Nothin But Net

by Matt Christopher

  The girls were all clumped around the food-and-drink table, just like last time. Some of the Condor boys were over there, trying to catch the girls’ attention and impress them with how cool they were. Tim sat on one of the bleacher benches, trying to look casual.

  “Yo, Daniels,” Jody said, coming over and sitting down next to him. “Who do you like?”

  “Me?”

  “Is there another Daniels I don’t know about?”

  “What do you mean, who do I like?”

  “You know — the girls, man. Las chicas.”

  “Oh … I don’t know … nobody special.”

  “You like that Wanda, right?” Jody said with a knowing smile. “I saw you two dancing last week.”

  “Yeah, Wanda’s pretty cool,” Tim said, just to get Jody off his back. Actually, he did kind of like Wanda, braces and all. At least she seemed really interested in him — not like Stephanie Krause, who kept giggling about him to her girlfriends and whispering about him to Mike Gruber.

  He saw Stephanie now, her black hair gleaming red and blue in the soft lights of the gym. She was talking to not one, not two, but three guys, and when a new song started, she began dancing with one of them. It was a Condor boy — probably fifteen years old. Man, thought Tim. The oldest kids get to choose any girl they want to dance with.

  He would have loved to ask Stephanie to dance. But after last time, he’d decided once and for all — no more asking girls to dance. If anyone wanted to dance with him, she could ask him. Maybe, maybe he’d say yes. But getting rejected was for the birds, and he felt bad enough already.

  “Well, get on up there and find her, yo,” Jody said, giving him an elbow.

  “Sure, Jody,” he said, getting up. Anything to get away from you and your nagging.

  He waltzed over to the food-and-drink table, poured himself some punch, bopping in time to the music, and then edged slowly toward the side doors and through them, out onto the porch. Out here, there were a few couples whispering and kissing in the darkness.

  Tim found an empty bench and sat down on it to sip his punch and wait out the evening — or as much of it as he could before anyone noticed he was missing.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been out there — maybe five or ten minutes — when he looked up and saw a dark shadow looming between him and the porch light. Even in the semidarkness, he could tell it was her — could tell by the shimmering of her black hair and the way she tossed it to the side as she approached him. “Hi, Tim,” she said in that musical voice of hers. “It’s me. Stephanie.”

  “Oh, hi,” he said, his voice barely audible, so big was the lump in his throat. “What’s up?”

  “I saw you come out here, and I kind of wanted to talk with you. Could I, um, sit down?”

  “Sure,” Tim said, shoving over a little to make room for her on the small bench. Behind them, a big window would have given a view of the gym and the dancers, except that a white sunshade had been pulled down from inside. They were private out here. All the other couples were kissing. For goodness’ sake, what was Stephanie doing out here? What did she want from him?

  “You’re not dancing tonight?” she asked softly.

  “Um, nah, I land of didn’t feel like it.”

  “Bad day yesterday, huh?”

  “You heard?”

  “Kinda. Hey, it’s okay, don’t feel bad. The girls lost, too. We got creamed.”

  “You guys didn’t have a ten-year winning streak to protect,” Tim pointed out.

  “Yeah, but so what?” Stephanie said. “Who cares about a dumb streak?”

  She was being so nice! His head was spinning. What was going on here?

  “I thought you were a good dancer,” she said. “Last time, I mean. It was fun.”

  “Yeah?” He was finding it all hard to believe. Here she was, coming to him like an angel in his lowest moment, saying things to him he wouldn’t have dared to dream of!

  Still, the nagging doubts in his head wouldn’t let him give in to the dream. “You — you were laughing at me last time,” he said. “I saw you with your girlfriends.”

  “What? I was not!” she said, taken aback. “Why would I do that?”

  He had no answer to that question. What was he going to say? Because I’m a loser?

  “You were. You and Mike were whispering, and you were checking me out. I thought you — I thought he might have wanted you to ask me to dance, you know, as a goof.”

  “That is sick.” Stephanie recoiled. “You are so totally wrong.”

