Chapter 21

We creep back onto the camp grounds, and it’s like we’ve never been gone. All around us, the daily noises and sights of morning are beginning. Kids are congregating in clumps across the lawns or strolling toward their classes or heading down the embankment to the lake.

Rabbi Blum is giving his morning talk by the flagpole, so we quietly slip into a row by the back. This morning, it’s something about a wise rabbi from the Middle Ages and a parable about villages, faith, and livestock. Without Simon interacting and being super interested, the rabbi has been working hard to get a stimulating discussion going.

Fortunately, Simon, now present, asks lots of questions, including why pigs aren’t kosher. This gets the rabbi super excited. He waves his travel mug around and launches into a big explanation until his phone erupts in a rousing version of the Maccabeats singing “Dynamite.”

Everyone bolts in a dozen different directions.

“Hey, Noah,” a voice rings out behind me.

It’s Nathan.

Simon, Tyler, Josh, and I exchange guilty and “oh-so-busted” looks.

“Handle it,” Simon whispers in my ear before he and my other mates head off toward the mess hall.

“But . . .” I call after them. Too late. I brace myself and swivel around. “Hi, Nathan,” I chirp, straining to seem casual.

“So,” Nathan says, shoving his book into one of his baggy shorts pockets, “I checked in on you guys a couple of times last night, and you weren’t there.”

“Yeah, about that . . .” I start, my mouth tugging in all directions. It’s so hard to make your face look like you’re not lying when you’re just about to. Especially when you keep lying to the same guy. “Sorry. We were, um . . . Are we in trouble?”

Nathan stares at me hard for a few seconds. I cannot read his room at all.

“Nah,” he finally says. “But I would like to know what you were doing.”

Janine and Sarah slide by, both looking cheery in the tie-dyed shirts they probably made in Not Your Mother’s Tie-Dye. Janine’s long blond braids swat at her shoulders as she moves.

“Hey, Nathan,” she says, smiling. “We’ll all be at the lake after dinner if you want to join.”

A burst of bright crimson blooms at the base of his neck and creeps slowly into his face, and he works up a smile that looks more like a grimace. He sort of nods, then sort of stops until his face goes slack.

“Oookaay.” Janine draws out the word and knits her brows. “Well, we’ll be there.”

“Ahikejk,” Nathan mutters. He holds up his palm in a wave, then awkwardly slams it against his chest like he’s doing the Pledge of Allegiance.

Sarah breaks into a giggle, and she and Janine rush off, Janine’s braids flapping behind her.

“What did you just say?” I ask.

“I—I don’t know,” Nathan says, looking mortified.

“Do you want me to teach you about girls?” I say, leaning in confidentially. “I mean, I’m no expert, but I think I’ve got a handle on the basics.”

Nathan looks crestfallen.

“Well, for one,” I say, “you have to speak English. And don’t do that thing with your hand.”

“Yeah, well, back to you.” Nathan straightens and clears his throat. “Just tell me where you guys were and what you were doing, okay?”

Should I tell him? No. Probably not. Better to go with a half-truth.

“I was researching my Bar Mitzvah project about saving the world,” I say, “and my mates were helping me. Then we took a walk around camp. Then we sat down and rested. Then we talked some more. Then we dozed off over there in the pine needles. Then we hit the outhouse. Then we—”

“Got it,” Nathan interrupts, holding up his palms. “At any rate, I’m glad you were working on your project. We can talk about it later if you like. Maybe after the last activity, before dinner, or—”

“Pssst, come on!” Tyler pokes his head out of the mess hall door, saving the day.

“Um, I’ll let you know,” I say to Nathan. “Gotta go!”

“Sure,” he calls out after me. “Just no more all-nighters, ’kay?”

“No problem!” I swing through the screen doors.

Of course, I shouldn’t have made that promise. But it really won’t be a problem if Agatha the asteroid blasts the planet to bits.

“Didn’t we just eat?” I ask, jumping into the food line behind Simon.

“That was hours ago,” he responds. “Besides, that meal threw off my internal clock. Gotta reset. How’d it go with Nathan?”

“Fine. I told him I was working on my Bar Mitzvah project and you guys were helping. I was vague.”

“You mean you lied?” Josh grins.

“Well, for his own safety.” I frown. “You think that’s bad?”

