“Okay. But without making me look desperate. Because I’m not. I’m just . . . interested. Maybe.”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” Talia says. “Although there’s always Muffs . . .”
“I’m not interested in that guy and his kind-of-sexual nickname and his weird earmuffs!” Lis says.
“Muffs is in love with her,” Talia tells me.
“He is not,” she says. “Besides, he’s like my brother! We go to—went to—high school together!”
“I have my eye on someone too,” Janelle says, waggling her eyebrows. “Actually two someones.”
“Ooh, tell us,” I say, turning back to her.
“Well, JJ is adorable,” she says. “And he looks good in a bathing suit.”
Lis bursts out laughing. “JJ is gay,” she says. “He came out when we were CITs. Sorry to burst your bubble.”
“Dang,” she says. “Okay, then. The hot tennis teacher. He’s smokin’. Is he straight?”
“I believe so. But did you really just use the word smokin’?” Lis asks.
“I did.” She makes a sizzling sound. “What’s his story?”
“Who’s the tennis teacher?” I ask.
“Benji Rhee,” Lis says. “He’s tall and has amazing shoulders and was wearing a Red Sox hat in the CL. He is smokin’. And I think he’s the only other Korean American at camp. But his you-know-what is probably smokin’ too because he hooks up with everyone.”
“Oh, I noticed him,” I say. “He is hot.”
“And a player,” Janelle says. “I like players!”
“Not me,” Lis says.
“What’s your type then?” Janelle asks her.
“I like nice guys. Although my bubbe would prefer if I marry a nice Jewish guy.”
“What’s a bubbe?” Janelle asks.
“Jewish grandmother,” she explains. “I’m adopted. In case you’re wondering.”
“Cool,” she says and turns to Talia. “What about you? Interested in anyone?”
“No,” she says quickly.
“She never likes anyone,” Lis says. “Something’s wrong with her.”
“Nothing is wrong with me! I come to camp to relax, not to hook up with guys.”
Janelle giggles. “I came completely to hook up with guys!”
We all laugh.
“What about you, Sam?”
“I guess to make some money, and be around kids,” I say.
And to put my Porny days behind me once and for all.
WEEK 1 SCHEDULE—BUNK 6A
Week 1
“Here they come!” Botts yells. “Get ready!”
We are waiting on the side of the dirt road for the arrivals.
Indeed, here they come. At least a dozen gray buses, the fancy kind, are all headed toward us. The first one stops just in front of the camp sign, and the others all line up behind it. The buses kick dust up everywhere and I shield my eyes, wishing I had my sunglasses on.
The doors open and my heart starts to race. I can do this. I can do this!
I hope I can do this.
“Sam! Talia!” Danish calls from the door to one of the buses. “Come get your campers!”
Oh, wow. Here we go. For real. I hurry up to the bus and stand by the door.
She sends our campers out one by one.
“Fancy, meet Sam and Talia!”
Fancy? Oh, right! Fancy! With the Dolce and Gabbana T-shirts. The one whose mom my mom saw at the Fresh Market.
“Hi, Fancy!” Talia says.
“Hi, Francie!” I say.
“It’s Fancy,” she says to me.
Okay, then.
Fancy is a small redhead covered in freckles. She is wearing a Chanel backpack that is bigger than she is. She has designer sunglasses perched on her head.
She seems to live up to her nickname.
“Shira, meet Sam and Talia!”
“Hi, Shira!” we chant.
Shira steps off the bus. She’s tall, thin, pale, and dark-haired. She is missing two of her front teeth. Her hair is in two buns, Princess Leia style.
“Shira! Like She-Ra, Princess of Power! Are you the princess of power?” I ask.
She gives me a fake, toothless smile. “All the teachers at school use that joke.”
Whoops. But yay—I am making the same joke as the teachers! I am clearly a born educator.
“Emma F., meet Sam and Talia!”
Emma F. is almost as tall as Shira. She’s holding a fuzzy stuffed lion and is dressed all in polka dots. She’s African American and is wearing her hair in two braids with pink tips.
“Hi, Emma F.!” we chant.