  “Really?” She seemed so angry with him, and he didn’t want her to be angry with him. Besides, why would she be angry if she was guilty?

  “You want to know the truth? Mike’s jealous of you,” she whispered in his ear, giggling softly, making little hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

  “How … how come? He’s better than me at every sport there is.”

  “He thinks I like you, because I told him I thought you were cute. And it really ticked him off that I asked you to dance.” She grinned mischievously, and her eyes twinkled at him.

  “Oh …”

  “Tim … have you ever kissed a girl?”

  His heart took a long pause before starting to beat again, and he felt close to passing out.

  “Um, sure,” he lied. “I mean, once or twice.”

  “Oh,” she said, sounding disappointed.

  “Not really kissing, though,” he said, hoping he hadn’t blown his chance by saying the wrong thing. “Just kind of like, you know, pecks and stuff.”

  “Oh,” she said, smiling and giggling again. “You wanna kiss?”

  He swallowed hard and tried to say yes, but nothing came out, so he only nodded his head.

  “Okay,” she said, quickly looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching. “Close your eyes, then.”

  She said it loudly, and he wondered why, but he was too wrapped up in what was about to happen to pay attention to anything else. He closed his eyes.

  “Now kiss me,” she whispered.

  He moved his head slowly forward, lips first, reaching for hers. He felt them, soft and warm and … rubbery?

  Fffffftttttttt! He opened his eyes in shock, only to see that he’d just kissed, not Stephanie Krause’s lips, but a rubber whoopee cushion!

  Laughter erupted from behind him. Turning, he saw that the sunshade had been lifted from inside, and six or seven kids were staring at him through the window, pointing and screaming with glee.

  Tim could feel himself turning bright red. He wheeled around, but Stephanie was nowhere in sight.

  Tim had had all he could stand. He marched straight off the porch and back to Eagles Nest, so angry that he was sure smoke must be coming out of his ears.

  Billy arrived about fifteen minutes later. “What happened?” he asked. Apparently, he’d forgotten he was mad at Tim.

  “They played a nasty trick on me,” Tim said, not going into the gory details. “You were right about the kids here, Billy. They’re the pits.”

  “So you finally got mad,” Billy said, crossing his arms on his chest and nodding with satisfaction. “I was wondering how long it would take you to come around to my point of view.”

  “Well, I’m through getting mad,” Tim said. “I say it’s time we got even.”

  10

  They lay in their beds in the dark that night, but neither Billy nor Tim dozed off. They remained awake and alert, listening to the low sounds of conversation coming from the other rooms of Eagles Nest, the boys talking and laughing softly about things that had happened at the social.

  Tim knew — he just knew — that the laughter was at his expense. The whoopee-cushion stunt had caught him completely off guard. And Tim held one person, and one person alone, responsible — Mike Gruber.

  He felt sure that Mike had put Stephanie up to it. It must have been him, because what reason did Stephanie have to hurt his feelings? Whereas Mike had had it in for Tim ever since Tim blew it in the game
against Camp Chickasaw.

  Maybe even before — Tim wondered if Stephanie had asked him to dance that first time because she wanted to. He wanted to believe it was Stephanie’s own idea — that she was telling the truth when she’d said he was cute — but he figured it was Mike all along, putting her up to it from the very start. He and the other kids had probably just gotten tired of taunting Billy and decided it was time to go after chicken boy’s best friend.

  “It’s time,” he heard Billy murmur. “Let’s rock and roll.”

  Tim sat bolt upright and grabbed a plastic bucket from the floor. They’d borrowed it from the cleaning closet earlier so they wouldn’t have to make a lot of noise now. Tim went to the bathroom and filled the bucket with warm water while Billy scouted the territory, watching for intruders, listening for the sounds of campers who were still awake. “The coast is clear,” he whispered to Tim.

  “Here I come,” Tim whispered back. They made their way down the stairs, holding their breath with every creak of the old wooden steps. No one inside any of the little rooms stirred as they passed, even though some of them had their doors wide open.

