Sarge in Charge

When I got on the bus, there was a lady sitting in the driver’s seat. She had the same fatigues on as Sergeant Fish.

“Welcome aboard, Rafe. I’m Sergeant Pittman,” she said, and then pointed at all the kids in the back. “That’s Carmen, Arnie, Burp, Thea, Diego, D.J., and Veronica. Got it?”

I didn’t really catch any of the names. I just noticed how everyone looked like they’d rather be taming rattlesnakes blindfolded while on fire than sitting on that bus.

Also, I couldn’t help noticing that some of the guys in this program… were girls. I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting that.

“No talking until we reach base camp,” Sergeant Pittman said. “Take a seat, Rafe. Sixth row on the left.”

“Am I allowed to—” I said, but Fish was right there to shut me down.

“WHAT DID SERGEANT PITTMAN JUST SAY ABOUT NOT TALKING?” he asked me.

It seemed like a trick question. So I kept my mouth shut and just went to find my seat instead.

“ALL RIGHT, COCKROACHES, LISTEN UP!” he said. “We’ll be at base camp in two hours. Settle in, keep your eyes front and your lips closed tight. Any questions?”

A couple of hands went up.

“Too bad! No talking until we get there!” he said.

In that Program brochure, they talked a lot about how much I was going to learn out here. And even though nobody’s ever called me a fast learner, I’d already figured out that I hated Sergeant Fish more than asparagus, paper cuts, and pre-algebra combined.

And this whole thing was just getting started.

Ten minutes down. Seven days to go.