Love and Pollywogs from Camp Calamity

by Mary Hershey

  “Ahhhh” was all he said.

  “I mean, even though he’s a bad criminal and all, I bet when he first got to prison, he felt miserable. He probably missed Mom and us a lot. He didn’t get to eat his favorite stuff anymore, had to get up early for inspections, had to sleep with a bunch of bad guys, and he probably still wishes every day that they’ll call his name during mail call.”

  “I bet you’re right about all that, Effie.”

  “I don’t like thinking about it,” I said. “I don’t want to start worrying about him, too!”

  Frank took my hand and held it a moment. It was big and warm. He could have kept it forever. After a bit, he took it and put it over my heart.

  “Feel that?”

  “My heart beating?” I asked.

  He nodded. “When you get given a big one like that, it’s a responsibility. You’re going to have a lot of ground to cover in your life—a lot of people to love and a lot of people to worry about. But, Effie, I promise you, it’s going to be a helluva life.”

  I gasped. “You’re not supposed to say that word, Frank.”

  “I’ll make a deal with you. You try to stop worrying about other people so much this week, and I’ll try to stop using it.”

  He raised his hot chocolate cup and I clicked mine into his. “I’ll try, Frank, really. But I’m going to have a”—I leaned over and whispered into his ear—“helluva hard time doing that!”

  On Wednesday I was sitting outside the armadillo pen making some notes for the report I was writing. It was about racing armadillos, which is a very unkind thing that happens some places in Texas. I had just learned about it. Ms. Hawkins showed us a video about how some mean guys capture wild armadillos, paint numbers on their little backs, and then make them race. Armadillos can’t see very well, so there is lots of crashing around, and people laughing. You can tell right away that the poor armadillos are near frantic about it, because they keep trying to get off the track. They are definitely not trying to win any races.

  Ms. Hawkins had rescued her two armadillos from a fraternity that was racing them for money one weekend. They got caught with a whole bunch of them out on the school track. Ms. Hawkins hadn’t tried to get all the paint off their backs or anything, so I offered to do it. I had brought my nail polish remover to camp in case I had time to change my toenail polish. She thanked me for my offer but said she would just leave it on until it wore off, as a reminder to boys and girls about respecting animals. One of them had Kappa written on its back, and the other one had Sigma.

  I got what she was trying to say, but I still felt bad for them with names painted on their backs. They were probably trying to forget the horrible night that they got painted and made to race, and they couldn’t because it was the first thing people noticed about them. It was kind of like how Maxey and I have Crook’s Kid painted on our backs.

  They were nine-banded armadillos, according to Ms. Hawkins, and they were native Texans. They liked to dig and burrow a lot, and Kappa was working on a big underground project next to me. I was getting very dirty, but I didn’t mind. I wrote down what else I’d learned today about them.

  An armandilo armadillo can stay underwater for up to six minutes! But because the armor on their backs is very heavy, they will sink. So they blow up there their stomachs. When they do that, they can be twice as big.

  Guess who I was going to tell about this!

  Sigma came near the fence and stared in my direction with his tiny brown eyes. I wished they came with tiny eyeglasses.

  Armadillos, especially the Texas kind, have a bad habit of jumping up strait in the air when they are surprised. They jump as high as a fender, which is how they get hit by so may cars. Lady armadillos have four babies in every liter every time and they need to teach them to stay off the highways.

  “Effie!” Cricket called from the back of the classroom door. “Can you come here?”

  “I’ll be back, you two,” I promised Kappa and Sigma. I stood up and brushed myself off.

  “Ms. Marshall would like to talk to you for a minute. C’mon, I’ll walk over there with you,” Cricket said. “You can just leave your stuff here. We’ll be back.”

  I waved a quick goodbye to Nit and Aurora. We all knew what this was about. It was my sentence.

  Cricket pulled open the screen door to Ms. Marshall’s office waiting room. It was empty. No other kids were in there getting in trouble.

  As I stepped into her office, the first thing I saw was the back of my sister’s head. And her very red neck, perched on top of her very stiff shoulders. She did not turn and look at me.

