And for the first time since I kissed Hannah, I stopped feeling guilty and started feeling annoyed. “Whatever.” I headed over to the snack table and was just about to put the first of many chocolate chip cookies into my mouth when someone came up from behind me and squeezed me like I was an orange and they were really thirsty for juice.
It could only be one person.
I turned around. “Dwayne!”
Dwayne was my counselor at camp, and he was an awesome guy, when he liked you. When he was mad at you, though, he was quite possibly the scariest person on earth. Luckily, he liked me about 77 percent of the time.
“Hey, little man,” he said. “Good to see you.” He looked me up and down. “Looking a little scrawny, though. What happened to those push-ups I had you doing?”
“Oh right, those,” I said. “I think I left them at camp. I can’t find them.”
Dwayne laughed, which sounded like a lion roaring. “HA! I’ve missed that sense of humor. So, how’s your year been goin’?”
“Decent, I guess.”
Dwayne looked disappointed. “That’s all you’re gonna give me? Come on CJ, you’re always good for a story or two! Still avoiding schoolwork like the plague? How many detentions have you had? How ’bout girls—you killin’ it with the ladies?”
I snuck a look at Katie, who was busy not sneaking a look at me. “Actually, the opposite, kind of,” I told Dwayne. “Everyone at school has a girlfriend except me.”
Dwayne looked shocked. “Seriously? Dude, that’s nuts. I always thought you were the man with the MOVES!”
“All out of moves, I guess.”
“Well, don’t you worry,” Dwayne said. “You just keep playing your game. You’ll be fine.” Dwayne gave me another high-five and walked away, leaving me to wonder what he meant by playing my game. I thought the whole point was to just be yourself. Ugh! This whole girls thing is a nightmare.
“Read any good books lately?” said a voice behind me.
I turned around to see Ms. Domerca standing there. Of all the teachers at camp—the camp called them “workshop leaders,” but don’t be fooled, they were teachers—Ms. Domerca was my favorite. She was nice, she was funny, and she didn’t make me feel bad for not liking reading and writing.
She was a pretty unusual dresser, though. Today, she was all snazzed up for the reception—meaning she was wearing a yellow and white shirt, a purple skirt, a tie with orange flowers on it, and a blue tuxedo jacket.
We hugged, and my hair got caught on one of her seven necklaces.
“It’s great to see you,” I said.
She stepped back and looked at me. “Are you sure about that? You don’t look all that thrilled. What’s wrong? All your pals are here, but you look like you just ate some bad fish.”
That sounded disgusting, but I knew what she meant. “No, I’m good. It’s a little strange to see everyone again, that’s all.”
“Well, reunions are always strange at first, but they only stay that way for about ten seconds,” Ms. Domerca said. “Then they get awesome. Have fun!” And she went to greet some other kids and their parents.
George came galloping back over, this time with Cathy Ruddy by his side. Cathy was an adorable girl with bright red hair, and she was George’s camp girlfriend. Judging by the way they were gazing into each other’s eyes, she was his noncamp girlfriend, too.
“Cathy made it!” George said, lovingly.
“Hey, Charlie Joe!” Cathy said. “It is so great to see you!”
“Thanks, Cathy,” I said. “You, too.”
Cathy blazed her blue eyes at me. “Where’s Katie? Is Nareem here? Are they still going out? Do you still like her?”
Jeez, that was fast.
I glared at George, and he started examining his glass of punch very carefully.
“Whoever said anything about me liking Katie?”
Cathy laughed. “Everyone knows you like Katie,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
And that was when I stopped thinking and just started blabbing.
“I don’t get why everyone is so convinced I like Katie. That’s like the dumbest thing I ever heard. We’re friends. We’ve always been friends, and we’ll always be friends. But that’s it. As if I would ever like Katie! That’s like liking your sister. Gross.”
But George and Cathy weren’t looking at me. They were looking past me, and I suddenly realized exactly what they were looking at.
I turned around and saw Katie, standing there, frozen in place.
She’d heard every word.
“Oh, hey,” I said. “I didn’t see you there.”
She didn’t say anything. I felt bad, but I couldn’t feel guilty. I was tired of feeling guilty.
“What?” I said. “Isn’t that what you want? You barely even talk to me anymore.”
She shot daggers at me with her eyes. “Maybe if you weren’t too busy kissing other girls, you’d actually have a clue what I want,” she hissed. Then she turned on her heels and walked away.
“That’s not fair! I tried to apologize, but you wouldn’t give me the chance!” I shouted after her, but she didn’t turn around.
“Jeez,” George said. “Should we go get some punch?” But I shook my head. I decided that coming to this reunion was a bad idea. I walked away and looked for my mom. Maybe we could go to that cool wax museum I’d heard about. At least wax people can’t yell at you and make you feel bad.
“Attention! Attention please, for announcements!” I looked up and saw Dr. Mal, the head of the camp, standing with the microphone at the front of the room. Everybody started crowding into the area, pushing me forward into the room and farther from the exit. There was no getting out now.
