Camp Rolling Hills

by Stacy Davidowitz

  The guys broke into laughter. Bobby stayed quiet.

  “I know, it’s hilarious,” Rick said sarcastically. “Grab a mop, take a broom, and nobody sits till we clean this room.”

  “C’mon, these items are my inspiration as much as they are my supplies,” Steinberg pleaded, scanning the unsorted laundry, empty Cup o’ Noodles, and Cheez Whiz graffiti. “Robots don’t make themselves.”

  Play Dough nodded, lounging in a pile of mismatched socks. “How can we clean if we can’t even see the floor?”

  “Great question,” Rick said, handing him a broom. “I leave you in charge to figure it out.”

  “Oh, come on!” Play Dough whined, throwing the broom halfway across the cabin.

  Rick strolled to his nook, pushed aside the curtain, and collapsed on his hammock. Bobby was tempted to follow Rick to his nook, but he didn’t want to make a scene. He’d just lie down and listen to his iPod while they cleaned.

  Play Dough sighed. “Fine. Steinberg, where’s that robot dust-sucker thing?”

  “You mean the one you sat on?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It broke.”

  “OK, well, Wiener, fold clothes from the floor. Smelly, kick everything else under the beds.”

  For a split second, Bobby thought Play Dough was joking. But there Play Dough was, staring at Bobby, waiting for him to do his dirty work. “No way.”

  “I can kick stuff under the beds,” Dover volunteered, bicycling his legs in the air on his top bunk.

  “Smelly, you can fold with me if you feel more comfortable with that task,” Wiener offered with a cocky grin.

  Bobby felt his face turn red, but it wasn’t a symptom of panic. This time he was just ticked off. “No, I mean, I’m not cleaning. I didn’t get in trouble.”

  “We all got in trouble,” Play Dough explained irritably. “One of us goes down, we all go down. That’s how it works at camp.”

  “Then how come Slimey’s only mad at me? Is that also how it works at camp?”

  “Are you seriously still mad over the dance?” Play Dough asked.

  “Yeah, I am! Why would you even listen to Jenny? Who cares what she says!”

  The guys laughed.

  “You have no idea,” Steinberg explained. “Play Dough has been obsessed with her blond hair and blue eyes and the general shape of her face since he was in Bunker Hill.”

  “Steinberg!” Play Dough cried sheepishly.

  Bobby tried to wrap his head around the idea that Play Dough would throw him under the bus for a girl who didn’t even seem to like him back.

  “Whatever, Smelly dude,” Dover said on his back, his legs now extended to the ceiling. “This isn’t about girls. Maybe . . . you should have done Campstock with us.”

  Totle sat up from his bottom bunk. “Like, I get why you didn’t play the guitar in your emotionally raw state, but what we did had nothing to do with her.”

  “They were Jenny’s dresses, not Slimey’s,” Wiener pointed out.

  “If I wasn’t in the MOOD to play the GUITAR, why would I be in the MOOD to SING the alma mater in ANYONE’S dress in front of the ENTIRE CAMP?!” Bobby yelled.

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to show some spirit. You’re part of this cabin, too,” Play Dough said, handing Bobby a garbage bag.

  Bobby smacked it to the floor. “Am I? I was sitting right up front, and you didn’t even call me up.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  “Mine,” Steinberg admitted. “I told the guys to leave you alone, since you were displaying all seven physical symptoms of a nervous breakdown.”

  “You can’t just mope around crying all day,” Play Dough continued.

  “I don’t cry.”

  “Yeah, you do,” Play Dough insisted. He scrunched his nose for his I’m making fun of you voice. “I’m so sad. My dumb almost-girlfriend—”

  “She’s not dumb.”

  “—almost made out with me backstage, but this other girl liked me—”

  “Jamie? That’s impossible. We’ve never even talked.”

  “—and now they both don’t like me. Wahhhh! Wahhhhh!”

  “Shut up!”

  “Who are you telling to shut up?” Play Dough growled, pushing Bobby two feet back.

  “You! That’s who I’m telling to shut up!” Bobby lunged forward, knocking Play Dough into a pile of dirty, damp towels.

  “Ohhhhhh!” Dover cheered, his palms forming a megaphone around his mouth. Steinberg gave him his laser-beam glare. He stopped.

