“Are there any tadpoles here?”
“Maybe. See if you can find some.”
As they came around a huge pine tree, Bucky pointed. “There. See that?”
A small indentation in some rocks formed a tiny grotto, almost a cave. “You can kind of hide in here,” Bucky told them. “Here, climb in.”
Jose carefully clambered into the small hideaway. “Cool!” He motioned to Alex. “Come on.”
After hesitating for just a moment, Alex pulled himself up onto the jagged rock and slipped into the little spot next to Jose. “It’s sort of wet in here,” he said.
“Yeah, watch where you sit.” The two boys scrambled around in the grotto for a minute before climbing out. “If we ever play kick - the - can or anything, I’ll come hide in here,” Jose declared.
“Well, we better head back to camp,” Bucky told them. “Anybody ready for some sloppy joe sandwiches?”
“What’s that?” Gordie wrinkled up his nose.
“You’ll find out. They’re pretty good.” Picking up the pace a little bit, the tall counselor led them back up the winding trail.
As they hiked along Bucky fell into step next to Alex. “That was some pretty good skiing today.” He laughed. “Except for the finish. I guess you and I’ll have to work on that.”
“Yeah.” The sober boy nodded.
“You gonna email and tell your dad?”
Alex didn’t say anything. “Come on. You got up on skis! Your dad’ll be all jazzed to hear about it.”
“I . . . I don’t know how.”
“I can show you tomorrow.” He frowned, thinking. “Unless you guys don’t have email.”
“Huh uh.”
“We can send him a postcard then.”
The boy hesitated. “I don’t know where . . .” His voice trailed off.
“What do you mean? You don’t remember your own address?”
The boy looked away from Bucky, fixing his eyes determinedly on the pathway ahead.
“You really don’t remember your address?”
“Huh uh.”
“You’re living just with your dad?” Bucky asked the question gently.
A nod.
“But you don’t remember the street address?”
“Huh uh.”
“That’s OK.” Bucky put an arm around Alex’s shoulders. “We can look it up tomorrow.”
Alex said nothing, but his face tightened as they went up the steep trail leading back to the cafeteria.
Chapter Seven: Mystery Kid
Wednesday morning Bucky stopped by the office on his way down to the lake for the morning ski session. “I hate to bug you again,” he apologized to Mrs. Carpenter, “but I just want to look at this one form again.”
“The same boy as before?”
“Yeah. Alex’s.”
She pulled out the thick folder of registration materials. “What was his last name again? It started with R, I think.”
“Rickard.”
“Oh, that’s right.” A moment later she handed him the paper. “There’s nothing wrong, is there?”
“Nah. Except he doesn’t seem to know where he lives. I’m trying to get all the guys to either email or write home.” He scanned the information sheet quickly. It was in a man’s careless handwriting.
“Derry. That’s that little town right by the freeway, isn’t it? So they live pretty close.”
“I guess so.” She looked at the form over his shoulder. “Is everything there?”
“Well, he didn’t put a phone number down,” Bucky observed. “But there’s an address. And looks like the pastor signed off on it.”
“Hmmm. That’s strange,” she mused.
“What?”
“Well, it looks like ‘Pastor John Thomason.’”
“Yeah. So?”
“Well, that’s not the Derry church. I wonder where they attend.”
“Must be some other one.”
“I suppose so. But I’ve never even heard of Thomason. Maybe he’s new here in the district.” She handed Bucky a pen. “You want to copy this address down for Alex?”
“Sure.” Carefully he recorded the information for Alex to use later.
That evening after supper Bucky took his turn helping carry out the huge garbage cans that would be picked up the following morning, “Man, these kids really crank out the trash, don’t they?” he laughed to Nancy as he picked up an empty box of Corn Chex that had fallen out of one of the overloaded cans.
“Yeah, they’re just little eating machines.”
