You don’t say no to Cora.
I ran inside Cabin 2, grabbed my shovel, and headed toward the door. Just before I stepped outside, I noticed something standing in the corner, by my bed.
My dad’s old ax.
It was rusty. Heavy as a boulder. And as old as dirt.
But still, I grabbed it. Which if you think about it, was a pretty dumb thing to do. Why would I need an ax to dig?
There was no reason. Except that maybe I just wanted something from home.
I caught up with Vinny and Cora about five hundred feet west of the square rock. It was just past the back of the museum. Just past where we had been searching all along.
The three of us dug as fast as our arms could move.
“Hurry!” I said.
We dug to the left. We dug to the right. We dug up, down, and everywhere, but—nothing.
Even Cora looked exhausted.
We could hear the whole camp singing the last song of the night. It was a good-bye song. About how much “we’re all gonna miss each other.”
I was so tired and mad and defeated, I slammed my shovel into the ground. “Let’s just forget it,” I said.
And that’s when I hit something hard. So hard, my shovel made a loud THONK.
Cora bent over and frantically pulled away the loose dirt. There, buried a few feet underground, was an old wooden box.
“Look,” said Cora. “There’s a carving of Chief Powhatan on the top.”
We pulled the box out of the ground and took a closer look. “It’s locked!” she said. “Good thing you brought that ax.”
!
The ax! I grabbed it off the ground and tried to raise it above my head. “Hnnnhhhh…”
“Wait, Hal. Before you open the box, there’s something I want to tell you.”
And then, Cora leaned in. And by that, I mean leaned in. Right toward my face. The way they always do during the mushy part of movies my mom watches on the Lifetime channel.
“Smoochy smoochy smoochy,” said a deep gravelly voice behind us.
I turned to face Ryan.
“I’ve been looking all over for you, Cartboy,” he said. “Looks like you found my treasure.”
Right then and there, I decided I wasn’t going to back up. Or run away. Or give him what he wanted.
Instead, I was finally going to stand up to Ryan Horner.
The only problem: He was six feet tall. And I was practically a midget. He was gonna tear me apart the same way Wolfie did last fall. When Ryan and his buddies threw me in his pen.
Ryan put his puffy face right in front of mine. “So you need a girl to help you dig? What’s the matter, Cartboy? Too scared out here by yourself?”
“Leave her out of this,” I said.
“Oooh. Whatcha gonna do? Hit me with your rusty old ax?”
“You think you can make fun of my dad’s ax?”
And then I did what any small kid with zero practical fighting experience would do.
I jumped on Ryan Horner’s back.
Ryan tried to throw me off, but I squeezed his neck hard. “And another thing, Horner. For your information, it wasn’t me who tattletaled on you.”
“Oh, sure. Then who was it?”
“Maybe it was one of your so-called friends. Like Warren.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I saw him talking to Mr. Tupkin after school that day. Warren. Not me.”
The truth is I was kind of guessing on the whole Warren thing. I had no idea if it was Warren, or another kid, or nobody. But something I said must have struck a chord with Ryan. Because just for a second, he loosened his grip.
“Cora, get the pearls!” I shouted.
Cora grabbed the box and started to run. Before she could get anywhere, Ryan tackled her like a pit bull.
I ran to Cora, but as soon as I got there, Ryan yanked the box out of her hands. He started to take off.
“Get him!” Cora said.
Cora, Vinny, and I raced after Ryan. We probably would have caught him except for three things:
Ryan disappeared into the dark. While Cora and I could do nothing but stand there and watch.
What could I say?
“I guess Ryan won.”
That was pretty much what I was thinking of saying, when I heard a bunch of feet pounding the ground.
“Who is it? Who’s there?” I said.
And then I got the answer. It came in the form of two small kids: one wearing NightTime diapers. And another with extremely clean hands.
Scot was holding one end of a rope. And Perth was holding the other. It looked just like the rope we had used in the tug-of-war.
“Going somewhere, Ryan?” Scot said.
Sheer genius, I thought as I heard Ryan trip and fall down.
“Marco for the love of Polo! What is going on out here?”
Mr. Prentice must have heard all the commotion. Suddenly, he was standing right next to us, and the rest of camp was not far behind him.
