Like Bug Juice on a Burger

by Julie Sternberg

  to give it a shot.

  “You start,” I said,

  being very nice.

  She took the ball

  and raised it high

  and hurled it.

  It flew in a circle

  far, far above my head.

  Then sailed back her way,

  and she hit it,

  hard.

  This happened again and again.

  So high and so fast,

  I never even touched the ball.

  It took about five seconds

  for her to wrap the rope all the way around the pole.

  After she did, she grinned at me.

  “Isn’t tetherball great?” she said.

  “No, it is not,” I said.

  But I couldn’t help laughing a little.

  Because that game had been ridiculous.

  Then I turned and shouted,

  “I need a shorter opponent!”

  I ended up playing a short Honeybee.

  I even won two games

  and lost two more.

  Joplin won six straight

  against a tall,

  but not tall enough,

  Cicada.

  I wanted to spend time with the baby goat.

  So I chose farm as my next activity.

  I asked Joplin if she wanted to come, too.

  But she shook her head.

  “The barn’s too stinky,” she said.

  I knew what she meant.

  We’d visited the barn on the camp tour,

  and it was a little stinky.

  But just with animal smell.

  Like at the zoo.

  “Your nose gets used to it,” I told Joplin.

  “My nose would rather play soccer,” she said.

  So we walked together to the soccer field.

  She stayed there, to play.

  And I kept going.

  The barn stood, wide and white,

  at the other end of the field.

  It was dark and cool inside,

  and a little stinky.

  A few girls had arrived before me.

  They were peering into a wire cage in a back corner

  and saying things like,

  “So cute!” and

  “So fuzzy!” and

  “Look at its little wings!

  I knew little chicks were hopping around in that cage.

  I’d seen them during the camp tour.

  They were cute and fuzzy,

  with tiny little wings.

  But still.

  I preferred the floppy-eared goat.

  He was lying in the back of his pen,

  on top of some hay.

  Just thinking.

  When I stopped in front of his gate,

  he sniffed the air a little,

  then pulled himself up and walked toward me.

  He was brown from head to toe,

  the color of my dad’s morning coffee.

  “They’d better not name you Spot,” I told that goat.

  “You don’t have a single spot on you.”

  He pushed his nose through a gap in the gate.

  I scratched underneath his chin

  and kept thinking about names.

  He didn’t seem like an Antoine.

  Maybe a Sweet Pete.

  But definitely,

  definitely

  a Cornelius.

  “Don’t you think so?”

  I asked him,

  patting his back.

  “Don’t you think you’re a Cornelius?”

  He gave a nice bleat.

  I took that for a yes.

  I couldn’t keep talking to him, though.

  Because other girls arrived

  and stood beside me at the gate.

  Including curly-haired Kylie.

  Before long,

  the farm counselor told us it was time

  for the goat’s bath.

  We went into the pen

  and wet him gently with a hose

  and rubbed baby shampoo into his soft coat

  and rinsed him off.

  He did not like the rinsing!

  He jumped around

  and shook his whole body,

  splattering water all over us.

  Then the counselor looped a leash over his head

  and let me walk him out into the sun,

  so he could dry.

  As I led clean Cornelius out onto the grass,

  I thought,

  I’m walking a goat!

  He wasn’t a dog.

  But still.

  For that moment,

  I could pretend

  he was mine.

  For lunch we had a choice

  of black beans with yellow rice

  or sloppy joes.

  I don’t like beans of any color.

  And I hate orange, oozing sloppy joes.

  “Can’t we ever have burgers?”

  I asked the lunch teenager.

  “Sloppy joes are like burgers,” she said.

  “No, they are not,” I said.

  “They are nothing like burgers.”

  She shrugged

  and heaped even more salad than usual on my plate.

  And I ate lettuce and tomatoes with lots of croutons

  for lunch.

  I’d never known before

  that croutons are delicious.

  I ate three rolls, too,

  instead of just two.

  Because Joplin gave me one of hers.

  I worried and worried during rest hour,

  after lunch.

  Because swim lessons were next.

  I’d have to go to my baby class

  and then make my way to the floating trampoline

  wearing my diaper.

  I lay on my bed, worrying.

  I’d just decided to fake

  a stomachache

  when Hope walked to the

  middle of the cabin floor.

  “Mail time!” she said.

  She looked at the first letter

  in her stack

  and called Dylan’s name.

