Horse Camp

by Nicole Helget

  The words and the picture are very interesting, but I have major questions. First of all, $52 for a swimsuit? I think my last one cost $9.99, and it does the job. Second of all, that’s a lot of money for a swimsuit that only covers one breast. I can’t imagine how much it would have cost if it was built for two breasts. Also, she’s wearing an expensive-looking watch on her left hand, which is dangling close to the water. But what if the watch isn’t water-resistant? I’m certain that watch would’ve gotten wet the day Elle had her picture taken, and I’m even surer Elle got real ticked if she ruined her watch. Or what if it was borrowed? Maybe she had to make a big apology to whoever’s watch it was.

  I started talking to Elle the morning after Uncle Stretch put me out of the house. I was just sitting there, wrapped in the old, dusty blanket after I woke up, thinking how one time Dad gave this sermon that wasn’t as boring as most of his sermons, so I was listening, and it was about how if you feel alone, you’re not, because God’s watching you, and He will be your friend. Then I thought, Hey, as long as God is watching, there might as well be another unreal person or thing watching, so why not a picture hanging on my wall showing a lady in an interesting swimsuit?

  Besides having Elle watch me, I like to watch her. I like the look on her face. I like to wonder what she’s thinking. She looks playful, or thoughtful, or just happy. And that swimsuit is really fascinating to think about. Like, why would someone make a swimsuit that only covers part of her top half? If you were actually swimming in it, your one breast would just be out there for everyone to see unless you were constantly remembering to keep your arm there. Also, her right pointer finger is up by her mouth, and she’s biting on it like she’s shy. Maybe she’s nervous—probably about the one-armed suit. Or maybe she’s a fingernail biter. I bite mine most of the time, so we have that in common. I think of her as very brave. It was one of the first things I told her. I really feel like she listens to me.

  Elle is a big improvement over Pauly and Penny. All Penny does lately is brag about how she’s sponsoring this African kid, sending him letters with five bucks—which she guilts Stretch into giving her since she doesn’t even have her own money—inside the envelope. The kid probably doesn’t even read her letters, just snatches out the five bucks and goes and buys some junk to eat because he’s starving. He probably can’t even read English. She should just draw him a picture, even though she draws like a kindergartner. Penny acts real nice to people she hasn’t even met, which is easy to do until you meet them. You don’t see her giving me, her own brother, five dollars. About the only thing she gives me is a headache.

  This morning, I stained a hickory fence that pens in Bernie and Brenda. It was a real Horse Camp of a job, since it took about three hours when Uncle Stretch said it would take only one. You try wielding a paintbrush with that mean horse, Brenda, wandering over and trying to bite your hand off about every two minutes! Finally, I got into a groove, painting and dodging Brenda, running back and forth. Bernie just stood there, chewing something, watching me. Man, is he worthless. To think that our parents thought we’d be riding him around this summer! In the end, I think I got most of the fence covered, but I’m sure Uncle Stretch the Perfectionist will find a couple of spots I missed.

  With the short remainder of my morning, I have been chucking walnuts, which I have to pretend are footballs since I forgot my real football back in our last home in Rockville, Maryland, which is where we moved after we left the Philippines. What little stuff we had was put into storage. I think there are other storage spaces, too, in different parts of the country, that have our stuff sitting in them. It doesn’t bother me, really, other than the football, a couple of jerseys, and this one pair of jeans I had. They’ll probably be too small for me by the time I get them back, if I ever do. So I’m aiming the walnuts at this ammonia tank, which I pretend is a wide receiver for the Minnesota Vikings, since it’s about half a football field away. When I hit the tank with a walnut, which is hard to do, it sounds like somebody banging a metal drum underwater. It’s cool.

  After a while, Pauly comes up to me with a stupid red Kool-Aid stain around his mouth, and I say to him, “Hey, dork, nice Kool-Aid stain around your mouth.”

  “Shut up, P.P.,” says Pauly.

  “Just because Uncle Stretch is gone this morning doesn’t mean you can drink all the Kool-Aid, Pauly,” I say.

  “I didn’t!” says Pauly. “Just a couple of dwinks is all I had.”

  “Whatever,” I say. “You want to play catch or something?”

