Skye saw a camper at the table reach for the glasses just as Jonathan sat down. Jonathan scowled at the boy and slapped his hand—hard. Skye’s eyes searched for Tim, who was busy with another camper’s milk that had spilled all over the other end of the table.
“Uh-oh. I smell big trouble,” Skye said. “Morgan, watch our kids, will you? We’re gonna have a major problem on our hands if someone doesn’t get to Jonathan right now.”
Skye charged over to Tim’s table, watching every move Jonathan and the camper made. Again, the boy reached for the glasses. This time Jonathan gave the boy a shove and then followed up with his trademark gesture—sticking out his tongue. The boy shoved Jonathan back. The glasses flew off Jonathan’s face onto the floor. That did it! Jonathan picked up a Styrofoam dish full of pudding, cocked his arm, and prepared to do battle.
“Jonathan! No!” Skye screamed, reaching across the table to stop him.
Splat! Skye took a full dish of chocolate pudding right between the eyes!
Pudding flew everywhere, big globs of it landing on the camper next to Jonathan. The boy picked up his own pudding and threw it. Jonathan ducked, the chocolate splattering all over the shirt of the boy sitting to his right. The boy looked down, started wiping the pudding off, but then grabbed his dish of applesauce. He scowled and took aim.
“Stop it!” Skye screamed.
But no one was listening to Skye. Jonathan picked up his full plate of spaghetti and dumped it right over the head of the boy who had grabbed for his glasses and started the whole mess. At the same time, Jonathan took a full dish of applesauce right on his head!
“Food fight!” another boy at the same table yelled.
“Food fight!” the rest of Tim’s boys echoed.
In seconds, “Food fight!” rang through the entire cafeteria. Chaos reigned in the large room as chocolate pudding, spaghetti, applesauce, and milk cartons flew everywhere. Buttered bread sailed through the air like Frisbees.
Skye wiped her eyes clear of pudding and looked for Tim.
Splat! A wad of warm spaghetti hit her on the side of her head, clogging her ear. She spotted Tim, who had just taken a glob of pudding in his left eye. She turned to look for Morgan, and a milk carton whizzed by Skye’s head. Ducking low, she peeked toward the Five Ferns table.
Above the screams, Skye could hear Morgan yelling, “Stop it, girls! Stop it!” Morgan was waving her hands in front of her, trying to keep the food tide from carrying her away. Splat! She took a full plate of spaghetti square in the face.
By this time, the entire room had erupted into loud screams, banging chairs, kids running after one another with plates full of food, and cooks cowering behind the counter.
The staff had lost control and could do nothing but duck. The walls dripped with pudding, and the wagon-wheel chandeliers had been festooned with spaghetti noodles dripping with red sauce.
“Sit down!” Skye wailed, warding off food bullets with her hands.
Splat! Another bomb, cold and gooey, exploded on the back of Skye’s head.
“Where’s Mr. Wheaten!” she screamed at Tim.
“There!” Tim yelled as he dodged cartons and plates. He pointed at the door.
Mr. Wheaten had just dashed into the room, his eyes bulging at the sight. Quickly he pulled out his whistle. Just as he started to blow it, a pudding bomb exploded in his face. The clogged whistle only sputtered like a fizzling firecracker.
“There’s Mr. Wheaten!” some kid in the corner yelled.
As if officially welcoming the director to their party, every camper in the room threw what was left on their plates—or shirts—in Mr. Wheaten’s direction. In a mad dash, he scrambled toward the counter where the cooks were hiding. He ducked, but his black Stetson took a blow from a carton of milk and flew into a pool of slop. His silver crew cut peeked above the counter, and this time his whistle let out an earsplitting shriek that bounced off every wall.
In seconds, the place grew as quiet as a graveyard. Was it more from the campers’ having nothing to throw than from Mr. Wheaten’s whistle?
By now Skye’s nerves had her whole body quivering. She reached for a napkin, the only thing she could get her hands on that was clean, and made an effort to wipe her face. Trying to grab a normal breath, she gazed around the room at every staff member and volunteer who was now doing the same. Mr. Wheaten came out from behind the counter, spaghetti and pudding dripping from him like he had been dunked in it. What little showed of his chocolate-covered cheeks flushed bright red.
