by Robin Mellom
Trevor looked up and stopped in his tracks as he took in the scenery. The dining hall was a rustic log cabin with a large wraparound porch complete with wood rocking chairs. Up the hill were rows and rows of quaint cabins, all surrounded by towering pine trees.
Trevor couldn’t help but notice the camp was far less dirty and dangerous and covered in poisonous spiders than he’d imagined it would be. It was practically…nice.
“Breathe the air,” Vice Principal Decker announced, which made Trevor pause.
Trevor didn’t understand why he’d suggest this given that breathing was an obvious necessity for living. He lugged his overstuffed bag to a spot in the grass and did just as instructed—breathed the air.
Wow, Trevor thought. This is AMAZING.
While still having all the qualities of typical inside-a-middle-school air, Camp Whispering Pines air had so much more. There was a freshness. A crispness. An airiness!
His lungs filled quickly, and he suddenly felt as though he could think more clearly. His worries of sharing a haunted cabin with Corey, being a Sensitivity Buddy to Corey, having to take a Trust Walk with Corey…they all slipped away.
He took in another delightful breath and tapped Molly on the shoulder. “Did you do it yet? Breathe?!”
“I always breathe. I have to.”
“This air, I mean. It’s different, right?” He couldn’t hold back his energetic smile.
“Is something wrong with you?” She folded her arms. “All of a sudden you’re happy, or whatever this is.”
He took another deep breath. “I don’t know…I just think I might not have an awful time. Maybe I should try to be more positive.”
Molly looked suspicious. “Sounds like you breathed in too much air.”
“Yes!” Libby yelped as she skipped up to them. “Your positive face is much more enjoyable to be around. Don’t you think, Molly?”
“No. His miserable face is perfectly fine.”
Trevor couldn’t help but laugh. Even when Molly was trying to give a compliment, it came out as horribly offensive. It was one of his favorite qualities about her.
But he couldn’t help but wish Molly wasn’t always leaning to the side of being miserable. And so far on this trip, she seemed even more miserable than ever. Was something going on with her?
He remembered there had been times in the past when he’d caught a glimpse of Molly smiling. But the smiles were always slight, like she was holding something back.
And then he had an idea. Maybe he could help Molly. Being positive…looking on the bright side…keeping Molly from being miserable…it would help her and take his mind off Corey.
A project. That’s what he needed.
“I have an idea,” he proclaimed. “I, Trevor Jones, am going to get Molly Decker to smile at some point on this trip. It won’t be a slight smile. It won’t even be a halfway decent smile. I’m talking a big, huge whopper of a smile.”
Libby squealed with excitement. “I love it, Trev! You should get Molly to smile so big that it blinds us all with its brightness!”
“Maybe I’ll even get her to say something nice about the air, too?”
Libby bounced on her toes. “Perfect!”
Molly narrowed her eyes. “You two do realize you’re talking about me like I’m not here.”
“You.” Trevor poked Molly on the shoulder. “You are my project.”
She flicked her eyes up at him. “A project? Me?”
“If I’m worrying about you and whether or not you’re smiling, then maybe I’ll stop worrying about all the humiliation I’m about to face.”
“Love it!” Libby said, all singsongy, as she danced off to her cabin.
Molly turned to face him and stuck a hand on her hip. “It won’t work. You can’t make me smile. I’ll just end up letting you down.”
Trevor tossed his backpack over his shoulder. Before heading off to his haunted cabin, he turned and said, “Nope. I will make you smile, Molly Decker.” He shot her a sneaky grin. “Brighter than the highlights in your hair.”
I have no idea if I’ll ever get Molly to smile. But if I’ve learned anything from Libby, it’s this: when in doubt, do a project.
Projects are Libby’s answer for everything. Loneliness. Boredom. Hunger. Partly cloudy skies. Any type of weather, actually.
And Libby seems happy on an almost-regular basis, minus all the times she’s freaking out, which isn’t all that often, honestly. So she’s pretty much got it all figured out. I’m lucky to have her as my best friend. She’s like the big sister I never had…a smart, loyal, always-on-the-hunt-for-ranch-dressing big sister.
