by Robin Mellom
I need help. FAST!
And as weird as it sounds…there is only one person here who would know what to do in an animal emergency.
Marty.
THE WALLS OF THE DINING hall were made of rustic wood. The ceilings were made of wood, too. And the floors. And the tables.
It was all-around very woody.
Metal chairs were neatly placed next to long tables covered in blue-and-white-checkered tablecloths. And the giant room smelled like pinecones and spaghetti.
What’s so bad about this? Trevor wondered.
And then it happened. The cafeteria manager stormed out from his office and bellowed, “SIT. DOWN.” The man towering over all the students was large, unshaven, and smothered in flannel. He was one ax shy of being a folktale character. “I am Mr. Skeely, and you will listen to EVERY WORD I SAY.”
The students scrambled to chairs, and the room quickly became silent. Trevor was relieved that in his mad dash to sit down, he’d ended up next to Marty.
There was a calmness in Marty’s eyes, a kind of confidence that Trevor hadn’t seen before. It was as if Marty was in his element—the woods, the fresh outdoors, the predatory animals somewhere nearby—and it brought out his inner self. That, or he ate a really good breakfast.
Marty patted Trevor on the back and whispered, “Like I said—we’re in the belly of the beast. Do whatever this man tells you. If you get him on your side, this trip will be smooth sailing. Trust me.”
Trevor nodded in agreement because whenever Marty ended advice with “trust me,” it meant he should do just that. He turned to pay attention to Mr. Skeely, who was busy rifling through a stack of posters, hunting for something. “Aha. Found it.”
Mr. Skeely lifted up a poster that had words and straight arrows and squiggly arrows and arrows that didn’t seem to serve a purpose and arrows that weren’t even arrows. “Just read this poster, and it will all be clear.” Mr. Skeely had lowered his voice so all the students had to lean in to hear his every word. “We have a system in this cafeteria, and you are not to break the system. There were some problems last year, so I updated the flow. To get your food, line up here.” He pointed to objects on his poster as he explained. “For cold plates, go here; hot plates, go here; milk products are here; juices here; forks on this side and knives on the other. Do it all IN ORDER. Just follow the new and improved flow—it’s easy.”
Trevor squinted to get a better look at the poster, but the more he looked, the more he became seasick.
“And for cleanup, all things flow counterclockwise, and the chairs are to be stacked five high and placed in the southwest corner during winter and northeast in spring. There’s a flow, and you are not to mess up the flow. Just remember: FLOW. Got it?”
Trevor didn’t get it. No one seemed to get it.
“Got it!”
Except for Marty.
Mr. Skeely squinted to get a better look at Marty, then pointed directly at him. “YOU. I remember you from last year. On the first day you picked up your fork first and messed up the flow.”
Marty stood and spoke in a way Trevor had never heard before. “Yes, sir. But I learned from my mistake, and I became an example for the others who made the mistake of getting a fork first. And if it happens again, sir, I can help out this year. Sir.”
Mr. Skeely tugged on his beard as he thought this over. Finally he grumbled, “Okay, kid. You can help with flow management.”
Then Mr. Skeely stood up straight, and Trevor was sure he had just added a good six inches to his height, probably out of sheer willpower. Skeely was quite impressive, if one was impressed by highly flanneled almost-giants. By the look on Marty’s face, Trevor could tell he was highly impressed.
“For lunch we have spaghetti or salad. Except we’re out of lettuce right now.”
There was a gasp from the back of the group. Miss Plimp clenched her jaw and quietly coached herself. “No salad. I…will…stay…positive.”
Skeely pointed to the poster and said, “Go ahead and line up to eat.”
But no one moved. The entire cafeteria froze. There was no way someone was going to attempt the directions on that poster and mess up the new and improved flow—it looked impossible.
It was Marty who stood first. He knew exactly where to go, and as he approached the food line, the entire school quietly folded in and lined up behind him, following his every move.
Marty beamed as he led the line, determined to impress Skeely with his leadership skills.