“I’m just messin’ with you!” Josh punches my arm. “It’s cool. The truth would just get him upset.”

“Yeah, sometimes lying is the best option,” Tyler adds solemnly. “A famous Talmudic scholar once said you have to be cruel to be kind.”

“Really?” Simon cocks his head. “Was it Rabbi Akiva from the first century?”

“No.” Tyler rolls his eyes. “I’m kidding. It’s a song from the eighties.” He hums out the tune as we slide down the food line with our trays.

“This might sound ridiculous,” Josh remarks, “but I’m too tired to be tired.”

“I know what you mean,” Tyler agrees.

“Actually,” Simon adds, “now I’m staaaaarving.”

“Look, it’s pancake day!” Josh says brightly.

“Pancakes and maple syrup.” Simon looks dreamy. “Lovely.”

“Lovely?” Josh echoes. “Dude, you need to Americanize your vocabulary.”

Simon flips him a universal gesture. “American enough for you?” he says.

“Now you’re gettin’ it.” Josh grins.

“Hurry up before everyone scarfs up the chocolate chip ones,” Tyler says.

I stop dead in my tracks. Could they really have forgotten about saving the world?

“Come along, Noah,” Simon says crisply, as they pile up their plates.

My eyes sweep the room, but I don’t see Mia—just her friends at their usual table, laughing and yakking.

“Aren’t you guys worried about, ya know, the world?” I ask them quietly.

“What about it?” Josh says, popping a hash brown into his mouth.

“Are you kidding?!” I say.

“This way,” Simon says, catching Lily’s eye and gesturing for us to sit with her and her friends.

The Rottweilers enter the mess hall. I keep my head down and pick up my pace, bumping right into Tyler’s back.

“Hey, watch it, Noah,” he says.

“It’s Mike and Jake,” I whisper hoarsely into his shoulder.

“So what?” Josh throws his leg over the bench.

“Good morning, ladies,” Simon says coolly as he slides in next to Lily.

“Hey, Simon.” Lily tilts her head, tucks a stray hair behind her ear, and gives me a dark look.

“Your hair is like, everywhere, Noah. Could you at least try and look normal?” she says.

“Sorry, Lily. I was just up all night trying to save the world from a killer asteroid.”

“And, once again, I’m sorry I’m even talking to you,” she says, pivoting her body toward Simon.

“Snaps from my mates,” Simon says to Lily, showing her his phone. “Want to see?”

How can they all be acting like nothing is wrong?

“Nice action shots,” Lily notes.

“Yeah, nice,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows in Simon’s direction. “Especially since Earth and everyone on it is going to die soon.”

“He means . . . it’s a death match. Football—er, soccer death match.” Simon arches his eyebrow at me.

“Shouldn’t we be talking about the thing?” I persist.

“What thing?” Josh says, spraying me with bits of pancake.

“You don’t really believe all that stuff, do you?” Tyler asks.

“Well . . . yes,” I say. “I think I do.”

“It’s just two lonely old guys,” Josh says, taking a swig of juice, “making up stuff for attention. Happens all the time.”

“It does?”

“Sure,” Tyler says. “It’s like when an old lady calls the cops because she thinks there’s a burglar, but there isn’t one.”

“Yeah.” Josh nods. “A couple of months ago, my neighbor Mrs. Goldstein, who’s like a hundred, called the fire department because her cat, Waffles, was up a tree. Then she made those guys hang around and drink iced tea for, like, an hour.”

“Simon?” I say. “You believe it, don’t you?”

“Um, not really,” he says over Lily’s head.

“What?!” I blurt out. “What about everything we just saw and heard? What about the video and”—I lean in—“the Rottweilers?”

“Well, yeah, they’re jerks and thieves, but that’s life.” Josh downs the rest of his juice, crumbles his napkins, and chucks them onto his tray.

“So that’s it?” I ask in disbelief. “You’re not gonna do anything about it?”

“Sorry, dude,” Josh says as he and Tyler get up to leave. “Not that civic-minded. Besides, it’s time for canoeing.”

“I’ve got archery,” Tyler says.

“I’ve got Advanced Anatomy for Future Surgeons.” Simon lifts his tray as Lily and her friends also stand to go.

“But, but—” I stammer as they move around me.

