Revenge of the Happy Campers

by Jennifer Ziegler

  We just stood there.

  And stood there.

  And stood some more.

  Birds called out. The wind rushed through our hair. And we just stayed in place, watching our red-and-white bobbers floating on the water below.

  After a while, I sat down and Darby did the same. And we sat there and sat there, holding our poles and waiting.

  Of course, it didn’t take long for Delaney to get restless. First she started rocking on her feet. Next she began bouncing her pole.

  “You shouldn’t do that, Delaney. You’ll scare the fish and maybe shake off your bait,” Darby told her.

  “Here. Give me your pole and I’ll watch it while you fill the washtub,” I suggested.

  “Good idea!” she said, bouncing even more. I quickly got to my feet and grabbed her pole, and she went to fetch the bucket.

  It was awkward standing there with a long cane pole in each hand. I felt as if I had extra-long arms — like I was a giant praying mantis playing with yo-yos, or an orangutan drummer.

  Delaney, meanwhile, kept filling the bucket with lake water and dumping it into the washtub. She was just going down for a third bucketful when her pole jerked in my right hand and her bobber got pulled under the water.

  At first I didn’t know what to do. I needed to grab the pole with both hands, but I couldn’t do that without dropping my pole or getting the two tangled. So I just yelled, “Help!”

  Darby saw me struggling, set down her pole, and rushed over. At the same time, Delaney abandoned her mission to get more water and started rushing up the slope shouting, “Fish! Fish! Fish!” Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell the guys were all turned toward us, watching.

  Darby grabbed the jerking pole and raised the hook up and out of the water. I thought for sure the fish would be huge, considering how hard it had yanked. But as it flopped on the ground I could see it was only about three inches long — it could fit in my hand.

  I heard Nelson start laughing. “Look how tiny!” he exclaimed.

  “Dang,” I muttered. “Not a keeper.”

  “No wait!” Delaney said. “It is! Look!” She held up the chart and tapped her index finger on one of the pictures labeled Bluegill. Sure enough, it looked just like our catch. And below it, where the size requirements were listed, it read: “No minimum.”

  We all three shouted hooray and Delaney and I started singing, “A keeper! A keeper!” in a singsongy way while Darby took it off the hook. She plopped the fish into the tub and we watched it start swimming round and round.

  “Aww … he’s cute,” Delaney said.

  I heard a noise and saw Robbie jogging over to us. “The guys sent me over to make sure the fish counted as a catch.”

  I started to fuss and holler and tell him we knew what we were doing — and if it had been Jay or Nelson, I might have. But Robbie always acts so skittish with his big downcast eyes and mumbly voice. It would be like bawling out a baby deer.

  Delaney pointed to our catch and then pointed to our size chart. “Yup. See?” she said. “He can be any size he wants to. Says so right here.”

  Robbie smiled. “Okay. I’ll let them know. Sorry to interrupt.”

  After he headed back to his team, I clapped my hands together. “All right. Back to your stations. Delaney, quit trying to pet that fish. Darby, quit using the cooler as a pillow and wake up. Let’s catch us even more fish.”

  We returned to our poles and Darby put more bait on Delaney’s hook while Delaney finished filling the tub with lake water. Then we started the standing-and-waiting part all over again. I felt better, though, now that we were in the lead. According to Aunt Jane’s watch, we had an hour and fifteen minutes to go, so hopefully we could stay ahead.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t last. A few minutes later we heard a commotion and saw the boys jumping up and down. I sent Delaney to check and she came back to say that Jay caught a keeper.

  “He said it’s a small largemouth bass,” she said. “Small largemouth — ha! That’s funny. Anyway, it’s fifteen and a half inches, so it counts.”

  This news made my insides feel twisty, so I tried to make myself feel better by remembering that we weren’t losing, we were tied.

  Only then there came more hullabaloo down the causeway, and the boys started high-fiving one another. Delaney zipped over and back and reported that they’d caught another bass, this time by Robbie. It was almost an inch longer than the first.

