We also had to swim close to our buddies. When the lifeguard blew the whistle, we had to join hands and hold them up while they counted heads. The camp had other safety rules for swimming and watercraft skills as well. If you didn’t obey the rules, you could lose your lake privileges.
About one hundred yards from the shore, a big square raft rocked lazily against the ripples. Before we could swim out to it, we had to pass a swimming test. Jim and I were both good swimmers. We had passed the test the first day, so we could swim to the raft anytime we wanted. I liked to get out there first and stretch out on the raft. It was fun to feel it rock back and forth when the motorboats went by. Sometimes we saw big fish swimming beneath the raft. Unfortunately, Jake and Bill passed the swim test too. I saw their heads bobbing in the water as they swam toward the raft. That was the end of our peace and quiet.
“You wearing that shirt again today, Brockway?” Jake pulled himself up onto the raft. “We haven’t seen the sun in two days.”
“Clouds don’t protect you from sunburn.” I turned my head away.
He shook his head. “What a wimp. Come on, guys. Who wants to swim across the lake?” He dove off the far side of the raft and started out.
The lifeguard, whose name was Kevin, blew his whistle. “Stay near the raft, Jake, or you go back inside the pier.”
Jake turned around and headed back to the raft. As he started to climb up, I dove in and swam back toward the shallow water. Jim followed me.
“Let’s ask if we can take a canoe out,” said Jim. “We can practice paddling.”
Kevin pointed to the area on the other side of the pier where the rowboats and canoes were tied up. He said we could practice there as long as we didn’t go too far out.
It was very peaceful in the area where the boats were docked. The sand beneath the shallow water was patterned with jagged lines from the lapping waves. Our footsteps stirred the water, causing schools of minnows to dart back and forth around our feet. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The smell of the water, the feel of sand beneath my feet, and the gentle slap of the little waves against my legs made me feel happy.
Jim held the canoe while I climbed in and took the front seat. Jim climbed into the back and pushed us away from the dock. A couple of small fish scattered as the canoe slid through the water. Jim paddled skillfully, using the “J” stroke. Though his mother’s parents were Native American, he didn’t learn how to paddle a canoe from them. He learned from his dad, who was an Eagle Scout and a camp counselor when he was in college.
“There’s a turtle,” said Jim. “It’s a whopper.” He turned the bow of the canoe toward the turtle’s tail and slid up behind it.
The turtle slid through the water in front of us. Its head was the size of a large orange, and its shell was at least fourteen inches across. It was the biggest turtle I’d ever seen.
I kept my voice low. “A snapper. He’s big enough to bite off a finger.”
“Or a hand,” muttered Jim. “But he’d make good turtle soup.”
The turtle paddled away, heading toward the pier. We followed, gliding through the water behind him.
“What if he goes behind the pier?” I asked. “He could bite one of the kids.”
Almost as if he’d heard us, the turtle swam under the pier and came out inside the area where the non-swimmers were practicing. Jim whistled to get the lifeguard’s attention. The lifeguard climbed down from his perch and walked down the pier toward the turtle. He blew his whistle three times, which was the signal to grab your buddy’s hand and come up out of the water.
“Everybody move to the left, please,” he shouted. “Stay away from the turtle.”
The turtle swam under the pier again and headed back out toward deeper water. The lifeguard blew his whistle to signal that everyone could start swimming again. Jim and I continued to practice paddling. At the end of the week, we would be taking the canoes to Fish Island for an overnight, and we wanted to be ready.
Everyone looked forward to the Fish Island campout. We would cook our dinner over the fire and sleep out under the stars. We would roast hotdogs and marshmallows, and make S’mores for dessert. We had to pack tents, too, in case the weather was cold or rainy. Everyone would learn how to put them up. It was a good time to practice our camping skills.
About twenty minutes later, Kevin blew his whistle again. The swim period was over, and it was time to get out of the water. The turtle was still between the raft and the pier. Jake dove from the raft and swam toward the turtle. The turtle turned and swam toward the lifeguard tower. Jake followed, swimming up behind it. If Jake tried to grab it, the big turtle would bite him. He could lose a finger trying to catch that thing.