“Emma C., meet Sam and Talia!”
Other Emma steps off the bus. She has curly blondish hair and light skin that is already a little sunburned. She looks like an athlete. She’s wearing a Mets baseball hat, a Mets T-shirt, and gray sweatpants. A baseball lover!
“Hi, Emma!” we chant.
“Let’s go, Mets!” I add.
“Lily, meet Sam and Talia!”
Lily steps off the bus. A cloud of big, bouncy curly brown hair frames her face, even though she’s Asian. She’s wearing a pink leotard and purple cartwheel shorts.
“Hi, Lily!”
“And the final girl in Bunk Six A is Prague!”
Ah, Prague.
Prague looks exactly like a mini Kim Kardashian, with jet-black hair that she clearly got blown out. She’s wearing a rhinestone headband, jeggings, two layered tops, and heart-shaped sunglasses. She flips her hair. Her nails are painted lavender and covered in rhinestone decals.
Oh, brother. She’s fancier than Fancy!
She takes one step off the bus and trips, falling on her hands.
We all freeze.
“Omigosh, are you okay?” I ask, bending down. Danish, Talia, and I crowd around her.
Her sunglasses fall off, and her big brown eyes fill with tears. “Ouchie,” she says.
I help her up. Her arms are shaking.
“Way to make an entrance,” Talia says.
Prague laughs but then sobs.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.” I hand her back her sunglasses.
“I’m okay,” she says. “Really. That was just. Ugh. So embarrassing. Like, seriously.” She brushes off her hands and knees and links her arm through mine.
“You sure you’re not hurt?”
She nods.
I look at the rest of the girls. All six of them are staring at me, waiting for instructions. I’m not sure what to do. I look at Talia. She’s done this before, right? “Do we go back to the bunk?” I ask.
“Sure,” Talia says. “Let’s all go back to the bunk!”
“To the bunk,” I say. “Bunk Six A! You’re going to love it. I was in the same bunk when I was a kid.”
“When’s lunch?” Fancy asks. “I’m hungry.” Her voice is unexpectedly low and gravelly, like a smoker’s. It almost makes me laugh.
“Me too!” says Shira.
“Lunch is in thirty minutes,” I say. “We’re just going to drop your backpacks off at the bunk, and then head to the Dining Hall.”
Fancy wrinkles her nose. “But I’m hungry. Can we get a snack?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” I say. Do we make the call about whether or not they get snacks? I think we do.
“I have cupcakes,” Lily says. “You can have one.” She puts down her backpack and starts searching through it.
Cupcakes! I think about Eli. I miss Eli.
“Let’s just do this back at the bunk,” I say, flustered. Other kids are getting off the buses and we’re kind of in the way.
“I have chips,” says Emma F. “Barbecue chips! Do you like barbecue chips? They’re my favorite!”
“I have salt and vinegar chips!”
“Me too!” says Shira.
“I have candy!” says another one. “So much candy!”
“I have cookies and candy,” Prague says. “Also brownies.”
How much foo
d did these kids bring? “Let’s just go to the bunk,” I repeat. I steal a glance at Talia.
“Come on, girls. Honk!” Talia says. “You’re getting in everyone’s way!”
I motion to the girls and start walking back over the bridge.
“Honk, honk!” I cheer. “Let’s move ’em out!”
Yikes. Stressed already. I wonder if I can have a brownie.
As soon as we get to the bunk, it’s a whirlwind. The girls all squeal as they find their made-up beds and reunite with their belongings. They hug their pillows and stuffed animals and kiss their parents’ pictures on the walls.
Aw. They’re cute. It’s easy to forget how young they really are.
“Let’s have a junk party!” Fancy cries, taking out a piece of licorice.
Now? Oh no.
“Guys?” I say. “We’re going to have lunch really soon. Maybe we shouldn’t have candy right now?”
“I have candy necklaces,” Lily says, talking right over me and jumping on her bed like it’s a trampoline. “One for each of us.”
“That is so adorable,” Prague says. “We’ll all match!”
“Guys?” I try again. “Lunch is in ten minutes. No candy now, okay?”
