George Feedleman.
Rumor had it that George’s IQ was so high it broke the machine. George was one of those kids who was so smart, he understood things on some super secret level. Kind of like the way dogs hear sounds.
It was the second day of camp, and we were in The Write Stuff workshop. I’d plopped down in the back row, which was traditionally my favorite row.
No one joined me.
“Lots of room here, people,” I said. “The back row is where all the action is.”
No one cared.
Eventually, I got Katie and Nareem to sit next to me. “Don’t worry,” Katie said, patting my knee. “They’ll eventually get used to your strange ways.”
George sat two rows in front of us. About ten minutes into class, I decided to make my move. I tossed a wadded-up piece of paper at him.
“Pssst!”
No response.
“Pssst!” I said again, a little louder. The other kids started staring at me. Finally George turned around.
“What?” he said, with irritation in his genius eyes. Even though we’d had a few conversations, he was still suspicious of my un-studious nature, like everybody else.
I pointed at George’s paper. “What are you working on?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. Just an analysis of class structure in the works of Emily Brontë.”
“Emily who?”
“No one,” George said, turning back to his work.
“Cool,” I said. Then, after a small pause, I added, “I’m writing a letter to this girl back home.”
“You are relentless,” Katie whispered at me, her eyes never leaving her paper.
“Is ‘relentless’ good?” I asked her.
“No.”
I turned my attention back to George. “Her name’s Zoe.”
He looked up. I could tell he was interested, even though he didn’t want to be. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“Nah. I mean, we kind of like each other, but we’re not going out or anything.”
George nodded. “Good for you.”
He glanced nervously at the workshop leader (or what in normal society would be called a teacher), whose name was Ms. Domerca. I’m pretty sure George had never talked in class in his entire life, unless it was to correct teachers when they were wrong.
Ms. Domerca seemed really nice and funny. She also dressed in the craziest clothes I’ve ever seen in my life. She was busy helping another kid out with his paper, so the coast was clear.
“What about you?” I asked George. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
George looked at me as if I’d just asked him if he had a dead body buried in his backyard.
Before he could answer, a really cute girl with red hair named Cathy Ruddy shot daggers at me with her eyes. “Leave him alone, he’s working,” she said. “You should try it sometime.”
I smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back.
“Do you?” I asked George again.
He threw his pencil down. “No I don’t have a girlfriend! Um, I mean, not yet. I’m totally planning on getting one next year, though.”
“What are you waiting for? There are a lot of really nice girls right here at camp.” I pointed at Cathy. “Did you see how Cathy just stuck up for you? I bet she would go out with you.”
“What makes you think that?” said a voice that was definitely not George’s. Or Cathy’s.
I looked up. Ms. Domerca was standing over me in her green and orange shirt.
“Hi,” I said.
Ms. Domerca laughed. “Two days in, and I already know who my troublemaker is. Usually it takes a week, at least.” Then she pointed at George and me. “Back to work, both of you,” she said, as she walked away.
“Thanks a lot,” whispered George.
“No problem,” I said. George shook his head and turned back to his paper.
I wasn’t done, though.
“Pssst!” I said again, this time to Cathy Ruddy.
“What is wrong with you?” she hissed.
“Would you consider going out with the smartest kid in America?” I asked her.
“I’m assuming you don’t mean you.”
“Right.”
Cathy took a long look at George.
“Maybe,” she said. “But only if you leave us both alone.”
George stared down at his paper, his face turning bright red. Then he looked at Cathy, and for just a second, it seemed like he couldn’t care less about class structure in the works of Emily Brontë.
Like I said, people, one camper at a time.
Dear Charlie Joe,
Thanks for writing so fast! I miss you. The summer’s just not the same without you. But we’re managing to have a really fun time anyway! Don’t get mad.
I think it’s cool that you have to write letters instead of just texting people all the time. My mom says it reminds her of when she was a kid.
Things here are going pretty good, I’m painting a lot and just hanging around with friends and stuff. Actually it gets a little boring sometimes, but you would probably think it’s perfect. I like to stay busy, though. Tomorrow we are going to visit my dad. My parents talk to each other now more than they did when they were married, which is pretty weird. We’ll see what happens.
I’ll write again soon, I promise.
XO
Zoe
5
Here’s the one thing I discovered that’s kind of good about this camp: It took about five minutes to realize I was the best athlete in the whole place.
Yup. It turns out that when you go to a camp filled with kids who would rather write a paper than throw a baseball, you’re considered a real superstar if you can run fifty feet without falling down. Who knew? It was kind of ridiculous, but I liked it.
On the fourth day of camp, we were playing basketball during First Rec when I saw my counselor Dwayne heading over to me. Dwayne was kind of like a nice Mr. Radonski (my crazy gym teacher back home). Dwayne was very large, very loud, and very intense. He was also the basketball coach, which basically meant it was his responsibility to make sure the kids didn’t hurt themselves with the balls.
“Hey, Charlie Joe,” he said.
I tossed in a five-footer. “What’s up?”