  “Shoh.”

  “Go over by the ammonia tank, then.”

  “Whey-oh is that?”

  “By that white tank, stupid,” I say, pointing.

  “What tank?”

  “That thing that looks like a big, white hot dog, see?” I point. “Over there where all those stinky green and brown walnuts are lying on the ground?”

  “I see it,” says Pauly, “but why ow you thwowing walnuts at an aminal tank?”

  “The reason I’m throwing walnuts at the ammonia tank is that I’m pretending the tank is a wide receiver for the Vikings.”

  “Oh,” says Pauly, and runs off. He runs funny, like, his knees go way up. I don’t know if they run different where he came from or what, but it just looks ridiculous to me. He looks like he’s in a fast-motion marching band or something. The only thing he’s missing is a miniature tuba.

  “Here you go, moron,” I say, and chuck one hard at him. He doesn’t realize I’m throwing at him rather than to him, and the walnut whizzes by his ear before he gets a chance to try to catch it. He runs after it, picks it up, and cocks his arm to throw it back.

  “No, no, you dope,” I say, “you don’t have to throw it back,” but Pauly’s throw is already in the air, and it lands way short—about halfway between us. He runs after it again, picks it, up and fires. This time, the walnut goes straight out to the side, looping in a dumb arc. He runs after it again.

  “Pauly!” I yell. “Leave it be! I got a whole pile here, so you don’t have to throw them back. Just try to catch.”

  He looks at me like I’m the foreigner, then what I’ve said sinks into his brain—I can see it on his face. I bet most kids his age are much smarter than he is. He’ll probably flunk out of kindergarten next year. He runs back to his original spot by the ammonia tank.

  “This one’s for the Vikings wide receiver,” I say, and lob one really high, though I’m still aiming for Pauly’s head. He runs in a pattern that makes it look like he’s trying to draw a star with his feet, and he lunges at it before the walnut thuds just a couple of feet in front of him into the grass.

  “You’re supposed to stand still,” I say. “That one was for the Vikings guy, not you!”

  “But why thwow it to the Vikings guy?” says Pauly. “He can’t catch.”

  “You must be legally dumb,” I say. “Now just hold still when it’s the Vikings guy’s turn or you’re out of the game, Pauly!” I yell. He just looks at me with his eyebrows—which are really bushy for a kid’s— scrunched down and his chin pointed into his chest. It’s his mad look. “Get ready now,” I say, “ ’cause this one’s for you.” I whip it at him, and it misses his head by inches. He reacts a second late again, swatting at it like it’s a fly.

  “All right, now this one’s for the Vikings guy,” I say, and throw one high. It lands next to Pauly’s side, but he doesn’t move. Perfect. My target is secure.

  “This one’s yours,” I say, and fire. Way off. “You gotta dive for those,” I say. Pauly nods his head.

  “Vikings guy’s,” I say. It looks to be right on target, but Pauly ducks out of the way at the last second. It would’ve hit him for sure, maybe even knocked him over, which would’ve been really funny, even if I got in trouble for it. “You’re supposed to stand still!” I bellow. “The Vikings guy will catch those.”

  He looks confused, because he knows the ammonia tank isn’t a Vikings wide receiver who can catch walnuts, but he just says,
“Soh-wee,” and puts his little hands up to show he’s ready for his turn.

  After a while, Pauly kind of figures out that I’m trying to nail him with walnuts, so it isn’t that fun anymore, and I tell him that I will be moving on to some cardio training.

  “What’s cow-dio twaining?”

  “You’re too young for it,” I say. “So go find something else to do.”

  “Okay,” he says, and runs off. It’s like he doesn’t even get it sometimes when I’m slamming him.

  I do five sets of forty-yard sprints across the farmyard. Then I decide to go on a longer run. If I want to be the best, I have to put in the work. At the end of the driveway, just before I have to decide to go left or right, up comes Uncle Stretch’s pickup with a big trailer hitched to the back end. He turns in the driveway, and I stop running, suddenly feeling guilty about trying to hit Pauly in the head with those walnuts.

  “What you running from?” says Uncle Stretch, hanging his head out the window.

