“What’s so funny?” Missi asked.
“Huh?” Your cow. “Oh, nada,” Wiener said, winking at Chico, who’d taught him that word. It meant “nothing.”
“Is it my outfit?” Missi pressed.
“Psh, your outfit’s hot,” Wiener said. And then, horrified for hitting on Missi in front of Chico while they were on their bus date that he was crashing, he scrambled to say what he should have just said from the beginning. “I was thinking about Franc.”
Missi cocked her chin. “Um.”
“Still in udder bliss?” Wiener asked, reprising the hilarious joke he’d made the day he’d milked her.
Then, even though Missi had laughed hysterically the first time she’d heard it, now she didn’t even smile. Instead, she put her hand up to where her red frizzies met her almost-as-red forehead. What was wrong? WAS FRANC DEAD? Not a chance. Missi had Instagrammed some milk in a tall glass right before camp. Unless that was grocery-store milk. Yikes.
“Who’s Franc?” Chico asked Missi. “Your boyfriend?”
Wiener laughed. Like, thigh-slapping laughed. “No, man! She’s her cow.”
Chico shook his head. “A cow?”
“Yeah, you know, a cow.” Wiener looked out the window and pointed, but by now they’d passed the cows and there were sheep.
“Those are sheep,” Chico said.
“Uh, yup. Missi’s got ’em all. Little Bo Peep in the house. Er, barn.”
Chico looked at Missi like she had two heads—a cow’s and a sheep’s. “You don’t seem like a farm girl. Do you live on a farm?”
“No,” Missi said, giggling kind of weird. “I mean, sometimes I visit my grandparents on their farm, but.”
“Dude, she’s being totally modest.” Wiener gave her a double point. “Best. Farm. Girl.”
“Nuh-uh,” Missi said. “Seriously.”
“Seriously, her farm is a real farm,” Wiener bragged to Chico. “Missi eats cereal with milk straight from her cow’s udder.”
Chico scrunched his face in disgust.
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Wiener said, raising an invisible glass of milk at Missi for a cheers. She ignored it. He cheers-ed himself.
“The farm that Wiener’s talking about—it’s definitely not home,” Missi told Chico. “I live with my mom, and we, like, travel the world together.” She pinched her dress at the thighs. “We got this frock in Rishikesh, which is a yoga center in India!”
Wiener hadn’t realized Missi had a mom. He guessed that was a dumb assumption—everyone has a mom. But since he’d only ever met her grandparents, he’d never thought much about it. Wiener was happy for Missi. The farm was cool and all, but it was jam-packed with crappy stuff, and the one time he was there, he couldn’t help but reorganize the basement closet.
“What about you?” Missi asked Chico. “What’s it like with your family in Barcelona?”
“I don’t live with my family,” Chico replied. “This past year my dad sent me to an international boarding school in Sweden.”
“Wow,” Missi said. “Not only are you from Europe, but you’re a world traveler like me! That must be why you’re so independent.”
“Maybe.”
“Wait,” Wiener said. “So if you’re away all school year, and then you’re at camp for the summer, when do you see your family?”
“I don’t,” Chico said, swallowing so hard that his Adam’s apple slid up and down like a rocket. “Just the way they like it.”
“Dude—I’m sure that’s not true. They probably miss you twenty-four/seven! Parents, man, they live for their kids.”
“Sometimes, my Wiener, I think you live on another planet.”
“Ha!” Wiener said. “Me? Another planet?” He looked at Missi for confirmation that he was, in fact, an earthling, but she was busy picking at her cuticles. He looked back at Chico, who was now gazing out the window with his hood up. Another planet it is.
Wiener leaned his head back against the sticky seat and closed his eyes. He wished he had Justin Timberlake to listen to, because JT was his favorite artist and the Father of Swagger, but there were no electronics allowed. He was stuck trying to chill to the sing-along of last summer’s SING songs, which was now being led by Jenny. Although a talented lyricist, she had the tonality of a humpback whale.
Luckily, Wiener wasn’t alone in thinking that. As soon as he opened his eyes to maybe say something, Dover called out, “Jenny, Arman has something really cool to show you,” and she said, “Like, me, specifically?” and Dover said, “Uh, yup, it’s always about you,” and then she stopped her wailing to admire Arman’s Terminator Arm.