“All right! Everyone sit down! Right this minute!” he yelled, his hands anchored on his hips. “Staff, get them seated, and go back to your posts!”
Skye started toward her table, sliding on a floor as slippery as ice. She balanced herself, setting chairs upright and helping campers sit. Standing at the end of the Five Ferns table, she glanced at Morgan in her wheelchair, covered in sauce to match her hair. Her panicky face reflected Skye’s feelings exactly.
Skye glanced around the room. Every camper, covered with slop, was sitting in puddles of food on their uprighted chairs. Most were giggling or pointing fingers at others and laughing. Some were crying. The staff members, cloaked with food and embarrassed beyond words, were trying to quiet everyone.
Skye looked for Chad. Busy at a table in the corner, his blond hair was all that she could recognize.
Mr. Wheaten pulled a large red handkerchief from his back jeans pocket and wiped his face. “Now, I want to know, right this minute, who started this!” he barked. He folded his arms and waited.
“He did!” a camper sitting next to Jonathan yelled and pointed. Almost in unison, like a choir perfecting their song, every camper in the room pointed at Jonathan. “He did!” they squealed.
There Jonathan sat, chocolate-covered glasses anchored on his nose, arms folded, and a grin along with his lunch plastered all over his defiant face.
“Tim, bring him to my office! Now!” Mr. Wheaten ordered.
Jonathan, you’ve done it this time, Skye reasoned. You are history!
chapter eleven
Counselors,” Mr. Wheaten continued, still wiping his face, “I want you to take your campers back to their cabins. All afternoon activities are cancelled. It’ll take that long for everybody to get showers. I need one worker from each cabin to get back here as soon as possible to help clean this cafeteria. We’ll be shovelin’ noodles and puddin’ for hours.”
On her trek to the Five Ferns cabin, Skye tried to ana lyze what had just happened. “It really wasn’t Jonathan’s fault,” she said to Morgan. “That other kid provoked him. Jonathan was just trying to tell the kid to leave him alone. But without being able to speak, he acted the only way he knows.”
“Well, Tim can’t tell Mr. Wheaten that,” Morgan said. “His back was turned when the fight started. I’m afraid Jonathan’s gonna get shipped out.”
“I am too,” Skye said. “But this time I’m on his side. Praying for him has changed my mind. I really don’t want him to leave.”
“What can you do about it?” Morgan wheeled along the walkway in front of the cabin.
“I’ve got to do something,” Skye said. “Let’s get these kids cleaned up. Then after I help at the cafeteria, I’ll go see Mr. Wheaten.”
It was almost suppertime before Skye could slip away to Mr. Wheaten’s office. She hurried to the administration building and knocked on his door.
“Come in!” Mr. Wheaten barked.
Skye peeked inside tentatively.
Wearing a fresh western shirt after his unscheduled shower, Mr. Wheaten was just placing the phone down in its cradle. The steer horns above his head, missing the infamous black Stetson, now displayed a beat-up, stained tan cowboy hat. The man’s grumpy demeanor from the afternoon’s incident dissipated when he saw Skye stand ing at the door.
“Mr. Wheaten, can we talk?” Skye asked.
“Sure, c’mon in, little lady. I have good news for you. Your worries are over,” Mr. Wheaten said. “
You were right. Jonathan is the Master of Disaster. He’ll be gone by tomorrow morning, that is, if I can reach his parents. There’s been no answer at their home all afternoon. We aim to help kids here,” he said emphatically, “but there’s a limit to what we can do. This kid’s got to go.”
Skye made her way to a chair in front of the desk and sat down. “That’s why I’m here,” she said. “This time it wasn’t his fault.”
Mr. Wheaten’s eyebrows shot up like he had just heard the tallest tale this side of Texas. “Now, Annie, you ain’t tryin’ to hog-tie me, are you? I should think you’d be the first one in line to wave good-bye.”
“No, it’s the truth,” Skye said. “I saw the whole thing. The kid sitting next to him started it by grabbing for his sunglasses. Jonathan just wanted to be left alone, but the other camper wouldn’t stop.”
