by T. R. Burns
“Be very careful.”
Chapter 12
DEMERITS: 1560
GOLD STARS: 650
We’re not going to make it,” Gabby says.
“Yes, we are,” Abe says.
“But water’s in the boat. The boat’s sinking. That means we’re sinking.”
“You can swim, right?” Elinor asks.
“Yes,” Gabby says, “but so can the flesh-eating fish that live in the lake. I bet they’re faster than I am. And hungry, too!”
“If you’d all stop talking and start filling your cups, we’d go a lot faster.”
I look at Lemon. So do Abe, Gabby, and Elinor.
“Shouldn’t you be napping?” Abe asks.
It sounds like a sarcastic question, but Abe’s serious. Because normally at this point in any challenge, Lemon would be relaxing while everyone else was hurrying to get the job done. Out on the lake and under the warm sun, he’d be asleep in seconds.
But today Lemon’s at the head of our hole-riddled canoe. He’s using two of the plastic cups Annika gave us to scoop out the rising water and dump it back into the lake. And he’s moving so fast, his gray T-shirt’s already black with sweat.
“Lemon’s right,” I say. “The other boats are almost there.”
“There” is the other side of the lake, home to our parents’ luxury cabins. According to Annika’s latest e-mail to me and my friends, we’ll start our day with the rest of the Troublemakers and split up after the assignments have been given. Our classmates are either really strong, excited, or afraid of the flesh-eating fish in the lake, because we all left shore at the same time, and they’re way ahead of us.
I can’t say I’m helping. I mean, I am helping—I’m scooping out water and dumping it back into the lake—but I’m also distracted. I can’t stop thinking of what Ike said before he released me all the way to the ground.
Be very careful? Of what?
“You okay?”
I glance up. Elinor’s looking at me as she crouches in the ankle-deep water, trying to plug two holes with her feet. Remembering that as our weakest swimmer she has much more reason to fear sinking than Gabby does, I fill and dump my cup faster.
“Yup.” I smile. “Just thinking.”
“I’m a good listener,” she says.
“I know. Thanks. Maybe we can talk—”
Later? That’s how I’d finish the sentence—if Lemon didn’t leap out of the canoe. The boat’s still rocking when he grabs the front with one hand and starts paddling with the other.
“Who released the Olympian?” Abe asks.
Which is another good question. Because thanks to Lemon’s superhuman swimming, I fill and dump only three more cups of water before we reach the shore.
We hop out and drag the canoe a few feet up the beach so it doesn’t drift away. Then we hurry toward the other Troublemakers, who are gathering around Samara, our biology teacher.
As we run, I look around for my parents. But besides us and a few Good Samaritans, the beach is empty.
Halfway to the group of Troublemakers, Lemon stumbles over a rock. I grab his arm to help steady him—and to slow him down.
“Hey,” I say. “Have a sec?”
“Not really. Everyone’s here. Samara’s about to give out assignments.”
“We have our assignments. Annika gave them to us yesterday.” When he glances at the group, clearly worried that I’m holding him back, I add, “They’re all drying off. And they’re soaking wet. That’ll take at least a minute.”
He takes a deep breath and releases it in a loud rush. “What’s up?”
“Um, well . . . I was just wondering . . . is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. It’s just . . . you kind of seem . . . a little off?”
“Off?”
“Well, like . . . the origami?”
“What about it?”
“You’re really into it.”
“So?”
“So you never were before.”
“It’s a new hobby. I’m off because I’ve developed an interest in the ancient Japanese arts?”
“No. Of course not. And ‘off’ is probably the wrong word. It just seems like an odd choice. Considering your other hobby, I mean.”
“Which is?”
My eyebrows lift. “Playing with fire?”
“I can have more than one hobby.”
“Definitely. But those two together seem kind of dangerous. What if you’re throwing flames one day—and they catch on a strand of paper snowflakes?”
He shrugs. “I’ll put out the fire. Like I always do.”
“Okay,” I say, “well, then how come you didn’t dig a hole with the rest of us yesterday? Or play the silverfish game?”
“I’ve never been an overachiever when it comes to Kilter assignments.”
“Yes, but you still do them. Even if it’s later or slower than everyone else.”
He sighs. “I don’t know. I didn’t plan to spend the summer here, so maybe my brain’s still in vacation mode.” He pauses. “Is there anything else?”
I think about it. “I guess not.”
“Great.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He puts one hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be. It’s okay. You were concerned. Because you’re my best friend. I’m lucky to—”
“Care to join us, boys?”
We look down the beach. Our classmates have formed a circle around Samara.
“Shall we?” Lemon asks.
“Let’s,” I say.
He sprints toward them. My legs are about half as long as his, so it takes me a few seconds to catch up to the group. When I do, Samara’s calling out names and chores.
“Chris, laundry! Alison, window washing! Jake, toilet scrubbing!”
At this, a few Troublemakers snort. Others giggle.
“Abe, mopping! Gabby, ironing! Lemon, dusting! Elinor, silverware polishing! Seamus, indoor-plant maintenance!”
Samara gives out the rest of the chores. When every Troublemaker has one, she lowers her clipboard and addresses the group.
