Thursday, June 24

Roll, Roll, Roll Your Goat

“You drank my science experiment?” Nathan’s voice wavered. Then he laughed. “That’s so awesome!”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” I placed my hand over my mouth and sank to the floor. I hugged my knees and glanced up at Nathan.

He lifted the pitcher in the air and searched for survivors. “Maybe there’s enough left to still do the experiment.”

“Am I going to die?” I whimpered.

Nathan rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a dork. They’re just shrimp—think of it as eating sushi. Only you drank it instead.” He laughed.

“I’m really sorry, Nathan.” I slowly stood and leaned against the office doorway. “I didn’t know there were sea monkeys swimming around inside. I thought you said they ate hard-boiled eggs—there aren’t any egg bits floating around! You should have a sign on it or something.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“There aren’t any egg bits because I remove the uneaten pieces each night. It’d stink otherwise. Of course, had I known you were going to drink it, I would’ve left some egg in there as a warning.” He snorted again.

There was no way in the world Nathan would ever like me now. In his eyes, I’d always be the girl who ingested his science experiment. He’d probably want nothing to do with me.

“Do you want me to go with you back to the science lab and talk to Dave?” I asked. “I’ll tell him what I did, that it’s my fault.”

Nathan shook his head. “Nah. I’ll tell him—he’s got more anyway. I just hope there’s enough time for me to redo the experiment.” He bent over to examine the pitcher once more. He looked at me. “So, how’d they taste?”

I punched him in the arm.

Nathan grabbed a sheet of paper from Cook’s office and wrote, “DO NOT DRINK,” on it. He taped it to the pitcher and headed back to the lab.

I wanted to go back to the cabin and just forget the whole day, but I still needed to bring Ms. Jacqueline her frosting. I searched the kitchen for the dolly but couldn’t find it anywhere. Earlier, I had noticed a wagon near the trash cans next to the storage shed out back—that’d work. I might look dorky pulling a wagon full of frosting, but there was no other way to get something that heavy down the steep hill to the cake decorating kitchen. Taking a deep breath, I heaved the tub onto my hip and kicked the back door open with my foot. I felt my way down the three steps leading to the dirt path.

The wagon was next to the trash cans for an obvious reason. At a closer look, it was more rust than anything. I carefully lowered the frosting into the wagon. If I stuck to the sidewalk, it would be a smoother ride and the wagon might not rattle into a pile of rust dust before I got to the bottom.

I leaned over to grab the handle and realized I was still wearing the dish-washing apron. I took it off and tried to enter through the back door, but it had somehow locked behind me. I’d have to go in through the front of the mess hall.

I rounded the corner and came face-to-face with King Arthur.

Perfect. Pogo couldn’t finish that tracking device soon enough.

I was not in the mood to deal with him. My patience for the goat was tinier than Nathan’s sea monkeys.

Indiana Jones knew what he was doing traveling everywhere with a whip—he never knew when he’d need it, but he had it when he was in trouble. I needed to start traveling with a lead rope and halter. Only right now, all I had was the dish-washing apron.

I inched forward, holding the apron in front of me. If I could slip it around King Arthur’s neck, it could work as a leash to haul him back to the barn.

“C’mon, man. I’m the one who saved you from the lake, remember?”

“Naa.”

King Arthur galloped forward and leaped over the tub of frosting, clipping it with his hind legs. I scurried backward as the lid flew off and the tub toppled out of the wagon. King Arthur was undeterred. Squealing, I threw the rubber apron at him. It landed on his head, but he still kept charging. He looked like a superhero with his yellow cape of justice flapping in the breeze—only, in reality, he was a maniacal goat wearing a dishwasher’s apron. As his head rammed into my leg, I desperately reached for anything to hold on to to keep from falling backward down Mess Hall Hill. The only thing I could reach was…King Arthur.

If I’m going down, you’re going down with me. I grabbed hold as we tumbled head-over-hoof down the steep hillside in an alternating pattern.

Goat.

Apron.

Human.

Goat.

Apron.

Human.

That is, until the half-empty tub of chocolate frosting lost the battle to gravity at the top of the slope and caught up with us in our rapid tumble down Mess Hall Hill.

Goat.

Apron.

Human.

Chocolate frosting.

Goat.

Apron.

Human.

Chocolate frosting.

When we finally rolled to a stop, we were a mixture of chocolate frosting, grass, dirt, and goat hair.

