I don’t know if any of us got much shut-eye that night. We made an emergency survival plan to stay up in shifts and keep an eagle eye out for any sneak attacks, because we were sure one was on the way.
I stayed up with Tunz from ten until one in the morning, but nothing happened. Then we woke up Smurf and Dweebs so we could get some sleep—but that didn’t happen either.
Mostly, I just lay there in my bunk, trying to imagine how bad this might get. And as you know, I have some imagination. Plus, let’s face it, the Bobcats were some of the meanest bullies ever.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I got up to take a walk. I told the guys I was going to the latrine, and if I didn’t come back in fifteen minutes, they should assume the worst: dead meat down—bleeding from every pore and orifice.
But I wasn’t actually headed to the latrine. I figured it was time to have a serious talk with the Big Guy. And I don’t mean Major Sherwood.
The camp chapel was just a tent on the side of the main building. That’s where we had services on Sundays, and even though I’m not exactly an expert, I did like sitting in there on Sundays, thinking about how I’m part of the Big Something Else.
That’s what Grandma Dotty calls it. She says it includes anything you can think of—the sky, the stars, the woods, the lake. But also people, like my family and Jeanne Galletta and Ms. Donatello back in Hills Village and all of the Muskrats. Even the Bobcats, I guess. Grandma says if you can look at everything like one gigantic whole thing, then your problems might not seem so big anymore.
Like Doolin, for instance. He may have been the world’s biggest dip-wad, but it’s not like you could see him from space.
I think that’s what Grandma’s talking about when she calls it the Big Something Else. Like that’s how the Big Guy upstairs sees everything. (I mean… maybe. What do I know?)
Either way, I figured we needed all the help we could get. That’s why I went to the chapel in the first place. I wasn’t really sure what to ask for, or even how to start, so I just covered everything I could think of and hoped someone was listening.
It couldn’t hurt, right? I mean, I wasn’t ready to be dead meat up in heaven or someplace much less desirable. Y’know, like dead meat on an open flame.
Okay, this is my prayer—“Rafe’s Prayer.”
“Dear God in Heaven… Is it okay to call you that? Anyway, it’s me, Rafe. Khatchadorian. How’s it going up there?
“Things aren’t going too good down here. I was kind of hoping you could do something about it, if that’s not too much to ask.
“I mean, I know you can do anything. But if you could watch out for me and my friends, I think we’re going to need it. Another thing: I don’t exactly understand why you had to create bullies. Of course, that’s your call.
“And as long as we’re talking, could you please take extra-special care of Mom and Grandma? And yeah, okay, my sister, Georgia, too. I guess. If you feel like it. She’s not a bad person. Just annoying. Actually, I kind of like her. Don’t tell anybody, especially Georgia.
“So, thanks for everything. Except maybe Doolin. And broccoli. I’m not sure what you were thinking there, but I guess you know what you’re doing.
“By the way, I hope you can hear me. I don’t really know how this works. I’m not even sure you speak English.
“Habla español? That’s okay, me neither.
“Is this thing on?”