THANKS TO SUSIE AND her big mouth, Emily and I had not been able to leave the kitchen until seven forty-five, over an hour after supper ended. One hundred kids and counselors sure do use a lot of dishes and things. My fingers looked like prunes by the time the cook said we could go.
Emily and I burst out of the building. We were missing a rousing campwide game of Capture the Flag. I could see Emily getting anxious to play. I, personally, did not care which side ended up with the flag and got the ice cream. So I was only slightly upset when Mrs. Wright snagged me and suggested that now would be a nice, quiet time to use the office phone.
Emily ran off to war, and I trailed Mrs. Wright into the office. She motioned me to another little room. I sat down on a couch and looked for a telephone. I did not see one.
Mrs. Wright sat next to me. “Kammy, if you don’t mind,” she said, “I’d like to speak to your parents first—in private. Then you may speak to them in private. Is that all right with you?”
I nodded.
“Also, I want you to understand that calling your parents is not a punishment. I simply want them to be aware of what is happening here. Maybe they can help. And maybe you’ll feel better after you’ve spoken to them.”
I didn’t know if I was supposed to say anything, so I just nodded again.
Mrs. Wright got up and closed the door between me and the office.
I jumped up and put my ear to the door, but I couldn’t hear much. Just some low murmurings. Mrs. Wright had either a very soft phone voice or a very thick door.
I sat back down and thumbed through a copy of Highlights for Children. It is a magazine I happen to hate because the only other place I ever see it is the dentist’s office.
After about five minutes the door opened and I went in and sat behind Mrs. Wright’s desk. She ducked into the other room and closed the door. I wondered if she was standing plastered against the crack trying to overhear me.
I picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Hello! Hello!” Two hearty hellos from Dad and Kate. They were each on an extension.
“What’s up, pumpkin?” asked Dad. “Mrs. Wright told us about today, but I want to hear your side.”
“Why, nothing, Dad,” I said. “You and Kate said this would be a terrific place for me, and it sure is. You sure were right.”
“That sounds a bit sarcastic, Kammy,” Dad said quietly.
I did not answer him. There was this huge silence.
“Kammy?”
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Wright says there’s been a bit of trouble today.”
“Mrs. Wright is a st—” I broke off. I was going to call her a stinker, but that is not one of Dad’s favorite words. “Mrs. Wright doesn’t know how to run a camp.”
I heard a sort of muffled choking sound on Dad’s end of the phone. He had a hard time concealing a laugh.
“Really, Dad,” I insisted. “She runs a stupid camp. She serves disgusting food and puts the bathrooms out where you can’t find them and there’s no electricity in the cabins and no place to change your clothes, and that made me late to breakfast the first morning because”—I could feel my face burning—“I didn’t want to undress in front of the other girls.” The last couple of words came out sounding kind of choked.
“Oh,” said Kate slowly. “I see. Robert, would you mind hanging up? I think I hear the baby fussing. I’ll call you back to the phone in just a moment.”
“Yes, O.K.,” said Dad hastily.
“Kams?”
“Yeah?” I hardly even noticed that Kate had used my father’s special nickname for me.
“How come you don’t like to undress in front of the others?”
I breathed in a long, shaky breath. “It’s hard to explain.”
“I was wondering if it might have something to do with wearing a bra.”
“Well…”
“You know what? I didn’t need my first bra until I was thirteen, but my sister, who is two years younger than I am, needed her first bra the same day I did! I was pretty mad at her, but my mother pointed out that everyone grows differently. And in the long run it won’t matter much what size you are—or whether you have brown hair or blond hair, or green eyes or brown eyes, or you’re five foot four or five foot eight. It’s what’s inside that counts. You’ve probably heard that all before and it probably doesn’t mean much, but just file it away for later. And remember that your friends are not going to like you for your chest size.”
I tried to get control of my voice. Maybe it would not be so bad to have a mother again. “Kate?” I finally said.
“What, sweetie?”
“Thanks a lot for your letter. It was really nice. And I promise to teach you to knit when I get home. I bet I can do it.”
“I bet you can, too.”
“And I’ve got a suggestion for the baby’s name.”
“Oh, good. What?”
“Benjamin Alexander Dumas.”