On his way back to the cabin, he glanced down toward the lake. The beach appeared deserted except for an orange life jacket that somebody had left leaning against a tree. Grumbling to himself, he trotted down the path that led to the beach area. Mr. Carpenter was a little bit fussy about people leaving equipment out overnight. Picking up the still damp jacket, he walked over to the supply shed and pulled the door open.
“Hey, what’s going on?” In the darkened interior of the tin shed he could just make out the features of another camp counselor. The older student assisted in the horsemanship program.
“I . . . nothing.” The other counselor had a startled look on his face. “I was just . . . I mean, straightening up in here.” He looked at the life jacket in Bucky’s hand. “Sorry. Guess I missed one.”
Bucky slipped the jacket over a hook. “Well, it’s not your job.” He hesitated for a moment. What was that strange smell?
“Guess we better get goin’. It must be about time for campfire.”
The younger student glanced around the darkened little shed. Down on the cement floor next to George’s foot was a small familiar object.
“Comin’?”
Turmoil twisted in Bucky’s mind. Forget it! You’re new here. For a second he hesitated, then decided he had to know. “What were you doing in here?” he blurted out, looking directly at George.
“Like I told you, just puttin’ some stuff away you guys forgot.” The older counselor stepped toward the door. Even in the darkened little room, Bucky could see his face reddening.
Bucky leaned over and picked up the small cigarette. “Is this yours?”
“Huh? No way. What is that, anyway?” The words came in a little rush.
Bucky stepped in front of him. “Look, this whole place stinks of smoke, man. And this joint . . . you just put it out, didn’t you? Come on, man.”
After a moment, George nodded reluctantly. “Hey, look. It’s no big deal. Maybe once a week I just blow a little smoke to lighten myself up. I mean, all these kids? It’s too much hassle.”
Bucky said nothing. Why did I come down here?
The other boy shoved both his hands in his pockets, his bulky forearms showing through his Sierra Pines T-shirt. “You’re going to keep quiet about this, aren’t you? I mean, it doesn’t have to concern you, Stone. Right?”
Bucky hesitated. “You’re a counselor, man.” He turned and walked out of the little shed without answering.
All through evening campfire his thoughts were in turmoil. George was a popular counselor, Bucky knew. The horsemanship instructor was putting in his third summer session at the camp. Had the marijuana use been going on all along? And was it Bucky’s place to blow the whistle on somebody else? He’d already gotten burned – bad – in high school ratting on a friend. Fragments of Pastor Jack’s worship talk punctuated his jumbled thinking, but he shook them off. What should I do?
After Mr. Carpenter’s dismissal prayer, he fell into step with George as the boys and their counselors headed toward the men’s side of the camp. “Can you get out for a bit after lights out?” he said softly. “I gotta talk to you.”
George’s face tightened. “What is it?”
“Look, just come out if you can. 10:00. That picnic table next to the showers.” He hesitated. “I’m not gonna bust your chops.”
The older boy sighed. “Yeah, whatever you say, Stone.”
Bucky gathered his boys around and had a sho
rt prayer with them, adding a silent petition of his own. Please, Lord, help me know what to say to George.
Just before lights out he went over to Jason, the cocky athletic boy. “Listen, Jason, I need a massive favor.”
“What?” The blond boy tucked away a comic book.
“I’ve got to go out and meet somebody about some stuff. Just for a few minutes.”
“So?”
Bucky took a breath. “Can you kind of help me out and make sure things stay settled down in here? Just don’t let anybody shoot off a bomb or anything.”
Jason’s eyes widened. “Really? You want me?”
“Yeah.” Bucky looked right at him. “I think you’re the one guy who can do it.”
“Sure. I mean, I guess I can try.” The boy suddenly seemed a little more subdued.
“I won’t be out long. OK?”
Jason stood up on his bunk. “All right, you guys. Mr. Stone’s going out for a little bit, but he wants us all to go to sleep. OK?”
“Aaaah.” Gordie strode by the bunk with a dismissive wave. “Who made you king of the universe?”
“Mr. Stone.” Jason leaned over the edge of his bunk. “So cool it.”