None of them listen to me. None of them even look at me. It’s like I’m not here. They are pooling their junk in the middle of the floor.
Where is Talia?
Shira has an entire brownie in her mouth. And I can see it all between her missing two front teeth.
“I have M&M’s,” Fancy yells. She takes out the M&M’s. A yellow bag.
The peanut kind.
“STOP IT RIGHT NOW,” I yell.
All their heads swirl to me.
“No peanuts,” I say, taking my voice down a notch. “You guys are not allowed to have peanut M&M’s.” I walk over to Fancy and take the M&M’s out of her hand. “Sorry.”
Fancy glares at me. “But . . . but . . . no one in our bunk has a peanut allergy.”
“You’re right that nobody in the bunk has a peanut allergy,” I say. “But other kids in the camp do and we’re not taking any chances.”
“That’s so unfair,” she whines. “My parents paid for these.”
“Talia?” I call out. “Where are you? Help!”
“Just changing!” I hear. “There in a sec!”
“How do you know that no kids in the bunk have a peanut allergy?” I ask.
“My mom called and asked,” she says, her voice extra low and gravelly. “Obviously. I’m not psychic.”
Psychic, no; a tiny jerk, yes.
Do not call the children tiny jerks. Do not call the children tiny jerks. “Listen, everyone, it’s almost lunch,” I say, trying to remain calm. “We’re leaving here in five minutes. There’ll be lots of food there.”
“But I’m hungry now,” Lily says.
“Can we have the candy after?” Shira asks.
I hear Eric’s muffled announcement in the distance. “Attention, all counselors. I mean, attention, all counselors and . . . and, uh, campers. Yeah. Campers. Attention, all campers and counselors. It is now time for lunch. Please go . . . please proceed to the kitchen. I mean Rec Hall. Dining Hall! Yes, Dining Hall. Thank you.”
“It’s a good thing you’re hungry, then,” I say. “Because it’s lunch! Hooray! Come on, kids, let’s go eat.”
“But what about the candy? We can eat it afterward?” Emma F. asks.
“Do we have to wash our hands?” Emma C. asks.
“Yes, you have to wash your hands,” I say. “It’s lunch washup. So you should absolutely wash your hands.”
“I don’t want to wash my hands,” Fancy says.
“So don’t,” I snap. “Eat your lunch with grimy bus hands. Your call.” Yikes. The kids have been here an hour and I’m already losing it. I take a deep breath. I force a smile. I cannot lose it. I want to be good at this. I need to be good at this. “Everyone meet on the porch in three minutes, ’kay?”
“I’m not washing my hands,” I hear Fancy say as I turn around.
“You can use my sanitizer,” Talia says, stepping out of our counselors’ room. “It smells like cinnamon.”
I keep walking, all the way to the porch. And then I realize I forgot to wash my own hands.
Lunch is soggy grilled cheese and cold french fries.
Not that I have time to eat. I am too busy getting food, finding ketchup, pouring bug juice, and cleaning up bug juice.
Shira spills it all over the table when she tries to pour herself a cup. Then she starts to cry. Which is how I become the Designated Pourer.
As for the meal itself, the kids seem to be divided into two groups. Half of them help themselves to two sandwiches, multiple plates of fries, and piles of ketchup, as though they’ve never seen food before, while the other half barely eat.
“Do you want something from the salad bar instead?” I ask.
Shira shakes her head. “I’m not hungry.”
Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten that entire brownie. At least she’s not crying anymore.
Fancy goes to take a look at said salad bar and comes back with a scoop of tuna that she then just moves around her plate.
Awesome. I lean over to Talia. “What are we supposed to do? Force-feed them?”
“I guess they’ll eat when they’re hungry,” she says, shrugging. She leans closer to me. “Do you want to call it?”
“Call what?” I ask.
“Freeze,” she whispers, and waggles her eyebrows.
I had forgotten all about freeze. Oh, how I hate-loved freeze as a camper. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll call it. One. Two. EVERYONE FREEZE!”
Prague giggles and freezes. Fancy and Emma C. freeze too.
“Huh?” says Lily.
