ABOUT TEN MINUTES AFTER I had exploded in the hall, I heard a soft knock at my door. It was so soft I couldn’t even tell if it was a real knock, and thought it might be Simon scratching. I slid off my bed and opened the door.
Muffin stood there, tear-stained and miserable. “I’m sorry about your paints,” she said. She turned and started to run off down the hall, but I grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and pulled her into my room.
She looked terrified. I didn’t blame her, considering.
“It’s O.K., Muffin.” I felt sorry for her, looking so scared, and I was pretty sure apologizing was her own idea, since she’d come alone. Besides, ever since Baby Boy was born, and especially since his colic had kicked up, Kate spent about as much time with Muffin as Dad did with me. I hadn’t thought about it until now. Maybe she was lonely. Not that I wanted to get stuck with her or anything.
“Listen,” I said, “I’ll make a deal with you. You know what a deal is?”
Muffin nodded solemnly.
She really was smart. Thank goodness, because I don’t know how I would have explained the meaning of “deal” to her.
“O.K., here’s the deal. You promise not to touch my things without asking me first, and I promise not to yell at you anymore. Is that a deal?”
Muffin thought this over for several seconds. “Any of your things?” she asked.
“Without asking first,” I repeated. “I might let you use them. Just ask, that’s all.”
“O.K.,” she said, nodding her head.
“Thanks, Muffin.” I grinned at her, and she smiled back tentatively. Then she disappeared down the hall.
I closed my door again, but did not bother to lock it.
About ten minutes after that, another knock came at the door. It was louder and higher up. Not Muffin.
“Come in,” I called anyway.
Dad and Kate entered together, looking grim. The last time my father looked this grim was when our phone service was cut off because I made so many goof calls, the operator caught up with me.
Considering their grimness, I pulled an old trick and apologized before either one could say anything.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry I was thoughtless and woke the baby and scared Muffin.”
Dad looked like I had lifted a ten-ton weight from his back. He even smiled. Then he sat down on my bed, with Kate hovering anxiously behind him.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said. “I guess we both said things we didn’t really mean.”
I thought back over what I had said and decided she was wrong. I meant every word.
“And I guess I haven’t been very patient with you, Kammy,” she continued. “Look at me.” She gave a disgusted little laugh. “Yesterday I scolded you for not being patient with Muffin, and all along I wasn’t practicing what I was preaching. I really am sorry.”
“That’s O.K.,” I said.
“Things certainly don’t seem to be getting off to a very smooth start.” Kate sat down on the bed looking dangerously close to tears. Dad reached for her hand and held it tight, but spoke to me.
“Well, I think some of our problems are solved, anyway,” he said. “I just called the camp. They can make room for you. And it starts even sooner than we thought. We’ll drive up this Sunday. You can stay for eight weeks, almost the whole summer. It’s the only way I can think of to get you out of this situation. And I do think everything will be better, much better, by the time you get back. We’ll have unpacked, settled into a routine…”
I didn’t know quite what to say. I couldn’t say I wanted to stay home now, not after my scene in the hall.
On the other hand, I had pretty much decided camp was not for me.
I took the plunge.
“Dad,” I said, carefully keeping the shakiness out of my voice. “I’ve been thinking about camp, and I’ve decided I don’t really want to go.”
“What? But we’ve been talking about it all spring. You never said you didn’t want to go. And now, today, you seemed so unhappy….I thought you wanted to get away.”
“I do,” I said, with a lot less conviction than when I had yelled at Kate, “but I don’t want to go to a place where I don’t know anybody. I don’t want to sleep in a strange bed and have to do things I’m no good at like volleyball and baseball and tennis.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Dad. “You’re not happy here now.”
“Right,” I said. That was the honest truth. Even if Muffin wasn’t going to touch my things anymore, I still had to put up with her whining and barfing, and the trips to the baby pool, and the colic, and always being late, and Kate—especially Kate. She came on hot and cold like a faucet. I didn’t know what to make of her.
“So,” he continued, “wouldn’t you like to get away for a while, until things settle down?”
“Maybe.”
“But you don’t want to go to camp.”
“Right.”
“Do you have any other suggestions?”
I thought a minute. “Visit Aunt Noel and Uncle Sheldon in Trumbull?”
“They’re in Europe this summer. Noel’s on sabbatical.”
