When Nature Calls, Hang Up!

by Robin Mellom

  Text copyright © 2015 by Robin Mellom

  Illustrations copyright © 2015 by Stephen Gilpin

  Cover art © 2015 by Stephen Gilpin

  Cover design by Tyler Nevins

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.

  ISBN 978-1-4847-1931-2

  Visit DisneyBooks.com

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Production: The Classroom

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  The Night Before

  Departure Day

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Last Day of School

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Final Interviews

  About the Author and Illustrator

  For all you courageous field trip chaperones…

  thank you.

  —R.M.

  For Amos as he passes into teenagerhood—

  I wish I had some advice…

  that you would actually listen to.

  —S.G.

  >>Production: THE CLASSROOM

  Over on Miller Street, behind the brick walls of Westside Middle School, there are desks. There are lockers. There are worksheets, textbooks, pencils, pens, and squeaky hallway floors that are buffed clean every Friday, right around four.

  But one day in particular—during the week when all of Westside heads off to Camp Whispering Pines—the floors aren’t just buffed…they’re waxed. Gloriously waxed. And Wilson, the janitor who shall not be called a janitor, looks forward to it every year.

  It’s pretty much the reason why he took the job.

  At Westside Middle School, you will find a vice principal, counselors, lots of teachers, and, of course, students. One of those students is Trevor Jones—your normal, average, slightly neurotic, often embarrassed, usually-slipping-on-something, (but several times) totally epic student.

  Trevor Jones fears, however, that “epicness” is not something he will experience on the all-school overnight field trip to Camp Whispering Pines. It might be three days and two nights of utter humiliation.

  This documentary crew set out to tell the story of Trevor and his also-sometimes-epic-but-usually-normal classmates as they experience the wild outdoors. With bugs. And dirt. And bears. And dining halls. Not to mention the crisp smell of humiliation.

  Westside is their middle school.

  And these are their stories.

  It’s my favorite time of the year. This is the last week of school, and tomorrow Westside Middle School will take its end-of-year overnight trip. That means three days and two nights of no students. No teachers. No vice principals.

  NO FOOTPRINTS WHATSOEVER.

  Just me, an entire school of dirty floors, and one turbocharged floor buffer. But the floors don’t just get buffed…they get the entire treatment. Yep, it’s my one chance during the school year to use hot wax. It’s exciting. A janitorial dream—I mean, senior-head-of-custodial-support dream. And the best part? After school ends and everyone’s gone for the summer, I get to pull out the wax and do it all over again. I’m telling you…I’m living THE LIFE.

  But other things get accomplished during the three days they’re gone on the trip. When I’m waiting for the wax to harden, I organize all the teachers’ closets, place all the P.E. equipment in new containers—with labels of course—and, if there’s still time, I rearrange the tables and chairs in the cafeteria, just for fun. When the kids return and find the lunchroom set up in groups of equilateral triangles, it blows them away!

  And to be supportive of the kids—since some of them are camping out for the first time—I, too, camp out at the school. I set up a campsite outside next to the blacktop and cook all my food over a fire pit. It’s my way of “giving back.” Plus, it gives me a perfectly good reason to purchase an entire case of beans ’n’ franks.

  But just between you and me…

  [looks left, then right]

  I am a little worried about this trip. EVERYONE remembers what happened last year. I just hope these kids don’t run into such bad luck.

  Meanwhile, I’ll be here, supporting them by having my own “camp-in.”

  [pulls out a pad of paper and jots something down]

  I’m going to need more flannel.

  Excited? Absolutely not. I’ve been dreading this trip since the beginning of the year. It’s not mandatory, but EVERYONE goes. Tradition, they say.

  I heard there was only one kid in the history of Westside who didn’t go on the trip, and that was Bobby Benson from three years ago. He was fortunate enough to have broken his ankle in a Vicious Volleyball Incident, and his parents wouldn’t let him go.

  That tells me there IS an excuse that will get me out of this ridiculous trip. Hopefully I won’t have to break anything bone-like.

  But did you hear the details? It’s two nights away. TWO.

  At a camp. In the woods. With bugs. And eighth graders.

  Who in their right mind would be excited about that?!

  Not me. That’s why I’m not going.

  Plus, I have an allergy to bugs that fly. Or walk. Or breathe.

  Well…it’s not exactly an “allergy.” It’s more of an “emotional response.” I tried to explain to Mom that it’s a real THING—that just the sight of a bug makes me lose self-esteem. But she still won’t write a note to excuse me. All she did was narrow her eyes and say stuff about me expanding my horizons and enjoying my life and other crazy stuff like that.

  But somehow…some way…I will find an excuse to get me out of this mess.

  Maybe…oh!