Yep, I’m lucky.
Now I’m off to see if the Molly Project will take my mind off the fact that I’m staying in haunted Cabin Thirteen.
I have to admit…after seeing that Camp Whispering Pines is—dare I say—totally nice, even down to the startling fresh air they truck in, I’m starting to think this might not be such a bad trip after all.
That’s right—Trevor Jones is going to try hard to be positive. This day will go down in history.
If the president wants to make a national holiday out of it, that’d be cool by me. The whole country could stay home and think positive thoughts while eating Raspberry Zingers.
Trevor’s in for a big disappointment. There’s no way he’ll be able to get me to smile and be happy and all that stupid stuff.
It’s not because I hate the outdoors and field trips and bad food and fresh air.
I’m not happy because of something else entirely. It’s something Trevor isn’t going to like one bit.
[looks away for a moment]
I just have to find the best time to tell him the news. Is there ever a good time to share bad news?
And no, these aren’t tears. I happen to have allergies when I’m around nice scenery.
MISS PLIMP CALLED OUT AFTER the campers, “All right, kids! Time to get unpacked and organized. When the bell rings, head down to the dining hall for lunch. Then we’ll take our first group hike this afternoon!” She clapped for herself and headed off to her cabin—a super deluxe cabin with air-conditioning and Internet access. Necessary, she felt, because she would later need to look up “cats being funny” on YouTube since her mental health was important when supervising middle school campers.
She opened the itinerary she’d made for the trip and checked off everything she’d already accomplished for Tuesday.
Trevor pulled open the door to Cabin Thirteen and cautiously stepped inside. There were four bunk beds, one in each corner of the room. The pillows looked fresh and fluffed. The blankets were warm looking and wrinkle-free.
If Trevor wasn’t wrong, this cabin looked highly livable. And maybe even not haunted. But then again, it was only eleven thirty in the morning, and ghosts that haunt usually get their best work done after nine p.m.
Trevor was joined by the rest of his cabinmates.
The Baker twins.
Jake Jacobs.
Mr. Applegate.
A seventh grader everyone called Fishy, but no one knew why.
Where was Corey?
And they were short one camper. Who was going to sleep in the remaining bunk bed?
That’s when he heard raised voices outside his cabin. He stepped out onto their front porch and saw Marty and Corey having a heated discussion while Miss Plimp listened and fanned herself with a Camp Whispering Pines brochure.
“I can’t stay in Cabin Seventeen,” Marty said. “There isn’t a view of the woods, just the bathroom. I get freaked out if I can’t sense when predators are lurking outside. There might be a serious bear problem here. Or general nocturnal-animal problem. There could be lots of problems.”
Miss Plimp nodded and fanned. Nodded and fanned.
“I can’t sleep on a top bunk,” Corey said. “I have a fear of falling out and hurting my face.”
Wow, Trevor thought. I had no idea Corey and I have the same fear.
Miss Plimp took a d
eep breath, then finally said, “Marty—you and Jordan switch to Cabin Thirteen since they have an extra bed. Corey, move to Cabin Seventeen and sleep on a bottom bunk. I don’t want you to hurt your face.”
Marty picked up his bag from the ground and marched toward the cabin. “No problem.”
Whew! Luck IS on my side, Trevor thought. If Marty’s with me, I might just survive this. Actually, with him around I can survive ANYTHING.
Marty stepped up onto the porch and approached Trevor with a determined look on his face. “Stop worrying. I’ll take the bunk above you. We’ll take shifts at night to patrol for bears.”
Trevor shuddered. “B…b…bears?”
“Of course. This may be our only chance to see one in the wild and shoot it.”
“Shoot?! Do NOT tell me you’re going to shoot a bear!”
Marty smirked and reached into his bag. “Shoot it with this.”
It was just a camera. Whew. Trevor took a deep breath to calm his nerves. “Shoot a bear with a camera…of course.”
