The big field, next to the dining hall, is ready.
The staff’s really busy.
We’ve set the booths up.
The sun, thank goodness, is shining.
Some of the staff is roaming around, making sure the bigger kids don’t try to take the rolls of tickets away from the little kids. The tickets have been given out so that the kids can “buy” things. Each kid gets the same amount of tickets with certain categories printed on them. That’s to make sure not all of the tickets are used just for one thing—all food . . .or all games . . .or all pony rides.
The camp’s really gone all out on this.
There are booths where the kids can paint themselves with body paint. Others where they can batik cloth, do water gun painting; there’s even a dunk-the-staff-member booth, lots of booths.
I go over to the cotton-candy machine.
Ted’s got the booth right next to mine—candy apples. I think he traded with someone to get it.
We’re both wearing the T-shirts we bought in Woodstock.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod. “Corrine explained to me how it works. It would be just my luck to break a rented machine.”
“I’ll help.” He comes over and puts his arm around my shoulder.
We look at the machine.
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” I say. Since I’ve been at camp, I’m not so scared to try out new things.
We turn the machine on, pour sugar and food coloring in, and like magic, spun sugar starts to collect on the sides of the machine.
I grab a paper cone and twirl it around the machine.
Ted turns off the machine while we look at the first cone of cotton candy. It’s lopsided, but it’ll do.
Ted takes a bite out of it and then gives me a kiss.
“Sticky lips,” I say.
He grins.
Ellen comes over. “Traitor. How can you two work at these things? Cotton candy and candy apples. I’m going to put up a sign telling kids to boycott this junk.”
We let her. I’m not sure that she’s wrong, but it’s going to have to be something each kid decides for himself or herself. Ted goes back to his booth.
Ellen’s sign, POISON, with a skull and crossbones, doesn’t seem to be stopping a lot of the kids.
They’ve been let loose and are all running around, with long lines at Ted’s and my booths.
Alvin comes running up with his tickets. “I want a cotton candy and a jelly apple.”
“Don’t forget to get a hot dog or hamburger,” I say.
“You sound like my mother,” he says. “This is camp. Give me a break.”
I give him the cotton candy and take his ticket.
There’s a long line.
The cotton candy’s a real mess to make. How come it always looks so easy when other people make it? The stuff keeps globbing up on the sides of the machine, and I have to keep stopping and scooping all the goop off. I’m covered from head to foot with cotton candy.
Ted looks my way. “What a sweet person you are. Sugar and spice and everything nice, that’s what little girls . . .”
I walk over to him and cover his face with cotton candy. “Sweets for the sweet, you male chauvinist.”
Alvin runs up, crying. He shows us his candy apple. One of Alvin’s teeth is attached to it.
I don’t think it’s the right time to say I told you so.
Sally runs over to me. “Marcy. I’m here to relieve you. It’s time for you to go to the dunk-the-counselor booth.”
I look at Alvin.
“It’s okay. I can take care of him,” Ted says, pulling cotton candy off his face and sticking it down my back. “Just remember that the next time you’re tempted to call me a male chauvinist.”
I give them both a kiss and go take my place on the “dunking board.”
It’s set up by the pool.
I have to sit down on the diving board, fully clothed.
A target area’s set up nearby. If someone throws a ball through the middle of the target, someone behind me pushes me into the water.
Kitty aims and misses. She tries again. Safe. She’s got really bad aim.
So does Risa.
And Linda.
Stacey’s been practicing. She gets the target twice.
I’m pushed into the pool twice.
Soaking wet.
Bobbie aims and gets me.
I’m in the water again.
The water’s made the mess from the cotton candy even worse.
Alicia, Ginger, and Janie throw together. One ball hits me and the other hits the target.
Down and wet again.
Betsy and Robin miss.
A breather.
Some of the kids from the writing group get me.
“Isn’t my time up yet?” I yell.
“Not yet. Our turn.” It’s Barbara, Carl, and Ted.
“But I thought you were my friends,” I say as I go down again.
Finally my time’s up and it’s Ted’s turn.
I get him.
I wave good-bye, go up to the bunk, change, and go back to the cotton-candy machine.
By the end of the afternoon I’m exhausted and it’s not over yet.
The talent show. All of the bunks perform. Then the individual kids perform. Then some of the counselors. There’s a lot of talent at this place.
Then there’s a campfire and everyone sings.
By the time we finally sing, “Day is done, gone the sun,” it’s very late.
We help carry the little kids who’ve fallen asleep up to the bunks.
The kids crawl into bed.
They’re exhausted too.
I do a bed check and then go to sleep.
Camp’s three-quarters over.
It’s going too fast.
That’s the last thing I remember before I fall asleep.
I’m awakened in the morning by Janie.
She hands me a piece of paper with writing on it.
It’s from Ginger.
She’s run away.