I waved to the lifeguard and pointed toward Jake, who was now only a few feet from the snapper.
Kevin blew his whistle and pointed at the turtle. “Snapper,” he called. “Stay to the right, Parma. Don’t go near it.”
“I’m not afraid of turtles,” yelled Jake. He swam two more strokes, collided with the turtle, and smacked its shell with his hand. Then he reached out and grabbed the turtle’s leg. Even thirty yards away, I could see that turtle’s long neck stretching out from the shell and its wide open mouth aiming for Jake’s arm. The turtle’s head twisted. Its mouth clamped down on Jake’s hand. Jake screamed, a loud and terrible shriek that echoed across the lake.
Kevin slid down from the tower and grabbed a paddleboard. Jake was yelling and holding up a bloody hand. The water between the pier and the raft was deep, well over his head. He sank beneath the surface and came up again, thrashing wildly. He screamed again, ending with a gurgle as he sank back under the water. Kevin swam the short distance, dove, and pulled Jake to the surface. He dragged Jake across the paddleboard and pushed it toward the shore. Jim and I pulled our canoe up onto the beach and yelled to the rest of the swimmers to grab their buddies and come out of the water. They all moved fast, and soon no one was in the water but Jake and the lifeguard. The turtle swam just outside the pier, as if it were watching.
Jake stood up from the water, his hand dripping blood. Kevin told him to sit down. He wrapped a big towel around Jake’s shoulders, and a smaller one around his hand. In minutes the small towel was red with blood. Kevin asked me to get the first aid kit from the tower. He glanced at the rest of the kids, who stood around watching.
He spoke to someone on the phone, then looked up at me. “Is everybody out of the water?”
“Everyone,” I said. “I counted them.”
“Is there anything else you want us to do?” asked Jim. “Jake’s hand looks pretty bad.”
“I’ve called the nurse,” said Kevin. “She’ll be down here in a minute. You two can go on up.”
I stood next to them, wondering if I should say anything to Jake. Maybe I could tell him I was sorry he was bitten. It served him right, but I wasn’t going to say that.
Jake narrowed his eyes and glared at me. “No animal is going to make a fool out of me,” he said. Shivers went down my back. I’d heard that comment before.
Kevin waved for us to go on up to camp. As we left I heard Kevin say, “That turtle wasn’t trying to make a fool out of you, Jake. It bit you because you provoked it. This is a bad gash, but it could have taken off part of your hand. If I were you, I’d stay away from snapping turtles from now on.” Behind his back, Jake gave us the finger with his left hand.
That evening I gave Levi the eagle feathers I’d plucked from under my arm. I told him I’d found them near the bathhouse. It wasn’t too far from the truth.
“Wow!” Levi squinted, holding a feather up. “This is from a bald eagle. I’ve never seen one around here. We should watch for a nest while we’re hiking tomorrow.”
I didn’t say anything. We probably weren’t going to find any eagles’ nests, but I didn’t want to ruin the fun he was having thinking about it.
“How long is the hike?” asked Bill. “I’m not sure Jake is up to it.”
“Five or six mil
es.” Levi took out his phone. “I’ll text the nurse. If she says he should rest, we’ll excuse him from the walk.”
“Did he need stitches?” I asked.
Bill nodded. “I think so. They were in the emergency room for a long time.”
I knew I should feel sorry for Jake, but I didn’t have it in me. He’d brought the injury on himself by messing with a snapping turtle. A big snapping turtle. Stupid.
Terry brought the other Warrior campers to the campfire circle to give us our instructions for the next day’s hike. “Cook will have lunches ready for us tomorrow morning,” he said. “After breakfast, pick up a lunch bag and two bottles of water. Put them in your backpack. You’ll also need sunscreen, insect repellant, and a hat. Wear sturdy shoes—no sandals or flip-flops. Bring a notebook and a pen. We’ll start out right after breakfast. We’ll climb to the top of Rock Hill and eat our lunch there.”
