Your support was exactly what I needed.
To Rachel Petty, Kat McKenna, and everyone over in the UK.
To those who read first: Chaya Levinsohn, Esther Silberstein, Diana Gallagher, and Neely Stansell-Simpson.
To the indie booksellers who put books into people’s hands, you are doing the good work! Forever indebted to you.
To my beautiful
mother, Sonia, and sister, Yasmin. Ari, Maayan, Hadas, S. Akiva. Irina, Zinoviy. Mi Safta y todas mis lindas tias en Lima. V’ha Dodim sheli b’Aretz. And Alex. The sound of your laughter is what put pen to paper and fingertips to keyboard, and now there is a book! Hence: your fault. But long drives to Grumpy’s, next to you, is still my favorite way to spend a Sunday.
And to the reader with a just cause and a passion—always keep fighting.
GOLDY MOLDAVSKY is the New York Times bestselling author of Kill the Boy Band. She was born in Lima, Peru, and grew up in Brooklyn, where she still lives. You can find her online at goldymoldavsky.com and on Twitter at @goldywrites.
Also from New York Times bestselling author Goldy Moldavsky
They are friends. They are fans. They are sick of being nice.
People have called me crazy.
It’s understandable; fangirls get a bad rap all the time. They say we’re weird, hysterical, obsessed, certifiable. But those people don’t understand. Just because I love something a lot doesn’t mean I’m crazy. And I did love The Ruperts a lot. I loved them more than soft-serve vanilla ice cream in summer, more than seeing a new review of one of my fanfics, more than discovering a good ’80s movie I’d never seen before.
Just because I was a Ruperts fangirl does not mean I was crazy.
I think it’s important that you know that up front. Because everything I’m about to tell you is going to seem … well, crazy.
* * *
Rupert Pierpont was in our hotel room.
You’re probably curious about how we pulled this off. It’s not every day you get to be alone with a member of the most popular boy band ever.
Wait. Let me rephrase that.
It’s not every day you get to be alone with the biggest flop in the most popular boy band ever while he is blindfolded and bound to a hotel armchair.
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