“I could join them in Europe.”
“Nice try.” Dad laughed.
“Stay with Granny and Grandpoppy?”
“Honey, two years ago we’d all have jumped at the idea. But now I think it would be too much for them. They’re simply not well enough.”
This is true. My mother’s parents, the only grandparents I have left, are getting sort of frail and forgetful. They have these two stodgy, live-in housekeepers. A summer with them would not be all that much fun anyway.
I was rapidly running out of ideas. This was pretty much the way my Plan B brainstorming sessions had gone.
“Kammy, the camp sounds wonderful,” said Kate. “It’s in Connecticut in a very pretty, woodsy part of the state. You can swim, ride horses, take hikes, learn to canoe. It’s a super place. It has everything.”
I kept my mouth shut.
“Would you be willing to try something?” she went on.
“I don’t know. Maybe. What?” At this point I’d have tried summer school.
“Would you agree to try camp for two weeks? There’s a parents’ visiting day after two weeks. When we come up then to see you, you can come home if you really aren’t happy. We’d work something out. Or you could try just living here again. But at least give camp a try.”
What a choice. “Living here again” sounded more like a threat than an option.
I felt like sticking Kate with one of Baby Boy’s diaper pins. The problem was that it was such a reasonable offer. If I said no, I’d look like the World’s Biggest Baby.
I decided it all boiled down to Camp versus Home. The Great Unknown versus The Horrible Known. I thought about it for a minute. Maybe the unknown would turn out to be better than the known. Maybe. I decided it was worth a shot—but I wasn’t going to enjoy trying it.
At dinner that night, Dad was in a rare mood. He looked very relieved. Was I that much of a problem?
When we were all seated and Mrs. Meade had filled our plates, he actually stood up and made a toast.
“Here’s to us,” he said, holding out his water glass.
Kate held hers out, and Muffin copied her.
I stared at my lap. It already had crumbs in it.
“Hear, hear,” said Kate.
“Hear, hear,” said Muffin.
Baby Boy burped in his infant seat.
I hoped we could get on with dinner.
“Well, it’s all arranged,” said my father as he sat down again. I don’t think he noticed that I had chosen not to participate in the toast. “We’ll drive up to Camp Arrowhead on Sunday.”
I didn’t say anything. I examined my peas.
“Oh,” said Dad suddenly, “I should have shown you the pamphlets we have on it. Paul sent them a few weeks ago. I wonder where I put them. Anyway, they describe the activities and the area, and have photos of the cabins and the lake and things. I’ll try to find them after dinner.”
“Kammy, I really do think it will be fun,” said Kate. “A whole summer with lots of different things to do. Have you ever been boating or water skiing? You can go swimming in the lake every day, play tennis. Don’t those things sound like fun?”
“They’re not high on my list of priorities.” I had never picked up a tennis racket in my life.
Dad coughed. It was not a true cough. I was treading on thin ice.
Kate wouldn’t give up. “There’s a terrific arts and crafts program. You’d like that. Pottery, weaving, woodworking, needlework, metal shop.”
I bit my lip. I did like arts and crafts. A whole lot.
“And horseback riding,” she added. “I know you like horses.”
She had me there. I love horses. More than anything. And every person at that table knew it.
“Yes, I like horses.”
“Good, good,” said my father. “Now, you and Kate and Mrs. Meade and I have less than a week to get you ready. We’ll bring the footlocker down from the attic. And you’ll need some new things. I think a tennis outfit, and certainly a sleeping bag, right, Kate?”
Kate nodded and smiled.
“And like I said, we’ll drive up on Sunday.” He seemed awfully delighted about sending me to Camp Arrowhead.
Well, he may have been happy about dumping me up there, and Kate may have been happy about dumping me up there, but I was not going to be happy about dumping me up there. I had said I would go. That was all. I didn’t have to be happy about it.
Why were they so happy, anyway? Was it really because they thought I’d be happy? Or was it because they didn’t want me around?
They had a perfect family without me—mother, father, daughter, son. Four beautiful, happy people. Where did I fit in? Was I ruining their little family? I certainly hadn’t improved it any. Maybe they didn’t want me around. Maybe this was just Step 1. Step 2 would be boarding school. After that—who knew? I didn’t even want to think about it. Camp was scary enough. Two weeks, maybe even eight! The longest I remembered being separated from my father was when I was seven and he went to a convention, and I spent two nights at my grandparents’ house. (They lived next door at the time.)