“What happened?” Jenny asked Arman. “Eek. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”
Arman popped an Advil. “It’s not a prob—”
“My neighbor’s foot got chopped off because of diabetes, and, like, if you ask her about it, she just spouts Bible passages. Oh, God—is that offensive? I AM SO SORRY.”
“Hey, relax,” Arman said. “I get asked all the time, and I’m happy to share.”
“Phew! Omigod, I felt so bad, like, a second ago, because of course if you find comfort in higher powers—”
Arman made his fingers into a mouth and closed them. Jenny followed suit. “I was hiking alone in Armenia and my arm got crushed by a boulder,” he told Jenny and Jamie, who were squeezing each other’s hands with nervous anticipation. “After several days, I decided if I was going to survive, I’d have to amputate it with my pocket knife.”
“WHAT IN THE WHAT?” Jenny said.
“WHAT IS WHAT IS WHAT?” Jamie said.
Play Dough’s eyes slowly appeared over his seat, glimmering with bewilderment. “And then a family of cheetahs attacked you?”
“Yes, sir. I fed them my arm.”
“That’s crazy, man. You’re a straight-up superhero.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“Amen,” Totle said, jotting it down.
Wiener rolled his eyes. Hard. Also, he might have groaned. The first part of Arman’s story was stolen from a wilderness movie his dad forbade him to watch, and the second part made no sense. A whole family of cheetahs surely wouldn’t be content with one arm. He watched Planet Earth. They ate impalas down to the bone. How did Arman’s lies make him a superhero and Wiener’s lies make him a baby with his pants on fire? It wasn’t fair.
Jenny returned to terrorizing the bus’s airwaves with her singing, and Arman walked two rows back to Wiener. “Psst,” he said, “you don’t dig my stories?”
Suddenly Wiener felt bad for making such a fuss. “The stories are all right,” he said. “Just a stretch.”
Arman stroked his sideburns. “Yeah, I’ve got to connect the dots better. Thanks, man, for the constructive feedback.”
Wiener nodded, confused. “Uh, anytime?”
“HELLO, LADIES AND GENTS,” Cookie announced from the front. “Are you ready for your CATCH OF THE DAY?”
Having waited patiently for hours for a reveal of any kind, the bus went instantly bananas. “Cod, please,” Totle said. “Never mind, salmon.”
“We’re going fishing?” Dover asked.
“No, guys, a catch!” Smelly said. “I knew it! We’re headed to Cooperstown for the Baseball Hall of Fame!”
Just then Arman rose ominously with a T-shirt cannon.
“OMIGOD, we’re seeing A CONCERT!” Jenny screamed. “My sixth Taylor Swift concert had T-shirt cannons!”
“I went to a bat mitzvah that had one!” Jamie cried. “Are we going to a bat mitzvah?!”
“Wrong, wrong, wrong, and wrong.” Arman fired the cannon. Boom! Boom! Boom! Bandanas, not T-shirts, began flying everywhere. Campers were diving into the aisles and jumping up from their seats to grab them while spewing guesses about their destination: “Western-themed bowling!” “A horse ranch!” “Are we ROBBING A BANK?”
But then Jerry the bus driver flashed angry eyes through the rearview mirror
and shouted, “THIS IS NOT A PUNK BAND TOUR VAN!”
“My bad, Jerry,” Arman said. “YO! Settle down!” They did. A little. “Everyone have a bandana?” The bus cheered yes. “Great. Now blindfold yourself.”
“Um, that’s got to be illegal,” Jenny said, tying a pink one into her hair.
“But I’m scared of the dark,” Jamie whimpered, holding a purple one to her face.
“C’mon, put ’em on,” Arman said. “It’s just so that you don’t know where we’re destined to be until we’ve reached our destination. No street-sign spoilers.” Wiener obeyed, and since Cookie and Arman seemed to be pacing up and down the aisle inspecting for cheaters, everyone else probably obeyed, too.
Arman continued: “Cookie will now be distributing paper bags to every row—your teammates for the next three hours. Inside the bags are a disposable camera, a Scavenger Hunt, and ten dollars per camper for lunch. Photograph wisely. TJ and the Captain will review the developed photos and determine the winner!”
“What’s the prize?” Dover asked.
