Campfire Cookies

by Martha Freeman

  “Do you think so?” Grace asked. “Is there a Snot-Nosed Lucy?”

  I had been happy when I’d thought Grace had lost her swimsuit, hadn’t I? “Yes,” I said. “There is.”

  “So I guess I’d better watch out,” Grace said. “But, uh . . . can you tell me why it’s private?”

  “Snot-Nosed Lucy?” I said.

  “The reason Vivek was late!” Grace said.

  “Oh, that,” I said, but what to say after that? Telling her why would be telling her what—and then it wouldn’t be private.

  “You were laughing when he told you,” Grace prompted.

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “Because I was watching,” Grace said.

  “That’s creepy,” I said.

  “It’s not like I have a crush on him,” Grace said.

  “Okay,” I said—even though her denying it convinced me that she did. My mom’s been on a romance roller coaster pretty much my whole life. One thing I’ve learned is that human feelings often operate backward.

  Grace was still talking, but my own thoughts distracted me. The swimming pool was going to feel so nice. Maybe there’ d be pasta with pesto for dinner. What should I paint tomorrow in watercolor activity? Maybe a picture of my horse, Spot.

  “ ‘Spot’ is a dumb name, don’t you think?” I asked.

  “Wait, what?” said Grace. “Lucy, were you even listening?”

  “Ye-e-es,” I said, wondering (but only a little) what she had been saying. “But don’t you think—”

  “Lucy, look!” Grace stopped in her tracks and so did I. We were almost to the pool by this time, and here came Vivek walking toward us on the path. He was wearing blue swim trunks. His hair was dripping wet. There was a red towel around his neck.

  He said, “Hi, Lucy. Hi, Grace.”

  I said, “Hi, Vivek.”

  Grace didn’t say anything. When I looked over, I saw she looked the way a fly probably looks when it’s just been paralyzed by a spider. I mean, if you could see the fly’s face, which I never have, but we learned about how spiders paralyze their prey in science. It’s cool, so long as you don’t happen to be the fly.

  “Look, Grace!” I finally said. “It’s Vivek! That’s a shocker, huh?”

  It was a stupid thing to say, but the alternative was standing there till the end of time. And besides, it worked. Grace said, “Hi, Vivek” in an almost normal voice. Then she said, “It’s very nice to see you. That is, I already saw you. We were in the mess hall at lunch. But it’s very nice to see you, uh, here on the path to the pool. How are you doing?”

  At this point I wouldn’t have blamed Vivek for wondering about Grace’s mental health. First she yelled at Olivia in the mess hall, and now she was talking crazy. But if this was on his mind, he didn’t say so. Instead he explained that since he had gotten to camp late, he’d had to take the swim test during siesta, and now he was going to his cabin to change before going to North Corral.

  “So, Vivek,” I said, “how about if you explain to Grace why you only got here today.”

  “He doesn’t have to,” Grace said, “not if it’s private.”

  “Private from who?” Vivek said.

  “Private from me,” Grace said.

  “Why would it be private from you?” Vivek asked.

  “I have no way of knowing,” Grace said, “because it’s private from me.”

  “Lucy?” Vivek looked at me. “Are you confused too?”

  “No,” I said, because I wasn’t, and also because this conversation was boring and I was ready to go swimming. “Can we go now?” I asked Grace.

  “My mom is having a baby,” Vivek said.

  “She is?” Grace’s jaw dropped, and then she grinned. “But that is so exciting!”

  I grinned too. “Can’t you totally picture Vivek as the best-ever big brother?”

  “I can,” Grace said, “but I’m still confused. Is that is why you got here late?”

  “Yeah, kind of,” Vivek said. “My parents were supposed to go to India this summer. The baby’s not due till October. But then my mom had some pains, and the doctor said she shouldn’t go so far away.”

  “So you stayed home an extra day to make sure your mom’s all right?” Grace said.

  Vivek nodded. “And it looks like she is, and the baby, too, but she has to get a lot of rest.”