Marty laughed and slapped him on the back. “Why are you acting all nervous? You’re not worried about this trip, are you?”
Trevor raised a brow. “Me? No. In fact, I’m busy with a project, actually. There’s no time for worrying here.”
Marty narrowed his eyes, not sure if he believed Trevor. Cool and calm wasn’t exactly Trevor’s middle name. “Whatever, bro. To survive this trip, you need to remember only one word: use your earplugs.”
“Actually that’s three—”
“The cabin chaperone is sleeping in here with us,” Marty continued. “If my calculations are correct, Mr. Applegate is pushing forty-two, so there’s a seventy-five percent chance of snoring. Plus, the earplugs keep you from hearing all the coyotes and—”
“Coyotes?!”
“—keep out the earwigs and the deadly Venchuga bug.”
“The chuga WHAT?” His heart sped up. Even with all the Molly Project calmness he’d mustered up, the mere mention of a large bug was one of many things that immediately sent him to the “just-shy-of-about-to-pass-out” stage.
“Calm down. I’m a survivalist. Here—I brought an extra pair.” Marty shoved the earplugs into Trevor’s hand. “This is all you need.”
Fortunately for Trevor, Marty was going to be sleeping right above him, so maybe all his sudden worrying was a tad much. And maybe—just maybe—Marty was right: earplugs were all he needed. Trevor’s heart rate slowed. “Thanks, Marty. I’m calming down now.”
“Good.” He smirked and lifted a finger in the air. As if he were magic, the lunch bell rang. “Because we’re about to enter the belly of the beast. The dining hall.”
Nah, I didn’t change cabins because of the view. I knew Trevor would be freaking out that Corey was in his cabin. And freaked-out people make bad decisions when they’re deep in the woods.
So I had to make sure I was there to help him out. Just don’t tell Trevor. I want him to think he can survive this all on his own.
I wish it were true.
Wow, this is all going swimmingly, right? The bus ride was nice. The weather is perfect. The kids are processing their feelings in a positive manner without resorting to name-calling or making faces. Though it’s been only ten minutes. But still…I love it!
And all my plans are falling into place. The Pal-Around Pods. The Sensitivity Buddies. The Trust Walks. It’s going to be fantastic!
I am just pleased as punch that Vice Principal Decker asked me to be in charge of the trip this year. It’s the perfect setting for working on social skills goals. In my preplanning I even searched online—that means “Internet Google”—and found some fun ideas for field trips! Which means I have a few other things up my sleeve.
[leans in, winks]
Never underestimate a middle school counselor.
OVER IN CABIN FOUR, LIBBY, Cindy, Molly and their cabinmates were rushing around unpacking their bags in a hurry so they could get down to the dining hall.
Correction: Molly wasn’t actually rushing.
She was busy with a Sudden Boredom Nap.
Libby wasn’t just unpacking; she was organizing her space. She set down her last item and stepped back, proudly admiring her work. “Perfect!”
Molly grunted, then sat up. “Finally. I’ve been unpacked for half an hour.”
Libby glanced at Molly’s shelf underneath hers and realized why it hadn’t taken Molly nearly as much time.
Libby looked over at Cindy, who wasn’t organizing her space…she was decorating her space. “Cindy, do you really need your bunk to be wrapped in ribbon?”
“If it’s not just like home, I get nightmares.”
“You have glitter hearts taped to your bed frame at home?”
Cindy tilted her head. “Who doesn’t?”
Molly stood up. “Me, for one. All this glitter is making me nauseous. Take it down, Cindy.”
Libby stepped into the middle of the room and held her hands out—referee style. “Everyone’s entitled to have their space set up how they’d like it. Even though this IS a camping trip and I’m not sure why you’d need all the boy band posters, Cindy.”
“I want to impress my Sensitivity Buddy,” Cindy said. “Don’t you think Savannah will love it? The girl has serious style.”