  “We’re losing,” I said. I turned toward my pole and stared hard at my bobber, attempting to use willpower to make a fish pull it under. But it just floated there, all peaceful and annoying.

  We sat and waited some more, trying to ignore the singsongy voice of Nelson going, “Two fish. Two fish. We got two fish.” According to the watch, we had forty minutes to go.

  “Your bobber!” Delaney shouted.

  “What?” At first I was confused because my bobber still wasn’t moving, but then I noticed that Darby’s bobber had gone down so far, you could barely see the red. The end of her pole was bent so far, it looked like it might break in two.

  But Darby hadn’t noticed. Her head had slumped forward and her eyes were shut tight.

  “Darby!” I shouted.

  Her head jerked up and her eyes opened wide — unfortunately, so did her hands. Her pole zoomed out of her grip and fell. It lay at the top of the embankment and started joggling downhill. Darby kept glancing in all directions, trying to figure out what was going on. By the time she came to her senses, her pole would probably be halfway across the lake.

  “I got it!” Delaney yelled. She tossed down her pole, reached way over, and grabbed the end of Darby’s pole just as the fish gave it another big tug. “Holy moly! Whatever it is, it’s strong!” Her face twisted and turned red as she struggled to pull it up.

  I kept standing there, bouncing in place and saying, “Get it, get it, get it!” over and over again. Darby must have finally realized what was happening, because she quickly scrambled to her feet, ran behind Delaney, put her arms around her middle and pulled. Little by little, the line started to come up from the water.

  “It’s working!” I shouted. “Hang on!” I set down my pole, ran behind Darby, slid my arms around her middle, and started yanking backward. Step by step we went until we finally sped up.

  “I see the fish!” Delaney cried. “It’s coming out of the water! It’s … it’s huge!”

  “What is that?” Darby said. “It looks like a monster!”

  I tilted my head to the right and left, but couldn’t see anything. At last, with one final tug, we dragged whatever it us up onto the top of the causeway. I let go of Darby and she let go of Delaney and we all stood around the big thing that flopped on the ground in front of us.

  “Put him in the tub! Put him in the tub!” Delaney shouted.

  “Wait,” I said. “We don’t know what it is.”

  It did appear to be a fish, at least — one with a mottled brownish-yellow body, beady eyes, long whiskers, and an enormous mouth.

  “According to this, it’s a flathead catfish,” Darby said, consulting the chart. “Huh. Looks more like an alien than a cat or a fish. If it’s eighteen inches, it’s a keeper.”

  I pulled out the tape measure and handed it to Darby, who stood over it and measured from its tail to its pouty-looking jaws. “Almost nineteen inches!”

  Again we shouted hooray and did a little victory dance. Then Darby unhooked the beasty fish and, with help from Delaney, heaved him into the washtub. The splash it made as it went in got us all wet.

  “What’s that?” Suddenly, Robbie was there, peering into the tub.

  “A flathead catfish. A keeper!” I said.

  “I’m going to name him William Howard Taft — after the president who needed a special bathtub made for him,” Delaney said. “And I’m going to name the little fish James Madison.”

  “You guys name your catches?” Robbie asked.

  “She does,” I corrected him. “Now go
tell your brothers that we’re officially tied.”

  “Still fifteen minutes to go,” he said, glancing at his cell phone. “And we’ve been getting nibbles. Might not be tied for long.” He turned and ran back to his pole.

  “Come on, come on!” I said, making sweeping motions with my arms. “Pick up your poles and make sure you have bait. We can still win this thing.”

  Darby re-baited her hook and we all dropped our lines back in the water. This time, I didn’t feel bored. Just the opposite. My heart felt like it was jogging and my feet were all jittery. I suddenly understood what it was like to be Delaney.

  If the boys didn’t catch another fish, we could tie. And if we caught another, we could win. There were only fifteen more minutes — but each minute seemed to last a year.

  I focused hard on my bobber, but also kept sneaking glances at my sisters. Darby seemed to be staying awake. Every time there was a splashing sound from the tub, Delaney would say something like, “Don’t worry Taft and Madison. We’ll let you go soon.” But otherwise, she seemed to be focused on her pole.