  Play Dough lifted himself up and took three deliberate steps toward Bobby.

  Steinberg climbed down from his top bunk. “Come on, let it go, you guys.”

  Gladly, Bobby thought. These guys were jerks, and he didn’t come all the way to Rolling Hills to be friends with a bunch of weirdos who didn’t actually care about anyone but themselves. Bobby shouted up at Play Dough towering over him: “For the record, I don’t want anything to do with San Juan Hill or anybody else!”

  “ ‘For the record’?” Play Dough jeered.

  “Yes, got it. Writing it down,” Totle said, holding up his open journal.

  Steinberg jumped between them. “Quit fighting. You guys are friends.”

  “A true friend stabs you in the front,” Totle quoted, then jotted it down.

  Bobby nearly spat in Play Dough’s face. “Since when are we true friends?”

  “We’re not!”

  Bobby was surprised to feel his heart sink.

  Rick emerged from his nook. “Hey, hey! What’s this all about?”

  “I pushed him, Rick, but I didn’t stab him,” Play Dough answered defensively.

  “In the front or the back,” Totle clarified.

  “What is going on with you guys?”

  Steinberg started pacing and mumbling to himself. “What is going on with us? One: we’re falling apart. Two: we need to be reunited. Three: we need something to reunite us. Four: what could reunite us?”

  “Uh, how you doin’, man?” Rick asked Steinberg, concerned.

  “Five: a scapegoat! Holy Dude-a-cris! I got it!” Six heads turned to face him. “Nothing is going on with us,” Steinberg explained slowly. “The girls are the ones to blame . . . Without them, none of this would have happened!”

  The guys’ faces lit up as they soaked in his epiphany.

  Bobby was skeptical.

  “Yeah! Yeah, see, it’s not our fault, Rick,” Play Dough agreed.

  “They’re driving a wedge between us,” Totle added.

  “They’re making us act crazy!” Wiener shouted in a whacked-out voice.

  Steinberg looked at Play Dough. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “That there’s double grilled cheese for lunch?”

  “No! The girls should pay for this.”

  “Pay for what?” Bobby asked nervously.

  “There’s only one way we can bring this group back together again,” Steinberg announced. They waited with anticipation as he stepped up onto the first rung of his bunk-bed ladder. “An all-out . . .” He took a step to the third rung. “Raid on . . .” Fifth rung. “ANITA HILL!”

  “YEAH!!!” they screamed barbarically with fists pumping. “Raid! Raid! Raid! RAAAAAID!”

  “Operation Scapegoat complete!” Steinberg shouted.

  “YEAH!!!!!” they shouted back.

  “What?! No, guys, come on,” Rick said, trying to settle them down. “You know you’re not allowed in the girls’ cabin.”

  “Please. Look at us suffering. We need this, Rick. And we need it bad,” Play Dough whimpered.

  “What you don’t know won’t hurt you,” quoted Totle.

  “Yeah, like . . . like see no evil,” Wiener said.

  “Think back to when you were a camper,” Steinberg said. “Think about those classic raids you went on. Don’t deprive us of a treasured camp memory.”

  “OK, OK. Fine. We never had this conversation, and I was napping when you left the cabin.”r />
  “YEAH!” they cheered maniacally. “Raid! Raid! Raid! RAAAAAAAAID!!!”

  Steinberg took the lead. “All right, gather round. War-council time.”

  There was so much happening at once, Bobby nearly forgot he was angry. Everyone seemed to have moved on from the fight, including Play Dough, but that was no real surprise. His ADHD never allowed him to stay focused on one thing for long. Bobby tried to keep up. “OK . . . but, guys, what is a raid, exactly?”

  Dover eyed him like he was from Uranus.

  “It’s our chance for defense,” Steinberg explained.

  “DEFENSE!!!” they shouted in unison.

  “What does that—?”

  “Will you join our brigade?” Dover asked Bobby in his deep, soldier voice.

  “I don’t even know what a brigade is.”

  “Neither do I,” Dover stated proudly.

  “It’s a military unit,” Steinberg explained. “All right men, fall in.” Totle rolled off of his bottom bunk with black smudges already under his eyes. “Prepare your stations. Dover: intelligence. What do you know?”