  I sat down in the chair next to her and swallowed. “Is everything okay with our mother?”

  “Yes, Effie, your mother is fine,” Ms. Marshall said.

  “Did Pretty Girl die, then?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer.

  “Everybody is fine,” Maxey said, without looking my way.

  “Your sister came in to talk to me about what happened yesterday, Effie. Apparently she thinks she took Sister Lucille’s phone.”

  “Oh,” I said, in a pea-sized voice.

  I darted a look at Maxey, but she had her eyes glued on Ms. Marshall, who put her hands palms-down on her desk. “Only one of you could have done this, and I need the truth here, please.”

  I scratched a mosquito bite on my leg and waited.

  “Effie?” Ms. Marshall asked. “Is it true? Was it Maxey who actually took the phone?”

  “I don’t really know for sure.”

  “It’s like I told you, Ms. Marshall,” Maxey said. “I took it during the inspection at Elk. Effie is lying to protect me, and I don’t need her to do that for me.” She still wouldn’t look at me.

  “Are you going to send us home?” I asked, thinking how ticked Mom would be if we both flunked camp. I’d come to Ms. Marshall ready to save our family’s reputation, and now we’d just made it worse.

  “No, I’m not. Coco tells me that Maxey is one of the best kitchen helpers he’s ever had. I think he’d quit if I sent her home. But, Maxey, you are losing your afternoon swimming privilege with the staff for the rest of the week. If you want to swim for exercise, I’ll arrange a time for you with Mr. Bucko.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Generally, I would assign you KP as a consequence, but since you already work in the kitchen, I have to be a little inventive.”

  She looked over at me then. “You are not off the hook, young lady. While you didn’t take Sister’s phone, you did come in here and lie to me about it. That can’t happen ever again.”

  “It won’t, Ms. Marshall. I promise.”

  “Good. I’m grounding you from the girls’ moonlight canoe ride tomorrow night.”

  “Yes, Ms. Marshall.” Was she kidding? I was ready to pay to get out of that.

  “I hope I don’t see either of you again in my office.”

  “I don’t ever want to see you again either, Ms. Marshall,” I said. That didn’t come out right, but I think she knew what I meant.

  “Maxey, please escort your sister back to Ms. Hawkins’s class, and then get back to Mess.”

  Maxey nearly raced me to the Science and Nature Center. I almost had to run to keep up with her. I didn’t know if she was in a big hurry to get back to work or she just didn’t want to talk to me.

  “If you want, Maxey,” I said, huffing, “I can tell Phil how busted up you were in the kitchen about it yesterday. I bet she’ll forgive you!”

  She just kept walking. When we got to the center, she finally turned and looked at me. “Have a nice day, miss.”

  But as she stalked off, she muttered in a voice loud enough for me to hear, “And I was chopping onions, for God’s sake!”

  The news about Maxey and me getting called into Ms. Marshall’s office that morning was the day’s headline at Camp Wicki. It was even better than a boy barfing up green in Totem Village. Nit and Aurora stuck close during chow, and Aurora didn’t even want t
o go play basketball and leave me. Which made me feel really good. The three of us tried to find a private place at Mess so we could talk, but the girls from both cabins kept scooching over to our table to eavesdrop and get the scoop.

  “I’ll tell you everything later, okay? Promise! Aurora, go to basketball. I’ll be fine. Are you coming to Farts and Craps, Nit?” I asked. I loved saying that.

  I saw the torn look that flashed across her face for just a split second. “You bet!” she said.

  “You really don’t have to. You can go hang out with Gypsy. Really, I don’t mind, Nit. I’ll sit with Cricket and Phil so no one will bug me. We’re making lanyards today, and I’ve wanted one of those forever.”

  “Oh, me too,” she said. “Darn!”

  “I’ll get extra stuff, don’t worry. I can teach you later.”

  “Really? You don’t mind? Ms. Hawkins said she’d let me be her assistant while she files Gypsy’s talons. I’ll have to wear special gloves to help, though. I can’t wait!”