“Rules for the day! You’ll do your chores in your parents’ cabins. When you’re done, you’ll e-mail me or another faculty member, and we’ll come evaluate your work. We have extremely high standards, so I wouldn’t e-mail unless you’re absolutely certain you can’t do anything more! If the job isn’t done to our satisfaction, we’ll make you start all over—and punish you with demerits!” Samara pauses and gives us an exaggerated wink. Then she continues. “Also! Your families are on vacation. You are not. Some of our softer-hearted parents might be inclined to hug you and kiss you and include you in their camp activities. We’ve advised them not to, but accidents happen. In any case, you are under no circumstances to have any fun with your families. Is that clear?”
Nicole Fields, a tall Troublemaker in the Athletes group, raises her hand.
“What?” Samara asks.
“What about the hugs and kisses?” Nicole asks.
“What about them?”
“Can we accept them—and give them back?”
Samara turns, quietly confers with our other teachers, and faces us again.
“Yes. However, the affectionate exchange must last no longer than two seconds.”
“How will you know if a hug lasts longer than that?” Gabby asks.
Samara leans forward. Her eyes narrow. “Do you really want to risk finding out?”
Gabby gulps, shakes her head.
“Good!” Samara straightens. “Moving on with the rules. You’ll be assigned a different chore each day. Every inch of your parents’ cabin will be pristine by week’s end. Got it?”
We all nod.
“Great! One last rule. After an initial daily greeting you will not initiate or engage in conversation with your families. You’re here to work, not chitchat. We’ve told your parents this and explained the benefits of leaving you alone. After
a silent summer, perhaps you’ll appreciate the privilege of having people close to you who truly care about how you’re feeling and what you’re thinking every single day.” Samara gives this a moment to sink in. Then, “Any questions?”
“Yeah,” a male Troublemaker calls out. “When’s lunch?”
My classmates chuckle. Samara smiles.
“Austin Lewis, you just earned ten gold—” She catches herself. “Ten demerits!”
“What?” Austin huffs. “Why?”
“Because good children never ask for rewards.” She motions behind her. “Your supplies are back here. Load up and head out!”
Every Troublemaker dashes toward a line of folding tables. The tables are piled high with sponges, buckets, bottles of bleach, and about a million other cleaning items. One teacher stands behind each table and tells us what to take. Lizzie says I’ll need a watering can and trimming shears, which I learn is a fancy term for scissors. She also tells me which cabin my parents are in (#1), and where it is (on a hill to the left of the tennis courts).
Once I’m ready to go, I look around for my friends. We can’t talk about what we’re really going to do inside our families’ cabins in front of everyone else, but I wouldn’t mind a few nods or waves so I know we’re all still on the same page.
I’ll just have to hope they remember the day’s real goal. Because Gabby and Abe are already off and running. Lemon must’ve been the first one to get supplies—and the first to head for his family’s cabin—because I don’t see him anywhere. Elinor’s still here, but I can’t catch her eye because she’s talking to Samara with her back to me.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be . . . Seamusss?”
I freeze, but my skin crawls, as if my name was hissed by a real snake that’s now slithering up my arms.
“You know Annika doesn’t like dawdling,” the snake adds near my ear.
Mystery. At least I think it’s him. It definitely sounds like him. And I feel as uncomfortable as I usually do whenever I’m around him. But he looks different. Probably because I’ve only ever seen him in head-to-toe black, and now he’s wearing white shorts and a white T-shirt.
“Since when do you care about what Annika wants?” I ask.
“Since I’ve realized just how wonderful a service she provides families,” he says.
“Took you a while.”
“Quick opinions are often wrong opinions.”
“Okay,” I say, and head for the tennis courts.
I’m glad the walk to my parents’ cabin is long. I have a lot to think about. Like this weird Mystery encounter. Ike’s warning. Lemon’s insistence that everything’s fine. Miss Parsippany’s last e-mail. What the heck I’m supposed to do with trimming shears.
Halfway to the tennis courts, my K-Pak buzzes. Checking my K-mail, I read and walk at the same time.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: That’s Not All!
Hi, Troublemakers! Miss me yet?
This note is to say what I couldn’t during our morning meeting for fear of your families overhearing. And that is: You have homework! To be completed today, in addition to and while you’re doing your chores. (You didn’t think we’d keep you here all summer without giving you a chance to practice your troublemaking skills, did you?)
So remember that great biology lesson last semester? The one on faking sickness? That taught you several ways to fool your parents into believing you should stay in bed instead of going to school? Of course you do. That much fun is impossible to forget!
After hocking a whole lot of loogies and holding your breath until your faces turned red and feverish, you guys were masters. Now it’s time to up the ante! Rather than playing sick yourselves, your assignment today is to convince one family member that he or she is under the weather. (You may break the no-talking rule for this purpose ONLY.) We’ll know you’ve succeeded when said family member checks into the Kamp Kilter infirmary. Send more than one family member to the infirmary, and you’ll earn extra demerits and Kommissary credits. Send NO family members to the infirmary, and you’ll earn a boatload of gold stars—and lose a boatload of Kommissary credits.