The light from Mr. Prentice’s lantern shone everywhere, and after a second, it landed on the wooden box. It had broken open, and the ground was covered with pearls.
“Who found this?” asked Mr. Prentice.
“Hal did,” said Cora.
Mr. Prentice picked up a few pearls and turned them over in his hands. The way he rolled those pearls around, it was as if he wasn’t just holding something old. It was like he was touching the past.
He reached out his hand, full of pearls, and put it next to mine. “Well, then, Mr. Rifkind, these are yours.”
“No, they’re not, sir.”
I pointed to the person standing next to me. “They belong to Vinny.”
Vinny hesitated a second, then took the pearls from Mr. Prentice. “Are you sure, Hal?”
“Yep.”
Mr. Prentice leaned toward Vinny and spoke in a hushed and somber voice.
“Mr. Ramirez. This discovery constitutes the biggest news to hit Camp Jamestown since little Roger Edmund found Chief Powhatan’s deerskin leggings.”
“Therefore,” said Mr. Prentice, “in the tradition of the settlers of Jamestown, might I propose a trade? Might ye consider donating this treasure to the museum? So that the whole world may enjoy it?”
“The whole world?” asked Vinny.
“Okay, a few dozen campers and their parents.”
“Sure, Mr. Prentice,” he said.
But before Vinny turned away, something weird happened. I guess you could say the pioneer in me actually came alive.
Because I couldn’t help but force my way into a barter with the natives. “Mr. Prentice, as part of the trade, maybe Vinny and Scot and Perth could have one or two pearls. For themselves?”
“It’s a deal!”
I guess my newfound “pioneer spirit” wasn’t lost on Mr. Prentice. “Very good, Mr. Rifkind!” he said. “Trading was key to the colonists’ ultimate prosperity. From the minute the British arrived in Jamestown, they began to barter with the Indians.”
He took a few steps closer to me. “Now, Mr. Rifkind, the British brought something on their ship that interested the Indians very much. Can you guess what it was?”
“Um, I’m not too good at the guessing stuff, Mr. Prentice.”
“Go ahead! Give it a try. During a long cold winter, what would the Indians have wanted from England? Think of something that is very British.”
“Fish and chips?”
“No.”
“A double-decker bus?”
“No. Something the British could have transported on their ship several centuries ago.”
“The queen?”
“Mother of Crumpets! It’s tea. Hal. Tea!”
But this time, when he told me the right answer, Mr. Prentice wasn’t mad. He actually had a big smile on his face.
“Speaking of tea,” he said, “what do you say we all go to the dining hall and have some!”
“Sounds good,” I said.
I’m not the biggest tea fan in the wor
ld. But there’s one thing I’ve learned in my short time on earth:
Where there’s tea, sometimes there’s also banana cream pie.
The Dance
Dear Future Person Who Has Once Again Allowed Me to Bug You:
Before I sign off, I wanted to tell you one more thing. Okay, a few more things.
All of which happened on the last day of camp.
First, I spent most of the afternoon packing my big green duffel bag. My dad helped, but the whole time, he was pretty mad. Mostly on account of the fact that I had run away twice. Even though I told him I was sorry.
Together we pushed the shovel to the bottom of the bag. “Am I grounded, Dad?” I asked.
“No, son. You’re not.”
“Oh, thank you. Oh, what a relief—”
“Except for one thing, Hal. When we get home, no RavenCave.”
“B-but Dad. Arnie and I have to get to Level 15! We’re so close. And besides, what else are we going to do for the rest of the summer!”
“Well, son. There’s a place in downtown Stowfield. It’s called a library. They have these things called books. In fact, they have a whole section on history.”
All I know is, when it comes to my dad and history, there’s not much point in arguing.
“Okay,” I said. “But I have one more question: Do I still have to carry my books to school in the cart next year? I mean, maybe … maybe I could get a motorized scooter?”
My dad took his hands off the duffel bag and rubbed his chin. I could tell he was mulling over the whole scooter thing. Thinking about the situation. Trying to come up with an answer.
Finally, he made a decision. I was about to learn my fate.
He looked me straight in the eyes and said, “We’ll see, son. We’ll see.”
After I finished packing, I caught up with Vinny, Scot, and Perth down by the pond.