“Have you heard about the big game with Camp Wockajocka?”
You bet I had. Camp Wockajocka was a favorite topic of conversation at meals. Kids called it “Camp Jockstrap.” It was about ten miles up the road, and they came to our camp every summer for a basketball game. They always killed us, of course. One was a real camp, and one was a summer school in disguise.
“Sure,” I said. “Why?”
Dwayne watched Nareem shoot an air ball, then turned back to me. “I want you to captain this year’s team,” he said. “The game is this Saturday, and I don’t want to be embarrassed.”
“Seriously? I’m the new guy. What about somebody who’s been coming to camp longer?”
Dwayne laughed a sad little laugh. “Have you seen them play?”
He had a good point.
“So how about it?” asked Dwayne. “You in?”
Just then, Jared Bumpers came running over. He was one of the kids I was talking about, a little older than me, who’d been coming to camp forever, and I could already tell he was that obnoxious type who thought he was awesome. “What are you guys talking about?”
“I’m asking Charlie Joe if he wants to be captain of the team,” Dwayne told him.
Jared looked shocked.
“Charlie Joe is an excellent player,” Dwayne continued. “But I’m counting on you too, Jared.” Dwayne looked back at me. “So what do you say?”
I felt a little like I was being asked to steer the Titanic around the iceberg, but what the heck. It was something to do, and maybe I could make a friend or two along the way.
“Sure, why not,” I said.
“This isn’t fair,” Jared said. “I’m older, I should be captain.”
“You’re captain of the de
bate club,” Dwayne pointed out.
“Debate club has a captain?” I asked, which seemed to make Jared even madder.
He snorted. “Whatever,” he said, and stomped away just as Jack Strong walked up.
“What’s his problem?” I asked.
“Ignore him,” Jack said. “He’s always been totally annoying. People think it’s because his older brother was like this genius camp legend, and Jared isn’t, and he’s kind of bitter about it.”
“That’s enough about Jared,” Dwayne said. Then he smacked me on the back. “Ready, Captain?”
“Not really,” I said. “What do I have to do?”
“Figure out a way to beat the bad guys,” said Dwayne, his face starting to twitch. His face always twitched when he got excited, which was about eighty percent of the time.
“I’ll put my best men on it,” I said.
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Dwayne said.
Dear Zoe,
It was so awesome to hear from you!
I hope you had a great time at your dad’s house. I want to hear all about it, so when you have a chance, please write me back as soon as you can.
I was also glad to hear you are painting. You are an amazing painter, and I bet you’ll become famous one day.
Things at camp are not as bad as I thought they would be, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they are good, either. Please write back soon. Oh wait, I said that already.
I miss you, too.
Charlie Joe
6
That night before dinner, Jack, George, and I sat on the steps outside the cabin, munching on the amazing chocolate chip cookies that Jack’s grandmother sent.
“How can you be so skinny if your grandma makes cookies like this?” I asked Jack.
“I have no idea,” he said.
I pointed at his shirt, which said Stanford on it. “What’s up with the college T-shirts?”
Jack glanced down at his shirt and suddenly looked self-conscious. “My dad went here.”
“Did he go to Harvard, too?”
“Actually, yeah,” Jack said. “Business school.”
“Ssshhh, you two,” George said.
It was Quiet Hour, and technically we were all supposed to be in our bunks reading, but I’d convinced Dwayne to let me sit outside if I promised to keep quiet. Since George and Jack were the only kids in my cabin besides Nareem who treated me like a person, instead of some sort of mysterious, anti-learning alien life form, they sat outside with me. George had decided I was okay after I introduced him to Cathy Ruddy, a real live girl; and Jack was just a nice kid, who didn’t hold my evil habits against me.
I decided to repay their friendliness by doing everything I could to distract them from their reading.
“Where’s Nareem?” I asked.
George pointed up the hill. “He’s with Katie in the library.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” I said, feeling a little annoyed for some reason. “Everyone’s supposed to be in their cabins during Quiet Hour.”
Jack looked at me. “Why, you’d rather be in the library?”
George laughed. “Dr. Mal said it was okay, since they’re working on a project together.”
I shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Although now that you mention it,” Jack said, “Nareem and Katie do seem to hang out together a lot.” He looked at George. “Kind of like you and Cathy Ruddy.” George blushed intensely. He looked as if he didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or excited, so he decided to be both.
I chomped on a cookie, thinking about what Jack had said. I’d also noticed that Katie and Nareem were together a lot since camp began, but I thought I might just be imagining it because they were the only kids I knew.
I decided it wasn’t worth thinking about and changed the subject. “You two guys are the smartest people I know,” I said. “You gotta help me come up with a way to beat Camp Jockstrap.”
Neither one said anything.
“Why are we even talking about this?” Jack asked. “The idea is to just get past it as quickly as possible, and remember that eventually we’ll get into better schools than they will.”
“Dude, you need to relax about this whole college thing,” I told him.
“Relaxing isn’t part of his dad’s master plan,” George said.