Mr. Wheaten leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. “Well, why didn’t Tim tell me this?”
“Tim didn’t see what happened with Jonathan. He was busy with a kid who had spilled his milk.”
Mr. Wheaten, deep in thought, rubbed his chin. “I see. Maybe the Lord didn’t want me to get through to Jonathan’s parents.”
Skye leaned forward, placing her hands on Mr. Wheaten’s desk. “I’ve been praying an awful lot for Jonathan lately. Please give him one more chance. I’m willing to keep trying.”
“Well, if you’re willing, little lady, then I’m willing,” Mr. Wheaten said with a big smile. “Let’s go find Jonathan and tell him.”
After supper, Skye took her weekly furlough when she had several hours all to herself. The campers and most of the staff had gone to the gymnasium. There the owner and curator of central Pennsylvania’s Jungleland was put ting on a display of exotic birds and snakes. Wild animals fascinated Skye, but she decided to ride Champ bareback around the deserted campgrounds. I need time to think and pray, she told herself as she trotted Champ around the barn and headed toward the lake.
Approaching the swimming pool, Skye saw the boys’ locker room door opening. Backing out, Chad was busy wrestling with a mop and a sloshing bucket on wheels. Skye could tell that he had just finished sanitizing the room.
“I sure hope he doesn’t see me,” Skye whispered to Champ. She leaned forward, patted his neck, and looked the other way as the horse clip-clopped past the pool. “He’s probably entertaining Linda with his mop,” she whispered again.
“Hey! Skye!” Chad yelled.
“Oh, no,” Skye said to Champ. “I can’t face him yet. Not after what happened yesterday.”
“Skye! Over here!” Chad turned his volume up a notch.
Skye slowed Champ to a walk, straightened her back like a soldier at attention, and looked nonchalantly toward Chad. Feigning surprise, she yelled, “Oh—Chad—hi there!”
“Wait a minute!” he yelled, throwing the mop against the door. He charged out the open pool gate to Skye. “Do you have a minute?” he said in short breaths. “I have something I need to talk to you about.”
Skye looked into Chad’s brown eyes, and her heart started to melt. Then she remembered Linda. “Well, I only have an hour left of furlough. I need to take a ride and do some thinking and praying,” she said coldly.
“But Skye, this is important,” Chad said. He glanced toward the lake. “How about we take a walk down there?”
For the first time since she had seen Linda and Chad together, Skye found herself saying yes to Chad. She slid off Champ’s back and started leading him toward the lake. After Chad locked the gate to the pool, he rejoined Skye.
“So, what’s up?” Skye looked straight ahead. He probably wants to tell me he’s marrying Linda.
“Well, for one thing,” Chad said, “I wanted to know if you had survived the last twenty-four hours. It looks like you did. You’ve had it rough with that Jonathan kid. They said he started the food fight at lunchtime. What a mess!”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Skye said in a softer tone. “I’ve been doin’ an awful lot of praying about Jonathan. He’s a very lonely kid. And by the way, Chad, he didn’t start that food fight. The camper next to him did.”
“No kidding! So Jonathan’s not getting shipped out?”
“No. And I’m glad.”
“Yeah, I am too. Everybody deserves another chance.”
“I sure know about that,” Skye said.
With Champ following, Chad and Skye meandered down the sloping lawn beside the waterslide. A brilliant sunset gave the lake and surrounding woods a deep pink cast. If it weren’t for Linda, Skye would have thought she was walking in a dream.
At the water’s edge, Chad pulled a shoot of tall grass from a cluster of weeds and stuck it between his teeth. Skye dropped Champ’s reins, allowing him to feast on the succulent, moist grass on the shore. Skye picked up several flat stones and skipped them across the water. It doesn’t get any better than this, Skye thought. Almost.
“So what did you want to tell me?” she asked Chad while skipping the stones.
“Skye, I’ve always considered you one of my best friends, so I want to run something by you. Tell me what you think.”
Skye walked back to Champ and stroked his neck. “Okay, what?” she said defensively.
“You know, the guest speakers at camp have given some mighty good sermons. And—well—the Lord’s been speaking to my heart. I think he wants me to go into the ministry, maybe as a missionary or a youth pastor or something.”
