by Steve Cotler
So right now as I am writing this I paused …
… and went downstairs and asked Granpa. He is watching the World Series and is very cranky that the Red Sox aren’t in it. He says that girls mature earlier than boys, so Aunt Lois lets the eleven-year-old girls decide for themselves if they want to go.
I guess that sort of makes sense if you believe that stuff about maturity.
*
Even with more than two hundred girls and boys milling around, I spotted Lana and Marci across the room. They hadn’t seen us yet, so I grabbed Georgie and ducked behind one of the big speakers. Because Georgie is so tall, I pulled hard and bent him over.
It actually was a pretty lame hiding place, because less than a minute later I heard, “Call an exterminator, Kevin. I found some cockroaches.”
We were busted. It was Goon, holding hands with Kevin and grinning big-time. She must have been watching us.
“Dork! Dork! Dork!” Kevin said over and over. He sounded like a sick penguin.
Music was playing loudly, but I didn’t really hear it. Lights were flashing and whirling, but I didn’t really see them. I knew that her cockroach insult had just hit me for two Point Battle points, and in a battle a trained warrior doesn’t just accept an attack and die. He fights back! And that was what I did.
I honestly don’t know how I thought of my counterattack. It just happened. I jumped out from behind the speaker and pointed at the dark makeup gooped all around Goon’s eyes.
“Hey! I didn’t know this was a costume party. Great job, Junie! You look exactly like a raccoon.”
Goon turned bright red, smacked my pointy finger, and stomped away, dragging Kevin behind her.
Mine was a really excellent insult. Double points. Two for her. But four for me. Ha!
The Point Battle score was 668–665. I was just three points behind.
I was snapped out of my Cheesie vs. Goon thoughts by Georgie’s elbowing me in the ribs. He pointed toward the dance floor. Lana and Marci were dancing with each other.
“They’re pretty good,” Georgie said.
They actually were. I looked at all the other dancers. They were mostly girls and a few older boys. We watched for a while, making sure to keep tabs on Lana and Marci.
Then Goon started dancing with Kevin. Like I said earlier in this book, Goon is very good at ballet. But I had never seen her at a boy-girl dance, so I was amazed at how excellent she was. Kevin was just sort of standing there, waving his arms and moving his feet a little. I wanted him to be a terrible dancer, but actually he wasn’t.
“Your sister is really good,” Georgie said.
I looked at the kids standing near Goon and Kevin. Most of my cabin mates were watching them. Even though Kevin wasn’t doing much, Goon was so terrific, she made him look very cool.
“Uh-huh. Major bonus for Kevin in the Cool Duel vote,” I replied.
Then I saw Dutcher. He was doing these robot moves that were ninety-nine times better than anything Georgie or I have ever done in our Roboto game.
That got me thinking about why I don’t like dancing. Here’s what I came up with:
1. If you’re not good at dancing, you look stupid.
2. People stare at you when you’re dancing, and you get self-conscious.
3. Dancing seems like a girl thing.
But there was Dutcher—a guy I really admire—out in front of everyone … dancing. And that got me outthinking myself:
1. If you’re not good at dribbling a soccer ball or hitting a baseball, you look stupid … but that never bothered me when I was just learning to play.
2. People stare at you when you’re doing sports … and even if I’m not very good—like in tennis—I don’t get self-conscious.
3. Cooking seemed like a girl thing before Meemo told me that lots of the world’s most famous chefs are men.
It was very confusing, but I didn’t have time to think about it because when the song ended, we could tell that Lana and Marci were looking around for us, so we used Georgie’s Spy-and-Shift Strategy. We spied on their movements and constantly shifted to the exact opposite side of the room, making sure to stay behind kids or other things that could hide us. That worked for about thirty minutes. Then some counselors brought out refreshments (punch and a huge pile of really good cookies), and we sort of got distracted. A song ended and suddenly the two girls were standing right next to us.
“Hi, Georgie,” Marci said.
“Hi, Cheesie,” Lana said.
