There's a Bat in Bunk Five

by Paula Danziger

I follow Carl and Barbara downstairs and wonder whether anyone’s ever been sent home for an acute case of stapled finger.

  CHAPTER 3

  Everyone’s arrived. I’ve met my head counselor and seen my bunk. I wonder if it’s too late to change my mind and go home. This is a little scary and strange.

  I’m stuck with the upper bunk bed. Corrine, as senior counselor, gets first choice.

  Some night I’ll probably roll over, fall out, break several bones, and have severe internal injuries and bleeding. Or a rung of the rickety ladder will crack when I’m climbing up, and I’ll fall on my head and get a concussion.

  Corrine immediately puts a picture of herself and a guy on her cubby.

  I put a writing notebook on mine.

  As we unpack, I sneak looks at Corrine. She’s got curly blond hair, bright green eyes, and an incredibly thin body, fashion-model skinny. I bet she can eat anything she wants without gaining an ounce.

  She says, “Barbara tells me that you’re a wonderful writer. I’m so glad. This year I want us to help the kids gain confidence in writing. I also want us to help them put out great newsletters and magazines, as well as their individual work.”

  “Me too,” I say.

  She continues. “I’m a journalism major at college. Someday I want to be an investigative reporter.”

  Funny. I thought sure she’d want to work on a fashion magazine. I’ve got to remember not to stereotype, not to look at someone and make instant judgments. I hate it when someone does that to me, yet it’s something I do, especially when someone’s skinny.

  A bell rings below.

  “We can finish unpacking later,” Corrine says, grabbing a notebook. “Staff training’s about to begin.”

  I grab my notebook. “Do we get detention if we’re late for the first meeting? Do we have to stay after camp and wash the volleyball court?”

  Corrine laughs. “You’ll have to follow the goats around, pick up after them, and be in charge of their once-a-year bath.”

  “Let’s get a move on,” I say.

  We rush out the door and down the steps. Lots of other people are also coming down the hill from their cabins.

  Halfway there, someone yells, “Hey, Corrine.” Corrine stops. I stop with her. She waves to this absolutely gorgeous blond male who is by the pool, pulling something out with the skimmer.

  She yells, “Hello, Jimmy. What did you catch?”

  He pulls the skimmer out of the water and comes over to us. “It’s a skunk. Want to give it mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?”

  Corrine makes a face.

  Jimmy turns to me. “Want to give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?”

  I stare at his mouth.

  Corrine says, “This is Marcy Lewis, my CIT. This is Jimmy, camp Romeo.”

  “Hi,” I say.

  I want to say: If there are going to be auditions for the person to play camp Juliet, put my name on the list. But I don’t have enough nerve. With Jimmy’s looks I bet everyone in the world wants to go out with him.

  The bell rings again, this time a lot, like someone means business.

  “We better hurry,” Corrine says.

  “I’ll see you later.” Jimmy looks at me.

  I try not to stare back at him although I’d love to.

  As Corrine and I head down the hill, she says, “I wasn’t kidding about Jimmy. He’s a bit of a flirt.”

  I think that I kind of like being flirted with, especially by someone as great looking as Jimmy. He almost makes me want to get over my fear of men.

  Everyone’s gathered around the bell, the goats included.

  It’s obvious a lot of people know each other.

  There’s a lot of hugging and kissing.

  I stand off to the side and notice I’m not the only person who doesn’t know people.

  Someone rushes up, hugs me, and says, “It’s so good to see you.”

  I stare at her, not sure who she is.

  “Don’t panic. My name’s Heidi Gittenstein. I just got bored standing around and not being a part of this.”

  “I’m Marcy Lewis.”

  She says, adjusting her baseball cap, “Let’s go around and do this to everyone else who’s still standing around.”

  It’s a crazy idea. I love it.

  I run up, hug someone who’s still standing alone, explain what’s happening, and then we both go off to hug someone else.

  Soon everyone’s running around, hugging everyone else.

  I have a feeling I’m going to like this place.