  They stopped in front of room five — the room shared by Brian Kelly and Mike Gruber. Tim and Billy nodded to each other, and Billy slowly turned the knob. The door opened with only a few minor creaks. Good thing they’d oiled it earlier, before the other kids came back from the social.

  Tim put the bucket down at the side of Mike’s bed. Then Billy gently took Mike’s arm by the wrist and lowered his hand into the bucket of warm water. “Let’s go!” he mouthed, not making any sound.

  They left the room as quietly as they had come and didn’t bother to shut the door behind them. Again, they held their breath till they nearly turned blue as they mounted the steps and tiptoed back to their room. Safe in their beds, they went to sleep smiling, knowing what was bound to come at the first light of day.

  “AAARRRGH!”

  “What happened?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Gruber wet the bed!”

  “What? No way!”

  “Yes way!”

  “Shut up, you jerks, it’s not funny!”

  “Sorry, Mike.”

  “Sorry, Mike … you really did it, huh?”

  “I said SHUT UP!”

  Billy and Tim lay in bed, laughing to split a gut, then got up and high fived each other. But they wiped the smiles off their faces when they heard multiple footsteps clunking up the stairs.

  “You two are history!” Mike screamed as he barged through the door. “I’m gonna take you apart!”

  “You’re not gonna do anything,” Jody said, grabbing Mike from behind and holding him in a bear hug. “You just calm down, Gruber.”

  “They stuck my hand in warm water!” he shouted, and Tim could see the tears of humiliation forming in Mike’s eyes. “I’m gonna make them pay!”

  “You’re gonna do nothing, you hear? You dish it out, you gotta be able to take it.” Jody spun Mike around and forced him to look him in the eye. “I want a promise from you right now, or you can go speak to Coach Gabe, okay?”

  Gruber snarled, but relaxed his body. The immediate threat, Tim could see, was over. Still, he knew Mike Gruber would remember who had given him his comeuppance. The battle was over — the war had just begun.

  The water trick was an old stunt Billy had read about in a book of practical jokes once. Tim was surprised the other kids hadn’t already tried it on the two of them but thought it sounded like a great trick to play on his enemy — even if it was kind of cruel.

  It turned out that with all the pranks that went on at Camp Wickasaukee, this one had never been tried on a camper over the age of ten before, let alone brought off successfully. Tim could understand why Mike was so upset — if it had been him, he would have been totally furious. It was even worse than kissing the whoopee cushion.

  Mike continued to be sullen all that day, through basketball clinic, swimming, and soccer. Tim and Billy, on the other hand, were having their best day yet at camp. All of a sudden, the other kids were treating them with warmth and friendliness. Tim guessed that he and Billy had earned their respect, not just for striking back, but for pulling off such a big prank on such an untouchably popular kid.

  Funny, though — the more slaps on the back they got about it, the more Tim felt guilty for sinking to their level. He was no longer angry — which was good, because last night, he’d been like a volcano ready to blow. But now that he was over it, Tim could see that he and Billy had started a feud that was going to last the rest of their four weeks here, and make it a totally miserable experience.

  By the second afternoon, Tim had made up his mind to apologize to Mike Gruber and to try and turn the page on everything that had happened. He told Billy about it during letter-writing period, an hour before supper.

  “Are you out of your gourd?” was Billy’s response. “You seriously think he’s gonna forgive you and want to be your best buddy from now on?”

  “All I want,” Tim responded, “is a truce.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck,” Billy snorted. “Fat chance.”

  “I’m gonna go talk to him right now and apologize.”

  “What if he snot alone?”

  “I don’t care. If I have to say I’m sorry in front of everybody, I will.”

  “Suit yourself,” Billy said. “But don’t include me, because I’m not about to apologize. He deserved it if anybody ever did. Have you already forgotten what he did to you?”

  “I’m not even sure he was responsible for that,” Tim admitted. “It might have been her idea.”