“See you later, mate.” Simon pats my back.

I can’t believe my ears. Doesn’t anyone care about saving the world?

As if on cue, Mia slides through the door. Aha! Now, talk about someone who’s civic-minded! Talk about someone who cares about the world!

Mia smiles at Trina, Marisa, and Jyll and heads their way. Jyll’s eyes slide up at her, but she doesn’t smile or wave. She just scowls before leaning back toward her friends.

Looking like she’s been slapped, Mia stops dead, then veers away to sit at a corner table by herself. She stirs her oatmeal but doesn’t even eat it, glancing up every few seconds to steal a glance at the girls. Finally, Mia’s face crumbles, and she rushes from the mess hall. I rush out after her.

Adjusting my eyes to the bright morning sun, I catch flashes of her black boots weaving through the brush, cutting across the camp grounds toward the trail leading to the homestead site.

“Mia!” I call out and take off after her—across the lawn, past the volleyball court, and onto the dirt trail. “Mia!”

Suddenly, a meaty hand grips my arm hard and jerks me back.

“You!” Jake Rottweiler snarls into my face. “You’re just the guy I was looking for.”

“Me?” I squeak.

“I wanna talk to you,” he says.

“Oh, well, great! I’d love that,” I blather. “But, oh, look at the time.”

I glance at my watchless wrist. “I’m late for Mosaic Art for Budding Chagalls. Then I gotta sprint down to the boathouse for Midmorning Tai Chi and—Help!” I blurt at some kids rushing toward the lake.

“Shut up,” Jake growls, dragging me farther down the wooded path.

Scraggly branches scratch my arms and legs, and my frightened breath is quick and shallow. My life flashes before my eyes: the porpoise aquarium with Bailey and Rex, Pops’s paranoid ramblings at his birthday party, Mom, Dad, Lily, camp, mates . . . Next, my mind wanders to the life I may never have: a date with Mia at a karaoke club, getting a standing ovation for my short opus at the DLFC, schmoozing with Hollywood players, winning an Oscar. Lily, in the audience, clapping proudly, saying, “That’s my brother.” Dad saying that if he could have chosen any son in the world, it would have been me! Images of me somehow saving the world. Doing lots and lots of tikkun olam. Being a Jewish hero like Moses.

No, no, I think wildly. Life can’t end like this!

“Where are we going?” I sputter. “Can’t we talk about this? If you let me live, I won’t tell anyone about your stealing and potentially interfering with saving humanity as we know it.”

“WHAT?” Jake snaps.

“I’m sorry, I meant to say—I won’t rat you out about your business endeavor, even though it’s kind of illegal. Please don’t kill me. Or hurt me a lot.”

“Shuddup!” he barks.

We reach a small clearing near a burnt-out campfire. Mike Rottweiler is there, leaning against a tree, chewing on a long stalk of grass.

Jake throws me down. The grainy dirt scrapes my knees and the palms of my hands.

“Get up,” Mike commands.

Slowly, I pull myself to my feet. Trying to be inconspicuous, I reach into my backpack. If only I could turn on my camera or phone.

Mike smacks my arm. “No camera, geek.”

“Yeah, don’t even think about it,” Jake chimes in.

“People will be looking for me,” I croak.

“Who?” Mike taunts.

“My mates,” I say.

“Pffft!” Jake snorts a laugh. “Yeah, right.”

“And, um, my pops. And my sister, Lily . . . well, maybe not Lily. But Rabbi Blum and Nathan and Yipsy, once they notice I’m gone. Eventually my parents, my teachers, the police—who’ll probably put out an Amber Alert—and Channel 12 news and maybe the mayor. He’s good friends with my uncle Larry. George, the old folks at Shady Pines . . . although they don’t really go outside much, but they have cell phones and can make plenty of calls. My—”

“Will you SHUT UP!” Jake shouts, up in my face.

We stare at each other for what seems like forever. I wish I knew what they were thinking! Please, God, if I ever I needed help reading a room, it’s now.

“So . . .” I try, “how do you like camp?”

“Stop talking!” Mike groans.

“Whadda we do with him?” Jake says.

“Is that rhetorical?” I ask. “Because, if not, you could just let me go so—”

“Shuddup,” Mike barks yet again. “What did you bring him here for?”

“You told me to!” says Jake.