  Barbara yells, “Everyone inside.” We go into the dining room and sit down at tables.

  Carl quiets everyone down and announces, “Since this is the first meal of the summer, Barbara and I’ve decided to give you a special treat—pizza and soda for lunch. Purchased out of our own meager salaries.”

  There’s wild applause and foot-stomping.

  Pizza. I love pizza. Pizza with extra cheese, pizza with mushrooms, with sausage. Pizza with pizza. I’ve got to be careful, though, not to eat too much of it or within minutes I could probably gain back every lost pound.

  I take one piece.

  Soda gets passed around. I take a Tab.

  I could mug for another pizza slice, but don’t.

  Once everyone’s done and only empty white boxes sit on the tables as evidence, Carl and Barbara stand up and hand out the stapled papers.

  “You can read this later,” Carl says. “We want to start right in on our training session.”

  I feel an arm on my shoulder. Looking to the side, I see it’s Corrine. She’s smiling at me. I smile back.

  Corrine seems so nice, I think as I listen to Carl. I wonder why she acted kind of weird about Jimmy.

  “I want each of you to pick a person whom you don’t know and spend five minutes talking to that person.”

  It’s like I’m back in Ms. Finney’s, Barbara’s class. She used to do stuff like this.

  Jimmy comes over to me and says, “Want to be partners?”

  I debate saying, Yes, forever and ever, but instead say, “Sure.”

  I feel like Queen of the Prom.

  We go off into a corner, to the left of the fireplace.

  “I hope we get to know each other better,” Jimmy says, giving me this sort of sexy smile.

  I can’t believe it. Here I am, Marcy Lewis, former girl blimp, sitting with this absolutely gorgeous guy who acts as if he really does want to get to know me better.

  All my life I’ve dreamed of something like this.

  Nancy, my best friend back home, told me I’ve really changed a lot in the past year, that I look good, but it’s kind of hard to believe after you’ve spent your whole life resigned to being Ms. Grotesque Lump. But nobody here knows that, except for Barbara.

  Jimmy continues. “Don’t listen to anything bad that Corrine might say. I think she’s got the wrong opinion of me. I’m really a wonderful human being.”

  “Do you carry around letters of recommendation?” I ask.

  He grins. “In my cabin. You’ll have to come up and see them sometime.”

  “I suppose you also do etchings,” I say.

  “Actually I play the piano.”

  “And the field too” is the comment of someone who has come over to join us. “Hi, my name is Mel. We’re supposed to enlarge our groups.”

  Mel joins us. So does Heidi, the girl who came over and hugged me. We all talk for a while.

  “Two more groups unite,” Barbara yells.

  Now there are eight of us, all finding out about each other.

  “Everyone back together now.”

  We get back together, only this time we all seem to crowd in closer.

  I kind of wish I were sitting next to Jimmy, but he’s sitting next to Heidi, looking into her eyes.

  Carl points to Heidi. “Who knows something about this person?”

  Corrine yells, “She’s from Washington, D.C., a senator’s daughter.”

  She’s an artist,”
I add.

  “She wants to be president someday.”

  “So how come she’s at a creative arts camp?” someone wants to know.

  Heidi answers, “I want something secure to fall back on if I don’t make enough money as a painter. Presidents pull in good salaries.”

  More people yell out stuff.

  I look over at Jimmy.

  He winks at me.

  Carl points to someone else and everyone makes comments.

  He points to me and people say things, all nice. About my writing, my personality, and my sense of humor. What a relief.

  No one knows what I was like before. I can be what I want to be, not what people expect or think they know. I always worry that people expect me to be something I’m not when I’m not even sure of what I am.

  Finally all staff members are discussed. It’s really great. Even though I don’t know all of the names, I’ve got an idea about each person and it’s going to be easier to get to know everyone.

  “Break time,” Barbara yells. “Bug juice.”

  Everybody stamps their feet and applauds again. I do too even though I’m not sure why.

  Gallons of something that looks like Kool-Aid are brought out.