“You all have to freeze right now,” I say. “First one to move cleans up the table!”
“You move, you stack!” Talia says.
They are all frozen. Prague has her cup up to her mouth. Some of them are holding up forks. Some of them are mid-smile. Some are mid-chew. Shira was about to stand up. She’s kind of crouching there. She does not look steady. She does not look steady at all.
And she moves.
“Shira’s gone!” I call out.
Shira bursts into tears.
“Crybaby,” Fancy says.
“Hey!” I say. “Don’t call people names.”
I promise Shira that the bright side of stacking one meal is that it means she does not have to stack the next one. When the rest of the kids freeze, she can continue eating, she can try to make them laugh, she can pick her nose, she can do whatever she wants.
But she does not stop crying.
“Is everything okay?” Danish asks, walking up just as the snot drips down Shira’s nose.
“Noooooo,” she cries.
“She has to stack,” I explain. “I called freeze.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t call freeze at the very first meal,” Danish says.
Right. Oops. “No freeze. Forget freeze!” I tell the girls. “Counselors stack!”
“I’m not stacking,” Talia grumbles.
“I’ll stack,” I say, but Danish has already moved on to the next table.
I am really nailing it.
Rest Hour: We help the girls get settled.
Swim Tests: Someone pees in the pool. We don’t know who, but we know there are warm spots. So. Someones, plural, peed in the pool. Fantastic.
Milk and Cookies: Twice a day we get snacks in the dining hall. This is called Milk and Cookies even though today they only serve fruit, and no cookies. But I get to see Gavin in a bathing suit and his abs are . . . not terrible to look at.
Softball: Hurrah, something I’m actually good at! And so is Emma C.! She sends the ball flying through camp! “Way to go, Slugger!” I cry out.
“Can that be my nickname?” she asks.
Maybe nicknames are okay if they’re good nicknames? “Okay, if that’s what you want us to call you!”
“Yes, please!”<
br />
“Sure thing, Slugger!”
“Then I get to be Emma!” Emma F. calls out. “No more F! Actually, never mind. I want to be Em. Can I be Em?”
“Why not,” I say.
Gymnastics: Lily is a superstar. Like Olympic-level. Okay, maybe not Olympic-level but really, really great. I try to walk on the balance beam but fall off. Talia does a pretty good headstand.
Finally, we have Dinner Washup.
Time for a fifty-five-minute break. I am exhausted. I lie on my bed. My campers are being kind of quiet, which I’m guessing means they are eating candy.
When the fifty-five minutes are done, we gather the kids on the porch and head to the flagpole together.
“Get the kids in bunk lines!” Josh, the head counselor, hollers from beside the flagpole, where all the head staff is huddled.
“Come on, girls, bunk lines!” I call out.
“Bunk lines,” Talia repeats, but with less gusto. She is not that animated a counselor, I think.
I see that Gavin, JJ, and Muffs already have their kids lined up in a row, so I try to get my kids to do the same. But they keep talking to each other and hopping around like little bunnies.
Yup, they were definitely sneaking candy.
It takes a good ten minutes, but finally the whole camp is here and the kids are lined up. Josh calls up Bennett Buckman to lower the flag because it’s his twelfth birthday.
Yes. Bennett Buckman.
He has the same perfect nose and dark hair as his sister.
I try not to give him the evil eye.
“Thank you,” Josh says as “Taps” ends. “Now walk—don’t run—to the Dining Hall!”
The kids all run.
Lis, Talia, Janelle, Muffs, wild-haired JJ, Gavin, and I all trail behind.
“Juniors are exhausting,” Muffs says.
“They so are,” Talia says. “I’m going to nap again at Free Play.”
“I was going to hit some tennis balls,” JJ says. “Anyone want to come?”
“I do!” Janelle squeals. “Hello, Smokin’ Hot Benji!”
“Don’t tell me he’s straight,” JJ says.
“Don’t tell me he’s not,” she says.
“I’ll come and be the line judge,” Muffs says. “Lis? Gav?”
“Sure,” Gavin says.
“I really need to shower,” Lis says.
Just a Boy and a Girl in a Little Canoe Page 6