  “Go! Both of you—go! I’m fine!”

  Truth was, I wanted to make lanyards today about as bad as I wanted ringworm. But I knew Aurora and Nit wouldn’t leave me if I didn’t have something that sounded fun to do. I looked over toward the boys’ tables to check on Donal. He and Bryce had their heads together and were drawing something on a pad of paper. Donal looked pretty excited. I was so glad that he was having fun finally at camp.

  “Hey, Iced Tea!” Swat said as he came by with his cart to pick up trays. “Ready for a refill?”

  “No thanks,” I said, not even trying to sound cheerful.

  He made a skidding sound with his cart. Then he pretended he was putting it in park, turned an imaginary key, and plopped down across from me. He was so tall, he couldn’t fit his knees under the table. “Okay, what gives? You have a fight with your buddies?”

  “No—they’re great. They just do other stuff in the afternoons than I do.”

  He paused a minute and then asked, “Is this about your visit with your sister to Ms. Marshall’s office? I’m not asking what it’s all about,” he said, putting his hands up. “But is everything okay?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just that—well, Ms. Marshall is ‘a little disappointed’ in me.” My face burned remembering what she’d said the day before. “I wish she wasn’t.”

  “I’m sorry, Effie. Wow. Well, I happen to know that Ms. Marshall does not hold a grudge long, and if you don’t give her any more reason to call you into her office this week, by Saturday, you’ll be old friends.” He leaned in close. “Just for the record—when I was a camper, I was in her office three different times in the same week. She still sends me a Christmas card every year!”

  “Really?” I said. “You’re not just making that up?” I remembered how on the first day Phil had made up feeling homesick to try to make me feel better.

  “Honest! And I’ll tell you something else about her that not many people know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Have you seen those big chocolate-dipped macaroons they sell over at Totem Village?”

  I nodded.

  “She’s completely addicted to them. If it were me, and if I had done some time in her office today, I might get her one, and leave it for her with a nice note.”

  “Swat! I could use a hand over here!” Coco yelled from the chow line.

  “Better go, or I’ll be in his office later,” he said with a laugh.

  “Thanks, Swat,” I said as he wheeled away.

  Made me kind of wish he would fall in love with my sister! I could use a boy like Swat in my life. With my luck, my sister would end up with Booger Boy. I’d be auntie to a herd of Booger Nieces and Nephews.

  I shuddered.

  • • •

  Chica was waiting for me on the dock at four o’clock on the dot. Mr. Bucko was there too.

  “Hi, Effie! We’re so glad to see you!” she said.

  “I’m glad to see you too!” I said. “You ready for some more swimming?”

  “Yes!”

  Mr. Bucko put his hands on his hips. “How about you two work on kicking today? Just the regular scissor kick, Effie, not the dolphin kick. Why don’t you start holding on at the dock, and then get on the kickboards and practice? And I’d spend more time reviewing breathing and bubbles today.”

  “Maybe you could show us the scissor kick first? I just want to be sure it’s the same one you’re thinking about. Maybe the one we do in Tyler Wash is different than the one you do here at Camp Wickitawa.”

  “Sure!” He dropped down onto the dock on his stomach and kicked his legs up and down. “Like this. You try it, Chica. See how my legs look like scissors? I’m cutting through the water, so I go forward. The faster I kick, the faster I go.”

  Chica and I both got down on either side of him and practiced.

  “Beautiful,” he said. “Now try it in the water. I’ll be up in my chair if you need me!” He jumped up and headed to his station.

  “Chica, guess what I learned in Ms. Hawkins’s class today?”

  She was wading into the water, one slow step at a time. “It’s very cold and wet,” she said.

  “I learned that an armadillo can stay underwater for six minutes! I think we should try to stay in the water for seven minutes. Think we can?”

  “Yes!” she said. “I think we can!”

  We went to the dock and practiced our scissor kick. We made up a rhyme to go with it. “Snip, snip, we love the scissor kick!” I had a feeling Mr. Jimenez was going to have to listen to that all night long.

  “Hi, Maxey!” Chica yelled.