  I take a glass. It’s sort of like water with a little Kool-Aid sprinkled in.

  In her letter to me Barbara mentioned that the camp was not a rich one, but she never mentioned that we’d have to live on colored water.

  I hope my mother can send up a Care package of Tab.

  I notice that Jimmy’s talking to another one of the new female counselors.

  After the break we role play.

  The experienced counselors pretend to be campers with an assortment of problems.

  The CITs have to show how to solve the problems.

  I get a counselor named Lori who pretends to be a mosquito-bitten camper and is screaming how she wants to go home.

  I pretend to put Calamine lotion on the bites.

  “What else?” Barbara asks.

  I pantomime putting the cap back on the bottle.

  “Scratch them for the kid?” someone yells.

  Corrine says, “Hug the kid.”

  I do.

  Barbara nods. “That’s it. Just remember that the kids are going to want some attention and will do lots to get it. They’ll need a lot of affection. I know that we all do, but remember, the kids come first. I want each of them going back home feeling special.”

  Role playing continues for a while.

  Then Carl and Barbara explain the basic rules. How many days off. Procedures. Responsibilities. How no one is supposed to use drugs or get drunk. What to do in case of emergencies.

  Barbara looks at her watch. “Time for general clean-up. Get the cabins ready for the kids. Then we’ll have a cookout supper and campfire.”

  Everyone troops out.

  Jimmy and Carl are talking to each other about how to handle the skunk smell in the pool.

  As Corrine and I walk back up to the cabin, I ask Corrine what comes next.

  “This camp has got to be cleaned up after the winter. We did it before we left last year, but there’s always sweeping and stuff.”

  Housework, actually bunkwork.

  We go back to the cabin. I sweep the floor, and Corrine gets the spider webs down.

  I look down at a corner of the room. There are all of these tiny brown pellets.

  “Corrine, what’s this?” I call her over.

  “Mouse turds,” she says.

  “Bullshit,” I say, figuring it’s some kind of curse they say at her college.

  She comes over and punches me on the arm. “Very funny, Marcy.”

  I look at her, then realize she’s not kidding around.

  They really are mouse turds.

  I think I’m going to throw up.

  But at least it’s mice and not bulls.

  I wonder if bats make pellets too.

  I feel like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, when she turns to her dog and realizes that she’s far from home.

  Well, Toto, I guess we’re not in New Jersey anymore.

  CHAPTER 4

  Camp’s wonderful. I only hope it stays that way once the campers get here later today.

  I lie in bed, listening for the patter of little mice feet. So far so good. No more pellets. No sounds.

  It’s quiet outside. Birds singing.

  Corrine snores.

  The clock says six A.M. I think it runs in my family’s genes to be early risers. I decide to go out before work starts.

  Work. We’ve been cleaning the entire camp, getting supplies ready, holding more workshops, playing lots of games. For a camp stressing creative arts, there’s certainly a lot of physical activity. Carl says it “enriches the whole person.”

  My body hurts from all the enrichment. My blisters have blisters.

  I quietly climb down the ladder, dress, grab my soap, towel, and blow drier. Corrine’s warned me to be silent until she’s had her first cup of coffee.

  The door creaks when I open it. I catch it before it slams.

  No one else seems to be up.

  I’ve got the bathroom to myself. Usually all the females in camp seem to be using it at the same time. It’s as bad as taking a shower after gym.

  Finishing up, I go back to the cabin, sneak inside, and put my stuff away.

  Corrine’s still snoring.

  I didn’t think skinny people snored.

  I grab my notebook and pen and go outside again. It’s beginning to get really light.

  Two-thirds of the way down the hill, between the cabin area and the main building, there’s a good tree to sit under to write the daily letter to my family. The pool’s toward the left, the fields are on the right. The main building’s down below. I owe four letters. Things are too busy. I can just imagine what it’s like at home. My mother will rush every day, anxiously checking the mail. When no letter arrives from me, tears’ll come to her eyes. At first she’ll imagine the worst. She’ll think I’ve been captured by a band of demon bats or fallen off a mountain. Then she’ll get upset and angry. I’ve really got to make this a good letter to make up for not sending the others.