“You don’t think it’s a little long?”
I giggled.
Kate giggled, too. “I’ll keep it in mind. How do you feel about Ferdinand?”
“Yuck.”
“My sentiments exactly. It was your father’s suggestion. I couldn’t tell if he was kidding.”
“He was kidding,” I said.
“Let me get him back on….Rob? Rob?” I heard her yell.
Dad picked up. “Is the girl talk over?” he asked slyly.
“Oh, Dad.” I laughed.
“Kams, I’d really like to end this conversation right now while we’re all so jolly, but Mrs. Wright did take the trouble to call and I want to hear what you have to say about the things that happened today.”
“Oh, all right. I did miss lunch today. I just didn’t feel like going. And they thought I was lost.”
“In a place like camp or school you can’t do that, though,” said Dad. “Mrs. Wright is responsible for you. Can you imagine how she must have felt when she thought one of her campers was lost?”
I was having an easier time remembering how I felt when I was too scared to serve lunch, but I wasn’t going to bring that up. I’d already brought up the business of not wanting to get undressed. And I didn’t want Dad or Kate thinking I was a baby. Because I wasn’t. I really wasn’t. No matter what Susie said.
“What happened at your swimming lessons?” asked Kate.
“It was just a joke.”
“It didn’t sound very nice,” said Dad thoughtfully. “How do you think the other girl felt?”
“I don’t care.” I knew I sounded whiny. “She was mean to me first. I was just giving her what she deserved. Besides, it was kind of funny.”
“It just doesn’t sound like you,” said my father.
Then maybe you don’t know me anymore, I thought.
“Dad, you weren’t there. You don’t know Susie. You don’t know what it’s like at Camp Arrowhead,” I said.
I heard Dad and Kate sigh. I was making people sigh again.
“Look,” my father said finally, “would you please try to behave yourself? I’m not sure what you’re up to, but just try to shape up a little, O.K.?”
I couldn’t promise because I wasn’t going to shape up. I still had to find ways to get out of serving and swimming lessons and who knew what else. I settled on saying (very contritely), “I’ll try to change.” I hoped that covered all bases—I did not say how I would change.
“Good,” Dad and Kate said together.
“That’s very cute,” I said.
“What is?”
“The way you two have learned to speak in unison.” A month ago I would have been mad about it. Now I thought it was funny. And something about being on the telephone made talking easier.
Dad chuckled. “I guess we’re getting used to each other.”
“Used to each other!” cried Kate. “I hope it hasn’t come to that!”
The conversation ended that way, with the three of us kind of joking and teasing. “See you in eleven days,” I said. I was smiling when I hung up the phone.
In fact, I was feeling so much better that after a little chat with Mrs. W (in which I finally promised to be a better Arrowhead camper), I ran up the hill to where Capture the Flag was still raging. I caught sight of Emily, Jan, and Angela sneaking around in a tight pack.
“Come help us!” hissed Jan. “We’re about to storm the headquarters!”
This time, I didn’t hold back. I joined right in. We were just in sight of the flag. Only two girls were guarding it. Jan threw a stone in the bushes behind them. It landed with a satisfying thud and crackle. When they turned to see who was sneaking up on them, we grabbed the flag and tore back to our side.
“The winners! The winners!” Our team, Upper and Lower Girls alike, was jumping up and down and yelling. Emily and Jan and Angela and I all hugged each other. And when the ice cream came, I found I was starved.
Later my bunkies and I walked back to Misty Mountains together. We were marching along in pairs with our arms around each other, and Angela started singing, “Oh, You Can’t Get to Heaven.” We all joined in. Even me. For once, someone had chosen a decent song.
That night we were so keyed up that Nancy let us talk longer than usual. Just after she gave us one more ten-more-minutes signal, Jan called out, “Jumping practice tomorrow, Kammy. Are you going to be there?”
“Sure,” I said. Jumping was one thing I particularly liked.
“And arts and crafts begins tomorrow,” announced Angela. “Who’s going to be there?”
“I am,” Mary and I called out together. I couldn’t wait to get inside of Sunny Skies again.
In a few minutes Nancy gave us the final signal.
I fell asleep barely noticing that Susie had not said a word all evening.
Wednesday was mostly terrific.