  “Oh, just training for football,” I say. “I was doing some cardio because if I want to be the best, I—” I realize there’s another person in the cab of the truck. Two other persons. One old, one young. Both femaliens.

  “Percy, meet Sheryl and Sherylynn.”

  “Which is which?” I say.

  Uncle Stretch glares at me.

  “I’m Sheryl,” says the older woman, reaching across Uncle Stretch to shake my hand. I reach up to grab her hand, but when I do, I notice I can see right down Sheryl’s shirt. Her bra is purple. Yii! I look away.

  “You can call me June Bug,” says the younger one, smiling. She looks about my age.

  “Hi,” I say. I don’t smile back.

  “You finish staining that hickory fence like I told you?” Uncle Stretch asks.

  “Oh, shoot,” I say. “Forgot.”

  Uncle Stretch looks at Sheryl like, Oh, see what I have to put up with, with this kid around this summer?

  “Just kidding!” I say. “I finished that an hour ago.” I show him my stained hands as proof.

  Uncle Stretch squints at me like he’s trying to think of a way I might be lying to him.

  Sheryl says, “Just tell him about the chickens!”

  Uncle Stretch looks over his shoulder toward the big trailer. “See that horse trailer? There’s a bunch of chickens in there. You can use a couple of them, so you have something to show at the county fair coming up next month.”

  “You mean we’re still gonna be here next month?” I say.

  Sheryl and Uncle Stretch look at each other. “Looks like,” says Uncle Stretch.

  “I thought you already had chickens,” I say to Uncle Stretch.

  “I do, but you’ll find the birds in this trailer a little more, say, qualified for fair competition.”

  “Sounds boring to me.”

  Uncle Stretch gives me the You better be respectful, buddy look.

  Sheryl smiles at me and says, “You ever been to a county fair?”

  “Of course,” I say, even though I haven’t.

  “Well,” says Sheryl, “June Bug’s gonna show you and your little brother how to clean these chickens up real nice and help you practice showing them. She’s twelve, just like you.”

  “Fabulous,” I say.

  Sheryl looks past my head at Pauly jogging up the driveway. “So that’s the little one?” she says to Uncle Stretch. “Oh, is he ever cute!”

  “He’s adopted,” I say. Uncle Stretch frowns and opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off by saying, “Well, I better get back to my workout now. See ya!” I begin jogging away.

  “You’ll need to sweep out that grain bin before supper,” says Uncle Stretch.

  “Whatever,” I say over my shoulder.

  I sprint away from the truck. I feel like running for miles.

  Chapter 6

  Penny Ponders Temptation

  Dear Diary,

  I knew it! The big-breasted, flirty beautician from the beauty parlor and her daughter came by the farm today, hitching a ride in Stretch’s old jalopy of a pickup truck, which was pulling a big horse trailer with a bumper sticker that said, I LOVE HORSES! I was hoping and praying that Stretch had finally come to his senses and decided to ship out Brenda, that nasty old horse of his, who seems to take great joy in lifting her rubbery lips and snorting and biting! Every time I go near her, she shows her big teeth and stamps her hooves like she can’t wait to charge after me and kill me. Stretch thinks her poor disposition is no big deal. Here’s an example of a previous conversation between us on the subject of Brenda:

  Me: (My voice calm and very polite.) Stretch, your horse is going to kill somebody.

  Stretch: (Rude voiced and acting like there’s a simple explanation for everything.) Stay away from her, then.

  Me: I’m pretty sure that horse may need some medical attention or maybe needs to be sold. She’s very violent and angry.

  Stretch: (Walking away, practically ignoring me.) Mind your own business, Penny.

  Anyway, looks like that Brenda is here to stay, even though it’s very obvious that she has some kind of personality disorder. She was probably abused when she was a filly. At the least she was talked to very rudely, like the way Stretch talks to me, which can lead to serious problems later in life.

