Horse Camp

by Nicole Helget

  SINCERELY,

  PENELOPE PRIBYL

  Chapter 17

  Percy, Pauly, and Lightning

  WHEN WE get home from the pool, a few days after the fair is over, Sheryl has dinner all laid out on the table. It’s some kind of hot dish with a lot of potatoes in it, salad, corn on the cob, and watermelon. I am hungry and sit right down to eat.

  “Wash your hands,” says Uncle Stretch.

  “But they’re not even dirty,” I say.

  “Get to the bathroom and wash up,” says Uncle Stretch, giving me the eye.

  “But I’ve been at the pool! I’ve had water on them all day!”

  Uncle Stretch gets up from his chair and reaches out. Whap! I get one on the side of the head. It stings, so I yelp and hold my head with both hands.

  “Oh, just go already,” says Penny.

  “Yeah,” says Pauly. “Ev-we-one knows it didn’t hoht that bad.”

  I want to tell Pauly to shut up, but Uncle Stretch is standing too close. I go into the bathroom to wash my hands. They don’t know it, but I don’t even use soap.

  Back at the table, Pauly’s bragging to everyone about how he was doing all these cool jumps off the diving board and how one of the lifeguards told him it was so great. I saw it myself, and believe me, Pauly’s jumps off the diving board are not anything to brag about. It’s like he runs slowly off the board with his hands straight out like a mummy’s and then his feet keep running until he hits the water. No dives, no cannonballs, no can openers, no jackknives, no belly busters, no preachers, no flips, nothing. Mummy hands and running feet—every single time. But I decide to let him brag because I know everyone will just yell at me if I tell the truth.

  I wait for him to quit bragging and then sit there while June Bug tells how she met this new girl who moved to town who’s going to be in the same grade as her. She blabs how they played freeze tag all afternoon and then when it was break time, they shared a Cherry Coke. Whoop-de-doo!

  Then it’s Penny’s turn to bore us. I had gotten kind of used to her hanging out in her room, which she did for about three days, but ever since she’s come out of there, she’s been trying to act older than she is or something. She starts telling everyone about this boring book she was reading the whole time at the pool. Something about Eleanor of Aquitaine and medieval castles and treason and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

  I can barely take it anymore. “Penny never even got her hair wet,” I say. “She just sat there reading and applying and reapplying sunscreen to make sure she didn’t get skin cancer. What a waste!”

  Everyone looks at me like I farted or something.

  “What!” I say.

  “You’re a jerk, that’s what,” says June Bug.

  “Sherylynn,” says her mother.

  “Naw, she’s right,” says Uncle Stretch. “Girl’s calling a spade a spade, is all.”

  Whatever that means! Nobody says anything for a couple of minutes. All you can hear is people using their forks or chewing, mostly Pauly, because he’s a big hog at the dinner table. I look over at Penny, who usually has some sympathy on her face for people who get called names, but she just glares back at me for a couple of seconds and then slowly continues eating.

  Then Sheryl breaks the silence. “Well, Percy, what did you do at the pool today?”

  “Nothing,” I say.

  “You better have something to say for yourself if you’re going to shoot down your sister’s story, buddy,” says Uncle Stretch. His dinner fork and knife are raised about his plate like he’s going to slash me to bits if I don’t talk.

  “Well,” I say, mumbling, “I just swam around and went off the board a few times, like Pauly, except, you know, like real jumps and stuff …” I look at every-body’s faces, and they don’t look very supportive of my telling the truth. I keep talking, anyway. “And then at break, I went outside the fence to talk to this teenager kid, Jimmy, who was shooting hoops by himself. I thought maybe he’d like some company or something, so I rebounded for him for a while. A long time, actually, because I missed the whole next swim period. When Jimmy is shooting, and I’m rebounding, I kind of lose track of time. It’s like Jimmy making the shot and me getting the ball and making a perfect pass to him is all that matters. So … that’s what I did.”

  “Jimmy Fredrichs?” says Uncle Stretch.

  “I don’t know his last name,” I say.

  “Is this the first time you met this boy?” asks Sheryl.

  “No,” I say. “I met him at the fair. He was shooting baskets, and I rebounded for him there, too. He makes pretty much every shot.”

  “Dark hair?” asks Uncle Stretch. “Kinda skinny, dresses like a hooligan? Doesn’t talk much?”