While they bicker, I inch away toward the trees. If I could just get to that grouping of pines, I could sprint my way back to the lake and civilization.

Jake grabs my arm. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls.

“Let’s just tell ’im,” Mike squints his eyes menacingly at me. “And then I’ll punch him or something so he knows we’re serious.”

“You can just tell me,” I say. “No punching is necessary.”

Jake pins my arms while Mike moves so close to my face that I can count the pimples on his forehead. There are twelve. Plus two whiteheads and a pockmark scar where he must have scratched a pimple too hard.

“Listen,” Mike says. “What you saw and heard the other night. You didn’t see or hear it. Got it?”

“Sure,” I say.

He steps back.

“Is that it?”

“You want more?” Mike growls, pushing in even closer so that now I can count the underdeveloped hair bristles on his upper lip. There are seven.

“No, no,” I say. “I’m good.”

“Great.” Jake nods to Mike. “Now punch him out. Make it bloody.”

Mike pulls his fist back.

“Wait, wait!” I cower. “I just wanna know, before I’m supposed to forget, the valuable thing you were looking for. What is it?”

“None of your beeswax!” Jake yells.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Duh, of course we know,” Mike snaps.

“Because it’s pretty special,” I say.

“Whaddaya mean?” Mike squints quizzically.

“Will you punch this guy already?” Jake huffs.

“Wait! Wait,” I beg. “It’s just that I bet you’re not getting enough money for it. I bet your boss is ripping you off.”

“Pffftt,” Mike snorts. “Well, I been sayin’ that since fourth grade.”

Fourth grade?

“I could give you lots more money for it,” I say. “Lots.”

“Yeah?” Mike narrows his eyes. “Where would you get lots of money?”

“I have a very rich contact,” I answer. “Just let me go, and I’ll contact my contact, and my contact can be your contact, and you’ll make a contact that will be worth your while. Who is your contact, by the way?”

“Huh?” Mike says.

“He’s lying,” Jake says. “Just beat him up so he knows not to mess with us anymore. So he knows he’ll get it worse if he squeals.”

“I’m not lying,” I say. “I swear. What you’re looking for could save your life and the lives of everyone you know, including all your friends—if you have any, which I doubt. But you could be on the news.”

“Which channel?” Mike asks.

“All. All of the channels,” I say. “And cable and Netflix and Hulu and Amazon Prime.”

“Okay, Turtle,” Mike says skeptically. “What is this thing that’s gonna make me a hero and get me on the news?”

“It’s . . . it’s a secret code,” I say slowly. “About Agatha the asteroid.”

“Oh for . . .” Jake says. “Mike, just beat him up already. I got Virtual Reality Space Travel to Israel in five minutes.”

“It’s true, I swear!” I insist. “I could explain it better if you weren’t squeezing my forearm and cutting off the blood supply to my brain.”

Jake loosens his grip, and I break for the woods. But Mike jumps into my path. He grabs me and yanks me hard by my shirt collar.

“OW, OW, OW!” I yell.

“I haven’t even hit you yet,” Mike says, pulling back his fist. “You ready?” He grins sadistically, aiming right for my eye.

“Not the face!” I yell. “A filmmaker’s eyes are his windows to the world!”

He moves his fist to the right.

“Not the shoulder! That’s where I balance my camera!”

He aims lower.

“Not the stomach! I’m lactose intolerant!”

He smirks and aims way down.

“Oh, no! Definitely no! No, not there!” I plead.

Mike rolls his eyes, pulls his fist back, and aims straight for my nose.

“OWWWWWW!” I scream and twist my head before he even makes contact.

“Help me hold him, Jake,” Mike commands.

I wonder what could make someone enjoy this so much.

“You must be very unhappy to enjoy hurting me,” I say. “But you know, the sign in Rabbi Blum’s office says, Only Hashem Can Heal All Wounds!”

“Do it!” Jake grunts, struggling against my struggling.

“Okay, do it!” I yell. “But you won’t stop me from saving the world!”

Mike screws up his face and tightens his fist, pulling it way, way back. I brace for contact.

“OWWWWW!!!!” I howl again, preemptively.

“Leave him alone!” a voice booms from behind the trees.

We all turn to see Mia, standing by the edge of the trail, holding a large forked branch in her hands.