  “On the outside, their cabin looks like ours. But inside, I’d guess it’s cleaner.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Wiener said, gesturing to his perfectly folded cubbies.

  “Time frame?” Steinberg asked.

  “I say we go now!” Play Dough yelled, slamming his hand on the side of his top bunk. “Ow!” He might have been the cabin leader, but he was too impulsive to lead a raid.

  “Can I get a reading on the girls’ location?” Steinberg asked.

  “Pool,” Wiener responded instantly.

  They all looked his way.

  “What? I know their whole schedule.”

  “And what is our cover as we climb up Anita Hill?”

  “A bear,” pitched Wiener.

  “No.”

  “A hike,” Dover offered.

  “Good.”

  “Wait!” Rick jumped in. “I’m throwing in one rule. No touching the counselor’s things. Got it?”

  “Check,” Steinberg said. “Play Dough, what’s the status on Weapon Number Two?”

  “I think I have it in me.”

  “Good.”

  “OK, two rules,” added Rick. “Keep it in the toilet.”

  “Yes, sir. OK, Wiener—toilet paper. Everywhere.”

  “On it.”

  “Totle—shaving cream. Everywhere.”

  “Not taking mine,” Rick inserted.

  “Understood. We’ll take the girls’,” Steinberg responded.

  Totle clasped his fingers together evilly. “Destroy the enemy with their own weapon. I like it.”

  Bobby waited anxiously for his assignment. He hoped it was something dangerously awesome like shaving cream.

  “And, Smelly . . . very important. You be the lookout.”

  “The lookout? You mean, I can’t—?”

  “Well, somebody has to stand guard in case the girls come back,” Wiener explained.

  “Why can’t you do it?”

  “Because. I’m in charge of toilet paper.”

  Bobby was surprised by how much he wanted Wiener’s job. Or Totle’s. Not Play Dough’s, though. He wasn’t good at doing his business on the spot.

  “Can we trust you with this responsibility, Sergeant Smelly?” Dover asked.

  “Congrats on the promotion!” Wiener said, offering his hand for a shake.

  “Fine.” Bobby limply shook Wiener’s hand.

  “Good. I’ll get the blueprint,” Dover said. He dropped down under Totle’s bed, grabbed his left hiking boot, and slid a folded map out from inside it.

  “Dude, we just decided on the raid,” Play Dough said. “When did you make a blueprint?”

  “Years ago.” Dover unfolded an aerial sketch of Camp Rolling Hills with red footprint marks paving the way to various girl cabins. “I didn’t know how old we’d be when we did this, so I prepared this map for any and all ages.” He pointed to San Juan Hill Cabin. “This is the path we want, since it’s daytime and Anita Hill’s our target.”

  “Got it?” Steinberg asked the troops. They nodded. “Everybody get ready. Camouflage, hiking gear, Silly String, Number Two. Then, it’s time.” They huddled up without a word and put their hands in the center. “One, two, three . . .”

  “SAUCE!”

  Before Bobby knew what was happening, the overly enthusiastic soldiers were sprinting out of their cabin and heading toward the back of the Head Counselor’s Office. Distance-wise, about four soccer fields and a volleyball court away. It was all he could do to keep up.

  Steinberg pulled up last, his goggles up to his forehead. He took three puffs from his inhaler. The rest of the guys turned around to see the holdup. “What are we doing?” Steinberg blurted out in between wheezing breaths.

  “Shh! You’re gonna blow our cover,” Play Dough whispered heavily.

  “Dover! What happened to hiking?” Steinberg asked.

  “We’re raiding the girls.”

  “Yeah, I know that, but don’t you think it looks suspicious that we’re sneaking around? Didn’t you suggest we’d head toward the woods, past Anita Hill Cabin, for a ‘hike’?” Steinberg used air quotes.

  “Right. Good thinking,” Dover agreed.

  Steinberg sighed. “Men, let’s march in plain sight. Act normal.” Wiener started whistling. “Stop. Normal people don’t whistle. That’s only in movies.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Wiener asked, totally stumped on how to behave like a human being.

  “Just talk . . . or something.”

  Bobby wasn’t as clueless as Wiener, but his heart was racing so fast, he was sure he was acting anything but normal, too. As if trespassing wasn’t nerve-racking enough, Anita Hill Cabin was also in front of a forest clearing where there had been rumors of bear sightings.