  “Yeah, he barely says a word,” I say. “Although I think he looks pretty cool, actually.”

  “That’s Jimmy Fredrichs.”

  “He told me some stuff about your son,” I say.

  Penny’s head snaps up from her plate.

  “His brother Jorry was a good friend of Roland’s,” says Uncle Stretch.

  I say, “Jimmy told me his brother and Roland died in the same car crash.”

  Pretty much everybody has stopped eating by now. Penny, in particular, sits there with her mouth open— and not because she’s about to take a bite of her food. Sheryl puts her hand on Uncle Stretch’s shoulder and rubs it.

  Uncle Stretch looks at me. Then he looks at Sheryl, like he’s only talking to her. “Jimmy’s got a good heart, but he’s a punk, got some dumb ideas,” he says. “Smokes and drinks. Could be the best basketball player in school but doesn’t even go out for the team.”

  “Why not?” I ask.

  Uncle Stretch turns back to me. “Why don’t you ask him?” he says. “You two are thick as thieves, sounds like.”

  “I don’t even know where he lives,” I say. “I’ve just seen him around a couple times.”

  Uncle Stretch snorts. “If you paid attention to more than just yourself, you’d’ve probably realized by now that Jimmy lives right up the road,” he says. “’Bout two miles north.”

  I can see this conversation has gotten underneath Uncle Stretch’s skin, so I just ask for another piece of corn. June Bug passes me the plate, and I take an ear and start in. Nobody’s saying anything again, so I try to lighten things up.

  “So who gets to drive me up to the state fair this weekend?” I ask. “Did you figure it out?”

  Uncle Stretch looks at Sheryl. Sheryl looks at Uncle Stretch. Uncle Stretch picks up a piece of watermelon and takes a bite.

  “We were just discussing that, hon,” says Sheryl, “and it’s a dilemma. Stretch has to load and deliver hogs the day you’re supposed to be in the fair, and I’ve got a baby shower I planned on throwing for my sister two months ago.”

  Uncle Stretch spits a watermelon seed onto his plate and says, “Doesn’t look good.”

  “You don’t even have a new chicken picked out, ee-thoh,” says Pauly.

  “Shut up, Pauly,” I say.

  “Don’t talk to him like that,” says Penny.

  “Pauly’s got a point,” says Uncle Stretch. “Have you given one second to getting a new chicken ready? There’s not much use in taking you up there if you’re not prepared.”

  “I’m prepared!” I say. “I chose a new one. I just need to clean him up. June Bug said she’d help.”

  June Bug rolls her eyes. “Maybe your fake girlfriend, Elle, can help you with your chicken, and maybe she can give you a ride to the state fair, too.”

  My face goes red. “What are you even talking about?” I say.

  “Pauly and I saw you talking to that picture on the wall in the granary. We heard you calling her Elle and being all mushy with her.”

  Penny’s eyes widen. “I knew he was doing dirty things in there!” she says.

  “All that proves is that you were spying on me,” I say. “And as for anything else, I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” I back up my chair and ask to be ex
cused.

  “Sherylynn!” says her mom. “Apologize!”

  “No!” says June Bug.

  Now it’s Sheryl’s turn to blush.

  “Now wait a cotton-pickin’ minute,” says Uncle Stretch. He lays his silverware down, takes a deep breath, and exhales. “You won an entry in the state fair. We’ll see what we can do to get you there. I might find somebody else to take you up. Let us think about it.”

  The idea strikes me like lightning. “What about Jimmy?” I say.

  “Is he old enough to drive?” asks Sheryl.

  “He said he was sixteen. I bet he’d do it,” I say.

  Uncle Stretch scratches his cheek. He says, “He may be busy himself.”

  “Well, can I at least ask?” I say.

  Uncle Stretch sighs and says, “Sure.”

  “We can find his number in the phone book after dinner,” says Sheryl.

  “It’s 445-3204,” says Uncle Stretch.

  “I think I’d rather run over there,” I say, thinking it’d be cool to see where Jimmy lives. “I need a workout. Which way is it from here?”

  “Two and a half miles north,” says Uncle Stretch. “Place with a crumbled silo and a big barn that’s black instead of red, thanks to Jimmy painting it when he was in his gothic stage, or whatever they call it.”