I looked at Georgie. His mouth was stuffed with cookies. The girls were staring at us. I had no idea what to say, but I was holding a cookie in my hand, so I blurted, “These are excellent cookies,” and stuck the whole thing in my mouth. The music started again.
Marci picked up a cookie, took a small bite, smiled, spun back and forth on one foot, and shouted above the music, “Lana and I were wondering if—”
I interrupted her by suddenly bowing from the waist. That was our preplanned signal to switch Great Ideas: goodbye, Spy-and-Shift; hello, Dance Double Cross. Georgie immediately copied my bow.
“May I have the honor of dancing with you?” I said to Lana. I had seen this in the movies.
“And may I have the honor of dancing with you?” Georgie said to Marci.
The girls were very surprised and maybe a little embarrassed. They looked at each other, then nodded.
If you’re wondering how much Georgie and I could have learned about dancing in one three-minute session from Lenny, keep reading!
We walked to the center of the dance floor.
Marci and Lana followed.
Once the girls started dancing, we joined in, moving our arms a little, shaking our tails a little, and shuffling our feet just enough to show that we weren’t frozen statues. We were not very good. Actually, we were really terrible.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Goon stop dancing and stare.
After about ten seconds of our boring dancing, I spun around on one foot the way Lenny had done on the Cabin F porch. Except Lenny didn’t stumble over his own feet like I did! It didn’t matter, though. The spin was my signal to Georgie.
We looked at each other and counted loudly in time to the music: “ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!”
That was how we began the most energetic, outstandingly awful sequence of dance moves ever seen in Maine, the United States, and the whole Western Hemisphere.
We jumped,
flapped our elbows like demented chickens,
fell to the floor and made snow angels,
popped up and hopped in a circle,
kicked left and right while saluting, bent over and waved to the girls, straightened up and did jumping jacks, and ran in place with our fingers in our ears.
And then we did it all over again.
The girls stopped moving. They looked stunned. The other dancers moved away from us, clearing out an area in the middle of the floor. Even though it was exhausting, we never stopped doing the Dance Double Cross.
Finally, as the song neared the end, I grabbed Georgie’s hand, and we began running full speed in a tight circle. Then, on the last note, we let go and fell to the floor, our speed making us crash and tumble away from each other and slide across the dance floor.
I looked up at Lana and Marci. They were in shock.
Goon kicked my shoe to get my attention, stuck her finger down her throat, and pretend-puked on my head.
“Dork,” Kevin penguined at us. “Dork. Dork.”
People were pointing, applauding, screaming, and laughing at us. But so what? Georgie’s Great Idea had totally worked! We were so terrible, I was sure Lana and Marci would never want to dance with us again!
I was right. The two girls had walked away. And for the rest of the evening they totally avoided us. Georgie and I listened to the music, had more refreshments, and laughed with lots of other guys until the dance was over. We had a terrific time.
But when it came time for the Cool Duel vote, my good mood disappeared. Ge
orgie had predicted the Dance Double Cross would get me lots of votes, but I gained only one. Goon’s dancing had made Kevin look really good. Ethan said my dancing wasn’t cool. Zip said it was. Danny agreed with Zip and switched back to me. Sam abstained. Everyone else stayed the same. It was 11–4 again.
COOL DUEL DAY FIVE
ME KEVIN
Ty Atkins
Alfie Bickelman
Lloyd Case
Jason Chelsea
Tommy Grace
Noah Keil
Jimmy Kelly
Cheesie Mack
Zip Matthews
Henry Miranda Sam Ramprakash
Ethan Rhee
Clark Rosellini
Georgie Sinkoff
Danny Stephens
Kevin Welch
Only two days left. The next day was the talent show. I needed to do something big, and Lindermann’s JAMPAC seemed to be the only thing I had going.
JAMPAC
Before I go on with this story, I want to explain something about the Dance Double Cross:
1. Even though our colossally stupid dancing was ridiculous, neither Georgie nor I were the least bit embarrassed. I guess you can only be embarrassed if you agree that what you’re doing is embarrassing.
