That night, the first night with the new Week Three campers, was the bonfire and sing-along. The counselors would perform some silly skits and teach the campers a few useless songs, and everybody would roast marshmallows and eat s’mores.
Just like at any other camp.
This was a calculated move by Miss Hiss, since Sunday was letter-writing day. Thanks to the bonfire, the letters home would be filled with tales of songs and fun, and the parents would rest easy thinking their children were having the time of their lives at Camp Shady Brook. Miss Hiss knew most kids would be home before they had a chance to write another letter, and so the stories about the backed-up toilets and swarms of mosquitoes and the polluted lake would have to wait until their parents’ payments had long since cleared. She always made a point of putting on a good face for the new parents. Camp Shady Brook wasn’t the sort of place you’d send your kid again unless you had no other choice.
Archie sat toward the back of the crowd huddled around the bonfire, where there were more mosquitoes but less sparks and smoke. He tried to ignore the screeches of a hundred children screaming the words to “Little Bunny Foo Foo” and concentrate on observing Mitchell, the kid who couldn’t be conned, undetected.
Mitchell was sitting near, but not exactly with, a bunch of the boys from the Bluegill cabin. He was half listening to the songs, but also, when no one was looking, paging through a large book, using a small flashlight he held cupped in his hand to read the words. He seemed distracted and disengaged from the crowd, something Archie knew was always a good sign in a potential mark.
It was a golden opportunity to figure out how to con the famous Unconnable O’Connor, if he was going to take back his beloved Camp Shady Crook from that interloper Vivian.
It was now or never.
“Hey, Mitchell,” Archie said in his friendliest voice as he came up behind the boy, then plopped down next to him in the brown and uneven grass. “Nice to see you back.”
“Archie!” Mitchell said. “You’re back this summer too! That’s great. My cabin is all filled with newbies. I had to miss the first week of camp for my grandparents’ anniversary party, but at least I’m staying for the rest of the session.”
Mitchell seemed genuinely pleased to see him, a fact that only filled Archie with more disgust. Did this boy not realize he was dealing with a master criminal, not just another camper? What was his deal? Why was he always so . . . nice? It was infuriating. And perplexing. Archie wasn’t used to people being nice to him for anything other than their own gain. At home he’d learned the hard way—a smile too often ended in a punch, or at minimum, handing over his lunch money.
“Whatcha got there?” Archie said, pointing at the book.
Mitchell gave a self-conscious laugh. “It’s a book,” he said. “Well, obviously it’s a book, ha-ha.”
“You brought a book to a campfire sing-along?”
Mitchell shrugged. “I’m not that into the singing,” he said. “But the fire is pretty cool.”
Archie nodded. His mind was working furiously to find a way, any way, into the connable part of Mitchell’s brain. It had to be there. Everybody had an angle, something for Archie to exploit, even the Unconnable O’Connor. But the most important thing was to keep the conversation going while he found an in. “What’s so great about this book?”
Mitchell looked up again. “Oh! It’s about pirates. I’m kind of into pirates. Real ones, not the kind you see in movies—and this book”—he held it out and in the dim light of the flashlight Archie could see a large picture of a ship flying the Jolly Roger—“explains all about them.”
“Oh, neat,” Archie said. He didn’t know—or care—much about pirates. He liked reading about criminals, of course, but devious ones, not the kind that fired cannons and burned boats hundreds of years ago. But he could tell that Mitchell was really into the topic, so he plowed on. Faking an interest was one of his pet strategies. “So, what have you learned?”
Mitchell seemed pleased at the question, and closed the book, leaving a finger inside to mark his place. “All sorts of stuff. Like, most people think pirates only worked on the sea, but there were river pirates, too. Smaller groups that attacked ships on rivers—even here in the United States.”
“Wow,” Archie said. He wasn’t pretending this time—he honestly never knew that before. “And did they bury treasure, too?”
“Well, not all pirates buried their treasure. Most of them spent it,” Mitchell said. “It’s mainly movies that talk about stuff like that. But there is a legend about a buried treasure along the Connecticut River, in Massachusetts—people say that Captain Kidd actually traveled the river to find a place to bury his treasure. And he left it on an island—” Mitchell open the book and flipped to a new page, checked something, and then said, “Clark’s Island, they call it. But no one was ever able to claim it.”
Archie nodded. An idea was taking shape in his head. “That’s pretty neat,” he said. “That means there could be treasure literally anywhere.”