  Then,

  looking at the next letter,

  she called mine!

  “Your very first letter at camp!” Hope said,

  handing me my letter.

  “Thank you!” I said.

  I ripped that letter right open

  and started reading.

  I read:

  Dear Eleanor,

  I want you to receive a letter every single day.

  So I’m writing to you already,

  even though you just left on the bus.

  The apartment feels so empty without you.

  I put on the radio, hoping it would fill the space a little.

  But it doesn’t work!

  By the time you get this,

  you’ll have spent at least a day and a night at camp.

  I so hope that you’re happy!

  Some of my very best memories from childhood

  are from Wallumwahpuck.

  It might be a little hard for you in the beginning,

  being away from home for the first time.

  But I know how strong you are.

  And how capable you are.

  And I’m certain that in the end

  you’ll have wonderful memories, too.

  I’m so pleased about our new family tradition!

  Your dad will write you soon.

  He’s at the grocery store now,

  because we’re out of coffee.

  You know how he loves his coffee!

  But not nearly as much as we both love you.

  Please don’t forget to write us!

  We can’t wait to hear from you!

  All my love,

  which is a TREMENDOUS amount of love,

  Mom

  I read that letter twice,

  then set it on my bed.

  I didn’t have to fake a stomachache anymore.


  My stomach really did hurt.

  Because I’d ruined our new family tradition

  by hating camp.

  I wasn’t strong and capable, either.

  I’d already sent the Esmeralda letter.

  And I still wanted to leave.

  I wanted to be home.

  Not lying on this thin, lumpy mattress

  so close to the cobwebs

  drooping from the ceiling.

  I tried to figure out

  whether to write my mom again.

  And what to say to her if I did.

  But before I could,

  Hope told us to put on our bathing suits.

  Because it was time for swimming.

  At least I wasn’t the oldest Guppy.

  Braces Girl from the bus

  was a Guppy, too.

  I was pretty sure she was older than me.

  Because of the braces.

  I couldn’t tell if she recognized me from the bus,

  because she kept looking down at the dock

  while we all waited for the Guppy teacher.

  After a few minutes that teacher arrived

  and blew her whistle.

  “Everybody in the water!”

  she said.

  Braces Girl was the first one in.

  I jumped in second.

  That water was still freezing!

  But I warmed up

  because our teacher made us swim forever!

  Five laps of backstroke,

  then five of freestyle.

  She must have liked my backstroke fine.

  Because she never said anything about it.

  But after one lap of freestyle,

  she tapped me on the head.

  I held on to the dock, kicking my feet,

  and looked up at her.

  “Watch,”

  she said.

  She showed me how to breathe,

  two or three times,

  then sent me off again.

  “Show me a stronger kick,” she told me

  after the third lap.

  I tried hard for the rest of the laps,

  kicking and breathing.

  “Better,” she said

  when I was done.

  “Much better.”

  I’d never swum ten laps before

  in my whole life.

  I figured our lesson must be done.

  But when the last of the Guppies returned

  to the dock,

  our teacher said,

  “I want everyone to tread water now

  for five minutes.

  Or until you can’t tread anymore.

  Ready? Set!

  Go!”

  I wasn’t sure I could tread at all.

  My legs were tired!

  But I moved away from the dock,

  not far from Braces Girl,

  and I started to tread.

  After about a minute,

  I was facing away from the dock,

  struggling to keep my head above water,

  when I heard my name.

  I kicked around.

  Joplin was standing on the dock,

  dripping wet.

  She waved at me.

  I did not wave back.

  I knew if I did,

  I’d sink to the bottom

  of the lake

  and never rise

  again.

  “You’re moving your legs too much!”

  she shouted.

  “Slow down!”

  “Shut up!” I wanted to shout back at her.

  But I could barely breathe.

  “Move less!” Joplin shouted again.

  “Pedal a bike slowly!”

  Actually,

  I realized,

  moving less sounded good.

  So I stopped kicking fast

  and started pretending to pedal a bike slowly.

  It was easier.

  Much easier.

  Joplin kept shouting directions at me.

  And when our teacher blew her whistle

  after five minutes,

  I was still treading.

  I didn’t want to go

  on the floating trampoline.

  “I’m tired,” I said.

  I was tired.

  Swim lessons had just ended.

  “Sorry,” Hope said.

  “It’s a cabin activity.

  Go and get your life jacket.”