“A Louie bagel?” Arman said. As a newbie counselor, he didn’t know about the most coveted prize the camp could offer: a toasted plain bagel with cream cheese and bacon from Duskin’s Greasy Spoon, a mile from the camp’s gate. But everyone else did. There were lots of screams and lots of joyous wiggling. Melman shouted a prayer: “Let there be light. Let there be Louie.” While Wiener couldn’t see Chico, he imagined that he must be confused, too. All this excitement over a bagel? But yes. This was camp. To a camper, a Louie bagel was better than a tray of hot wings.
The bags were distributed. The campers were blindly buzzing with excitement. Arman and Cookie began singing “Pure Imagination” from some movie Wiener couldn’t place. And then the bus stopped.
Wiener didn’t need to remove the bandana to know where they were. Breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, he could taste it: Hershey’s chocolate.
“Holy Hershey’s,” Wiener said in wonderment as he took in the rainbow of looping roller coasters just beyond the main gate. The pre-entrance was bustling with families and scout troops and youth groups, all absorbed in maps and phone apps. While the Rolling Hillers waited for Cookie to grab the tickets, they probably should have been reviewing Scavenger-Hunt strategies, but instead they were gathered in a delirious huddle, mouths open like, How did we get so lucky, and also, can we eat the sweet air?
“WHAT A NUTRAGEOUS MORNING, Camp Rolling Hills!” an Ice Breakers Mints container announced. Well, it was likely a human in costume, but still. “Can I hear you say, ‘NutRageous morning’?”
“NutRageous morning.”
“I can’t HEAR you.”
“NUTRAGEOUS MORNING.”
“All right, all right!” The Ice Breakers Mints said, clapping her white-gloved hands together. “The ice has been broken! We are so Jolly Rancher’d to have you here with us today for a little friendly competition.”
While all the teams exchanged smiles and bumps, Wiener glued his gaze to a lemonade stand. He didn’t want to feel bad if Missi and Chico were exchanging smiles and bumps with only each other. But then he spotted Chico’s fist held out for him to pound. Missi smiled. Wiener’s heart swelled. His team was the greatest. Even though Missi and Chico might have been hoping for romantic time alone together, they weren’t letting it show.
“Just a couple o’ quick refreshers on the rules,” Ice Breakers Mints said. “One: You must stick with your team at all times.” She cued Cookie for a demonstration with a big cheesy finger point. Cookie group-hugged Sophie and the J-squad. “Two: Keep your wristband on.” She cued Arman, who put his wrist out for band application. And then he detached his arm in her hands.
“I DIDN’T DO IT,” Ice Breakers screamed, tripping over her clown shoes and collapsing onto her pillowy mint middle. Everyone began buckling with laughter—even Wiener. Except, then Arman gave Ice Breakers a helping flesh hand and said, “Not gonna lie: My ma’s a cyborg,” and suddenly Wiener stopped thinking the prank was so funny. First off, no one’s mom is a cyborg. And second, Arman had lied. Again.
“Cyborg—nice one!” Ice Breakers said, clapping her gloved hands together. “So. The rules. Easy as chocolate pie?”
Easier. Wiener would come back to Camp Rolling Hills tonight and tell his li’l bro all about how he’d teamed up with the newbie and the girl who got away and led them to Scavenger Hunt victory. And it would be TRUE. Then, when TJ and the Captain reviewed the developed photos and confirmed their win, Wiener would split his Louie bagel with Max. Max would lick the overflowing cream cheese around the edges, and say, “Holy Louie, my big brother really is epic.”
“Everybody line up for your measurements,” Ice Breakers announced.
Wiener flexed his bicep. “What’s getting measured?”
“Height,” Ice Breakers said. “Roller coasters aren’t safe for the wee ones!”
Wait, whaaa? Wiener’s vision started to blur from the outside in as his mind flashed to the first day of summer when Play Dough had measured his height against his brother’s with a lacrosse stick. He silently recited his top favorite proverbs for comfort. One: It’s what’s inside that counts. Two: Big things come in small packages, yo!
“Wiener, walk,” Play Dough said, bumping him into Missi’s shoulder. That’s right—his nose smushed against her shoulder. He was only seeing it now—Missi was a full head taller than him. Unless . . . Wiener looked down, expecting heels. He was met with flip-flops.