  I checked the watch. Ten more minutes.

  A few seconds later a shout came up from the boys. Nelson was pulling and reeling with all his might.

  “Oh no,” I muttered. It felt like a big stone had just dropped into my stomach.

  Then another cry went up — but not a happy sounding one. I glanced over and saw the end of Nelson’s line swinging free.

  “Why’d you yank up so hard?” Jay was saying. “You pulled it right out of its mouth.”

  And suddenly I could breathe again. I checked the watch. Six minutes. Then five. Then four …

  Anytime my bobber made the slightest movement, I gave a little tug. But there was never anything there.

  Three minutes. Two minutes. One …

  “Time!” Robbie called out.

  “Time!” I called out a second later.

  It was over. Another tie.

  “At least we didn’t lose,” Darby said. “And we did our best.”

  The boys walked over carrying their stringer with the two bass hanging off it. “We want to measure your fish and make sure they’re keepers,” Jay said.

  “Yeah?” I said. “Well, we want to measure yours, too.”

  Suddenly, Delaney let out an anguished sounding cry. She stood over by the washtub, her arms waving around all herky-jerky. “Oh no! No no no no no!”

  “It’s okay, Delaney,” I said. “We’ll let the fish go after they check the length.”

  Delaney spun around to face us. Her eyes were big and saggy and her mouth was quivering. “It’s awful!” she said. “A terrible tragedy!”

  “What is?” I asked.

  “We only have one fish.”

  “What the heck are you talking about?”

  “William Howard Taft ate James Madison.”

  Dawn had been so pouty about our loss, even our afternoon game of Frisbee with Aunt Jane wouldn’t cheer her up. For dinner we had franks and beans — one of our favorite meals — but she was sulky through that, too. Delaney and I tried to remind her that even though we’d lost the fishing competition, we tied in the overall challenge. Both teams were just as good. But that didn’t seem to help.

  I was just glad it was over.

  After tent judging, fishing, and Frisbee — and no sleep the night before — I was so tired, my head was having problems staying up. It kept drooping forward or lolling back. When we ate dinner in the camper, I could barely concentrate on the food. I kept looking over at the bunk where Dawn and I had slept just two nights earlier. It looked like the most comfortable spot in the world — like a cottony cloud. I wanted so badly to crawl up onto it and close my eyes.

  Aunt Jane caught me yawning. “Y’all take out your trash and get ready for bed. It’s been a big day.”

  “You all right, Dawn?” I asked as we headed outside. Even the Moon Pies we’d eaten for our Daily Chocolate didn’t bring a smile to her face.

  “I’m fine. Just thinking,” Dawn said, keeping her gaze fixed on the empty wrapper in her hand. She had that look on her face. The one where her eyebrows push against each other over her nose, and her mouth moves around like she’s chewing something. Sometimes she taps her finger against her chin or makes small grunting noises.

  “What are you thinking about?” Delaney asked.

  “I’m trying to come up with a good tiebreaker challenge.”

  “But … why?” I asked, leaning in closer to try to catch her eye. “Can’t we just leave it as a tie?”

  Dawn glared at me. “No! We can’t be ‘just as good.’ We have to be better.”

  “But why?” Delaney asked.

  “We just do! Because we are! Don’t you get it?” She crumpled up her wrapper and stomped over to the trash can.

  Delaney looked over at me and shrugged.

  “Um … Dawn? I think we’re all worn out,” I said. “Maybe we should sleep in the camper tonight and get some good rest.”

  Dawn whirled around and scowled at us — ten times worse than her previous angry face. “No. No way. That would be taking a big step backward. It would be like admitting defeat.”

  “But it was a tie.” I felt like one of those toys that said one of three things when you yanked a string on its back. In my case it would be Why, But we didn’t lose, and It was a tie.

  Dawn let out a loud sigh. “We’re still going to win this. Somehow we’re going to show those boys that we’re the best.” She turned and headed back into the camper.