  “Can I ask one more question?” Grace said. “Why did you tell Lucy not to tell me that?”

  Vivek looked at me. “I didn’t.”

  I said, “He didn’t. It’s just a private kind of thing. A thing it was Vivek’s business to blab, not mine.”

  Grace shook her head. “I’m not sure I understand you, Lu.”

  I sighed. “That’s okay. No one else does either.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Lucy

  Just as she promised, Paula distributed the mail at lunch each day. At first no one got much, and I didn’t get anything. But by the end of the first week of camp, all of us in Flowerpot Cabin had received letters.

  Mine was a fat brown envelope that came on Friday. I looked it over while sitting on my bunk after lunch. Emma was there, but the siesta bell hadn’t rung yet, and no one else was back.

  “Who’s it from?” Emma asked.

  “The triplets I babysit and their mom, Kendall,” I explained. “Here. You can see if you want.”

  Dear Lucy,

  Your camp can’t possibly be eight weeks long, can it? Did you know there are 1,344 hours in eight weeks? I used the calculator on my phone.

  I have hired another girl to come over to wrangle the triplets starting tomorrow. Meanwhile, to preserve the collective sanity, Arlo, Mia, and Levi are watching a lot of SpongeBob.

  Anyway, cross your fingers about this other girl. As you know, my darlings can be a handful.

  They have drawn some pictures for you, which are enclosed.

  Have fun at camp!

  Love,

  Kendall

  P.S. Seventy-two hours down. Only 1,272 to go.

  “Wow—I think she really misses you,” Emma said.

  I giggled. “I know. And look at the pictures the kids sent.”

  The first one showed what looked like an openmouthed brown animal with big teeth. It was standing on its hind legs and leaning over a tiny human stick figure with a yellow blob on his head. The blob might’ve been hair. A speech bubble like the ones in cartoons said, “Hep!!!!”

  “Is that supposed to be Arlo?” Emma asked.

  I nodded. “That’s the way he draws. And I think the letters are supposed to say, ‘help.’ ”

  “Oh, I get it,” Emma said. “He wants you to save him from another wolf.”

  I studied the picture again. “Or possibly a bear?”

  “Either way, he definitely sees you as fierce,” Emma said.

  I handed her the next picture. It reminded me of Olivia’s flag—only don’t ever tell her I said that, okay? The drawing took up the whole page—a giant face with red lips, blue eyes, black lashes, and pink dots for nostrils. From the eyes to the bottom of the page there were lines of little circles in every color.

  “Tears?” Emma guessed.

  “Mia can be kind of a drama queen,” I said.

  The last one was from Levi. Instead of drawing his message, he had written it in red crayon: “Com bak rit now!”

  Emma laughed. “Do you miss them, too?”

  “Kind of,” I said. “But when I’m busy here, I don’t think of them that much.”

  “Are you going to write back?”

  “Sure,” I said. “But I bet this is the last letter I get from them. When the new babysitter comes, they’ll forget all about me.”

  Only I turned out to be wrong.

  The Fourth of July was the next week, and on the day after that I got another fat envelope. There was no letter from Kendall this time, but there were two drawings that I think were supposed to be fireworks, along with another note from Levi. This one said:
“Plis com back rit now!”

  I wondered if the added “plis” showed the new babysitter’s influence. Maybe she was teaching them good manners.

  Before dinner that night, I wrote a reply.

  Dear Arlo, Mia, and Levi,

  Thank you for the beautiful drawings. I have tacked them up above my bunk bed so I can admire them every day. Levi, I am afraid I can’t come back yet because camp isn’t over. I am glad you miss me, though, because I miss you, too.

  Yesterday was Fourth of July. Buck, the camp director, does not believe in fireworks because (he says) they spook the cattle. So instead of fireworks we had a barbecue outside. But guess what? Nature decided there were going to be fireworks whether Buck wanted them or not, and she provided a huge storm.

  It was really pretty looking across the desert into the sunset and seeing chains of lightning as tall as the sky. The loud cracks scared some kids but not me. In the end, the rain part lasted only a few minutes, but we still had to move the picnic inside.