2. So even though Goon’s dancing was excellent and ours was dumb and people laughed at us, because Goon had nothing to do with our Dance Double Cross, the Point Battle was not involved. Zero points.
3. A girl (her name was Naomi, but who cares, because she will never be mentioned in my books again) told us that we had completely ruined the dance.
4. Dutcher (whose opinion is way more important than Naomi’s) complimented Georgie and me. “You guys have a lot of courage. If you work on your moves a little before the next dance, you’ll be awesome.” I hadn’t thought of that. There’d be another boy-girl dance in a few weeks in the Ballroom.
With Kevin so far ahead in the voting, he changed his behavior and played it safe. He was strangely nice to me all day, especially when our cabin mates were near. During morning activity, he even chose me to be on his soccer team. (We won 5–2, and I scored one goal.)
Lana and Marci made no attempt to talk to me or Georgie at breakfast or lunch.
In the afternoon, Lindermann pulled me away from our cabin’s activity (swimming and sailing) and took me into the Barn, where we worked in secret on our talent show act.
“We’ll hide it behind the curtain, and the JAMPAC will be the final act in the talent show,” Lindermann told me. He showed me what to do, and I practiced, but I just couldn’t get it right.
“I think you’re too small,” Lindermann said.
“No problem. I’ll get Georgie to help,” I said.
At dinner, I was surprised to see Lana motioning to me from the Border Line. I tried to pretend I didn’t see her, but it was pretty obvious I did, so finally I got up and walked over.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” I said.
She looked very uncomfortable.
“Um, Cheesie … I need to tell you …” Then she turned suddenly and moved quickly back to her table. I started to leave.
“Wait!” Marci called out.
I stopped. Marci came over to the Border Line.
“I need to get in touch with my brother. He’s unbelievably sad. It’s crucial.”
“I don’t know. I mean, there’s the talent show—”
“I know that. Ours is tonight, too. So we’ll have to do the next Hack tomorrow before dinner, okay? Promise me. Okay?”
“It’s risky,” I said, “but … all right.”
“Okay.” Marci took a deep breath, then pointed a finger right at me. “You were really mean to embarrass Lana at the dance last night. She was crying and everything. What you did was just awful.”
I didn’t know what to say. It kind of was Lana’s own fault. If she hadn’t asked me to dance …
Marci walked away, and I went back and finished my meal. I didn’t want to feel bad … but I did.
All the boys gathered in the Barn after dinner for the talent show. Everyone was yelling and screaming when Dutcher, as usual, started the show. He came out costumed like a circus strong man, followed by a bunch of seven-year-olds all dressed in camp shorts and Tshirts. Dutcher strutted around flexing and posing, then stood facing the audience, legs spread and arms akimbo.
(Akimbo is a word my dad taught me. It means “with hands on hips, elbows pointed out.” He told me that it comes from an old English word for a bent archery bow, which is exactly what your arms look like when you stand like that. But the word looks to me like it should be African. I’m not saying that I actually know any African words, but lots of African languages have terrific names, like Swahili, Ndebele, and Wolof … and that’s what akimbo looks like to me. I’m going to stand like that right now.… Okay, I did! You should try it. With arms akimbo and your feet spread a bit, you’ll look strong … like Dutcher.)
Dutcher interlaced his fingers and placed them palms down on the top of his head. One by one the little kids began climbing up like he was a human jungle gym. The first sat with his legs around Dutcher’s neck. The second and third perched on each of his biceps. Number four hung from his neck like a necklace. Five and six straddled his hips, hanging on to each other’s hands front and back. Then, with Dutcher struggling to keep his balance, another counselor came out and lifted the littlest kid up over all the others and plunked him onto Dutcher’s head. Seven kids!
The average seven-year-old weighs 51 pounds—I looked it up online—so that’s 357 pounds, more than one-sixth of a ton!
Next came three Big Guys who were excellent musicians. They did piano, guitar, and violin solos, and then played a piece together. Those guys must really practice.