  “So at the end of our driveway,” I say, “I turn to the … ?”

  “North,” says Uncle Stretch.

  “So that means I go to the left or … ?”

  “Other left,” says Uncle Stretch.

  “Huh?” I say.

  “Turn right, sweetie,” says Sheryl.

  We’re on the gravel road after supper. I have to jog slower than usual to wait up for Pauly, who’s riding his little dirt bike beside me. He rides annoyingly slow. Uncle Stretch and Sheryl made me bring him along because they said we need to learn how to get along better as brothers. I told them I was going to be running too fast for Pauly, doing a cardio workout, but they wouldn’t have it. We’ve gone about a mile, but it’s taken us forever. And the sky is getting dark.

  “Jeez, Pauly!” I say. “Pick it up. It’s going to rain on us.”

  “My foot hohts,” says Pauly. “I stepped on a piece of glass at the pool, and it hohts to pwess the pedal.”

  “Whatever,” I say. “Suck it up.” I pick up the pace and run a little faster. He’ll catch up. I can’t wait to get to Jimmy’s. The idea of taking a road trip with him— getting out of this stupid place for a while—sounds great to me. We would get a couple Gatorades on the drive up. Maybe Uncle Stretch would give us some money for a hotel, and we could go swimming, play some video games, maybe find a hoop and let Jimmy practice for a few hours. I would rebound a thousand shots. Jimmy would make nine hundred and ninety-nine. My new chicken would win the grand prize, and I’d win some money we could spend on pizza or more video games or … whatever we wanted. I realize, with all the good thoughts I’m having, I’m sprinting. I look back and see Pauly way behind. I stop.

  “Pauly!” I yell. “Come on!”

  I yell again, as loud as I can. Just then I feel a raindrop. I look up the road. We’re about halfway to Jimmy’s house. It’s just as close for me to run that way as it is to head back to Uncle Stretch’s. But then I see Pauly sitting down on the side of the road, his bike on its side. If I don’t go back and get him, Uncle Stretch won’t let me go to the state fair.

  I start walking back to Pauly.

  A huge lightning bolt juts across the sky, and thunder booms. I start to run. The rain picks up.

  When I get to Pauly, I find him pouting, with his head down.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I say. “Dang it, Pauly, why do you have to mess everything up?”

  “My foot,” he says, and points to it.

  Through his sandal, I can see dirt and some small pieces of gravel. And there’s blood.

  “Your foot’s bleeding,” I say.

  The rain is really coming down now. It’s hard to tell what’s rain and what’s tears on Pauly’s face. He barely ever cries.

  “C’mon, get up, Pauly.”

  He gets up, and I take his arm, and he limps a couple of steps. I try to get him to get going on his bike, but it’s not working well. The lightning and thunder crackle, and the rain pours down. I felt less wet at the swimming pool!

  “C’mon Pauly! We’re going to get struck by lightning.”

  “I can’t, Pohcy!” he says. “My foot hohts too much!”

  He tugs away from me and falls to the ground and starts crying for sure. His mouth is wide open, and you can see all his teeth. What do I do? If I leave him in the ditch while I run back to Uncle Stretch’s, he could get struck by lightning or hit by a car. I get an idea.

  “Get on my back,” I say. Pauly just lies there, bawling in the rain and thunder.

  “Stand up!” I scream at him. I chuck his bike into the ditch, yank him to his feet, and then hoist him onto my back. He’s heavy. But I start running back to Uncle Stretch’s house. We both might get hit by lightning, but at least I’m trying to save us. Pauly’s blubbering mouth is right next to my ear, and I can hear every sob.

  “Ease up on the crying!” I yell. He doesn’t. So I twirl in circles and make little bunny hops. He stops crying and says, “What ow you doing, dude?”

  “Nothing,” I say. I keep running and twirling, zigzagging and hopping. I almost fall a couple of times, but I don’t. Pauly knows it’s more of a game now, and he starts laughing. The rain is soaking us, the sky is blinking, and we’re dashing for home.

  Chapter 18

  Penny, Future Medical Professional

  Dear Diary,

  Just when I thought I was getting things about my family figured out, I get a letter from my father that gets me all screwed up again. He tells me that their new church is complete. He tells me that he and Peggy are eager for us to join them in their new ministry. He says he’ll be coming soon to pick us up. The letter is signed “Father and Mama Peg.” Mama Peg?!