“Alright, campers,” Ice Breakers said, “one at a time, stand with your back against the Hershey’s Height Board. Once you get your wristlet, head on into the park!”
Wiener could see that the Board of Impending Doom for the Vertically Challenged was split into six sections, from tallest to shortest: Jolly Rancher, Twizzlers, Hershey’s, Reese’s, Kisses, Miniatures. From what he could tell, he would be somewhere between Hershey’s and Twizzlers. With Reese’s, Kisses, and Miniatures shorter than him, maybe that wasn’t so bad? Right? Not so bad?
“I better be a Twizzlers,” Jamie said, holding her crossed fingers in the air. “You need to be at least a Twizzlers to ride Fahrenheit!”
“What’s Fahrenheit?” Wiener asked.
“It’s the second-best roller coaster to the Storm Runner,” Play Dough replied.
“What do you need to be to ride the Storm Runner?” Wiener asked.
“Also Twizzlers.”
“Omigod, omigod,” Jamie whined. “I hate being short.”
Wiener studied Jamie with panic. Last summer, Jamie had been the only person in his age group who was shorter than him. But that was LAST SUMMER. Now her legs seemed longer, and her torso longer, and in general, just everything longer. So if she was worried, then . . .
“NEXT!” Ice Breakers called.
Jamie shuffled to the board, “omigod”-ing.
Twizzlers, Twizzlers, Twizzlers, Wiener prayed. Please let Jamie be a Twizzlers so that I have a chance.
“Hershey’s!” Ice Breakers called, branding Jamie with a poop-brown wristlet.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO! Wiener internally screamed. “NOOOOOOOOOOO!” Jamie externally screamed. She walked backward through the turnstile with her arms outstretched, as if she were being sucked into the park by a magnetic force. “Jenny, do something!”
“Don’t freak out,” Jenny said. “We’ll skip the big rides and focus on the hunt.”
For a split second, Wiener thought about ditching Missi and Chico for the J-squad, but then he’d be DITCHING MISSI AND CHICO FOR THE J-SQUAD. Still, spending the day watching Missi and Chico go on rides together without him would be a nightmare.
“Hey, Missi. I forget,” he said shakily. “You’re into carnival games and snacks and stuff, yeah?”
“Of course,” she said. “Who isn’t?”
“You’re right—roller coasters are overrated.”
“Huh? I’m OBSESSED with roller coasters. The crazier the better!”
“NEXT!” Ice Breakers c
alled.
“That’s me,” Missi said, skipping to the board.
Hershey’s, Hershey’s, Hershey’s, Wiener now prayed. Chico was taller than Missi, and Missi was tall, but maybe not tall enough?
“Twizzlers,” Ice Breakers announced before Wiener was even fully aware that Missi was standing against the board. She got branded with a red wristband and practically leaped through the turnstile. “NEXT!” It was Wiener. Next was Wiener. Wiener was next.
“I gotta, um, I gotta pee,” Wiener croaked.
“Go once you’re inside the park,” Chico said.
Not a chance. He ducked under Play Dough’s arm and sprinted left and then right and then left, desperately looking past the hoards of scouts and church groups and identical T-shirts for the restrooms. Bingo! He cut through the clustered line of women and their kids and burst into the men’s room, locking himself in the first open stall he could find. He toilet-papered the seat cover until it was three layers thick, spritzed his travel Febreze, and squeezed the knob of his Sea-Band against the pressure point of his wrist. Think of a plan, Wiener. Be the giant man you are.
And then he heard a boy’s voice so fresh to puberty, it sounded like a goose playing the trumpet. “Dad, I can’t believe we’re going HOME after only HALF an hour.”
“Well, what do you want from me? Your sister’s got a fever,” a man replied.
The boy grunted. “How do I GET THIS off my WRIST?”
“I’ve got a Swiss Army knife on my keychain.”
And then Wiener heard a snip. A glorious, hopeful snip. “EUREKA!” he cried.
“You all right in there, son?” the man asked, giving a rap on the stall door.
“Uh, yes, sir,” Wiener replied.
The boy started to crack up, but Wiener didn’t care. If the boy was taller than his changing voice suggested (they usually were), then Wiener might have a chance at the hunt, at having the most fun day with Missi and Chico—and oh, Louie, at blessing his brother with a bagel.
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