Chapter Two

Dear Mom,

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write you a letter, but you know how crazy it is here at Camp What-A-Nut. Especially since they made me a girls’ cabin counselor.

How’s everything in Odyssey? Have you seen Whit? Or Eugene? It feels so strange not working at Whit’s End, and the past few days up here haven’t made those feelings go away. If anything, it’s made them worse, because a lot of the kids who went to Whit’s End are up here and know I was fired. So now every time I look at them, I feel embarrassed and hurt —and angry. It just doesn’t seem right that Whit would fire me over a silly computer program.

But being busy is better than sitting at home all day. It was “hit the ground running” right from the start. As soon as everybody checked in, we all gathered together in the great hall —which is also the cafeteria and the chapel —for the camp director’s welcome speech. He told us all about the camp’s history and how it got its weird name. Its real name is Camp Wey-Aka-Tal-Ah-Nee-Tee, a Native American phrase that supposedly means “land that stinks like swamp.” But that took too long to say, and no one could pronounce it right when they did say it. So they took the first letters —W-A-T-A-N-T —and, well, someone said it looked like “what-a-nut,” and —voilà! —Camp What-A-Nut was born.

After his speech, I gathered the girls in my cabin together in a corner of the meeting hall to go over the rules. I think you know most of them from church (the girls, I mean, not the rules): Lucy Cunningham-Schultz, Donna Barclay, Robyn Jacobs —and one you don’t know, Alison Leskowsky. She used to come to Whit’s End. You wouldn’t have any trouble picking out my girls among all the kids here, even if you didn’t know them: Lucy has brown hair (and glasses), Donna has dark hair and blue eyes, Robyn has red hair and freckles, and Alison is a blonde with a slight overbite. They all pretty much always hang out together, so all I have to do is look for a group of girls that consists of one brown, one black, one red, and one blonde head, and I’ve found them.

The rules were pretty standard safety stuff: no sports activities in the cabins; the beds are not trampolines, and the pillows are not clubs; and no food allowed outside the cafeteria, especially not in the cabins, because it attracts raccoons, opossums, skunks, and bears. And most important: campers are not allowed outside after lights out. I told them that one is the biggie. Break it, and you could get sent home. Even though this camp isn’t exactly roughing it, it’s still out in the wilderness, which means you can still run into danger. I remember hearing about Donny McCoy last year, when a bear chased him and . . . well . . . someone up a tree.

Oh, who am I kidding? It was Whit who named the camp and Whit who was chased up the tree! Even when I’m trying to avoid talking about him, I can’t avoid talking about him. I know it was my fault I got fired —and got Eugene fired too. I know I disobeyed Whit, and I know how disappointed he was in me. But I told him I was sorry, and I really am! I just don’t understand. Whit told me that Christianity is all about forgiveness, that no matter how many times we may do something bad, God forgives us when we ask Him to. So why won’t Whit forgive me now?

I guess even with being busy here at camp, it’s still going to take time to get over this, right?

I’m sorry I’m complaining. I need to be more like Lucy. All of the other girls in my cabin have been cranky for one reason or another almost since they got here —either about not being able to watch TV (Alison) or getting their clothes dirty (Robyn) or smearing their makeup (Donna) or wanting to do what the boys do (Alison, Robyn, and Donna).

The only one who hasn’t complained is Lucy. But then again, Lucy never complains. She’s very sweet and always does what she’s supposed to do. Lucy even managed to make a new friend in craft class: Jill Blankenship. Her uncle is Charley Blankenship, the camp caretaker. He’s a short, round guy who rides around on a little tractor and spits tobacco juice everywhere, but he’s likable enough, and he does keep the camp in shipshape. I heard Jill tell Lucy that thanks to Uncle Charley, she knows the camp like the back of her hand —all of the secret paths and hideouts. If Jill was talking to anyone but Lucy, that might make me nervous, like they were up to something. But I know Lucy has a good head on her shoulders.

Well, Mom, I need to go. We’re going on our first nature walk/campout tomorrow —where we stay out in tents for a couple of nights —and I need to pack my backpack for it. It should be a lot of fun, if I can get the girls to pay attention to nature instead of their hair and nails and what activities the boys are doing.

Write back soon! If you see Eugene, tell him to write me too! And please pray for me, that I can have some peace about Whit.

Love,

Connie