  On the one hand, I think, Who does he think he is? He basically abandoned us and abandoned Mom when we all needed his support the most! On the other hand, I think, This is our father. Fathers deserve respect and honor. This is the one who has prayed

  with us and provided for us all these years. Maybe I just don’t fully understand the circumstances of the past few months. Maybe our best chance for a nuclear family would be with him and Peggy? At least there’d be a mom and a dad.

  But then I think about Mom. And I think about Stretch and Sheryl and even June Bug. Maybe sending us to Stretch really was for our own good. After all, don’t I kind of like it here? Don’t I kind of wish I could stay here? So then another part of me thinks, Why is Father coming to get us now? I wish I could be more like Percy and Pauly. They’re so simple. When I read the letter to them, Pauly told me that he wanted to stay with Stretch. Percy said, “Write him back. Tell him I’m the pastor of the chicken coop and can’t leave my flock.” That Percy. He’s funny sometimes.

  Here is a letter I would like to send to “Mama Peg” (but probably won’t):

  Dear “Mama Peg,”

  You’re not my mother. You look fat in your bikini. I’m never, ever going to be nice to you so don’t even dream about it.

  Sincerely,

  Penny

  Besides the attic, I’ve found another place where I can be alone. If I climb to the top of the old windmill, I can see for miles. I’ve also discovered that from up there, I can pick up cell phone reception! Wesley’s been texting me sometimes. Occasionally, I sit there calmly looking out as far as Wesley’s farm and the pasture where Mick runs around galloping like a normal horse should. I can’t help but compare Mick to Brenda and Bernie, who just stand around all day looking mad about the quality of their lives.

  I can just imagine a conversation between them:

  Brenda: (Swishing her tail like mad and biting at a horsefly.) Bernie, I’m sick and tired of this place. I’ve been thinking of making a break
for it. Just jumping this fence and galloping away forever.

  Bernie: (Letting a whole swarm of horseflies bother him all they want.) Well, it’s been a long while since I galloped. A long, long while.

  Brenda: (Chomping teeth at nothing.) Can anyone blame me for being the crabbiest horse ever? This place is a real Horse Camp, all right?

  Bernie: (Yawning.) A Horse Camp, indeed.

  Brenda: I’m going to go over and bite the fence awhile. Don’t mind me.

  Bernie: I’m thinking nap. I’ll see you when I wake up. If I’m still alive.

  Dear Father,

  The weather forecast looks ominous for the next ten days. Thunder and lightning with the chance of high winds and hail are on the way. There might even be a tornado. I think you’d better hold off until later in the month. Besides, there are some bumpy stretches in the gravel road to Stretch’s house. Also, Percy’s got to take his chickens to the state fair this weekend. Basically, this is just not that great a time for you to come for us. Busy, busy, busy! I’ll drop you a note when things slow down around here.

  Penelope

  Dear Mom,

  How are things in prison? Things here are all right.

  I’ve made some decisions about my life. While I used to want to get married to a man who had a ministry like Dad and be the pretty wife who sat in the front or played the piano and sang and shuffled my kids up to the stage to sing a nice Christmas song in their cute little outfits, now I don’t want to do that anymore. After my success at the county fair with my PowerPoint presentation on African sleeping sickness, I think I’ll be a doctor or nurse, like you. Not the kind who gets arrested and goes to prison and disintegrates her nuclear family, but the kind who actually works in a hospital or travels to different countries telling the people there how to keep their kids healthy.

  One thing I’ll have to do so that I won’t be a huge hypocrite is never to smoke again. Yes. I smoked a cigarette. I just really felt like doing it, and so I did. Let that be the extent of my teenaged rebellion. And even though I’m really confused about religion, I still think it’s healthy to make a confession, so this is my confession. As you probably already know, Sheryl smokes like an exhaust pipe, and I borrowed a cigarette from her secret stash. I guess since I didn’t ask her if I could have one, you could say that I stole it. I’d better confess that, too. Stealing, even outside the realm of religion, isn’t a very moral thing to do. Anyway, after I tell her I’m sorry for stealing a cigarette, I’m going to make it my personal mission, as a future medical professional, to help Sheryl stop smoking. She’s going to be my first patient. Isn’t that a great idea?