  This lady Sheryl might be Stretch’s girlfriend. I’m usually very perceptive about things like this. Sheryl has a daughter, named Sherylynn, whom everybody calls June Bug, and who treats Stretch like he’s her dad or something. She jumps on him and tackles him very playfully even though she’s my age, twelve, and shouldn’t be acting like that anymore. That’s more like how Pauly should act. Stretch doesn’t seem to mind, though, and he picks her up and acts like he’s going to throw her in the horse’s water tank or in the back of the truck, but he doesn’t. I’ve never seen a grown man act so childish before. I think it really bothers Sheryl because she shakes her head and puts her hands on her hips and asks what she is going to do with the two of them. Anyway, I think June Bug (what an immature nickname) has got the hots for Percy. She spent all afternoon laughing and acting happy to meet the boys and saying things like, This is great! and holding Pauly’s hand like he’s her little brother and not mine. Then she helped Percy and Pauly clean out the chicken coop because, get this, the boys are now the proud parents of about three million dirty chickens that they’re going to show at the county fair! They asked me if I wanted to show one, too, but I don’t even have to tell you my answer.

  June Bug is not very attractive, if you ask me, but I didn’t say that to her. When I met her, I was polite and acted very mature because that’s how Dad taught me to act when I meet new people so that I can set an example for them.

  June Bug: (Wearing yellow shorts and a yellow top, as if that really looks nice, and then having the audacity to give me a big, giant hug, as if we’re family or something.) You must be Penny! I’m really happy to meet you!

  Me: (Wearing a very modest T-shirt from a Bible camp that Dad once ran and some jean shorts that go almost to my knees.) It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Sherylynn.

  June Bug: Oh, you can call me June Bug. Everyone does. I know it’s a little dumb, but I’m used to it.

  Me: My Christian name is Penelope Rachel. But everyone calls me Penny.

  June Bug: My best friend at school’s name is Rachel. I love that name. You’ll really like her, too, if you ever get to meet her.

  Me: We won’t be here long enough for me to meet her. Rachel was the name of the beautiful wife of Jacob. He had to work fourteen years to earn the right to marry her.

  June Bug: Wow! Are they your relatives or something? I mean, how do you know Jacob and Rachel?

  Me: Jacob from the Bible? Have you heard of the Bible?

  June Bug: Oh. Yeah, I know about the Bible a little. Not as much as you, though.

  Me: Jacob was the son of Isaac, who was almost sacrificed by his father, Abraham, before God intervened in all His mercy and saved him.

&n
bsp; June Bug: I didn’t know that. Rachel must have been really beautiful for Jacob to work all those years.

  Me: Well, he thought he only had to work seven years for her, but her dad tricked Jacob into marrying her older sister, Leah, who wasn’t nearly as attractive as Rachel, and then made him work another seven years to get to have Rachel, too.

  June Bug: What?! That’s wild! That Bible sounds like the soap operas my mom watches.

  Me: No, it isn’t like a soap opera at all, but you should really read it for yourself.

  Anyway, June Bug just said one dumb thing after another. I couldn’t believe she had never even heard of Rachel from the Bible! Even the dumbest kid knows about her. And even though she asked me if I wanted to help with the chickens, I could tell she really hoped I’d say no, which I did, so she could have Percy and Pauly all to herself.

  Later, Stretch and Sheryl went on a horse ride together on Brenda (even sitting in the same saddle!) and didn’t come back for a long, long time. They were gone long enough to do some sinful things for sure. Sheryl was only wearing a thin tank top that was sure to lure Stretch’s eyes to her bosom. And she was wearing jeans with a hole in the butt cheek, and I saw skin underneath, so that means she either A) was wearing a thong, or B) wasn’t wearing any underwear at all. Either way, temptation city.

  I would have followed them, but I couldn’t because, for once, Stretch wouldn’t let Pauly come with him, so I had to babysit. As soon as Stretch said, “Pauly, you stay here with Penny,” I knew something was up. I mean, Pauly sits right outside the bathroom door while Stretch goes to the bathroom, even when the stench coming from inside is enough to make anyone, human or animal, pass out. That’s probably what happened to Stretch’s family. He probably stunk them to death.

  Seriously, not knowing what happened to his family is driving me crazy! I mean, it could be anything. He could be divorced. Or, his wife could have died, like his son. Or maybe he could have her hidden in the attic like that guy in Jane Eyre! I mean, how am I supposed to live here without knowing whether or not I’m in the same house as a psychotic killer! One of these days, I’m going to snoop in every box and trunk until I get to the bottom of what’s going on around here.