Just as Marty reached for his plate, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Someone had rushed through the cafeteria doors. Late.
That latecomer rushed past everyone and marched right up to Marty, hands on hips.
So upset that even the curls in her hair were flustered, Cindy whispered in a shaky voice, “Th…there’s a cat…in my room.”
“What kind? Bobcat?”
“No.”
“Panther?!”
“No.”
“A lion. You saw a lion!”
Cindy threw her hands in the air. “Lucy—my house cat! SHE STOWED AWAY!”
“Keep your voice down.” Marty glanced over at Skeely to make sure they weren’t being watched. Luckily he was busy whittling a stick. “Stowaways are in boats,” Marty explained. “There’s no boat here.”
“She was in my bag. My big fancy bag!” Cindy leaned in closer to make sure no one heard what she was going to tell him next. “Listen, when I say stowed away, what I mean is I disguised her as a skunk and packed her up myself.”
Marty stood motionless and stared at her, stunned by this piece of news.
“Stop staring at me! I HAD to do it—she is fiercely adorable, and we can’t be apart. But admitting I painted my cat to look like a skunk sounds like I’m a crazy person, so you need to feel super honored that I’m admitting this to you. Can I get your help or what?”
Marty stuffed his hands in his pockets. As much as he didn’t want to have anything to do with a domestic cat, he couldn’t help but be honored that Cindy would ask for his help. And also admit she’d done something super crazy. “What do you need?”
“Well…I didn’t exactly think this plan through, and I have no food for her. Or cute sweaters. This means she could DIE. What do I do?”
To Marty, if there was one thing in this world that excited him, it was a wilderness emergency. It sounded as if this emergency was made for him.
Marty stood up nice and tall. “Meet me at your cabin just before the first hike. I’ll fix this.” He then poked her on the shoulder and smiled. “Now go get in line, and don’t ruin the flow.”
Cindy grinned from ear to ear. “I have no idea what that means, but I’ll do whatever you tell me, Officer.” She saluted him and skipped to the back of the line, grinning at the thought of tough Marty Nelson saving her adorable skunk-kitty.
Sure, I’ll give that Marty kid a second chance. He seems like he might have some promise. It’s possible that if he keeps up with proper cafeteria flow and switches over to flannel rather than camouflage, he’d be perfect for camp cafeteria management.
We’ll see if Marty has the leadership skills.
I’m doubtful, though. But that’s what dining hall managers do…doubt people.
“SHOW ME WHERE SHE IS.” Marty paced the floor of Cabin Four.
“In my bag, like I said.” Cindy fluffed her hair in the mirror she’d attached to her bed frame.
Marty peered into her bag—pink with purple polka dots—but saw only neatly folded shirts. “Nope. She’s not in here.”
“What?!” Cindy frantically scampered around the cabin. “Lucy? Lucy?! Where are you? Come out! Do you need a kitty massage? A kitty pedicure?”
Marty clamped down on her shoulder. “Stand still and think. If you were Lucy and disguised as a skunk, where’s the first place you’d go?”
“The spa.”
Marty rolled his eyes. “She’s an animal. When she realized she wasn’t at home, she probably got sca
red. And when animals get scared, they—”
“Go to the groomer.”
“—seek protection.” He sauntered over to her bunk bed. “My guess is she’s hiding under here.” He lifted the blanket without even looking under the bed. Within a couple of seconds, a furry head poked out.
Meow.
“Lucy!” Cindy plopped down on the floor and threw her arms out in anticipation for their giant reuniting hug. But scared little skunk-i-fied Lucy retreated farther back under the bed.
“Oh, no. This is so unlike her. She usually pounces on me and smothers me with cuteness. What should I do?” Cindy looked up at Marty with her best Help-Me-I-Need-a-Miracle face.
“Hand me one of the shirts in your bag,” he said. “Right now, she needs shelter and to feel safe. I’ll make a bed for her out of one of your shirts—that way it will have your scent on it to remind her of home.”
“PERFECT!”