Bucky grinned. “I hope I didn’t pick me out a tyrant,” He edged toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
All the cabin lights flickered out as he made his way down the dirt path. Only the outside light bulbs stayed illuminated, casting long narrow spears of light through the tall pines.
Thinking hard, he crouched down on the table. What should he say to George?
“Hey.” The older counselor came up behind him and sat down heavily. “Sorry to make you wait.”
“It’s OK.” Bucky slowly turned to face him. “You snuck out all right?”
“Yeah.” George was wary, trying to read Bucky’s mood. “So what’s the story?”
Bucky looked down at his dust - covered tennis shoes. “Well, about the pot, I guess.”
During the long silence George’s gaze shifted from Bucky to the nearby cabins, then back again. “You gonna rat on me?”
Slowly Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
A long sigh. “Thanks, man,”
“Well, hang on.” The younger counselor leaned forward. “I want you to tell me for sure that it’s not going to happen again.”
“What?”
“I’m not kidding. You’ve got to promise me you won’t smoke pot . . . or anything . . . while you’re here at camp.”
“Man . . .” George began to flush red. “Who gave you the right to tell everybody here what to do?”
Bucky’s heart began to pound. “Well, maybe I don’t have the right to do that,” he retorted. “But I’ve got the right to tell Carpenter one of his counselors is smoking dope on the job, and sneaking around to do it – and living a lie in front of the whole camp.”
“Oh, come on.”
“No, you come on.” Bucky’s voice took on a bit of an edge. “Look, out there in the world, if you wanted to smoke pot, I guess that would be your business. But you’re here at camp. You’re a counselor. Man, you’re God to these guys here. And for you to be sneaking around, pretending you’re right with God when you’re not – smoking pot in the supply shed, for heaven’s sake . . .”
George climbed to his feet and began to pace angrily back and forth. “Hey, Stone, where did you come from anyway? We’re talking about one little hit of pot. Nobody got killed.”
Bucky shrugged. “Tough. And you can’t tell me that you stick to just once a week.”
“So what if I do or don’t?”
Standing, Bucky faced him. “Look, I didn’t come out here to scream at you or to try to debate you or anything. And you’re right. I’m not your boss,” He took a breath. “But Joe Carpenter is. And I guess you either work this out with me or the two of us go over and work it out with him. And if we talk to him, I imagine he’s going to help you pack your suitcase and send you home.” He lowered his voice. “And I don’t want for that to happen. ‘Cause you seem like a pretty awesome guy overall.”
The last remark seemed to startle George. “You really . . . I mean, you aren’t going to tell Carpenter?”
Bucky sat back down. “I just want to follow what the Bible tells me to do,” he said simply. “And I admit, I don’t want to put these kids here at risk. But I know that when somebody messes up or needs help, God says to go to that person first and try to work it out before telling anybody else. You know, that stuff in Matthew seventeen or eighteen or wherever it is? ‘Go to thy brother alone’?”
George glanced down at the pine cone-covered dirt. “So that’s it?” he managed. “I just quit and that’s the end of it?”
Bucky made a quick decision. “Whatever pot you’ve still got, I want you to give it to me and let me dump it for you.” The challenge was a gamble, he knew.
For a moment George’s antagonism threatened to flare up again. “Why should I . . .” For the second time, Bucky could see the flush of resentment begin to creep up his neck. The idea of surrendering his stash to a younger counselor was almost more than he could take.
‘“Look, just bring it over in the morning, and I’ll get rid of it.” Bucky tried to sound non - judgmental. “I mean, I don’t want to make this a big deal any more than you do. You and I’ve got to work together all summer, man.”
At last George nodded wearily. “Yeah.” He looked directly at Bucky. “OK. First thing tomorrow.”
Bucky nodded, then abruptly held out his hand. The older boy stared at it for a moment before reluctantly accepting the offered handshake.
During breakfast the next morning George slipped over to where Bucky sat with his campers. “Got a present for you,” he said, forcing a smile.
