Like Bug Juice on a Burger (3 page)

I’m not telling you their evil deeds?”

“I promise you, they’re not evil,” my mom said.

“The director was a counselor back in my day.

She’s always been lovely.”

I ignored that.

Then I had a brilliant idea.

“We’ll have a code!” I said.

I came up with one, real quick.

“If I write in one of my letters,

‘I just met Esmeralda,’

then you
must
rescue me.

Got it?”

“If you meet Esmeralda,” my mom said,

“then I rescue you.

Can we finish packing now?”

“Yes,” I said,

feeling much better.

“We can.”

The next morning,

I stood with my parents

in a Brooklyn parking lot,

waiting for the bus to camp.

All around us,

girls were unloading cars

with their families.

A few of them had dogs, too.

Such lovable dogs,

wagging their tails and licking those girls’ faces.

Sometimes girls would see one another across the lot

and scream

and run toward each other

and hug

and jump up and down.

I wanted a friend to run and hug and jump with.

I wanted my best friend, Pearl.

But Pearl goes to Oregon every summer

to visit her grandparents.

I also wanted a dog.

I frowned at my parents,

who kept crushing my dog dreams.

Neither of them noticed.

My mom was chatting with another mom.

And my dad had started walking off.

He stopped and talked to a woman with a clipboard.

She flipped through some papers,

then pointed across the parking lot.

Finally, my dad came back.

“Who was that?” I asked him.

“The head of the junior unit,” he said.

“She says you’re in the Gypsy Moth cabin.”

“Gypsy Moth,” I repeated.

“Isn’t it pretty?”

my mom said.

“I always wanted to be in

Gypsy Moth

when I was a girl.”

“The
name
is pretty,” I said.

“But aren’t gypsy moths ugly?”

“They’re prettier than
cicadas
,” my mom said.

“I was in the Cicada cabin

my first year.

Do you want to hear how creepy

those
bugs are?”

“No!”
my dad said, very quickly.

My mom and I both laughed.

Because it’s funny

how much my dad hates yucky things.

Then he told me,

“I have more news.

Your counselor is already at camp.

She’ll meet you there.

But there’s one other Gypsy Moth camper

getting on this bus.

Her name’s Joplin.”

“Really?” I said.

I’d never heard of anyone named Joplin.

“Really,” my dad said.

“She’s standing over—”

He turned to point,

then stopped and dropped his arm.

“That’s her!” he said in a low voice.

“With the red glasses. Walking right toward us.”

The girl with the red glasses

walking right toward us

was very thin

and very, very tall.

“She’s
nine
?” I said.

She was as tall as a seventh grader!

“Yes, definitely,” my dad said.

“I asked the same thing.”

A second later,

Joplin stopped right in front of us.

My head barely reached

her shoulders.

We all said “Hi” and

“Nice to meet you.”

Then Joplin looked down

at me and said,

“Do you eat chocolate?”

“Sure,” I said.

I waited for her to offer me some.

Because why else would she have asked?

But instead, she said,

“Good.

A girl in my cabin last year said it gave her a rash.

I never liked her.”

“Oh,” I said.

We were all quiet for a second.

I wondered what that girl’s rash looked like.

Then Joplin told me,

“Gypsy Moth is a good cabin.

It’s near the bathroom.

So you won’t get lost if you need to go

in the middle of the night.”

“That’s good,” I said.

I started to imagine

being in my pajamas

lost in the deep, dark woods

with only a flashlight,

scared

and

searching for the bathroom

and

needing to pee.

Then someone called out,

“There it is!”

We all turned

and saw a big silver bus

with a sleek black top

pulling into the lot.

I stepped behind my mom when I saw it.

It was gigantic!

How was I supposed to get on that thing

without either of my parents?

“
You
have to drive me to camp!” I told them then.

“In our car!”

“You know we can’t,” my mom said.

“All campers arrive by bus—that’s the rule.”

“I hate that stupid rule,” I said.

“We’ll pick you up on your last day, though,”

my dad said.

“We can’t wait to see you at camp!”

You’ll have to wait
forever,

I thought.

Because I am
not
getting on that bus.

I am
not
.

I’ll stay
right here
in Brooklyn.

Maybe my dad read my mind.

Because he asked me and Joplin,

“Would you like to sit together on the bus?”

I held my breath.

Of course I wanted to sit with her.

But maybe she wanted to sit with someone else.

Or by herself.

She looked at me.

Sunlight bounced off her red glasses.

“Want to?” she asked.

“Sure,” I answered.

Then the head of the junior unit shouted,

“Time to load up!”

“We’ll meet you at the bus,” my mom told Joplin,

“after you say good-bye to your parents.”

“OK,” Joplin said.

And she walked off

the way she’d come.

“Let’s get this trunk on the bus,” my dad said.

He took one end,

and my mom took the other.

I grabbed my backpack.

As we all crossed the lot toward the bus,

my heart started beating faster.

I hurried to catch up to my dad.

The trunk wobbled a little

as I took his hand.

I could tell it wasn’t easy

for him to walk

holding the trunk with one hand

and me with the other.

But still,

he held my hand tight

until the very last second.

Then both my parents

hugged me

and kissed me

and reminded me to wear sunscreen and bug spray.

“Don’t forget to reapply!” my mom said,

with her hands on my shoulders.

“It wears off!”

“I promise,” I told her.

Suddenly, the head of the junior unit was shouting,

“All aboard!”

And Joplin was waiting beside me.

My mom kissed my head

one last time

before letting me go.

Then,

feeling very small,

I followed tall Joplin

onto the humongous bus.