  So I had to go all by myself

  to the swim shack, next to the dock.

  It stank of mildew in that shack.

  The floor was covered with paddles and ropes.

  And life jackets hung crookedly

  on rods.

  They came in all different sizes.

  I had to guess at mine.

  The first one I picked was filthy,

  so I put it back.

  The second one was filthy, too,

  and it had a broken clasp.

  These things are ancient! I thought.

  Then I realized something.

  My mom might have stood in that very spot

  and flipped through those very life jackets

  when she was a camper.

  In a funny way, in that moment, I felt her beside me.

  Which made me happy.

  But only for a second,

  because then Joplin stuck her head through

  the shack’s door.

  “Ready?” she said.

  “Everybody’s waiting.”

  I grabbed the next life jacket I saw

  and threw it on.

  Even though it was enormous.

  Then Joplin and I ran together to the dock.

  Hope frowned at my giant life jacket.

  But she just said,

  “OK, everybody!

  To the trampoline!”

  The rest of the cabin leaped right into the water

  and started racing to the trampoline.

  I jumped in last.

  I could tell it was going to take me forever

  to kick my way to the trampoline.

  Because my stupid life jacket kept dragging me back.

  Hope stayed beside me the whole time,

  doing an easy breaststroke in her striped bikini.

  “I wish I’d had that life jacket last summer,”

  she said.

  “Swimming in the ocean, in Thailand.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  I figured it must’ve been scary and awful.

  Since she’d needed a life jacket.

  But she said,

  “My bikini top fell down!

  I hadn’t tied it tight enough!

  I needed a life jacket

  to keep me covered!”

  I laughed.

  “It was horrible!”

  she said,

  laughing, too.

  “I had to tread water

  practically naked,

  until I finally got my top back on.”

  “I don’t even own a bikini,”

  I told her.

  “So a life jacket doesn’t help me.”

  “You can borrow one of mine!”

  Hope said.

  I laughed again.

  Because the thought of me

  in one of Hope’s bikinis

  was just ridiculous.

  Something about Hope’s story

  made me feel better.

  Even though all the other girls

  were already jumping on the trampoline,

  and I was still the only one in a puffy diaper.

  “Listen up, everybody,” Hope said,

  after I’d followed her onto the trampoline.

  “Sit in one big circle.

  We’ll jump two at a time.”

  I didn’t want to jump at all.

  I just wanted to be invisible.

  But when it was Joplin’s turn,

  she pulled me by the hand.

  “Come on!” she said.r />
  “Jump with me!”

  We bounced together.

  Lightly at first,

  then harder and harder.

  Until we knew exactly when to

  STOMP

  to make each other soar.

  After candle lighting that night,

  I fell asleep to the sound of raindrops on the roof.

  But I heard no rain when I woke up

  in the middle of the night.

  Instead,

  I heard

  a tapping.

  On the window above my cubby.

  It stopped after a few seconds.

  Then started again.

  I knew—

  I just knew—

  there was a man out there.

  Making his way inside.

  “Hope!” I tried to say.

  I could barely get a sound out.

  The man tapped again.

  I closed my eyes and tried harder.

  “Hope!”

  She came then,

  so fast.

  She shined her flashlight all around

  and saw that I was the only one awake.

  “What happened?” she whispered to me.

  “There’s someone out there!” I said.

  “Someone’s trying to come in!”

  I pointed at the window.

  “I don’t think so,” she whispered,

  shining her flashlight in that direction.

  We couldn’t see anything in the beam of light

  except my bottles of sunscreen.

  Hope walked over and peered out

  for a good long time.

  Then she came back to me.

  “It’s just a branch,” she whispered.

  “Knocking against the windowpane

  in the wind.

  I promise—there’s no one there.”

  I tried to relax.

  But I couldn’t.

  What if he’d just hidden behind a tree?

  “I’m still scared!” I whispered.

  She thought for a second.

  Then she walked back over to my cubby,

  picked up a bottle of sunscreen,

  and brought it back to me.

  It was such a weird thing to do.

  Why would I possibly need sunscreen?

  It was the middle of the night!

  But I took the bottle from her.

  “No one’s out there,”

  she whispered.

  “But just in case,

  use this.

  Spray him right in the eyes.

  And call me.

  I’ll take care of him. OK?”

  “OK,” I said.

  I set the sunscreen next to my flashlight.

  Then she tiptoed back to her bed.

  And

  after listening carefully