Skye’s eyebrows peaked, and she quickly tried to wipe the surprise off her face. “So this isn’t about Linda?”
“What would Linda have to do with my future?” Chad scratched his head. “Anyway, what do you think? Would I make a good preacher or missionary? You know me about as well as any of the kids at Madison, or at church.”
Skye stared into the face of a young man whose eyes pleaded for an answer. Her own face flushed hot, then she turned toward Champ and stroked his soft, velvety nose. “Yeah, Chad, I think you’d make a great preacher. I mean, you’re so good with people. And your music would be a big plus. Yeah, you’d be great. I’m sure you would.” She looked back at Chad and smiled.
“Well, you’re one of the few people who know about this,” he said almost in a whisper. “I told Linda, and I called my best friend back home and told him.”
Linda, Linda, Linda! I am so sick of hearing that name! Skye fumed. I’ve got to get this straight, right now. “While we’re on the topic of Linda,” Skye interjected, “I need to know something right now, Chad Dressler.”
“Sure, Skye Nicholson. But you look so serious. What is it?” His dimples dissolved into a devilish smile.
“What is it with you and Linda? I mean, I see you together everywhere. She’s—like—your shadow!”
“What does that have to do with anything? We’ve always been close.”
“Yeah! Very close!” Skye growled.
“Well,” Chad said while he chewed on the grass, “she is special to me. And she’d be special to you if you were in my shoes!”
“What on earth do you mean, ‘If I were in your shoes’?”
“Skye, I don’t have a sister. Linda’s my only girl cousin. We’ve always been close. She’s like the sister I’ve never had but wished I did.”
chapter twelve
What?” Skye’s mouth dropped open.
“Now, Skye, don’t act so surprised.”
“Your cousin? Linda’s your—your cousin?”
“Well, sure. Always was and always will be. I thought you knew that.”
“How would I know that, Chad Dressler?”
“Don’t you remember when she visited from New York a few years back and she came to the youth retreat at Keystone Stables?”
“Chad, a few years back?”
“Oh, that’s right, you weren’t living there at the time, were you?”
“No,” Skye said, her face frozen in shock. “I thought you—she—she always calls you ‘honey’!”
Chad’s dimpled smile mad
e his eyes sparkle. “Aw, so that’s why you’ve been acting so funny. You thought we were—” He let loose a hearty laugh. “Skye, I thought you knew me better than that. Girlfriends aren’t in my plans until I’m much older. Linda has called me ‘honey’ since we were little kids. It’s a family joke. We both got in trouble one time when we ate a whole jar of honey and got sick. Since then she always reminds me of that dumb trick by calling me ‘honey.’ That’s all it means.”
Skye felt like the biggest fool at Camp Oneega. Maybe even in the whole wide world. Her face flushed hot again, mostly from embarrassment. “I—I’m sorry, Chad. I just read the whole thing wrong.”
“Forget it,” Chad said, his face growing sincere, “and I’ll let you in on a little secret. When I’m ready for a girlfriend, you’ll be the first one on the list.”
The next few days Skye floated on air. Linda was Chad’s cousin? It was too good to be true. With Linda no longer a major source of irritation, Skye focused on helping the Problem Child of Camp Oneega.
Every morning, she met Jonathan at the riding corral where he was learning how to saddle and bridle Buddy, how to clean his hooves, and how to apply bug juice. The boy had advanced in his riding lessons to where he was now ready to learn how to trot Buddy in the corral. Today it was time for another lesson. Skye and Champ stood next to Jonathan and Buddy, ready to begin.
“Okay, Jonathan,” Skye signed, “mount Buddy. I want you to walk him around the corral one time in each direc tion. Then come back here, and we’ll work on trotting.”
Jonathan smiled, pulled his helmet strap tighter under his chin, and nudged Buddy forward. Flawlessly, he walked Buddy as he had been instructed. Then he came back to Skye.
“Very good,” Skye signed. “Now we’re going to learn to trot. I’m going to trot Champ around the corral. You sit here and watch. Okay?”
Summer Camp Adventure Page 6