Libby sighed. She’d been down this road before—the road of trying to get the approval of Savannah Maxwell. But it was a dead end. Libby had learned the hard way that, even though Savannah was eighth grade class president and severely stylish, she wasn’t a particularly nice person. “Be careful,” Libby warned as she narrowed her eyes. “Her niceness can turn to meanness just like THAT.” She snapped her fingers.
Cindy stepped back. “Did you just go Full Mobster Wife on me?”
Molly said under her breath, “Whoa, that was awesome.”
“Sorry.” Libby blushed. “I guess I get a little overprotective of my cabinmates.”
“Well, thanks for looking out for me,” Cindy said. “But I got this.”
Their chaperone, Mrs. Steiner, poked her head into the cabin. “Let’s all settle down and head to the dining hall.” Mrs. Steiner gathered a few girls and started for the door. “Meet us there!” she called out behind her.
Just as they left, another girl marched inside the cabin.
“I’m here!” Savannah charged into the middle of the room like she was leading a marching band. Before she could even set her bag down, she looked over at Cindy’s bed and gasped.
“Oh. My. Cuteness!” She pointed over at Cindy. “HOWDIDYOUDOTHISANDWHOAREYOU?!” she blurt-yelled.
“Me?” Cindy hugged herself and blushed. “Where do I start? First, I’m Cindy, your Sensitivity Buddy. We met in the parking lot. And you sat next to me on the bus. Um…let’s see.…”
Savannah threw her bag on the bottom bunk. “Tell me everything about your decorations.”
“Well, I made most of them myself, cutting pictures from magazines and making an inspiration board, then—”
Savannah held her hand up. “All I want to know is if you can do the same thing for my bed.”
“Decorate yours the same as mine? Like twinsies?” Cindy bounced on her toes. “Of course!!!”
“Awesome.” Savannah twirled around and headed for the door. “And make sure you unpack all my clothes—no wrinkles!”
“Absolutely!” Cindy called after her.
Both Libby and Molly crossed their arms and glared at Cindy.
“Be careful,” Libby said. “That girl will use people for whatever she can get.”
Cindy waved her off. “She’s not using me; she’s asking for my expertise—there’s a difference.”
“Fine.” Libby grabbed her backpack. “The bell rang—we should all get down to the dining hall.” She glanced at Cindy. “Are you coming?”
She started rummaging through her supplies. “Y’all go ahead. I have to turn Savannah’s bunk bed into Bunk Bed–Tastic! Toodles!”
Molly turned
and bolted out the door. Cindy’s vocabulary made her ears hurt.
Libby trailed behind Molly and whispered over her shoulder, “The purple fur comforter is totally over-the-top.”
“It’s all over-the-top,” Molly said.
All alone in the cabin, Cindy pulled out her remaining precious decorating items and set them down on the floor.
But then a strange thing happened.
Her bag moved.
It moved again.
Something was in there!
Through the opening of her bag, a head appeared. A furry black head with two white stripes.
There was a skunk in Cabin Four.
No, no, no. Hold up, everyone—settle down.
It is NOT a skunk.
It’s Lucy, my painfully adorable cat. Remember how I mentioned my kitty and I can’t be apart and that I had a plan? Well, THIS is my plan!!
Last night I put temporary white hair dye on her, two stripes down the back, and VOILÀ! Lucy has been skunk-i-fied.
Now she can just hang out near our cabin and everyone will think she’s a regular woodland creature and leave her alone. My dad won’t even be able to recognize her.
At night after dinner, I can sneak her into my bed to snuggle. It’s the perfect plan!
Except.
Hold on.…
[digs through her suitcase]
Oh, no. Dinner. I didn’t bring her any food! What am I going to do?!
[paces nervously around the cabin]
I also don’t have a litter box! Or any adorable holiday sweaters!!! THIS IS A DISASTER.
Unless you feed Lucy from a package that has the word fancy on it, she will DIE. And if she doesn’t have a change of sweaters, she’ll lose all her dignity.
And if my father finds out that I snuck her here…he will ground me for years. I won’t be able to go to the mall until I’m the legal voting age.