  I write a lot, big, so that it takes up lots of room. It’s hard. I’m not sure what I should say. I want to have some privacy, also there’s not much to really report. Does she want to hear about my blisters, about my crush on Jimmy, about Corrine’s snoring? What do you say about camp to someone who’s not there to get the whole experience?

  I do my best, filling up four pages and putting them by my side.

  There’s a goat standing right next to me. It starts to eat my letter. Then it takes off down the hill with all of the pages in its mouth.

  Someone behind me laughs. “I’ve heard of people having to eat their own words, but that’s ridiculous.”

  I turn around and see Ted Chaback, one of the CITs. He’s carrying his guitar.

  “I bet that really gets your goat.” He grins.

  Oh no, more goat jokes.

  Ted sits down next to me. “Relax. We’ll rewrite it. What was it? I’ll help.”

  “It’s just a letter to my family. I promised to write every day and haven’t. That animal just ate a week’s worth of news.”

  Ted says, “Why don’t you start out with: ‘Dear Family, I’ve just met a wonderful human being and while we’re not planning to elope, I think I’m going to like going out with him. His name’s Ted. You’ll love him.’ ”

  I look at Ted. He’s cute, brownish-blond hair, blue-green eyes. He’s been in some of my training groups and we’ve kidded around but never really talked. I know that he’s a senior in high school and from Connecticut.

  “I think we better stick to telling them about the cookouts and stuff,” I say. “I’d hate to announce anything prematurely.”

  “Give it time.” He grins again.

  We write the letter together, each contributing every other line. It doesn’t make much sense, but it’s fun to do. Being w
ith Ted is fun. Usually I’m kind of shy around boys, but he’s easy to get along with.

  People are beginning to go down the hill.

  The breakfast bell rings.

  Ted and I race down. He beats me, by a lot.

  I collapse on the grass. “I’m really not in shape for this.”

  “I like the shape you’re in.” Ted smiles.

  I blush. I’m not used to this.

  Jimmy comes up to us. “Ready for the invasion of the campers?”

  I nod, still out of breath.

  The campers are really arriving today, after lunch.

  Jimmy moves on to talk to Ryan Alys, one of the guys on the grounds crew.

  I stare at Jimmy.

  “One of the smitten, I see,” Ted says.

  I look at Ted.

  “It happened last year too. At least half the females fall in love with him.”

  I blush again.

  “You’ll develop better taste soon and see that the only person that Jimmy loves is himself.” Ted raises his eyebrows.

  The bell rings again for breakfast, and we go inside.

  Corrine and Mark, Ted’s head counselor, are sitting together and we join them.

  “Ready? The kids’ll be here soon,” Corrine reminds me.

  “Can’t we just keep camp the way it is?” I beg.

  She laughs and shakes her head. “The moment of truth, the final camper lists, will be here shortly.”

  Barbara comes over to our table, says, “Morning. Bunk assignments. Enjoy your day,” and hands us the cabin rosters.

  Mark says, “No problems evident on my list. Can’t wait till the kids get here.”

  He looks over Corrine’s shoulder at our list. “You’ve got Ginger Simon? What’s she doing in with the eleven- and twelve-year-olds? Why are you stuck with her?”

  “Sandy said she wouldn’t take her again, even if it meant losing her job. You know how Barbara can convince you to try anything. So I said we’d take her, but should be given combat pay.”

  I sit there listening. How come no one asked me about taking a problem camper? I guess because I don’t know the kid. “What’s the problem?”

  Corrine shrugs. “I’m not sure. I know her parents are divorced and that she’s got a real chip on her shoulder. But she’s a fine artist. Last summer she did some really nasty things, was cruel to a lot of people, and was a general disturbance. Barbara wants to give her another chance though, thinks maybe we can reach Ginger and help her.”