Getting ready for bed was the reverse of getting dressed in the morning. I waited until all the other guys were ready for bed. Then I took the bag that held my shower supplies and pajamas to the boys’ bathhouse. I checked the back of my arms in the mirror. There were six or eight bruises, all blue and green and yellow. I didn’t think Jake would pinch me again, but if he did, maybe I’d have to take him somewhere and teach him a lesson. A couple of straight punches ought to do it. I closed my eyes and pictured him cowering in the grass, holding his chin and putting up a hand to keep me from hitting him again.
Who was I kidding? He outweighed me by about thirty pounds, and I wasn’t good at fighting. Besides, fighting would get us both thrown out of camp. I’d have to find another way to make him stop bullying me.
Maybe the turtle had taken care of Jake for me. The snapper bit the first two fingers on Jake’s right hand, and Jake was right-handed. He wouldn’t be pinching me with that hand; not for a while, anyway.
As I lifted my arms to put on my pajama top, I noticed something different. The soft white feathers under my arms had grown. They were about an inch long now, and they extended further down the inside of my arm. When had that happened? They’d stayed the same length for several months. Now, in just one day, they’d grown about an inch. My heart started to pound. How was I going to cover these feathers? They’d stick out under a short-sleeved tee shirt. One pair of my pajamas had long sleeves, but I’d need a long-sleeved shirt in the morning—and every day of camp. Did I have a clean long-sleeved shirt for the hike? Some of my clothes were still drying on the clothesline outside.
Back in the cabin, I sorted through the clothes in my suitcase and found two long-sleeved shirts. Those shirts and my jacket were the only long-sleeved things I had with me. Maybe I’d have to write Mom and ask her to send me more clothes. I shoved the suitcase under my bunk and climbed into bed.
That night, I dreamed I climbed the tree on the top of Rock Hill. At the very top of the tree, I found a huge nest. Inside the nest were three baby eagles. I crawled into the nest with them. The mother eagle came back. When she saw me, she began to squawk. She poked me with her beak and shoved me out of the nest. I fell through the air, screaming. Before I hit the ground, I woke up, my heart banging against my ribcage. I shoved hair out of my eyes and took a deep breath. I’d had nightmares before, but this was one of the worst. It took me a long time to get back to sleep.
The next time I woke up, light was streaming across the cabin’s wooden floor. Levi was shaking me. “Time to get up, Luke.”
I opened my eyes. Jim was already dressed. The other guys had gone to the shower. I pulled my shower bag out from under the bed.
“Get moving,” said Levi. “You’re going to be late for breakfast.”
I pushed the screen door open and went outside. The sun was shining. It was going to be a nice day.
“Want me to wait for you?” asked Jim.
“No, I’ll see you at breakfast.” I went down the lane into the woods and stopped. I felt the back of my neck prickling, as though someone was watching me. Maybe I should have taken Jim up on his offer to wait. I was asking for trouble, going into the bathhouse alone when the other guys were still around. I stayed behind a tree and watched for them. A few minutes later they came out of the bathhouse and headed back toward the cabin. Inside the bathhouse, I checked all the stalls to make sure they were empty. When I was sure no one else was around, I went into a shower stall and closed the door.
The shower stalls had two sections, divided by a shower curtain. One half was the wet part with the showerhead, and the other half had a bench. There was a hook on the back of the door. I hung my clothes on the hook where they wouldn’t get wet, then put my towel on the bench. Turning on the hot water, I stepped into the shower and soaped up. When I was finished, I turned off the water and took my towel from the bench. A hand reached over the shower door and grabbed my clothes. I pounded the hand with my fist. Somebody swore. I slammed the door open, pinning Jake to the next shower stall.
“Drop them, now.”
