ONE DAY BEFORE THE SUPER BLOOD MOON
Fear nibbled with sharp teeth on the edges of my soul as I scanned Camp Pontchartrain’s dining hall, looking for the bully who would surely notice me. Fortunately for me, the bullies targeted the art students, a group of girls silently weeping with their heads lowered. Thankfully, they were leaving the Techies, technology kids like me, alone . . . for now.
I ran my fingers through my brown, curly hair, a self-soothing thing I did when I was nervous, a constant state of existence for me. Choosing a corner table, I set my tray down, then checked the seat for the all-too-familiar packets of ketchup or mustard left there to stain the pants of the unwary. Nothing was there this time. I sat and peeled open my grilled ham and cheese, then loaded it with barbeque potato chips, pressing them into the melted cheese. After a sip of apple juice, I took a bite of the sandwich, the barbeque chips delivering a satisfying crunch as I chewed while scanning the room again.
The walls, adorned in rich, dark wood paneling, and the sturdy hardwood floor stretching from wall to wall gave me the illusion of being nestled within the belly of some gigantic tree monster. A group of bullies laughed and threw French fries at the drama kids, the humiliated victims picking potatoes out of their hair as they kept their heads down, hoping to be spared a second volley. The sea of kids, ages 8 to 18, looked like a patchwork of colors. Each cluster wore their group’s t-shirt, the orange and brown lacrosse team sitting between the yellow and black wrestlers and the black and white chess players. A few kids didn’t wear their team’s jersey and instead wore the dark purple Camp Pontchartrain shirt, a large C and P emblazoned in gold across their chest. They were few in number and quickly learned that the purple shirt made them an easy target. Usually, everyone wore their group’s shirt . . . it’s what we did at Camp Pontchartrain. Sometimes, I thought it provided a little bit of safety, a herd in which the small and weak could hide, but I think it also kept us separated. Isolated groups and cliques had flourished in the camp since my first visit many years ago, dividing the community and creating a fragmented social landscape.
“You know, Cameron, it’s only four days until the annual Colossal Water Fight.” Bobby sat down next to me and stuffed a massive spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, brown gravy smudging his cheek. “This year, I’m going for a power soaker. I wanna drench people from far away, like the kids from the soccer cabin, before they can get close with their water balloons.”
I ate the last bit of my sandwich and shook my head. “You shouldn’t do that, Bobby. They’ll want revenge if you get them too wet.”
“I don’t care if I get wet; why should they? It’s a water fight, after all.”
“I know.” I opened a package of cookies, took a few, and then slid them to my friend. “But you need to think carefully.” I lowered my voice and scanned the nearby tables, ensuring no bullies could hear. “If you get them during the water fight, they’ll torture you afterward. They might throw you into the lake, steal your bed, or try to lock you in one of the gym lockers.”
Bobby chuckled, then put both hands on his ample belly and shook it. “Cameron Poole, how long have we been coming to this summer camp together . . . since third grade? After three years, have you ever seen a gym locker that would fit me?” He slapped his stomach and laughed. “They don’t make ‘em big enough for this.”
Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his Robotics t-shirt, Bobby stood and carried his dishes to the kitchen conveyor belt. “Come on, Cam, we gotta get moving. The ropes course starts in a few minutes, and I don’t wanna be at the end of the line.”
I gathered up my trash and piled it on the plastic tray, then slung my bookbag over my shoulder, towel and robotics supplies bouncing about within the bag. Walking next to the wall, I followed Bobby toward the conveyor. I kept my eyes scanning the dining hall for threats. Being the smallest sixth-grader at the camp seemed to make me a favorite target of the bullies.
I placed my tray on the mechanized track pulling the dirty dishes into the kitchen, then turned to the exit and froze. A group of baseball players stood near the doors, each wearing their gray and gold jerseys and harassing kids as they left. A sound, like the faint buzzing of a bee, flickered to life in the back of my mind. Sweat coated the palms of my hands as I stared at the door, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
No, not again. I don’t wanna be afraid. The thought sent a shuddering wave of fear through me. My pulse raced as goosebumps crawled down the back of my neck. The anxiety’s coming; I know it. My anxiety amplified the fearful feeling, which produced more anxiety and intensified the fear again. My therapist, Dr. Jen, called it a thought-loop, but I didn’t care what name she had for it. This happened so often to me it felt like a recurring nightmare.