She began rifling through her bag, searching for the best shirt for the occasion. “Can’t use this one, need it for hiking. Need this one for nighttime campfire. This one is perfect for brushing teeth.…”
“Anything! We don’t have much time before Miss Plimp calls us down for our first hike. Just pick one.”
“Aha! We can use this one. I brought it as a third backup in case we have an impromptu talent show.”
Marty snatched it from her, folded it into a bed shape, and slid it under the bed for Lucy.
Throom! Lucy kicked the shirt back out to Marty.
Cindy’s mouth dropped. “Why won’t she take my shirt? That’s the softest third backup shirt I have.”
Marty scratched his head. “Maybe she likes the rustic outdoors?”
“No, no, no. Not MY kitty. She has no tolerance for anything rustic.”
“Fine,” Marty said. “Let’s just find her some food.”
Cindy winced. “Uh. That’s sort of a problem.”
“Don’t tell me she won’t eat unless she gets a pedicure first.”
“Nah.” She waved him off. “That’s only on Wednesdays. The problem is she won’t eat any food unless it’s labeled with the word fancy. It’s her signature quirk. I kind of like it, don’t you?”
“Her quirk is making this impossible.”
Cindy dropped her head, knowing this was a lost cause. “It’s no use. We’re at an outdoor camp, and the cafeteria manager is a Viking. There’s no way he has any fancy food in that dining hall.”
Marty took a deep breath as he considered whether he’d taken on a project too hard to solve. Fancy cats weren’t exactly his specialty. But he wasn’t the type to give up.
After all, he’d watched enough Extreme Pet Makeover to know there was always a way to turn your pet around. “Don’t worry about it,” he said confidently as he led Cindy out of the cabin. “I’ve got it all figured out.”
I am NOT going to panic. First of all, it’s a dream come true to finally spend the night away from my house AND have Lucy with me. As long as she survives and keeps her dignity, it will work out. But I guess that’s everyone’s goal in life, not just my cat’s. Was that too deep?
But this won’t be easy. I am going to have to find a way to knit her a new sweater, because otherwise, all of that dignity? ALL. GONE. Lucy is a fierce dresser, and she won’t stand for anything less than perfection.
I taught her everything I know. She’s a good listener. Also? I can’t believe I just admitted I talk to my cat about fashion. I’m really getting deep here!
Maybe y’all can edit that out?
Wouldn’t want to sound flaky or anything.
Okay, gotta run! It’s time for our first big hike, which means I’ll finally get to hang out with Savannah Maxwell. I have SO many things I want to say to her. Then I’ll probably leave time available for her to ask me questions. I’m sure she wants to hear all about my hair conditioner that gives my curls this bounce. And also about where to find great sales on glitter.
Big day ahead. BIG.
“STUDENTS, GATHER AROUND!” Miss Plimp announced through a megaphone. She was taking the lead on directing the students because Vice Principal Decker—though he’d dressed in appropriate hiking gear—wasn’t much of a hiker.
Truthfully, Miss Plimp was elated to be the one leading the group. This trip was the highlight of her year. “Time to partner up with your Sensitivity Buddy,” she said with enormous enthusiasm.
All the students followed her peppy instructions and disassembled and then reassembled into pairs. Trevor could see Corey heading toward him, walking with his usual Superman-sized confidence. Even though Corey had changed cabins, he was still Trevor’s Sensitivity Buddy.
Corey stepped up to Trevor and stood in front of him, not beside him, blocking his view. The Sensitivity Buddy walk was not getting off to a good start.
Keep focused on the Molly Project, Trevor told himself.
He glanced over at Molly, who was busy ripping the corners of her name tag. Trevor cleared his throat to get her attention. When she looked his way, he smiled and gave her a double thumbs-up.
But there was no response from Molly. No smile. Nothing.
So he attempted his Evil Villain face—high arched brow, menacing side-smirk—the one that always cracked up his mother.
Aaaaaand nothing.
Molly went right back to name-tag ripping.