  Boo-hoo.

  How do you like the new babysitter? I am sure she is really nice and makes good snacks and plays good games. Even so, please don’t forget me.

  Tell your mom and dad hello. Remember too much SpongeBob turns tender brains to mush.

  Love,

  Lucy

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Olivia

  Camp sessions are eight weeks long. Every two weeks, you change out activities—like from archery to silk screening, or pottery to jazz dance—but even so the days start to blur together. Our letters home were due every Sunday. If you missed a Sunday, you got demerits, so none of us in Flowerpot Cabin would ever have dared to miss.

  What if you were the person who kept us from winning Top Cabin?

  How bad would that make you feel?

  The first Sunday, I had written to my parents, so on the second one I decided to write to Jenny and Ralph. They have lived with our family and helped us out since before I was even born. Jenny cooks and supervises the housecleaners, the gardeners, and the pool guy (and sometimes my mom and dad, too); Ralph works in the yard and repairs whatever needs repairing.

  I told Jenny once that this division of labor of theirs was sexist. (We were doing a social studies unit on sexism at the time.) And Jenny told me she and Ralph were only doing what they were best at. She said biscuits baked by Ralph would poison us, and if she fixed the AC, it would blow up.

  “I know there are men who cook and women who maintain machinery,” Jenny explained. “But those men and women don’t happen to be Ralph and me.”

  The next day I raised my hand and explained this to my teacher, Mr. Driscoll, and he said Jenny had made an excellent point. Then he said, “Thank you for your input, Olivia. And now you may sit down.”

  I wrote my letter to Jenny and Ralph while lying on my bunk during siesta. I propped the paper against a book on my knees. I used a purple gel pen. I was surprised how hard it was to form letters one by one instead of typing them on a keyboard. It seemed like I could hardly remember how! But I wrote slowly and carefully, and in the end, this is the letter I wrote:

  Dear Jenny and Ralph,

  Camp is super fun!!!

  It is super hot here!!!

  I am super fine!!! (LOL)

  My horse’s name is Shorty. He is not so super. He is lazy. He is white and—guess what—SHORT!! In watercolor activity on Friday, I painted a picture of Shorty. It doesn’t look that much like him because how is a person supposed to paint white on a white piece of watercolor paper???

  I made him brown instead. I told him this the next afternoon while I currycombed him, and he said it was okay, he forgave me. At least I think that is what he said. Sometimes it is hard to understand four-legged language. LOL.

  Probably you are wondering about the other members of the Secret Cookie Club (shhhh!) so I will tell you. Grace’s birthday was last week. Do you remember that last year we made cookies to celebrate?

  That is not what we did this year. This year her parents sent a cake all the way from Massachusetts! It was packed in dry ice and puffy silver foil. It was pink with roses and a little smooshed, but you know what? That didn’t hurt the taste one bit! In the mess hall, everybody sang, and Grace blushed, which was so, so, so cute!

  Besides normal camp activities, the Cookie Club membership has its own special project to mend our counselor’s life, which was almost annihilated by her evil and clueless boyfriend—EX-boyfriend—Travis.

  How we are going to mend her life is to ENGINEER A ROMANCE between her and the hunkiest counselor at Moonlight Ranch, Lance. I am sticking on some heart stickers sent by Mom to show you how dreamy he is:

  So far we have not found time to make a detailed plan because we are SO BUSY simply being at camp and participating in so many healthy activities!

  But we will find time!

  And when I see you at the end of summer , I will tell you how it all turned out.

  Don’t worry. We won’t do anything very bad. Also, don’t tell my parents.

  Lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of love,

  Your very, very, very favorite, one and only OLIVIA

  P.S. How are you? Is it super hot there? Are my parents fine? If you run into them, please tell them hello from their only daughter.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Olivia

  Can I be brutally honest here?

  No one could possibly adore or admire the other members of the Secret Cookie Club any more than I do . . . but without my verve, my energy, and my compelling personality, our counselor Hannah’s life might have remained forever in the toilet!