  [eyes light up]

  I’ve got it! Our school counselor, Miss Plimp. SHE could write me an excuse! I’ll simply explain to her that going on an overnight trip where eighth graders are present would do damage to my stress levels as well as my ability to form sentences. Corey Long has been pretty decent to me lately, but who knows if THAT will last? When it comes to acts of humiliation, the guy is hard to figure out.

  Plus, there’s a rumor going around that he’s going to pull some pranks just like his brother did last year. So in my opinion, putting me in the vicinity of Corey and a campfire and his foot is just poor decision making.

  I’m sure the school board wouldn’t want any bad press. Not like the kind they got from the trip last year.

  So I’ve made my decision. I’m staying behind.

  Hopefully I can buff the floors with Wilson. There’s a rumor that he also waxes the floors while everyone is away on the trip.

  IT’S LIKE THAT RUMOR WAS MADE FOR ME.

 
That incident from last year? It was my older brother, Trent. He tried to pull a prank on his cabinmates by hiding their deodorant in the bear-proof box. But Trent is one of those dudes who isn’t big on things like DETAILS. He forgot to lock the box. A bear got in there and ate all the deodorant, along with a bunch of peanut butter crackers. But I guess the crackers made the deodorant taste good, and the bear caught the scent of Trent’s deodorant back in the cabin. Long story short, when they got back from the campfire, a bear had gotten into their cabin and ripped open their backpacks and tore apart their sleeping bags.

  It. Was. Awesome.

  So anyway, there’s this rumor going around that I’m planning some pranks for this year’s trip. It happens to be true—I mean…I’M the one who started the rumor.

  Yeah, I’ve already picked out my prank victim. It was an obvious choice. I’ve just been so successful at humiliating Trevor this year, and these pranks are GUARANTEED to work on him. I hope the guy doesn’t take it personally or anything—it’s just business. It’s my duty to uphold the reputation of the Long brothers. Duty calls, bro.

  But there is one downside. My brother got in trouble with the principal last year. And the principal got in trouble with the park ranger. And next thing you know, the local newspaper had written an article about it. But here’s the worst part: because of my bro’s deodorant incident, we can’t bring ANYTHING that has a scent. That means I can’t bring my hair gel.

  HOW WILL I SURVIVE, MAN?!

  [shakes head]

  I don’t know. I just…don’t know.

  WESTSIDE MIDDLE SCHOOL BUZZED with excitement. It was the last week of school, which meant it was time for the annual end-of-the-year overnight trip to Camp Whispering Pines. It was a longstanding tradition at Westside for all the students to attend, and everyone was looking forward to it, particularly the teachers, who would be given time off to finish report cards while Counselor Plimp and Vice Principal Decker supervised the students.

  Since it was his first year overseeing the trip, Vice Principal Decker was busy in his office reviewing his overwhelming list of things to do. “Do I have all the emergency contact forms? Where is the emergency first aid kit? And where is my clipboard? I need a clipboard!”

  He said all this to the wall.

  Meanwhile, as Decker frantically prepared, the students of Westside were having energetic conversations about what to pack and which cabin they might be assigned. There were whispers about campfires and marshmallows. And elated squeals about being without parents for two nights.

  To be fair, most of the squeals came from Cindy Applegate since this trip was going to be “the most awesomest thing ever!” in her words. She had tacked up a diagram of her packing plans on the outside of her locker. She bounced with enthusiasm as she shared it with her friends who’d gathered around.

  Libby Gardner, seventh grade class president and world’s biggest fan of label makers, pushed up on her tiptoes to get a good look at Cindy’s drawing. Libby’s list of items was much different, but after reading Cindy’s, she decided to reword one of her own items. Everyone could benefit from a “totally cute toothbrush” (and a backup).

  But one thing on Cindy’s list caught Libby’s attention, and not in a good way.

  Watermelon-flavored toothpaste.

  Had Cindy not read the gentle-yet-assertive letter Miss Plimp had sent home?

  Libby pushed through the crowd and managed to make her way up to Cindy. “Didn’t you read the letter Miss Plimp sent home?” Libby held up the letter for her, just in case.

  “Yep, I read it.” Cindy happily tossed her curled hair over her shoulder. Then she leaned in closer and spoke softly, hoping no one else could hear her. “Surely she didn’t mean I couldn’t bring my own personal toothpaste—I have to order it online because that flavor is not available in stores. It’s superspecial.”

  Libby folded her arms. “No flavored anything.”

  Cindy clutched her stomach. “But whenever I change my routine, I get stress stomachaches.”

  Libby could understand this. She, too, suffered from stress stomachaches. But they usually came on when items weren’t organized by color. She patted Cindy on the shoulder. “You will survive.”

  Cindy smacked her gum. “We’ll see.” Then she spun around to face her group of friends, who were still adoring her packing plan.

  Libby hurried down the hall to class without stopping to talk to anyone else. Socializing about the trip was not something she was ready to do yet, since departure time was in less than twenty-four hours. There was still so much that had to be done.