Vinny picked up a nice flat rock and skipped it over the water.
“Seven skips!” shouted Perth. “Nice job, Vinny.”
“Let me try.” Scot picked up a flat rock and rubbed his hands over the smooth edges.
“No Purell today, Scot?” I asked.
“Nah. Decided I’m not gonna worry. Well, not as much. We’ll see what happens when we get back on the bus with all those kids, though…”
The pond was silvery and calm in the evening light. So I figured I’d skip a rock too. I spotted a flat, pointy one on the ground and picked it up.
Just as I was about to skip the rock across the water, I noticed it wasn’t a rock. It was an arrowhead.
“You should keep that, Hal,” said Vinny. “Arrowheads are supposed to bring good luck.”
“I think this one already has.”
“How so?”
“I heard Ryan Horner got sent home early.”
Vinny turned and faced Scot, Perth, and me. “What do you say we all go to the dance together?”
“Why not?” said Perth, giving his diaper a snap. “I’m feeling pretty lucky tonight.”
When we got to the entrance of the dining hall, Cora came running over.
I took the arrowhead out of my pocket and put it in her hand. “Congratulations on winning Pioneer Day,” I said.
“Thanks—”
“I mean, you know. Even though your beading design was pretty inferior. To mine. Next time, you might want to try a corn dog. Or Cracker Jacks…”
She gave me a little punch in the arm. Which was too bad. Because when it comes to punches and Cora, you’re in for a bruise the size of Kentucky.
Cora grabbed my shoulders and turned me around. “Let’s go see the dining hall. We just finished decorating,” she said.
We walked inside the building, and at first, I wasn’t sure we were in the right place. It was nothing like the dining room where we had spent the last two weeks.
Everywhere I looked were arrowheads and artifacts and carvings. There were paintings of Powhatan men and women that looked so real, it felt like they were right there, in the room. The walls and tables were covered with pottery and jewelry. All the things Mr. Prentice’s campers had found and made over the years.
One corner of the room was filled with stuff our camp made during the past two weeks. I didn’t think all our pioneer activities had added up to much. But I was wrong.
Together our camp had constructed the entire roof of a cabin. Dug two whole canoes. And beaded enough leather to make a “quilt” on the wall.
We also shot a grand total of eighty-seven animal targets. Enough to feed the entire Jamestown settlement. If the animals were real. And not made of paper. Which I hear is not very good to eat.
I didn’t want to admit it, but when I saw that history stuff all over the room, my knees went a little soft. It was like we had walked into the 1600s. And it was kind of cool to be there.
I took a look around and realized there were only a few hours left of camp. Soon, I’d be back on the bus to Stowfield. Back to middle school. Back to life with my parents, my sisters, and probably, an old-lady cart full of books.
Yep. Just a few hours left to enjoy all that Camp Jamestown had to offer.
At the far end of the dining hall, Theo was standing at a turntable, wearing his grandfather’s feathered cap. He put on a record, and music filled the entire room.
Well, I thought to myself, there’s only one thing to do now.
Dance.
Acknowledgments
Many people helped in the creation of this book, and I would like to thank five in particular.
My editor, Susan Chang, who brilliantly and patiently helped craft this story.
Laura Dail, my agent, whose astute observations and general good cheer always steer the course.
And my family—Ian, Beau, and Charlie. I couldn’t have done this book without your support and love, not to mention the joke contributions.
I’d also like to thank my friends and extended family for your generous efforts in spreading the word—from Australia and New Zealand to Europe and the United States. You’ve brought Cartboy into many homes, and I am so grateful to you for that! Much love and thanks.
Also by L. A. Campbell
Cartboy and the Time Capsule
About the Author
L. A. Campbell is the author of Cartboy and the Time Capsule. She grew up in Park Ridge, New Jersey, and attended the University of Colorado. She lives in New York City with her husband and two children.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
CARTBOY GOES TO CAMP
Copyright © 2014 by L. A. Campbell
All rights reserved.
Cover art: Cartboy by Matthew K. Maley; doodles by L. A. Campbell; photographs by Getty Images
A Starscape Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
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eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-3327-8 (paper over board)
ISBN 978-1-4668-0202-5 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466802025
First Edition: June 2014
Cartboy Goes to Camp Page 7