  I looked up. She was standing on the dock looking down at us.

  “Hi, Chica!” she said.

  “Hey, watch me! Effie is teaching me to swim! Snip, snip, we love the scissor kick!”

  “Wow, you’re doing great!” Maxey told her.

  I waited for her to make a smart-aleck remark about me teaching Chica anything, but she didn’t.

  “Do you want Effie to teach you to swim too? Get in!”

  “Thanks, but Mr. Bucko already taught me. Before you know it, you’ll be swimming too!”

  “Before you know it!” Chica echoed, still kicking her legs as hard as she could. “Is it seven minutes yet?” she asked.

  I looked at my watch. “It’s eight minutes!”

  “We did it!” she shouted, and hurried out of the water to get to her towel.

  Maxey didn’t leave. She just stood at the dock looking down at me. But she didn’t say anything either. Why was she just standing there? She started tapping her toe. Then she cleared her throat. Twice.

  “Oh!” I said. “You can’t talk to me!”

  She nodded like, Duh!

  “But—maybe you—you have something you want to say?”

  She nodded again, up toward the sky.

  “This is sort of like the time you had bad laryngitis and I had to guess what you were saying?”

  She blew out a big breath and rolled her eyes like she couldn’t believe how long it had taken me to figure that out.

  “Uh, okay, let’s see. You feel terrible that now Ms. Marshall thinks I’m a liar.”

  She lifted one shoulder and dropped it like she didn’t much mind about that.

  “Fine, you feel terrible about you getting in trouble today.”

  She shrugged, but her face said she did feel sort of bad about it.

  “But you turned yourself in because—” And then I was really stumped. I hadn’t figured that part out yet. Why did she fess up? It wasn’t like her. She mostly tried to get me in trouble, not get me out of it.

  It was near impossible to figure that girl out. I turned to check on Chica, who was now drying between her fingers. “You doing okay over there? About ready to come back?”

  When I turned back around, Maxey stabbed her finger at Chica, then at me, then at Chica and then me. She looked like she was about to explode from wanting to tell me something.

  �
��What? You want to swim with me and Chica?”

  Any minute she was going to start banging her head on the dock. I was not getting it! She ran over to Mr. Bucko’s clipboard, which was sitting on top of a pile of kickboards. She hurried back with his waterproof marker. She leaned over to me and pulled one of my arms out of the water. She dried it off with the bottom of her T-shirt. Then she wrote across my arm in big letters.

  IT’S MY JOB TO KEEP YOU OUT OF TROUBLE.

  She paused a minute, looking at it, then added, STOP MAKING IT SO HARD!

  Dear Ms. Marshall,

  Please accept my sinceer apology for telling you that I took Sister Lucille’s phone when it wasn’t true. Normaly I don’t care if Maxey gets in trouble, but I think I was under the influance influence of Nit, who was going to quit camp if you sent Phil home. It made me want to be a good sister just like Nit. Maxey was under the influence of jelousy. She was jelous of Phil for getting to be a CIT and then jelous that it was my turn to be at camp. Plus I have two best friends and she only has one. She went temporarily insane, but she’s back now. I never meant to be a problem camper and I never wanted to come to your office.

  If you need any ideas for picking your Outstanding Camper of the Week, I could really help you. You should pick my friend Trinity Finch, who is excellent. She is a GIANT help to Ms. Hawkins with Gypsy and even cleaning out dirty cages. Plus she is super nice to everyone. She even bought the bus driver a soda on Sunday. See what I mean?

  I hope you don’t sell Camp Wickitawa to the water park guys. I don’t want Chica to lose her beautiful bedroom, and I don’t think Mr. Jimenez would be happy working at Fashion Camp. Have you thought about having retreats here? It would be good for mothers and fathers that never get a break from their kids. I bet you could get all the adults that came here when they were kids to come back. It could be like a retreat and camp reyunion all rolled into one. I hope you like the mackaroon. Swat told me they are your favorite. Here is my address in case you ever want to send me a Christmas card.

  Sinceerly,

  Effeline Maloney