Good luck, Troublemakers! Do me proud.
—Samara
P.S. Like good children would, you’ll receive gold stars for completing your daily chores—which you MUST do. So you’ll definitely want to get into as much trouble as possible to make up for the mandatory loss of credits!
“Seamus!”
My heart skips. I’m climbing a tall staircase up a steep hill to my parents’ cabin, and now I stop and look down. Fifteen feet below, Elinor looks up at me.
“Can I come with you?” she asks. “My mom’s not here so I don’t have a family cabin to clean. Samara said I could pair up with a friend.”
“And you want to pair up . . . with me?”
She smiles. “Is that okay?”
I nod. She jogs up the stairs. When she reaches the step below mine, I take her towel and silver polish to carry the rest of the way.
Newly energized, I climb the remaining steps like they’re flat on the ground and not stacked at an eighty-five-degree angle. Every few seconds I glance behind me to make sure Elinor’s okay. And every few seconds, she smiles and makes my heart beat even faster.
My chest stays warm and mushy all the way to the top of the hill, across the large front yard, and onto Cabin #1’s wide front porch. With Elinor by my side, I don’t think it can feel any other way.
But then I lift the heavy silver KA knocker. Tap it against the door. And feel my heart harden the instant Dad answers, sees me standing there—and slams the door in my face.
Chapter 13
DEMERITS: 1560
GOLD STARS: 750
Do we have the wrong cabin?” Elinor asks.
“Nope,” I say. “That was my dad.”
“He looked like he thought you were a ghost. Or a burglar.”
“He did.”
“Why?”
“That’s what we have to find out.”
I step to the left and peer inside a large window. Curtains are pulled across the glass inside, but there’s a sliver of open space between them. It’s just wide enough for me to see Dad drop to his knees by the living room table and quickly gather whatever’s on it. Then, arms full, he jumps up and flees the room.
“Should we knock again?” Elinor asks.
The door flies open. “Seamus!” Dad exclaims. “Elinor! What a pleasant surprise! Please come in!”
Elinor and I exchange glances. She steps through the doorway first. I follow.
“You have a lovely cabin,” Elinor says once we’re all inside.
She’s right. We’re standing in the huge living room, which has hardwood floors, a cathedral ceiling, and a two-story fireplace. Each wall is different. The one facing the lake is made entirely of glass, so even standing on the other side of the room it feels like you’re floating on a cloud. Another is made of multicolored rocks. Another features water streaming from the ceiling to a long, narrow pool on the floor. The last is made of twisting, tangling tree branches. The room looks like a hip indoor forest.
“Would you like to sit?” Dad asks. “Can I get you something to drink?”
After that hike up the hill, I’d love a glass of water. But we have a job to do. And the sooner we get to it, the sooner we can figure out why Dad’s acting like I’m a houseguest instead of his son.
“Actually,” I say, “do you need something to drink? You look a little warm.”
Dad’s face freezes. “I do?”
“Your face is red. And kind of sweaty.” Spotting a thermostat on the rock wall, I walk over and check the temperature. “Sixty-five degrees. That’s pretty cold. The air-conditioning must be working. And you’re wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt.” I turn around. “What do you think, Elinor?”
She stands before Dad and holds up one palm. “May I?”
“Um
, well, what—”
He gives up on trying to form a sentence when Elinor presses her palm to his forehead. She turns to me, eyes wide.
“He’s burning up,” she says.
“He is?” I ask.
“I am?” Dad asks.
“Wildernitess,” I say, thinking fast. “It’s a sickness. A serious one. That you get in the woods.”
“Like poison ivy?” Elinor asks.
“Worse. It sucks your energy. Zaps your appetite. Turns your muscles to mush. It’s really common in people who are used to being in houses and malls and cars—and then are suddenly dropped in the middle of a forest. It’s like their bodies’ way of rejecting fresh air.” I raise my eyebrows at Dad. “And it starts . . . with a fever.”
“You’re right,” he says.
I pause. “I am?”
“He is?” Elinor asks.
“Yes!” Dad bustles around the room, grabbing his wallet from the coffee table, his penny loafers from the mat by the door. “I’ve been feeling a bit off but thought it was just the excitement of being on vacation. I didn’t consider that I might be coming down with something—but it makes sense! I’d better get checked out before it gets any worse.”
He snatches the lanyard holding his Kamp Kilter ID and key card from a hook on the tree-wall and starts to open the front door.
“Wait,” I say.
Dad stops, one foot in the living room, the other on the porch.
What are you doing? Why are you lying? What are you hiding?
Who are you and what did you do with my real dad?
I swallow down these questions and go with another. “What about Mom? Wildernitess is highly contagious. Maybe she should get checked out too?”
He shrugs. “Your mother’s already out. I’ll be sure to talk to her about it later!”
“That was easy,” Elinor says when he’s gone. “He didn’t even ask why we were here.”
“And he left us alone in the house.”
She pauses. “Isn’t he usually the normal one?”
“Compared to my mom?” I nod. That’s what I’d told Elinor once last semester. Because back then, it was true.