“Sure.” Bucky accepted the plain while envelope, tucking it into his jeans pocket. He watch George made his way across the cafeteria and sit back down with his own troop of campers.
After breakfast he slipped into one of the stalls in the boys’ bathroom. Pulling open the envelope, he removed four small cigarettes. Carefully shredding them into the toilet, he watched as the remains swirled out of sight. Was that going to be the end of it? he wondered. Had he done the right thing, keeping information from the camp director?
A stiff breeze made the water on the lake a little bit choppier than usual that morning, but the campers still got in some good skiing. Several of the boys and girls were already managing to get up on one ski, and more than a third of them were well on their way to completing their honor badge in Beginning Water - Skiing. Several times he glanced over at Alex, who hadn’t skied again since his spectacular spill the other morning,
“How about a turn?” He gave the lonely boy a friendly wave. Alex shook his head. “You sure? You did great last time.”
The dark - haired camper looked over to where Jason splashed water on one of the girls. “I don’t know.”
“Come on. Now that you got up once, the second time’ll be easy.”
At last Alex stood and walked in to where Bucky waited waist - deep in the water. “It’s cold.”
“Nah, not bad once you move around a little bit.”
Bucky was about to remind him to take off his shirt, then suddenly remembered the boy’s reluctance. “Here, pop this baby on.” He flipped Alex the last remaining life jacket.
Just then Jill, one of the better skiers in the group, came gliding in on two skis. She coasted to a perfect stop, holding her nose as she dipped down into the water. “Pretty good!” Bucky gave her a thumbs-up gesture. “Maybe after lunch you can try a shot at single - skiing.”
Then he signaled to David. “Alex is going to go for a spin. So give him a smooth ride, OK?”
“You got it.” David leaned over the edge of the boat. “Fast, medium, or slow?” He grinned.
“I . . . medium, I guess.” Alex hunched down in the water, waiting nervously for his ride.
“Hey, Alex! Try standing up this time!” The voice cut through
the wind.
Turning, Bucky shot a tiny glare at Jason. Suddenly he thought of something. “Hey, get over here.”
“How come?”
; “You’re doin’ pretty good. Help me get Alex started. Give him some pointers on, you know, standing up straight.”
Jason shrugged. “Sure.” He came over and held on to Alex’s left ski. “Once you’re up, just sort of stand up straight and let the boat keep you stable. I guess, just don’t go crossin’ the wake or anything.” Then he looked at Bucky. “Is that all you wanted?”
“Sure.” Bucky patted Alex encouragingly. “You heard it from the pro. Just stand up straight and let ‘er rip.” Then Bucky waved to the driver. “Hit it!”
With a smooth roar the boat pulled Alex through the water. After just a moment of spray, he popped loose and began to skim along the surface.
“You did it!” Bucky pumped both fists in pleasure, then turned to Jason. “That’s great. Thanks for your help.” He paused. “You know, you really can be a help to people if you’ll just encourage them a little bit. Like you did right there. That was awesome.”
Jason didn’t say anything, squinting as he watched the retreating form of the skinny boy. “He’s standing up straighter,” he observed laconically.
It was almost noon before the last of the skiers finally began trudging up the trail back to camp. Bucky remained behind, helping David pick up stray towels and life jackets. “Pretty nice bunch of kids,” the boat driver said, shaking some water out of his hair.
“Yeah, they’re not too horrible.” Carefully Bucky wound up the spare ski rope and put it in the boat. “I guess I’ll survive the summer.”
As he passed the boys’ shower room he suddenly heard squeals of protest. What in the world? Quickly trotting back, he saw three boys crowding into one stall
“What’s going on?” he snapped, approaching them.
“Hey, this baby’s taking a shower with all his clothes on!” One of Dan Litton’s campers reluctantly moved to the side as Bucky gave him a little push.
“Alex?” Bucky bent over. “What’s the matter?”
“I told you, he’s in here showering with his shirt still on. He’s done it every day since camp started!” one of the boys explained.
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