“Thank you very much,” I say, shaking their hands.
The other girls have come to see Joon off. Amber offers to braid Joon’s hair before she goes back to the city. Jenna gives Joon her copy of Scariest Stories. Maddie makes a list with all our email addresses so that we can stay in touch.
Before she leaves, Joon’s mom looks at me. “Why do you think you do it?” she asks.
“Do what?”
“Make up stories.”
It’s a good question. Only I’m not sure I know the answer. “Pretending to be a princess was fun. It was as if I got to be a different sort of me.”
Joon’s mother gives me a long look. I can tell she is thinking about what I just said. “It isn’t right to lie to others. But as for inventing stories, don’t ever stop.”
“Thank you,” I say to Joon’s mother as she steps into the car. I wave my feather pen in the air as they head down the camp driveway.
There is still another week to go before the bus takes us home. How many stories will I make up before then?
Monique Polak is the author of twenty-one books for young people. Long ago, when she went to sleepaway camp, Monique told her bunkmates she was a princess—and they believed her. For more information, visit www.moniquepolak.com.
Chapter One
My name is Lark Ba, and I have ants in my pants. Not really. That would be gross. And not so much fun for the ants. Ants in my pants means it’s hard for me to sit quietly. It’s something my halmoni—that’s Korean for grandmother—says when I’m really exsited exceted excited. Only I wasn’t sitting—I was lying down in bed. Waiting. Patient-like. Until…
“Psst. Connor.” I leaned over and looked at the bottom bunk. “Connor, are you awake?” Connor’s my little brother. He’s much younger than me.
“Yes. I’m awake. Are you?”
I sighed. “Yes. If I was sleeping, I wouldn’t be talking, would I?”
“Yes, you would. You talk a lot.”
I ignored that. “Are you excited?”
“Yes. Today is going to be awesome.”
“It’s going to be the bestest day ever!”
“Lark, you say that every day. Anyway, bestest isn’t a word.”
I sighed. “It should be. It’s a great word.” I love words. Maybe I should be a writer when I grow up. Then I could make up great words like bestest. I turned on the lamp and said, “Yep. I’m gonna be a writer. Then I’m gonna make bestest a word.”
“Lark, gonna isn’t a word either. Anyway, I thought you were going to be an actor.”
“I think I’ll be both. That way, I can write the stories I want to act in.”
Connor rolled his eyes.
I decided to be patient because he was just little. I climbed down from the top bunk. Today was the third day of summer vacation. On the first day, Connor and I started a circus. We tried to teach our dog, Max, how to dance. He wasn’t so good at that. And we broke two lamps. Mom said we had to do something else. Something that didn’t include Max. Or her lamps.
Yesterday, we tried to do a people-only circus with our friends Kate and Franklin. No lamps were broken. But Franklin tried to do a special jump. He jumped great. But he also made a hole in the wall with his head. Dad said no more circuses. He used his grumpy voice. And that’s when Halmoni suggested we all go to the library instead.
Only Halmoni didn’t call it a library. She called it The Temple of Secrets. She said books contained secrets between their pages. And when you read a book, you could find all kinds of treasure!
“I’m going to get fifty books,” I told Connor.
“I’m going to get a hundred. Do you think Mom and Dad will remember to take us?”
I nodded. “Yes. I put a note on the fridge. And in the bathroom. And in their shoes. And in their coat pockets.” I would have put one in their car too. But Babu—that’s Swahili for grandfather—told me a long time ago that I wasn’t supposed to be in the car without a grown-up.
“Are you sure they won’t forget?” Connor looked worried.
I knew because his forehead went all skiggly sqwiggly squiggly.
“What if they don’t wake up in time?”
I sighed. Little brothers are so much work. “If you’re worried, let’s go check.”
“I’m not worried, but the last time we woke them up—”
“I say we should go. It shows we have…” I couldn’t remember the word. It started with an n or maybe an i, and it was a good word. “It shows we care. I’m your big sister, and that’s my decision.”
“You are not older!”
“Yes I am.”
“We’re twins!”
“I’m the older one.”
He made a growly noise. “Only by ten minutes.”
“Still older.” I gave him my best big-sister look. “Are you going to come with me? Or are you too scared?”
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Princess Angelica, Camp Catastrophe Page 4