Getting Molly to smile was going to be a bigger project than Trevor had expected. But this was good—it would keep him busy.
Miss Plimp divided up the groups and matched them with their camp counselors. Luckily, Trevor’s group was paired with Libby and Molly’s group. At least he’d have their support should everything go horribly wrong.
Not that Trevor thought that it would, given that he was now attempting to look on the bright side and all.
Miss Plimp walked/skipped up to Trevor’s group and said, “I want to introduce you to your camp counselor and wilderness guide…Tad!”
This “Tad” was a man in his twenties who dressed like he was a cover model for Outdoor Magazine. He wore: a crisp, sporty shirt; expensive-looking hiking pants (multiple! pockets!); and even more expensive-looking hiking boots.
“Good afternoon, dudes and dudettes!” he said with a wink.
Molly was already rolling her eyes. This will be a long day, she thought.
“Looks like we have a group of about sixteen of you. I have plenty of snacks for you guys on today’s hike.”
The group—all sixteen—wiggled with excitement at the mention of the word snacks.
Tad dug around in his expensive-looking backpack, which wasn’t worn at all. It looked as though he’d never even taken it on a hike. “I have raw almonds, prunes, and organic granola.”
There was a collective deflating of excitement, like sixteen popped balloons.
“And I have trail maps for you,” Tad said. “Keep them in your backpacks—no sense in getting lost in the wilderness!”
Trevor felt Tad’s tone was a little too peppy for the phrase getting lost in the wilderness. And once Trevor got a look at the map, he realized that that phrase deserved its own scary theme song.
Trevor’s hand shot up in the air. “Tad, can we take Paradise Trail?”
“Sorry, little dude. That trail is reserved for staff only. Today we tackle Bone Breaker Trail. But don’t worry; it’s totally safe as long as you don’t fall and break anything.”
The students stared at him in stunned silence.
Miss Plimp must’ve sensed their fear because she stepped right in and said, “Hey, I know! Now is the perfect time for you to give a compliment to your Sensitivity Buddy!”
There was an awkward pause among the students. And an even more awkward pause between Trevor and Corey. Then at the same exact moment, they both looked up and stared at each other. Their eyes then simultaneously drifted. Then they both flicked their eyes up and stared at each other. A pattern formed.
Stare. Drift. Stare. Drift.
The awkwardness continued over on
the other side of the group, where Cindy had happily sat down next to Savannah.
Okay! Let the compliments begin! Cindy thought.
But that’s not what happened.
“Did you get my bed decorated?” Savannah asked.
Cindy fidgeted with the cap on her water bottle. “Um, see…there was an emergency. A wilderness emergency.”
“Get it done. I want it cute,” Savannah snapped.
“When we get back—I promise.”
Miss Plimp approached the girls and gave a disapproving look. “Compliments, please.”
Cindy pulled together some words and put them in a sentence.
“This is a nice log.”
Savannah quietly responded, “I like your log compliment.”
And then they both sat in silence.
Miss Plimp moved on and delivered the same disapproving look to Trevor and Corey, who also were sitting in silence, not giving compliments. With Miss Plimp looming over them, Trevor took a deep breath and finally let a compliment spill out. Sort of. “You have…shoes.”
Miss Plimp clasped her hands together. “Add an adjective to make it a compliment.”
As she floated on to give advice to other troubled pairs, Trevor took a moment and rethought his statement. What could he say about those shoes? They were the same ones that had tripped him repeatedly this year. They were the shoes he would have liked to never look at again. And now he had to compliment them?!
Surely I can come up with one word to describe his shoes. One word!
“You have…um…” Trevor stammered, “…two shoes.”
Nailed it.
Corey glanced down at his feet. “Wow. You’re right.”
“Okay, your turn,” Trevor said. Finally, Corey was going to have to say something, and it couldn’t be a statement that was detention-worthy. He was starting to think this Sensitivity Buddy idea wasn’t so bad after all.
Just as Corey opened his mouth, Tad threw his backpack over his shoulder and said, “Kids! Time to tackle this trail!”