We waited in a long line at the dining hall.

That line took forever.

I felt faint

from hunger

before I got to the food.

I longed for a juicy burger,

with ketchup only,

on a bun.

Just like my dad makes me, at home.

But when I finally got to the front of the line,

the teenager behind the counter said,

“Tuna?

Or meat loaf?”

I hate tuna and meat loaf.

I looked at both dishes.

One swimming in mayonnaise.

The other: hunks of gray meat.

“Do you have anything else?”

I asked the teenager.

“Salad,” she said.

She pointed at a bin of lettuce

and tomatoes.

“And rolls.”

I hate tomatoes, too.

But I said,

“I’ll try a little salad.

And a lot of rolls.”

“Two’s the limit,” she said,

dropping two rolls on my plate.

“Even if that’s all I’m eating?”

I asked.

“Yep,” she said.

She scooped me out some salad.

Then she looked at the person behind me

and said,

“Next.”

My plate felt too light

as I walked to the Gypsy Moth table.

Joplin was already sitting there,

eating a huge tuna sandwich.

She stopped when she saw my plate.

“Aren’t you hungrier than that?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

I sat down next to her.

“Would you please pass the bug juice?” she said.

I looked at her, confused.

She pointed to the jar beside me.

“That’s bug juice?” I said.

“It’s really just fruit punch,” she said.

“Camp calls it bug juice.”

I got an image in my head

of the blood and guts that gush out

when some bugs are squished.

“That’s disgusting,” I said,

handing her the jar.

She shrugged and said,

“It tastes fine.”

But I was still disgusted.

I looked down at my plate.

Nothing looked good.

“When’s snack?” I asked Joplin.

“I’ll be so ready for M&M’s.”

“M&M’s?”

She looked at me funny.

“There are no M&M’s.

Wallumwahpuck is candy-free.

Always has been. It’s a tradition.”

“Candy-free?” I said.

It couldn’t be.

I couldn’t believe

I wasn’t going to get

a single M&M.

My friend Katie’s camp had given her millions!

“So what’s for snack?” I asked.

“Frozen fruit bars,” she said.

“And gluten-free cookies.”

I dropped my fork on my plate.

This was even worse than my flying fall.

I’ve got to get out of here, I thought.

I really do.