The only bad thing about getting the back seat (the best seat) on the bus is that you’re always the last person off the bus. That day, with the temperature about a million degrees, waiting to get off the bus was not easy.
By the time Sam and I finally tumbled off the bus, we could hardly breathe. But the air outside in the Mount Rushmore National Memorial park was much cooler. It even smelled nice — like pine trees and fresh-cut grass.
“We have two very busy days ahead of us, gang,” Ms. Juniper said. “Everyone get your gear and your lunches from the bus’s cargo hold. We’ll eat quickly, then start our adventures!”
* * *
Unpacking and eating didn’t take long. We’d all been told to pack light. I’d brought a change of clothes, a notebook, and a sleeping bag, plus one lunch and toothbrushes and stuff, of course. We sat down for lunch at some picnic tables next to the parking lot. By then we were all completely starving.
Just as I was swallowing the last bite of my cheese and cucumber and tomato sandwich, Egg started clicking his camera like crazy.
It was weird. Not Egg taking photos. He takes photos all the time.
The weird thing was he was pointing the camera at the parking lot behind me.
“Um, Egg?” I said. “The monument is over there.”
Egg snapped a couple more times. “I know,” he said. “I’m not taking pictures of the monument right now. Look.”
A group of high-school-age kids was gathered right in the middle of the parking lot. Some of them were carrying signs, but from where we were, I couldn’t read them.
“What do you suppose they’re doing?” Sam asked.
Gum wasn’t impressed. He went back to eating his baloney sandwich. “Who knows,” he said through a mouthful of food. “People will protest anything. Remember when Cat protested at the zoo?”
“Those animals were cooped up in tiny, tiny cages!” I replied, annoyed.
Sam raised her hand. “Ms. Juniper,” she said. “Why are those people here?” She pointed toward the group in the parking lot.
Ms. Juniper glanced up from her sandwich. “Them?” she said. She squinted, trying to get a look at their signs. “I don’t know.”
A park security guard strolled by. “They’re Lakota kids,” he said. “There are several Lakota reservations here in South Dakota.”
“What are they protesting?” I asked.
“It’s complicated,” the guard said. “The short answer is that they think this land and this mountain are Lakota property.” Someone called for the guard, and he jogged off.
“Everyone finish up,” Ms. Juniper said. She gave a couple of short blows on her whistle. “It’s time for our first activity. Who’s ready for the Ranger Walk?”
It sounds dorky, but after being cooped up on that hot bus, we actually cheered. So we were all disappointed when that security guard came running back to the picnic area.
“The Ranger Walk is off!” the guard was shouting. “Ranger Harrison is missing!”