I was so dizzy I was seeing double. Two goats stood and shook themselves. They simultaneously wobbled around for a few seconds, then trotted off, still wearing my dishwashing apron. I wasn’t sure which goat was the real King Arthur. Apparently, his work here was done. He had succeeded in knocking me down the steepest hill at Camp Minnehaha. Granted, I don’t think he intended to go down it himself, but a victory is a victory.

I pushed myself to a sitting position as Ms. Jacqueline and the whole cake decorating class poured out the door and dashed to where I sat, spitting out blades of chocolate-flavored grass. I was covered with frosting from my head to my toes, smelled like a goat, and my stomach was churning—although that could’ve been because of the sea monkeys. I sat there. I wasn’t sure what else to do. There was a rumbling in my ears that I attributed to the fall, but then, three seconds later, the wagon shot past me, crashed into a pine tree, and disintegrated into a mushroom cloud of rust dust.

• • •

I tried to drown my sorrows in an extra helping of banana pudding for dessert that night. When that didn’t work, Pogo suggested a game of War during evening free time. We sat on my bunk and Pogo took my jack, king, and a ten in a single battle.

Sighing, I tossed my cards down in disgust. “This whole day sucks. How ironic is it that the one animal I hate is the one I’m stuck with?” I said. “That goat is a total moron.”

Pogo looked sympathetically at me and laid down another card. “I bet you’ll feel better about the whole thing tomorrow. You’re probably just tired and, dare I say, a little grumpy.” She raised her eyebrow at me.

“Ever since King Arthur destroyed Mr. Snuffles, I’ve had a hard time falling asleep. I think it’s because the plastic bag makes too much noise.” I shook my head with a slight smile. “That sounds so pathetic—even to me.”

Pogo nodded but grinned. “Wait here,” she said and scurried to her top bunk. Seconds later, she was back with a paper bag. She reached in and pulled out…Mr. Snuffles?

A hand-sewn chef’s hat covered the gaping hole in Mr. Snuffles’s head and ear. Instead of a chewed-up T-shirt, he wore a small apron. His little gray body had been sewn up and restuffed. Gone were the dirt and slobber stains, and in his now-slightly-shorter trunk, he held a miniature wooden spoon. More than ever, he reminded me of Grandpa and the times we cooked together.

It was love at first sight.

I plucked Mr. Snuffles from her hand and held him close. “He’s amazing! How did you do this?”

“I had to work fast. I grabbed him after lunch while you were on KP duty.” Pogo giggled. “I was so afraid you’d come back to the cabin and notice he was missing and get even more upset!”

“But how did you sew him?”

“I took a sewing class a while back,” Pogo said. “Ms. Jacqueline said I could use an old dish towel for fabric.” She pointed to a line of stitches on Mr. Snuffles. “I used cotton balls to add stuffing and closed it up here. I figured a chef’s hat was the perfect thing to cover the hole in his head since you like to bake.”

“He’s perfect.” I gave Mr. Snuffles a big hug and kiss. “Thank you.”

Thursday, June 24

8:52 p.m.

Pogo repaired Mr. Snuffles! He looks AWESOME!! I think she should’ve been awarded the Distinction of Recognized Kindness!! But it went to someone named Mark for teaching everyone in his cabin CPR.

On a totally separate note, today was officially Make Chloe Die of Embarrassment Day.

I drank Nathn’s sea monkey experiment. At least he was a good sport about it. He is soooo sweet.

King Arthur escaped AGAIN, and this time he rammed me down Mess Hall Hill with a tub of frosting.

To make things even worse, when the cake decorating class dashed out to find me on the ground, covered in chocolate frosting, Victoria took the opportunity to snap a few photos on her phone. Rumor has it she asked Director Mudwimple if she could use the office printer to print out a cake design—yeah right! The next thing I know, photos of me with the words “Goat Girl” scrawled across them are plastered all over cabin doors and pine trees!!

According to Nathn, the pictures are even in the boy’s bathroom in the mess hall!

My humiliation is complete.

Of course, Victoria denied it. She even showed Director Mudwimple her cake printout (like that’s some form of proof of her innocence or something), but I know she did it.

She’s had it out for me since day one.

And so has the stupid goat! Why should he hate me so much? It seems every time I turn around, King Arthur is following me—or ramming me down a hill or something. Doc thinks King Arthur likes my scent. He said goats have a terrific sense of smell and hearing. It’s even been proven that goats can remember people for over a year, maybe even longer.

Then Doc said something HYSTERICAL. He said, “If you come back next year, he’ll remember you.” Like I would EVER come back here!!!!

The good news is, I’m finally finished with kitchen patrol duty. I bet this was the first time Victoria ever washed dishes—her chef probably does them at home. Must be nice.