Cartboy Goes to Camp (2 page)

Then I took a closer look.

Standing by a log cabin was an old guy with a beard that came to a sharp point at the end.

“Um. Exactly what kind of camp is this, Dad?”

“The best camp in the world, that's what kind. You get to live like a real pioneer!” My dad started flipping through the brochure, pointing to pictures of pine trees and cabins and outhouses. “Hardly anything has changed at Camp Jamestown since the 1600s! It's woodsy and rustic and there's wildlife everywhere. One time, I even saw a bear!”

“Dad,” I said, wiping a gob of sweat off my forehead. “I
so
appreciate your kind offer. But, um, for the sake of our family and the meager-to-nonexistent funds you earn from fixing appliances for a living, I will generously decline. For you and Mom and the twins, I'll stay home.”

With that, I attempted to walk away.

“Nice try, mister. Get back here.”

I turned back, and that's when I noticed the humongous bag on the floor. It was open on one end, and a spider the size of a
hockey puck
crawled out.

“Shoo,” said my dad, waving away the spider. “Guess he couldn't resist making a home out of this beauty.”

The “beauty” was a mold-covered, army-green duffel bag my dad had somehow dragged up from the basement.

“This was my pack when I went to Camp Jamestown. And before that, it was Grampa Janson's army bag. Check it out. It's filled with supplies!”

My dad reached inside the bag and started pulling stuff out. “Ah yes, the old canteen. My trusty shovel. Bow and arrow. Ax. Sewing kit. Oooh! My yarn spindle!”

Sewing kit? Yarn spindle?

“These precious heirlooms helped me win Pioneer Day. Look at the beadwork on this fabric. I made a bald eagle. Very sacred to the Powhatan Indians. But you'll learn all about that. Starting tomorrow.”

“T-tomorrow?”

“The bus leaves first thing in the morning.”

My dad went over the checklist of stuff every camper was supposed to bring. “Good thing I saved almost everything on the list,” he said. “No frivolous shopping for us!”

I stared at all the “precious heirlooms” and couldn't help but think, Here we go again.

It wasn't enough that my dad made me carry my books to school in an old-lady cart for most of sixth grade. Now he was going to make me be the weird kid at camp too. The kid with the stuff his dad thinks is “priceless.” But everyone else knows is junk. Even the sleeping bag was full of holes.

“Dad,” I said as a last-ditch effort. “This duffel bag is way too heavy for me. Remember what you said about bad backs running in the family…”

“I've already thought of that. You can carry the bag in your cart!”

I looked down at the duffel bag by my feet and couldn't help but wish there were something else inside it.

Not a shovel. Or a bow and arrow. Or a yarn spindle.

But a molecular modifier. Like the kind I saw on the TV show
Gadgets of the Future.
It transports you anywhere in time you want to go.

They said everyone in the distant future will have one. Which brings me to the question I always seem to be asking you.

You don't have one handy, do you?

 

The Bus

Dear Future Being Who I'm Praying Is Still Reading This:

The bus to camp left at eight in the morning. It was parked outside the Stowfield Historical Society, about a two-minute drive from our house. I guess they figured the Historical Society was a good meeting place. Seeing as how we were all headed on a “journey to the colonial past.”

My whole family drove me to the bus, and when we got there, I thought I better say “so long” right away. Probably best to get it over with, since I'm not a big one for good-byes. That, and I felt like if I waited too long, I'd start blubbering like an idiot.

I turned to give my mom a hug good-bye.

“I packed some extra clothes in the duffel bag for you,” she said. “You know, warm stuff, an extra toothbrush, your dinosaur underwear—”

“Mom. I haven't worn those dinosaur underwear in six years!”

“But they're so cute…”

I turned to get on the bus, and who was standing right in front of me?

Yep. Arnie. He had come to see me off.

“Good luck, bro. If I get to Level 15 on
RavenCave,
I'll give you a call,” he said.

“No phones,” my dad chimed in.

“I'll e-mail.”

“Not allowed,” my dad said with a smile.

“I'll write?”

My dad looked at Arnie and nodded yes. “But try to use a quill pen.”

Arnie whispered into my ear. “Look on the bright side, Hal. You won't be anywhere near Ryan Horner.”

I had to admit Arnie had a point. Ryan Horner was convinced I told Mr. Tupkin he cheated on the history final. Which I didn't. But that didn't stop Ryan from giving me his famous Sweatpants Wedgie in the locker room on the last day of school.

Suddenly the bus to camp didn't seem so terrible.

“Seven hours to Jamestown, Virginia,” said the driver over the loudspeaker. “All aboard.”

I waved good-bye to my family, walked on the bus, and grabbed a seat. I was pretty surprised to see the seats were soft and velvety. And there was another bonus—something I don't experience often: real air-conditioning.