  Keeping in tradition with the trip, the students were allowed to have two social events at Whispering Pines. The first night was always planned by the eighth grade class president, and the second night was planned by the seventh grade class president. This meant the first social would be put on by none other than Savannah “Great Boots” Maxwell. And, of course, the second night was to be planned by Libby “Sensible Shoes” Gardner.

  The problem was, for the first time in a long time, Libby hadn’t come up with a detailed plan. She was paralyzed with fear. Savannah Maxwell wasn’t just the owner of fabulous boots; she was Libby’s mentor-turned-nemesis. She didn’t respect Savannah’s attitude, but Savannah was still considered the best class president in Westside history—a title Libby desperately wanted to hold someday. The thought of planning an event after Savannah’s was just too much pressure. How could she ever top the Savannah Maxwell?

  Libby had come up with a few ideas, but after looking over them, she was certain she was so doomed.

  She had to make some party-planning decisions and quick! Whenever she desperately needed help, she knew exactly who to ask…her best friend.

  Trevor Jones.

  Just before the late bell rang in homeroom, Libby rushed up to him and tapped his shoulder. “Help a girl out?”

  “With?” Trevor turned around in his chair and smiled at her. When Libby asked for his help, it meant she was in full event-planning mode. It was her favorite mode, and any mode that was a favorite of hers was a favorite of his.

  “The Wednesday-night social. I need big plans. BIG,” she said. “But right now all I have is a list of things that need to be crossed out. It’s not good.”

  Trevor took a deep breath, realizing that he hadn’t told Libby yet about his plans to get an excuse to skip the trip. He sank lower into his seat. “Yeah…no.”

  “Does yeah/no mean no?”

  He cringed. “Yeah…it means no.”

  “You won’t help me?” Libby suddenly became concerned. This wasn’t like him—helping her out was one of his favorite activities. It was right up there with eating Raspberry Zingers. Or pretty close.

  Libby squatted down next to him and whispered, “What’s going on, Trev?”

  He took a deep breath, and then the truth oozed out slowly, like Play-Doh. “I’m planning to…you know…find a way…to get out…of…like…”

  She poked him. “Spit it out, Mr. Jones.”

  Trevor remembered that they used to play Sherlock Holmes when they were younger, and Libby always made the best detective. Trevor was good at being interrogated. And right now, Libby’s tactics of interrogating were already beginning to work. “I’m trying to get out of going on the trip. It’s not really my kind of thing, Lib.”

  “I don’t think you have much of a choice. By all-school, I think they mean everyone. Including you, Trev.”

  But Trevor had been trying for months to not be included in this trip. He’d thrown out excuse after excuse to his mother—allergies, phobias, scheduling conflicts, possible meteor crashes—all in the hopes of getting out of it. In fact, he’d even studied survival techniques just to prove to his mother that he wasn’t prepared for this trip.

  With so many excuses, he had to keep track of them in his Wilderness Excuse Journal. Keeping track of them like this was perhaps overkill, but Trevor was determined to find an excuse.

  Libby knew it was time
to bring some reality back to Trevor’s whirling brain. “You are going on this trip. You HAVE to.”

  “But it’s a voluntary trip!” he yelped. “That means I don’t have to go, according to the dictionary.”

  “It’s tradition,” she said.

  Trevor narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you aware that black bears have nonretractable claws, which give them excellent tree-climbing ability? So even climbing a tree will result in my death-by-bear.”

  She sighed. “Trevor…”

  “And did you know that mosquitoes can smell the carbon dioxide in your breath from over one hundred feet away?”

  “Trevor.”

  “And I bet you don’t even know that mice can squeeze through incredibly small spaces because of their soft skulls, so any hole in the cabin means total infestation.”

  “Trevor! How do you know all this ridiculous information?”

  “Research. I put a lot of work into finding a loophole for an excuse not to go. My mom wasn’t fazed by any of these, either.”

  Libby patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll probably have the best time of your life.”

  “Me? In the woods? Libby, the closest I’ve ever gotten to camping was when my mom got a flat tire and we had to eat snacks in the lobby of Tires Plus.”

  She smirked. “That was so brave of you.”

  “Exactly my point. I’m not brave. There’s no way I can figure out what to do if there’s a sudden bear attack. Or a need to replace a battery in a flashlight. Or if I can’t find a microwave to heat up my evening hot chocolate.”

  She shook her head. He wasn’t making sense. There had been so many things that happened this year that showed her he was brave. He’d handled eighth graders, mashed potatoes on the floor, speeches in front of the whole school, and evil Hollywood producers.

  That was a lot of bravery. Why couldn’t he see that?

  Libby stood and planted her hands on her hips, superhero style. “Trevor Jones, you’d be surprised to see how much you can handle when you’re in a difficult situation. This trip will expand your horizons.”