Leave Pine Needles in Your Hair
Pogo yanked my arm. “C’mon. There’s a spot next to that kid with the soccer jersey.”
She pointed.
A boy who seemed our age, wearing a Federación Ecuatoriana de Fútbol jersey, stood on a chair, staring into the crowd. He also looked familiar.
Standing next to him on the floor was a lanky, blond boy in a gray T-shirt with MARINES stamped across the front. I couldn’t believe my luck.
“Sebastian! Nathan!” I yelled.
They turned toward us. I jumped up and down and waved madly. Nathan saw me before Sebastian did. He smiled and waved back—and my heart might have skipped a beat. Pogo yelped as I grabbed her arm and made for the back of the mess hall.
I pulled and squeezed Pogo through campers to unlucky table seven and to Nathan and Sebastian.
“Hey, guys.”
Nathan pointed at my head. “You’ve got pine needles sticking out of your hair. What did you do? Roll in the bushes?”
I blushed and snatched at the needles the best I could. How embarrassing.
I turned to Nathan. “I can’t believe you’re both here! How crazy is that?”
“I know, right?” said Nathan.
Sebastian lightly punched Nathan in the shoulder. “I am here because Nathan’s parents think he has no amigos.” Sebastian was from Ecuador. He slipped in and out of Spanish more often than I daydreamed about Nathan.
I tilted my head to the side and looked at Nathan. “What’s he talking about?”
Nathan laughed. “My folks are always nervous I’ll have a hard time making friends since we move around so much. My dad heard about this place and thought it’d be fun. They said I could invite a friend.” Nathan came from a military family and was new in town. Despite what his parents believed, he’d made lots of friends.
“Speaking of friends”—I turned to Pogo—“this is Pog—Paulie.”
Sebastian turned to her and flashed a smile. “Hola.”
“Hi.” Pogo was bouncing on her toes again and didn’t seem to notice I’d stumbled over her name. “Y’all wanna piece of gum?”
Nathan had to time his hand to the same rhythm as she bounced in order take the moving stick of gum.
“I took Spanish last year,” Pogo said. “Check this out, Sebastian: Yo canto dulce como un sapo.”
Sebastian raised his brow. “You sing sweet like a toad?”
“Oops.” Pogo giggled. “That’s not at all what I meant to say.”
“So are you both in the same cabin?” Nathan asked.
“Yep—along with Diva,” Pogo said.
“Who?” said Sebastian.
“Never mind,” I said.
Nathan sat down and gestured to the chair next to him. He’s cool like that. He doesn’t mind being friends with a girl and doesn’t act weird about sitting next to one—even one that has a teeny-tiny, secret crush on him. “So what do you think of camp so far?” he asked. His blond hair fell over his adorable eyes. He brushed it back.
“Well, let’s see.” I ticked the items off on my fingers. “There’s a spider in the bathroom—or at least there was. I’m not really sure where it is now. Hopefully dead in a corner. Our camp director needs to switch to decaf, and a crazy goat attacked me. Oh…and we’re here sitting at table number seven.”
“Okay, you lost me at the goat and the number seven.”
I opened my mouth to explain when Director Mudwimple clambered onto a small stage near the front of the mess hall. A humongous man sporting a baseball cap, armpit stains, and a whistle stood next to her. He looked like the Incredible Hulk—minus the weird green color and torn clothes. Director Mudwimple nodded to him and he blew his whistle, sending bits of spit cascading down on campers near him. Sitting near the back wasn’t such a bad deal after all.
“Good afternoon, campers!” the director bellowed. “I have a couple quick announcements and then the instructors are going to introduce themselves. After that, we’ll be off on a fun-filled tour of the campground. Sadly, I won’t be joining you, as there’s a minor issue involving one of our dear animals.”
I was pretty sure the “minor issue” involved something with four legs, bad breath, and horns.
She sighed and took a deep breath. “Our goal at Camp Minnehaha is for everyone to have fun and be safe. In order for that to happen, we use a demerit system. If you choose not to follow our rules or show respect to others, you will be given a demerit. After five demerits, you’re sent home.”
Apparently, Mrs. Claus had a strict side to her. I had no worries about getting demerits—those were for troublemakers, not me.
She rattled on, hoped we’d all read all the rules in the welcome folders we were given at registration. Reminded us to pick our electives carefully. Encouraged us to enjoy the lovely trails but to always remember trail safety, blah, blah, blah. And then she was done. “Enjoy your tour. I leave you in good hands.” She picked up a small halter and what looked like a leash and waddled away.
The Incredible Hulk spoke next. “My name’s Coach Fox. I’m the sports instructor.”
Duh.
A pretty lady with dark hair trapped under a hairnet and cheeks smudged with flour stepped onto the stage next. Coach Fox handed her a microphone. She smiled and put it to her mouth. “Bonjour. My name is Ms. Jacqueline. I am looking forward to working with each of you and introducing you to zee fine art of cake decorating.” She paused. “Those who choose zis elective will prepare all zee desserts for a grand finale banquet for parents and campers on zee last day. It will be fantastique!”
“Vive la France!” someone yelled.
Ms. Jacqueline laughed and gave a wave with the mic before handing it off to the next instructor. Her laugh reminded me of twinkling lights—dainty and clear.
A man, who was wearing jeans, a pale-blue T-shirt, and a stethoscope around his neck, helped Ms. Jacqueline down with one hand and took the mic with the other. Then he gave her a wink.
I nudged Pogo and whispered, “Did you see that? He just winked at her. And he held on to her hand a little too long for someone just taking a microphone. I bet he has a crush.”
“He’s too old to have a crush.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s probably only forty.”
“That’s old,” Pogo said. She looked to Sebastian.
“What?”
“Spanish is one of the romance languages,” Pogo said. “What’s your opinion?”
“I hate to tell you, but Spanish is a romance language because it comes from Latin. It has nada to do with love.” He shook his head and looked down (but not before I saw him wink at Pogo).
The man onstage spoke. “I’m Dr. Mulholland. Y’all call me Doc.”
“Or the Love Doctor,” I whispered to Pogo.
She snorted and slapped her hand over her mouth.
“Now we have a crazy assortment of animals here at Minnehaha,” Doc said with a southern drawl.
“He’s right about the crazy part,” I muttered.
Pogo giggled.
“And once y’all have met all the animals, I’m sure you’ll feel quite at home around them. See y’all soon.”
If he thought I’d ever feel at home with that goat (or spiders), he was the crazy one.
The science instructor, Mr. Dave, spoke last. Tall and tan, with a flowered shirt, jean cutoffs, and a ponytail, he looked like he should be surfing rather than doing experiments in a lab. “Yo! We do the same thing in the science lab that Ms. Jacqueline does in the kitchen—measurin’ and mixin’. We just blow up our creations afterward!”
Cheers filled the cafeteria.
“Righteous!” Dave thrust a hang-loose sign in the air.
Pogo giggled. “He’s kind of dreamy for a science guy.”
Coach Fox rolled his eyes and jumped up next to Dreamy Dave. “Now that you’ve met everyone, we’ll divide up into four teams. It’s time for you campers to learn your way around! Tables one through three, follow me. Tables four through six, go with May-dame-mo-sell Jacqueline.”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t say that right,” I murmured.
Coach Fox continued. “Tables seven through nine, follow the good doctor. Ten through twelve, go with the mad scientist.”
The noise of chairs scraping the floors and loud talking filled the room until everyone found the right team. We set off to explore the camp with Doc Mulholland leading the way.