The Beast . . . it’s coming. The words reverberated in my head.
I stared at the writing over the door, large, gold letters written on a dark purple square. It was Camp Pontchartrain’s Alma Mater, or the camp song. It was the same one written on the wall in the gymnasium, and now and then, the camp director, Mrs. Chakoté, made everyone sing it. In general, it was considered stupid and annoying, but something about it gave me a small bit of comfort. I read the words silently in my head, hoping to distract myself from the anxiety creeping up on me like a stalking lion.
The hallowed shores of Pontchartrain.
Will always be our home.
No matter where our paths may lead,
And despite how far we roam.
Your majesty and history,
Are lessons for lifelong.
Alone, we strive to face our tasks,
But together, we are strong.
You taught us that our courage
Shall shine a golden light.
And cast away the darkness
For fears that we shall smite.
Camp Pontchartrain
our hearts belong to you.
Your sons and daughters sing your praise
And to thee remain true.
My heart slowed a bit as the words tumbled about in my mind.
“We got to get moving, Cam, or we’ll be late.” Bobby wiped his hands on his shorts and then patted me on the back. “Come on.”
Bobby amazed me. The bullies targeted him just as frequently as me. His pimpled skin, loud mouth, and big belly offered ample ammunition to the bigger kids, their slings and arrows of hurtful comments meant to impale his self-esteem. But Bobby never seemed phased by it. He never wavered, his confidence and sense of humor seemingly indestructible.
“Bobby, the baseball players are at the door.” The buzzing in my head grew louder. I tried to swallow, but my throat felt dry as dust. “We need to wait until they leave.”
“Don’t be silly.” Bobby smiled. “If we’re late, we’ll have to do push-ups or some other stupid exercise.” He turned to me, then glanced at the exit. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you past them.” Bobby chuckled, excitement twinkling in his eyes. “I’ll create a diversion, and you can slip by.”
“What kind of diversion?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Trust me. You’ll know what it is.”
And with that, Bobby marched straight for the exit, his full belly bouncing about, me three steps behind, head lowered.
“Hey, look who’s coming.” It was the team captain, Karl Macarthur. “It’s Blobby and his cratered face.” The tall sixth grader laughed, his fellow teammates chuckling with him. “Looking at him is like staring at the moon.” Karl laughed again. He glanced at his companions and glared, forcing them to join in on the laughter. “You’re so big, Blobby. I’m wondering if you’re still in sixth grade, or did you eat your way into seventh?”
The other baseball players roared with laughter.
Bobby kept walking, but when he reached the door, he stopped directly in front of the baseball captain. “Let me ask you something, Karl. Do you think you’re hurting me by saying I’m fat? Do you?”
“Well . . . umm . . .?
“Do you honestly believe I don’t know that I’m overweight, and you’re revealing some great secret I’ve been hiding all this time?”
“Well—”
Bobby interrupted Karl before he could speak and took a step closer, pushing the ball player back with his stomach, allowing me to pass behind him and slip through the doorway. “Do you think you’re saying something I haven’t heard a hundred times? I mean, really, can’t you come up with any new material, or is this just the best you can do?”
Karl glared down at Bobby, a hand slowly clenching into a fist.
“When you get some new insults, let me know. I’d love to hear them.” Bobby chuckled as he turned and headed out of the dining hall, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.
I waited for Bobby to catch up.
“You take too many chances with those bullies,” I said. “One of these times, you’re gonna get hurt.”
“Maybe . . . but not today.”
“Sometimes, I think you’re crazy.” I smiled as the buzzing in my head slowly faded away. My Beast, that’s what I called my anxiety, submerged back into the dark places in my mind, waiting . . . always waiting.
“You okay?” Bobby asked in a low voice.
I nodded.
“Great, let’s get down to the lake.” Bobby took off running toward the glistening waters of Lake Pontchartrain, robotics parts bouncing about in his bag.
I sighed and tried to devise a way to avoid the ropes course, but I knew it was futile. If I didn’t show up, I’d get in trouble. Clenching my teeth, I followed Bobby, knowing failure awaited me on the shores of the lake.