  Delaney gave me another shrug. “I’m not inclined to argue with her. Are you?”

  I shook my head no. As it was, I was so zonked, it probably didn’t matter where I slept.

  Finally, we finished cleanup and it was time for bed. I didn’t even bother to change clothes. I just staggered out to the tent, crawled onto my sleeping bag, and laid my head on my pillow. My thoughts got all fluttery and I fell asleep right away. But the next thing I knew, Dawn was poking me awake again.

  “There’s a wild animal out there,” she said. “It sounds like it’s ready to attack.”

  “What?” I sat up and saw Delaney and Dawn peering out the back window of the tent.

  “Just listen,” Dawn said.

  “It’s probably Aunt Jane snoring,” I said and started to lie back down.

  “No. It’s not,” Delaney said. “It’s coming from the wrong direction.”

  I paused to listen. Sure enough, the weird growly noises were coming from the nearby bushes.

  “What if it’s a swamp monster?” Delaney said.

  “There’s no such thing, Delaney,” Dawn said. “It’s probably Bigfoot.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Just one of those feral hogs like Old Mr. Maroney keeps finding on his land back home,” I said. But even as I said that, I didn’t totally believe it. My sleepiness was still there in my body, but now my brain was focused on the noises. “We should go investigate.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Um, no, thanks,” Delaney said. “I’d rather stay here.”

  “Me, too,” Dawn said. “It’s not that I’m afraid; I just think I could do a better job of handling the situation from here. If you get eaten someone’s got to tell Aunt Jane.”

  I was used to this sort of thing. Delaney is always willing to do the running around if we need to deliver a message or get something from the store. Dawn has no problem talking on the phone or asking questions of authority figures — like the stern lady who works in the school office. And my job has always been to check out potential dangers. Usually it’s a spider or the ghost that lives in our mom’s bathroom.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go see what it is. If anything goes wrong I’ll holler.”

  I ducked out of the tent and tiptoed toward the noises, watching where I stepped so I didn’t crack a twig or crunch leaves or make any sound that might startle whatever it was. I really did think it was a javelina or raccoon — but I kind of hoped it was somet
hing less common. Like a chupacabra. Or maybe a yeti.

  The idea of facing things like that scares most people, but I feel that if such creatures exist, they are probably misunderstood rather than dangerous. And maybe I could help them and become their friend. Maybe I could broker peace with the species on behalf of all humans!

  Of course, if the noises were being made by something dangerous, I figured I could at least shout a warning to my sisters and all the rest of the campers before I got carried off to a hidden lair. Just to be safe, I picked up a fairly hefty-looking stick off the ground and carried it with me.

  The strange sounds were coming from the Neutral Zone, and were getting both louder and clearer as I crept closer. At times there came a squeal — at other times, a low grunt. I had decided it was definitely a feral hog when suddenly I heard it go, “No fair!”

  For just a second, I thought, “A talking feral hog!” But as I stepped into the clearing, looking down to spot the critter, I spied a pair of white sneakers tramping around the brush — and those sneakers were attached to Nelson. He was stomping around with clenched fists, muttering and sniffling. Occasionally he’d wipe his cheeks angrily or pick up a pebble and throw it. I felt bad for him, but I wasn’t sure what to do.

  As I watched, he suddenly let out a growling sound and kicked the tree next to him.

  “Hey, Nelson! Whoa! Take it easy,” I called out, stepping forward and dropping my stick.

  Nelson yelped and jumped backward. Once he realized who I was he scowled and kicked at a twig on the ground between us. “Leave me alone! I don’t even like you guys, so just go away!”

  I probably should have been mad to hear him say that, but I wasn’t. I could tell that this was the kind of angry that comes from feeling bad inside. I wondered if his family knew he was out here.

  “Nope,” I said, and leaned against one of the trees. “I think I’ll stay.”

  “Go away!”

  I shook my head. “You know I don’t have to. This is our time to have the Neutral Zone, so technically you are on our campsite. Besides, you’re making such a racket, we can’t sleep.”

  He paused and peered past me. “How many of you are out here?”