  As it was, the membership came up with a complex and comprehensive Plan to Fix Hannah’s Life, which we then named PFHL, which is pronounced “piffle.”

  In my estimation, carrying out PFHL should have taken no more than two weeks max. The way it turned out, though, it actually required most of the summer!

  The first challenge was finding a hole in our crazy-supervised camp schedule when we could talk over our ideas and agree on what Mr. Driscoll would call our “implementation timeline.” It didn’t help that Hannah, sad and mopey over the loss of that rat Travis, spent way too much time frowning in Flowerpot Cabin and way too much time sticking like glue to the four of us. Little did she know her dedication to her campers was working against her happiness!

  I thought of trying to explain this to her, but in the end I rejected the idea. Officially, the membership didn’t know a person called Travis had ever existed. She had never told us about him, and she never found out we had reconstructed his letter. Also, it was possible she wouldn’t like the idea of four eleven-year-olds running her love life. As our housekeeper, Jenny, likes to say, people don’t always know what’s good for them.

  It wasn’t till the third Thursday of camp that an announcement signaled we were about to get the time for planning. We were at lunch, and Buck rose from his table to say he was calling a counselors’ meeting for that night. No emergency, just paperwork issues. The meeting time was nine forty-five, fifteen minutes after lights-out.

  That day I was eating with Haley from Purple Sage and McKenzie, from Manzanita, a twelve-to-thirteen cabin. We are all in the same swim group. As soon as Buck finished speaking, I looked everywhere in the mess hall and one by one found Emma, Grace, and Lucy—each one at a different table, each one smiling, each one with the same thought as me: Tonight!

  • • •

  “All right, girls. I’m going,” Hannah said on her way out the door. “Don’t stay up too late whispering, okay? I hope I’m back soon.”

  “Good night, Hannah!” we chorused.

  When the door clicked shut, I counted to ten. “I hope it’s not too soon,” I said.

  “But just in case, we should talk fast,” Grace said. “Who is in charge of this meeting, anyway? You, Emma?”

  “Not me,” Emma said.

  “I don’t mind doing it,” I said.

  “Doing what?” Lucy said.

>   “PFHL!” Grace said.

  Lucy giggled. “Piffle to you too!”

  And after that, we got down to work.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Emma

  If a teacher assigned you to write a list of adjectives to describe me, Emma Rosen, not a single one would be “sneaky.” This failure of mine is not a problem most of the time, but it is a problem when you’re carrying out a plan like PFHL.

  In fact, if you want the whole truth, my trouble with PFHL isn’t only lack of sneaky.

  My trouble is that I’m not graceful and athletic like Grace, or brave and quick-thinking like Lucy, or beautiful and outgoing like Olivia.

  I am just normal. Normal smart. Normal looking. Normal nice.

  My only special quality is this: I am good at organizing. At home when my friends do a project, they put me in charge because they know the project will get done, and they won’t have to worry about it.

  Here at camp, the Secret Cookie Club membership had been ready to put me in charge of PFHL, too—then I said no. Remember that time when Olivia called me bossy at lunch? It hurt my feelings. And I decided then and there I wouldn’t be the boss of anything at camp this summer.

  Let someone else worry for once.

  So Olivia took over PFHL planning the night Hannah was at the counselors’ meeting, and actually, Olivia did okay. We made a plan. We got assignments. We even came up with a timeline. We were feeling pretty proud of ourselves—not to mention sleepy—when Lucy said, “What if Lance has a girlfriend already?”

  Olivia yawned. “Then they’ll just have to break up.”

  “But that’s not fair,” Lucy said. “What if his girlfriend is nice?”

  “No one is as nice as Hannah,” Grace said.

  “Besides, who has time to worry about random unknown girls?” said Olivia.

  I said, “Uhhh . . .”

  And Olivia said, “Uhhh . . . what, Emma? And hey, are you okay over there? We haven’t heard from you in a while. Are you worrying about your assignment?”