It started off when I realized that, as long as I was waking up so early anyway, I could change my clothes in my sleeping bag and no one would know. By the time everyone else woke up, I was sitting on my bunk reading, fully dressed.
The next good thing was my first arts and crafts class. I wallowed in Sunny Skies for over two and a half hours. Mary spent the morning with me. It turned out she liked art as much as I did.
“What are you going to work on?” I asked her.
Janine, the art counselor, had just finished showing us where everything was and explaining how some of the equipment worked.
“I think I’ll do a mosaic,” she answered, smiling. “This cabin is great, isn’t it? I can’t believe all the stuff they’ve got here. What are you going to make?”
I had never heard Mary say so much at once. She positively glowed.
I smiled back at her. “I really wanted to use the pottery wheels, but now I don’t know. I saw all those scraps of fabric. Maybe I’ll make a patchwork quilt.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea! Except a quilt’s so big.”
“I know. That’s why I was thinking I could make a little quilt for Simon. He’s my cat. And then I thought I could even make a quilt for my—my stepbrother. He’s just a baby. I think he’d like a quilt. Except Kate, my stepmother, has bought him all this beautiful stuff from stores. Maybe she wouldn’t want something homemade for him.”
“I bet she would,” cried Mary. “Listen, you could make a really fantastic quilt. Better than anything you’d find in a store.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I could appliqué animals on it.”
“And sew on snaps and buttons and zippers so he could learn to dress himself.”
“Yeah!” I’d make the best quilt Kate had ever seen. I could really show her I was special. In fact, I could make something for everyone. Presents for everyone, to say, “I didn’t mean to be such a pill.”
Mary and I spent the rest of the morning searching through piles of tiles and fabric, finding what we needed to start our projects. I could not wait to come back Friday morning.
During Siesta I got two letters—one from Dad and one from Muffin. I opened Dad’s first.
Dear Kammy,
It’s that hour of night you and I always enjoy. The darkness has just fallen and I am sitting on the back porch, with the kerosene lamp burning, listening to the crickets chirp and the birds settle down for a few hours.
A few hours is right. I should know.
I can hear Simon prowling around outside. He has not learned to be quiet yet. He’s got a long way to go before he could sneak up on something. Maybe that’s just as well for the mice and birds.
Mice, yes. Birds, I would have to think about.
Dad went on a while longer about Simon and the birds and the nighttime. He has a real imagination. Why he is an economics professor and not an English professor or a writer, I’ll never know.
He didn’t mention camp, which was typical. It’s hard for him to bring up unpleasant things. He’d rather ignore them.
I sprawled on my bunk, feeling lazy and enjoying his letter and wanting very much to go home so I could sit on the porch with him. I’d like to curl up on the deck chairs with Simon beside me, kneading his soft paws in my shorts, and talk to Dad about books and people and the news.
Then I got to the last paragraph of the letter.
Saturday is Muffin’s fourth birthday. She’s been asking for a party. Kate feels she can’t manage a big one right after the wedding and the move. So she and Muffin and Mrs. Meade have settled on throwing a smaller party—just ten of Muffin’s closest nursery school pals—in the afternoon. Then Kate and I will take her to dinner at McDonald’s and over to Pennington to see the Hunt Brothers’ Circus.
The little brat! I crumpled the letter in a tight ball and shoved it down behind a box of Kleenex on my shelf. How did she rate a party? No one ever offered me a party on my birthday. Birthdays had always been special days, like Thanksgiving, that Dad and I spent together. But no parties since Mom died. And now Muffin rates a party and dinner and the circus? Incredible. It was disgusting. Dad and Kate lavishing all that attention on her while I got shoved out the door and into Camp Arrowhead.
I curled up in a miserable lump, stuck Muffin’s unopened letter under my pillow, and waited for Siesta to be over. I tried very hard not to cry, but a couple of stray tears escaped anyway.
They did not go unnoticed.
“Baby, baby, baby,” I heard Susie sing softly.
I glanced over at her. It was hard to believe she was breaking the Silence Rule. She must really have it in for me. She’d never call Mary a baby.
She saw me looking at her. “Baby, baby, baby,” she sang again.
“You wait, Susan Benson,” I spat. “Just wait.”