I was scared of living with strangers and of swimming in a lake. (Snakes swim in lakes, too, and with their whole bodies under water so there is no way you can see them in time.) I was scared of trying new sports and new foods. (Who, besides Mrs. Meade, knew that the only way I can eat a fried egg is if the yolk is broken so it gets cooked, too?) What if I got sick? What if the other campers teased me? What if I made a fool of myself? This was going to be some summer. A bummer summer.
I finished my dinner in silence.
The next day was Tuesday. That was the day the Great Camp Preparations began. Kate took me to the Quakerbridge Mall for a shopping spree. (That was her term for it. Mine was bribery.) It was supposed to be fun. Muffin and Baby Boy stayed home (to Muffin’s surprise and dismay) so Kate and I could go alone together and have lunch and everything.
I was not in a fun frame of mind. Which meant that I was not going to find things I liked. Shopping is a chore, and you have to be mentally prepared for it. Kate was prepared. She felt like fun.
We went to this clothing store first. Kate was under the impression that I needed three sports shirts, preferably with alligators on the fronts. I didn’t see what was wrong with my “South of the Border” T-shirt, but at this point, clothes were the least of my problem.
After I looked through three racks of shirts in my size and rejected every one of them, Kate began to appear a tiny bit miffed.
“Kammy, there must be something here you like.”
“Not really,” I said.
She frowned at me. She’s a very good frowner. Lots of wrinkles. “Please don’t be difficult. You need new clothes. You’ve grown a lot this year. Look. Look at this shirt.” She pulled a pink-and-white striped one with an alligator off the rack. “Isn’t this cute?”
Cute. I am not a cute person. I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know. Not really.”
“All right,” said Kate. “If you’re not going to help, I’ll have to choose for you.”
“O.K.,” I said. “I’m going to play Pac-Man.” The store was equipped with a Pac-Man game for shoppers’ bored children.
Kate gave me a look that could have killed a snake. “I really am,” she said.
“O.K. Will you be long?” I was asking for it.
Kate did not dignify the question with an answer. I had to give her credit for that. She whipped around and marched off in the direction of the alligators.
I did not see her again until I had spent $1.50 on games. When she came back she was all smiles.
“Hi, there,” she said.
I dragged myself away from the little biting fish. I know it’s not a fish, but that’s what Pac-Man looks like.
“Look what I found for you.” She held the bag open as we left the clothing store and got on an escalator.
I peeked inside. I saw a lot of pink and lime green and one or two alligators. “That’s nice,” I managed. “I’ll try them on at home.”
Kate sighed.
I will not go into the rest of the details of the “shopping spree.” Mostly they are boring. Pretty much the same thing happened at the shoe store, the sports store, and the Quakerbridge Luncheonette. I gave in to Kate right down the line, but not until after I’d given her a hard time.
When it was all over I had the three alligator shirts, a tennis outfit, a pair of Nikes, six pairs of white socks, a sleeping bag, a canteen, a mess kit, two Speedo bathing suits, and a bathing cap. (Plus a salad for lunch.) What I had wanted was an “I’m a heartbreaker” T-shirt and roller skates. (Plus cheesecake for lunch.) But what I wanted didn’t seem to count.
Kate did not speak to me on the way home.
On Wednesday, Mrs. Meade and Kate lugged the black footlocker out of the attic. It had these nice brass fastenings. (The footlocker, I mean; not the attic.) They began packing very carefully. The packing lasted three days.
On Saturday I decided to stay in bed. Dad stuck his head in the door around noon. “Come on, Miss Slug-a-Bed. Up and at ’em!”
He is incredibly corny at times.
“Dad,” I mumbled from under my pillow, “I don’t feel too well.”
“Let me feel your forehead, honey.”
I emerged from under my pillow.
“You’re fine,” he pronounced. What did he think he was—a faith healer?
I started to protest.
“Kammy,” he said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed.
I rolled over on my back and looked at him.
“We have a compromise. Your part of the bargain is to try camp for two weeks, right?”
I kept my mouth shut and rolled back over on my stomach. I didn’t say a word until we arrived at Camp Arrowhead the next day.