“Well, not anywhere,” Mitchell said with a smile. “Most places have been dug up for buildings and roads and stuff, and anything buried would have been found long ago. It would have to be someplace remote. Out of the way, you know.”
“Interesting,” Archie said. He stood up slowly and brushed the dirt off his shorts. “Very interesting.”
When he wandered back to the Walleyes, his mind was a maze of new ideas. Not about pirates, exactly, but about a new con. One that might just work on even Mitchell the Unconnable.
The loudly singing campers had moved on to “Do Your Ears Hang Low,” when Oliver threw himself down on the grass next to Archie. “Make it stop, for the love of all that is holy, make it stop.”
“You’re not supposed to talk to me in front of the other kids,” Archie said from the side of his mouth, without looking at Oliver.
“Oh, come off it for a minute, for once. Nobody cares, it’s dark, and I’ve had a bad day. One of the Longnose Gar puked on my bed.”
Archie laughed. He couldn’t help himself. For reasons clear to no one who knew him, Oliver was always assigned to be the CIT for the smallest boys in the camp. And even more mystifying, they adored him—followed him everywhere, like a pack of small, awkward puppy dogs in matching Shady Brook T-shirts and untied sneakers.
“It’s not funny, Drake! These kids are a nightmare. They’ve been here half a day and one of them already threw up, another one got a bloody nose, and two of them wet their pants. I doubt half the cabin will survive the week.”
Archie laughed again. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think I might have a plan to win our bet, con Mitchell, and get that little cupcake thief off our backs for good.”
“Really?” Oliver sounded uncharacteristically concerned. “I mean, are you sure this bet is really a good idea? Mitchell’s okay enough, and Sasha’s actually really nice. I don’t mind conning some of the knuckleheads, but why do we have to con the good kids? That doesn’t make sense at all. Even if it makes Vivian back off. Which, by the way, I’m not one hundred percent convinced is necessary.”
“It’s not about Mitchell and Sasha, it’s about neutralizing Cupcake Girl,” Archie said impatiently. He hated when Oliver acted all “reasonable” about things. It made his job as a criminal mastermind all that much harder. “There’s always collateral damage, but you have to think about the big picture. We’ve already wasted two weeks of camp.”
“But why do we have to beat her at all? Why can’t you just give her a cut like she asked?” Oliver asked. “She’s not too shabby at these cons herself, you know. And isn’t it more fun when we all do it together? It makes it feel more like a game.”
“Who said this is supposed to be fun?”
Oliver shrugged. “Okay, fine, you don’t like her, I get it. But what if she wins? Have you thought about that?”
“There is no way she’s going to win!” Archie was incredulous. “You do realize who you’re dealing with, don’t you?”
“I know, I know,” Oliver said. “Just don’t get too cocky, and be careful.”
“When have I ever gotten too cocky?”
Oliver didn’t answer.
“Anyway,” Archie said slowly, thinking. “If my idea is going to work, I’m going to need to get to a computer.”
Oliver sighed. “Really? Again?”
“Look, I know it didn’t work out last year, but this time, it has to. It’s important.”
“But that means sneaking into the office.” Oliver frowned. “And we came so close to getting caught last year. I still have nightmares about Miss Hiss chasing us into the woods. I have no idea how she didn’t figure out it was us.”
“I know, but this time we’ll be more careful.” Archie’s voice took on a conniving tone. “I know it’s not going to be easy. But I’m not asking you to do anything but be my lookout. There’s no way you can get in trouble. All you have to do is say one of the Longnose Gar is sick and you were looking for Miss Hiss, or the nurse. Do you remember the signal?”
“Of course I remember the signal. Do you think I’m an idiot?” Oliver said, rolling his eyes—an unusual gesture for him. He put his hands around his mouth and called out, “Caw, caw.”
“Not here!” Archie hissed. “Save it for Wednesday night. After Parents’ Day. That’s always the best time to fly under the radar around here.”
The campers had moved on to “There’s a Hole in the Bucket,” and now Oliver looked like he was going to throw up just like the poor little Longnose Gar. “I can’t take much more of this,” he said, standing up. “If you want to try to con that Mitchell kid, fine, I’ll help you, even if it’s probably a lost cause. But for now I’ve got to make sure one of those snot-nosed little kids hasn’t fallen in the lake.”