“I would like to welcome you all to the sixth annual Camp Rituhbukkee reunion weekend,” Dr. Mal said. “We started doing this so all those campers who became so close over the summer would have an opportunity to catch up with one another during the year. It’s quickly become one of our most popular camp events.”
I searched the crowd for my mom and saw her talking to Dr. Singer, who was one of the original founders of the camp. He was very distinguished-looking, which is how my mom taught me to describe people who are really, really old. He was also really nice! But mostly old.
Dr. Mal was saying, “We love gathering here at the New York Public Library, because it is one of the most glorious memorials to learning that we have in this country. Our campers have a special bond, which may well last a lifetime…”
My pocket buzzed. I snuck a look at my phone—a text from Jake. Okay, cool, I could use a little good news.
Hey Charlie Joe. Thanks for your text but I think it’s best if we’re not friends for a while. Maybe someday but not right now. Sorry.
I felt my face start to get red. I texted back.
Then why aren’t you mad at Hannah? It takes two people to kiss, in case you haven’t heard.
Two seconds later, Jake replied.
None of your business Charlie Joe. Please stay out of it before you cause any more problems.
All of a sudden I felt like if I didn’t get out of there, I would explode.
I started pushing through the crowd again, this time in the opposite direction. I didn’t know where I was headed, I just knew it had to be out of that room. I knocked into a few people, and once they saw it was me, they rolled their eyes. I’d kind of been the camp troublemaker, believe it or not.
“Hey, where ya goin’?” someone whispered. I turned and saw Jack Strong, wearing a Tufts University sweatshirt. Usually Jack wore only Ivy League shirts. I’d never heard of Tufts, which must have meant he was lowering his expectations a bit.
“Gotta get some air,” I told him. Then I stopped. “You wanna come?”
Jack glanced up at Dr. Mal, then over at his parents, who were listening intently.
“Come on,” I said. “Just for a minute. We’ll come right back.”
“What the heck.” Jack slipped behind
me, and we wound our way silently through the crowd. Once we got to the very back of the room, we took a quick left and headed down a long hall. We ducked into the first doorway we saw, which happened to be a huge room, where people were sitting at long tables, doing what looked like a superintense kind of homework.
Jack and I looked at each other.
“Nah,” we said.
We left that room and headed back down the hall. There was a set of stairs on the left, with a red velvet rope across them.
I stepped over the rope and headed down the stairs.
“Hey!” Jack said. “You’re not supposed to go down there!”
But I didn’t answer, and two seconds later, I heard him right behind me.
At the bottom of the stairs was a half-open door. We pushed it open to reveal another long hall, which was dimly lit—kind of like our unfinished basement back home. It felt like people hadn’t really been down there in a long time.
“We should go back,” Jack said, nervously.
I was a little nervous, too, but I’d also noticed something: The more nervous I got, the more I was able to put the whole Katie thing out of my mind.
“In a minute,” I said, trying to sound cool.
As we walked slowly down the hall, things got a little creepier. There were some weird paintings on the wall of guys in long gray wigs. There was a half-eaten sandwich on the floor that looked like it might have been from 1932. And when I glanced up and saw a long spiderweb hanging down from one of the barely working lights, I realized there’s only a certain amount of nervousness one person can take.
“Jack?”
“Yeah?” For some reason we were whispering, even though there wasn’t a person in sight.
“Um, I think this is totally cool down here, but if you want to go back, we can.”
“Okay.”
We turned around and started heading back, when Jack stopped at a door.
RARE MANUSCRIPTS AND BOOKS: FIRST EDITIONS, AUTOGRAPHED. AUTHORIZED ENTRY ONLY.
“Whoa,” Jack said. He was really into books, like everyone at Camp Rituhbukkee.
“Come on, we gotta go,” I said, a little embarrassed that I’d become the scaredy-cat.
“Just a quick look,” Jack said, pushing the door open. The room was even dimmer than the hallway, so we both took out our cellphones for light. There were books everywhere. Books, books, and more books. Did I mention books?
“People are going to start wondering where we are,” I said. Hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying.
Jack was going down a row of books. “Faulkner … Norman Mailer … Whitman…”
“Are those writers?” I asked. Jack looked at me like I was from Mars. Which, book-wise, I was.
“Mark Twain!” he exclaimed. A cold shiver ran through my body. Him, I knew—ever since my sixth birthday, when my dad gave me the entire Mark Twain collection for Christmas. Needless to say, that did not go well.
“That’s it, I’m leaving,” I said, heading out. But right by the door, there was a book lying on the floor that caught my eye.
I picked it up, dusted it off, and read the title: Elizabethan Love Sonnets.
Hmm.
I didn’t know what Elizabethan or Sonnets meant, but I was familiar with “Love.”
Way too familiar.
I picked up the book and started thumbing through it. The first thing I thought was, I’m pretty sure this is English, but I can’t understand a word of it. The second thing I thought was, That just proves that love is totally un-understandable.
And the third thing I thought was, What was that?
“What was that?” Jack asked, proving he was thinking the same thing I was. Then we heard it again. A noise.