“My dad doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Jack said defensively. “It’s just good to think ahead, that’s all.”
“Well, I don’t care about thinking ahead,” I said, “and neither does Wockajocka.”
George looked up from his book. “What about deflating the ball by five percentage points? According to a study I once read called ‘Proper Inflation of a Basketball,’ by Josephine Corcoran and Ralph Rackstraw, ‘A basketball is correctly inflated when it rebounds to approximately 60 percent of the height from which it is dropped.’ So, if we deflate the ball, it will not rebound into their hands properly, and their game will be thrown off accordingly.”
I stared at him. “Why did you read a study about the inflation of a basketball, and how do you remember exactly what it was called and who wrote it?”
George shrugged. “I just did, and I just do,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Anyway, we can’t do that,” I pointed out. “It might throw their game off, but it will throw our game off, too.”
“Can you throw off a game that isn’t on in the first place?” Jack wondered.
George shook his head. “Not last I checked.”
“You guys aren’t helping,” I complained. “I know you’re brainiacs and everything, but life is about a lot more than just grades and books and studying.” I got up and started pacing like a coach in one of those sports movies where the underdog beats the bad guys to win the championship. “It’s about figuring out a way to win. It’s about beating the odds. It’s about David kicking Goliath’s—”
The cabin door swung open. I looked up to see Jeremy Kim standing in the doorway, with a book in one hand and a tissue in the other. Sam Thurber, Kenny Sarcofsky, and Eric Cunkler were right behind him.
“Hey, can you please keep it down?” Jeremy asked politely. “It’s hard to concentrate.”
I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Eric said. “I know it’s not easy for you to understand, but some of us actually enjoy reading quietly.”
“We’d just appreciate it if you lowered your voices a bit,” Kenny said, garlic breath accompanying every word.
“Yeah, no offense or anything, but you’re being a little loud,” Sam added. They all nodded, then Jeremy topped things off with a sneeze.
It was almost like they were speaking a foreign language.
“Guys,” I said, “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but you are not normal. In fact, you’re kind of the opposite of normal.”
“QUIET!” Dwayne barked suddenly from inside the cabin.
“We’re trying to figure out how to beat Camp Jockstrap like you asked,” I yelled in to him.
“Well, figure it out softer,” Dwayne grumbled. “And P.S., I didn’t expect you to actually come up with something that would work.”
My four opposite-of-normal cabinmates went back inside.
“We should probably hit the books, too,” Jack said.
“Oh no, you don’t,” I protested. “You guys are my only friends in this whole place.”
“What about Katie and Nareem?” Jack asked.
“They’re too busy writing papers together,” I said.
The sound of someone singing made us turn around. It was Nareem, heading down the path to our cabin. The singing was a complete violation of Quiet Hour rules.
“Ssshhh!” I said, annoyed at his happiness for some reason. “You’ll get us all in trouble!”
George and Jack looked at me funny, since I was already known more as a trouble-creator than a trouble-avoider.
Nareem smiled. “Sorry, e
veryone.”
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Jack said, grinning at Nareem.
“Yeah, I wonder why,” George added.
“I am indeed,” Nareem said. “Katie and I made excellent progress on our work.”
“I’ll bet you did,” George said, elbowing Nareem in the ribs. Everyone laughed, except me.
“That’s fantastic, Nareem, good for you,” I said. “But meanwhile, I’ve got to figure out a way to win an unwinnable basketball game.”
Nareem put his backpack down, took out a cookie, and started chomping thoughtfully. “Oh yes, that is a tricky one,” he said. “You know what makes me particularly irate? That we have to lose to someone like Teddy Spivero. The rest of the kids at Camp Jockstrap aren’t so bad, but he’s the worst.”
I dropped my cookie.
There were two things wrong with what Nareem had just said.
One, I didn’t know what “irate” meant.
And two? TEDDY SPIVERO.
I stared at Nareem and started pacing around the porch. “What did you just say about Teddy Spivero?”
He looked surprised. “You mean you didn’t know? We play him every year. Teddy goes to Camp Wockajocka. Hannah’s brother.”
“Duh,” I snapped. “I know who he is.” Teddy Spivero happened to be my archenemy, practically since birth. He was definitely the most annoying person ever created. Which was particularly shocking, since his twin sister Hannah was tied with Zoe Alvarez for the most perfect creature ever created. Teddy had made it his mission in life to embarrass me in front of his sister. And many times, I’m sorry to say, it was mission accomplished.
I still couldn’t quite believe what Nareem was saying. “Teddy goes to Camp Jockstrap?”
“Yes,” Nareem said. “He’s one of their best players.”
You gotta be kidding me. Teddy Spivero, Camp Jockstrap basketball star. This was the worst news I’d had all summer, which was really saying something. It was bad enough being on a team of nerds who were about to get killed by a bunch of jocks. Now it turned out my own personal worst nightmare was their head jock.
Charlie Joe Jacksons Guide to Summer Vacation Page 2