  “Yeah, right,” Billy sniffed. “And I had nothing to do with the other night.”

  “I won’t say you did,” Tim told him. “I’ll take total responsibility.”

  “You’re a nut,” Billy said, shaking his head. “But thanks. Sorry I was mad at you before.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know — when you laughed at me with the rest of them.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry for that. It was just … you know … kinda comical.”

  Billy smiled. “So was Gruber with that wet stain on his pajamas.”

  They both cracked up, but then Tim said, “I’m going now.”

  “Hey,” Billy said. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. I’m sure I’ll need it.”

  He went downstairs and was about to. knock on Mike’s door, when there was a commotion outside on the front steps. “Get it! Get it!” kids were yelling, and the next thing Tim knew, a squirrel raced into the building. Its eyes were wide with panic as it zigzagged toward him, looking for a safe place to hide. In hot pursuit, in came seven or eight of the Eagles, some of them carrying baseball bats and tennis racquets, yelling for squirrel blood.

  Mike Gruber opened his door. “What the —?” he started to say, and then, everything happened in a blur. The squirrel raced up the stairs, and before anyone could react, there was a scream from Billy Futterman. “AAAAAHHH! Help! Help!” he cried. “There’s a squirrel under my bed. Somebody help!”

  Tim was up the stairs in a flash. He knew that squirrels could do incredible damage to walls, doors, windows, and furniture if they were on the loose and terrified. Unless they could confine it to a small space and then bag it with a net, it could totally trash Eagles Nest. He slipped into the room and slammed the door behind him.

  There was a blood-curdling scream from the other side of the door. “Open the door!” kids were shouting. “Open it! Open it!”

  “I can’t!” Tim shouted back, leaning against the door with all his weight to keep the kids from forcing it open. “Go get a net. I’ve got it trapped in here!”

  “You idiot,” came Brian Kelly’s voice. “You’ve got Gruber’s finger trapped in the door!”

  11

  The finger was broken in two places. Mike Gruber came back from the infirmary with a cast on the finger and murder in his eyes. “You just wait till I’m out of this cast,” he managed to
say before he was restrained by Tito and led into his own room for a “calm-down” talking-to. “You’d better watch your back, Daniels!” were the last words Tim heard before the door slammed shut.

  Dick Dunbar steered Tim back upstairs and into his room, a safe distance from the wounded but still dangerous Gruber. “He’ll chill out after a while,” Dick said, slapping Tim on the back. “I mean, you didn’t do it on purpose, right?” He paused, which told Tim that he actually expected an answer.

  “Of course not!” he said. “You actually think I —?”

  “No, no, of course not,” Dick said. “I just needed to hear it from you is all.”

  Tim sighed and slumped into his bedside chair. “I don’t know why Mike hates me so much,” he said.

  “Well, you did break his finger.”

  “No, I mean before that. He’s hated me practically since I got here.”

  “Why you?” Dunbar asked.

  “I don’t know,” Tim said. “I guess because I was friends with Billy, and he didn’t like Billy.”

  “When was the first time you remember him being hostile to you?”

  “I guess since I blew the game against Chickasaw,” Tim said. “Or maybe it was before that, at practice. I’m not sure. He might have been mad at me over this girl Stephanie.”

  “A girl, huh?” Dick said, his lips curling into a sly smile.

  “Yeah, he’s kind of going with her, but she asked me to dance,” Tim said, letting Dick draw his own conclusions, and not bothering to tell him his own suspicions — that Stephanie had been egging Tim on from the start just for her and Mike’s amusement.

  “I see,” said Dunbar. “Makes sense, kinda. Anyway, he’s got even more to be mad about now.”

  “You mean his finger?”

  “You bet. He’s sidelined for the next two weeks at least. And because of that, guess who our new starting point guard is?”

  Suddenly, it sank in. “Me?”

  “You bet,” Dunbar smiled, ruffling Tim’s hair. “You da man. We’ve got another intercamp match day after tomorrow. Be ready.”

  “Who is it?”