  The guys stepped out from behind the Head Counselor’s Office and tried to act casual as they strolled toward their Target. It wasn’t long before they naturally fell into formation. Steinberg and Dover led the way as Vanguard, Wiener and Bobby fell back as Rear Guard, Totle preached Carl von Clausewitz’s philosophies on warfare, and Play Dough ate three Kudos granola bars for fiber.

  As they approached Anita Hill Cabin, their backpacks filled with toilet paper and Silly String, and Play Dough’s stomach filled with poop, Steinberg reviewed the plan with the troops.

  “We’ll breach when I send out the sign. Wiener, you’ll do the TP. Play Dough, you’ll do your thing in the toilet.”

  “And not anywhere else,” Totle reminded him.

  “Right. Dover, you’ll firebomb Silly String while I pilfer the cubbies. Smelly, stand guard by the door. Just sound the alarm if you see them coming.”

  “OK.” Now that he was actually here, Bobby was relieved he could see what the raid was all about without the pressure of having to do anything outside his comfort zone.

  “Don’t worry, guys. I’ll steal their deodorant,” Wiener offered out of nowhere.

  “Ew. Doesn’t that go in their armpits?” Play Dough asked, sniffing his own.

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t smell like how our armpits smell. It smells like heaven!”

  Bobby examined Anita Hill Cabin. It had the same six wooden stairs leading to the same wooden porch with the same sports-equipment crate next to the same green hooks for wet towels and bathing suits. The door had the same green molding, and the roof had the same chipped burgundy paint. The only difference he saw was the lack of dirty towels, baseball mitts, hockey sticks, cereal boxes, and muddy cleats littering the porch floor. It looked immaculate.

  Steinberg rested a hand on Bobby’s shoulder. “It’s like no one is making robots here at all.” He seemed to be reading Bobby’s thoughts—which, knowing him, wasn’t that surprising.

  Dover looked to their leader. “Lieutenant Steinberg?”

  “Site clear.” Steinberg held up a fist, slammed it to his side, and clicked his hiking boots together. “Ready . .
. STRIKE!”

  Bobby’s heart went wild, like he was about to strike or get struck, not like he was about to look out on a bunch of peaceful, rolling hills.

  Play Dough charged up the steps first, barged into Anita Hill Cabin, and stopped short. “Whoa,” he whispered in awe.

  “Move!” Wiener cried. “I wanna see!”

  Play Dough stepped aside, and the boys scanned the neat clutter of female stuff. Walls: posters, pictures, chore wheel. Shelves: Arts & Crafts projects, journals, chapter books. Cubbies: bright clothes. Floor: rainbow rugs. Ceiling: cobweb-free.

  “Lots of pink,” Steinberg observed, then took a whiff. “It smells like Hawaii and strawberry and wood and trees. Plenty pleasant for pilfering.”

  Bobby sucked in some air to lower his heart rate, then peered over Steinberg’s head to look for Slimey’s bed. His eyes went straight to a top bunk with a soccer ball on the pillow and shin guards Velcro-ed around the ladder post. He assumed that was where Melman slept, which probably meant that the baby blue and yellow comforter below was Slimey’s. It was simple and only sort of neatly tucked, and it was worn, like she’d been sleeping with it every summer. It wasn’t what Bobby expected, but he didn’t know what he’d expected. Maybe something more special, like she was. He suddenly spotted the locket dangling over her bed and felt a twinge of guilt for invading her privacy.

  “Keep an eye out,” Steinberg reminded Bobby, moving into the cabin. “It’s pilfer time.” It was the second time Steinberg had said pilfer, and Bobby still didn’t know what it meant, but it didn’t sound good. He was worried about Slimey’s stuff. He couldn’t neglect his responsibility as lookout, though. The guys would never forgive him if the girls caught them mid-attack.

  Bobby stepped outside and looked down the hill. Nothing. His heart was still racing, though—all the laughter and commotion from inside the cabin seemed to be echoing in the air, adding a level of danger to his job he wasn’t prepared for. Now he thought he’d rather be with the group. He didn’t want to vandalize the girls’ cabin, but he also didn’t want to be the first culprit spotted. Plus, Bobby didn’t want to miss out on the fun. He turned back to the guys.