We both froze in place and listened. Footsteps that sounded like they were coming from the stairs, and two voices that were getting closer. I could hear a few words here and there:
“Not sure how it got open…”
“Phil is getting the key…”
“Don’t tell the boss…”
Then, the footsteps stopped. Jack and I looked at each other and waited, hoping the silence meant that the voices were gone.
They weren’t.
Two seconds later, a third voice added: “You guys owe me.” We heard a push … a squeak … and finally, a SLAM!
Jack and I waited another minute and then slowly made our way out of the rare book room and back down the hall toward the stairs. For some reason, though, we couldn’t see the stairs. Then, the reason became clear.
The door that led to them had been shut.
Panic rose up in my throat, and I started running toward the door, Jack right behind me. We both knew before we got there that it had been locked tight. But we still tried to turn the giant door handle about a thousand times.
Eventually, we gave up. My heart was pounding.
“Charlie Joe?” Jack said, his voice shaking a little bit.
“Yeah?”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Probably not.”
What he was probably thinking was, We’re trapped in the basement and we need to come up with a way to get out, or else our parents are going to kill us.
What I was thinking was, When you go into a giant building filled with books, bad things are bound to happen.
20
Jack and I stared at each other, as we realized we were trapped in the basement of the New York Public Library. Then we did the only thing that made sense.
We screamed for help.
“HELP! ANYBODY! HELP! HELP!” We pounded on the door, too, over and over and over again.
After about fifty helps, we gave up.
“Okay, we need to figure out a way to get back upstairs,” I said, checking my phone. No reception.
“D’uh,” Jack answered. He was glaring at me, as if the whole thing were my fault.
“This whole thing is your fault,” he snapped, confirming my suspicions.
“What are you talking about? How is it my fault?”
He snorted. “Because it was your idea to leave the reception, and it was your idea to go down the stairs.”
Oh, that.
“Yeah, but you’re the one who wanted to go in that stupid room full of old books,” I reminded him.
“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” Jack said. “Unless you have an idea about how to get back upstairs.”
That ended the conversation.
We walked back down the hall, passing the room with the rare books. There was another room on the left—the door said MAPS AND GEOGRAPHICAL ARTIFACTS. I poked my head in and saw a lot of books. A few feet farther down, there was a room on the right—the door said A HISTORY OF MEDICAL SCIENCE, VOLUMES 1–64. I poked my head in—books and more books. The next room was also on the right—BIBLIOGRAPHICAL RESEARCH, 1679–1729. I didn’t even poke my head into that one.
All in all, it turned out to be the longest hallway in America, with about forty rooms, all of which were completely filled with shelves and shelves and shelves of books. There wasn’t a single person in any of the rooms.
Finally, we turned a corner and saw a door that looked familiar.
“No way,” I said.
“Way,” Jack said.
It was the door that we’d come in through at the bottom of the stairs. Which meant we’d spent the last fifteen minutes going in a giant circle. Or, to be totally accurate, a giant square.
“I think we might be trapped for life,” Jack said. He was kidding. Kind of.
All of a sudden I felt incredibly tired.
“You’re right, by the way,” I said, slumping down to sit on the floor. “This is all my fault.”
“Oh, stop it,” Jack said.
“No, it is.” I paused for a second. “The thing is, I was really looking forward to coming to the reunion, because my life isn’t going so great right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m an idiot, that’s why.” I found a quarter in my
pocket and started scraping the floor with it. “A lot of my friends back home are mad at me.”
“Well, it can’t be the first time they’re mad at you,” Jack said, sitting down next to me. “I’m sure everyone will get over it. They always do.”
“Not this time.”
“Why? Did you do something terrible?”
I couldn’t bring myself to go into the gory details. “It was basically all a stupid misunderstanding,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. But I think it might be too late to fix it.”
Jack smacked me on the shoulder. “Charlie Joe, you’re the one who told me at camp that you have to stand up for yourself. And when I got back home, I remembered what you said, and I went on strike to get my parents to let me quit some of my activities. And it worked! So now, I’m telling you the same thing: Don’t give up. Figure out what’s wrong, and fix it. If anyone can do it, you can.”
I looked at Jack and nodded. Even though I’d talked him into leaving the reception with me, and dragged him downstairs just to get trapped in the basement, he was still a good enough friend to try and make me feel better.
Sometimes people can really surprise you, you know that?
“You’re right,” I said. “Once we get back to civilization, I’m gonna try and figure it out. Thanks for listening.”
But Jack wasn’t listening, at least not anymore. Instead, he was staring down the hall. “Hold on a second. What’s that?”
“What?”
He pointed at a small door that we hadn’t noticed before.
The door said ELECTRICAL.
We looked at each other. “Electrical what?” I asked.
Jack shrugged. “Books, I guess.”
But there was something about this room that felt different. I put my ear to the door and heard a loud hum coming from inside.
“Let’s check it out.” I opened the door and saw a long, flat machine sitting on a table, with a zillion wires poking out in every direction. On top of the machine sat five huge computers, stacked on top of each other, all blinking like crazy.
And, most important, there was a vent at the top of the room that was partially open.
Jack followed my gaze up to the vent and immediately said, “Hey, wait a second,” but he was too late. I’d already started climbing up.
Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Planet Girl Page 5