Then Kevin appeared! I had no idea he was going to be in the talent show. He didn’t say a word. He began juggling three baseballs, and everyone applauded. He added a fourth baseball, and everyone cheered. He was really good. He stopped, bowed, and rolled a cart onto the stage. On it were a watermelon, a dinner plate, and a gigantic kitchen knife. He picked them up one at a time and made motions to show how he was going to juggle all three. The audience began screaming with anticipation. Then he surprised everyone by putting the watermelon on the plate, cutting off a slice, and taking a big bite. He bowed and left the stage to huge applause.
Bad news for me. I had underestimated Kevin. It was a very cool act.
(I tried to teach myself how to juggle last winter, but I broke a lamp, so Mom made me go outside, but it was too cold, so I quit. In Massachusetts, I think juggling is a summer activity.)
After a couple more acts I won’t describe because they were worse than terrible, it was Uncle Bud’s turn. He always does the same talent show act (just like he always tells the same joke at the first campfire). He walked to the center of the stage carrying a phone book. With great dignity he opened it and began reading names and addresses with lots of emotion and long pauses, as if he were reciting poetry.
If you want to know what Uncle Bud’s act was like, stand up right now and read the following out loud … with great dignity, lots of emotion, and occasional long pauses.
Marrowfield, Margaret J, 124 Winterhaven Circle
Marrowfield, Matthew, 55 Flagstone Road
Marshak, Norbert B, 616 E Eagle Park Drive
Marshmallow, Benjamin, No Address Listed
The audience let him get through four or five … then, because we always do it, everyone booed. He pretended to be hugely offended and walked offstage to gigantic applause.
The applause didn’t stop, because next up was the Great Georgio. If you read my first book, you know that Georgie is an excellent magician. This is his third year doing magic at camp, and all the kids (except newbies, of course) really look forward to his tricks.
Georgie came onstage wearing his magician’s hat and a bow tie. Waving his wand around, he made a bouquet of fake flowers appear and disappear. Next was an excellent now-you-see-it-now-
you-don’t with a large coin, and then a bunch of sleight-of-hand card tricks. By the time he did his final trick, which included pouring water and sugar into his hat and putting it on his head (where did the water and sugar go?), the audience was amazed. Georgie is super good!
Finally it was time for JAMPAC.
I came out from behind the curtain wearing a white “lab coat” (a dress shirt Lindermann borrowed from a tall counselor), made a deep bow, and spoke very loudly and with great authority.
“Campers and counselors of Camp Windward! Allow me to introduce myself. I am the world-famous mad scientist, Dr. Frank N. Cheez, and this”—I pointed offstage—“is my trusty assistant, Ee-Gorg the Insane.”
Georgie (who had made a super-fast costume change) shambled out. He was wearing messy, torn clothing, and his face was smudged. He stomped around the stage, making evil and demented (I love that word!) faces at the audience. The campers cheered and booed.
When the crowd quieted down, I continued. “Today is a day we will long remember.” I tried to sound like a governor or senator giving a speech. “Today I give you JAMPAC, a secret weapon so powerful, so awesome, so amazing that once word spreads, every camp in this state and throughout the world will know that Windward is the best.”
There were huge cheers.
I gave a signal, and the curtains opened to reveal a large blue tarp with something under it. The cheers turned to oooohs.
I pointed into the audience. “With the help of my distinguished fellow scientist, Professor Ronald Lindermann of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology … Would you please stand and take a bow, Professor?”
Lindermann stood, bowed low, and sat back down.
“With the help of Professor Lindermann, and at a cost too infinitesimal to calculate”—in-fih-neh-TEH-sih-mull actually means “infinitely tiny” … I figured most of the kids would think it meant “infinitely large”—“this awesome device was assembled in secret this morning on this very stage. Campers and counselors, I give you JAMPAC! The Jumping Air Mattress Paper Ammo Cannon!”
With everybody screaming and cheering, Georgie pulled off the tarp. Under it was a contraption of white plastic tubing, hoses, and a pumped-up air mattress. I grabbed a roll of toilet paper and held it high.