Jake dropped my clothes onto the wet floor. He shoved at the stall’s door with his good hand, pushing me backwards. I twisted, trying to catch myself, but slipped and fell, cracking my forehead against the concrete floor. When I sat up, I felt blood running down my head. I reached up to see if there was a gash. Jake was staring at me, wide-eyed. His mouth was open. He wasn’t looking at the blood pouring down my face. He was staring at the feathers under my arms.
Chapter Three—Cougar
Jake left the bathhouse in a hurry. This was bad. He’d surely tell the guys what he’d seen. Maybe he’d tell the counselors, or the nurse, or the camp director. Maybe he’d go to the mess hall and announce it to the whole place.
My heart was pounding so hard I couldn’t breathe. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. I did it again, two more times. When I felt calmer, I tried to think. What if Jake told the counselors I had feathers under my arms? Would they believe him? Probably not. What about the guys? They probably wouldn’t believe him either. Still, I didn’t like Jake knowing my most private secret. In fact I hated it.
I washed the blood off my face. The cut near the top of my forehead kept oozing. I dabbed at it for a few minutes, but the bleeding didn’t stop. Back at the cabin, I rifled through my first aid kit for a bandage. The cut was about an inch long, and the bandage didn’t cover it. I’d have to go to the First Aid Office and get a bigger one. This was not good. I didn’t want to see the nurse.
The First Aid Office was in the main building, across from the mess hall.
Miss Powell, the nurse, frowned as she examined the cut. “How did you do this?”
“Slipped in the shower.”
“Slipped in the shower.” She narrowed her eyes as if she didn’t believe me.
“Yes.”
“Lie down on the cot.” Miss Powell peered at me over half-glasses. “I’ve been a camp nurse for several years now. Campers don’t usually slip in the shower. Unless they have a little help, of course.”
“I’m clumsy sometimes.”
She cleaned the cut, dabbing blood away as she worked. It kept bleeding. She pressed on the cut for a couple of minutes. When she took her hand away, the cut started bleeding again. Finally she pinched the edges together and put three narrow, sticky strips tightly across the edges. Then she loaded crushed ice into a plastic glove to make an ice-pack.
“Hold this over the cut, Luke. The cold will help stop the bleeding.”
I held the five-fingered ice-pack against the cut. The ice took away some of the pain. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the pillow, feeling better.
“Keep your eyes open,” said Miss Powell. “I need to check your pupils.” She flashed a light into both of my eyes, then took my pulse.
“You don’t have to call the doctor or anything, do you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. You’ve had a tetanus shot, and the cut looks petty clean. You aren’t showing any signs of concussion.” She lifted the bandage and checked the cut again. The bleedin
g had stopped. She smoothed antibiotic cream on it and placed two bandages over it, side by side. “Come back if it starts bleeding again, Luke. No running and no swimming today.”
“You’re kidding.” Swimming was my favorite activity. I was tired of missing it.
Miss Powell crossed her arms and stared at me. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” She wasn’t smiling. I shook my head. “Good. If you get a headache or feel like throwing up, let me know right away.”
I was late for breakfast. I put scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice on my tray and sat down next to Jim.
He stared at my forehead. “What happened to you?”
“I slipped in the shower.” I glanced around me. Jake and Bill were sitting with a couple of the other guys. Jake eyed me, then stared at his empty plate. The guys were eating and talking just as they always did. Nobody turned to stare at me. No one laughed or whispered to each other. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe Jake hadn’t told them about my feathers after all. I was glad, but confused too. Jake seemed to get a lot of fun out of teasing and torturing me. Now he had something real to blab around camp. Why hadn’t he told them?
Levi came to the table. “The nurse just called me, Luke. She said you can go on the hike if you feel okay. You’re supposed to check in with her when we get back. No running, climbing, or swimming.”
Great. I might as well be at home.
“As soon as you’re finished eating, we’ll take off,” said Levi. “Don’t forget to pick up your lunch and water bottles.” He nodded toward a table near the wall that held rows of brown paper lunch bags and a crate of bottled water. Levi went out the front door, and Jake and the other guys followed him.
90% Human Page 3