Like Bug Juice on a Burger (7 page)

“It’s really just fruit punch,” she said.

“Camp calls it bug juice.”

I got an image in my head

of the blood and guts that gush out

when some bugs are squished.

“That’s
disgusting
,” I said,

handing her the jar.

She shrugged and said,

“It tastes fine.”

But I was still disgusted.

I looked down at my plate.

Nothing looked good.

“When’s snack?” I asked Joplin.

“I’ll be so ready for M&M’s.”

“M&M’s?”

She looked at me funny.

“There are no M&M’s.

Wallumwahpuck is candy-free.

Always has been. It’s a tradition.”

“Candy-free?” I said.

It
couldn’t
be.

I couldn’t believe

I wasn’t going to get

a single M&M.

My friend Katie’s camp had given her
millions
!

“So what’s for snack?” I asked.

“Frozen fruit bars,” she said.

“And gluten-free cookies.”

I dropped my fork on my plate.

This was even worse than my flying fall.

I’ve got to get out of here, I thought.

I really do.

After lunch and a camp tour

we all stood on the dock,

barefoot and in our swimsuits,

waiting for the swim test.

The wood was rough beneath my feet,

and the sun beat on my shoulders.

Straight through my sunscreen.

My stomach hurt, too.

And not just from hunger.

I’d never had a swim test before.

I didn’t even swim very often.

My parents had made me take lessons,

and we’d gone together to the pool on weekends.

But it was always very crowded

with bigger, rougher kids

jumping and throwing things.

So we’d never stayed long.

Now,

as my face soaked up sun,

I worried.

“What if I fail the test?” I asked Joplin.

“Nobody fails,” Joplin said.

“You get put in a baby group,” Dylan said.

“Not a
baby
group,” Joplin said.

“Just a group for beginners.”

“Same thing,” Dylan said.

What a
meanie
! I thought.

I wanted Joplin to lift one foot

and squash her.

A lifeguard in a red bikini blew her whistle then.

“Here’s how the test goes,” she said.

“Swim to the other dock and back

three times

without stopping.

Show me three different strokes.”

She broke us into groups of two.

I swam last, with curly-haired Kylie.

We jumped into the deep lake together.

I kicked my way up for air, fast,

and gasped.

That water was freezing!

So
much colder than the pool.

I could feel my lips turn blue.

The water was muddy, too,

which felt gross against my skin.

And I couldn’t see a thing as I swam.

Plus, Kylie kicked me hard

when we were getting started.

I knew it was an accident.

But still.

It hurt.

Then,

doing the back crawl,

I bumped my head on the dock.

And,

doing the front crawl,

I forgot how to breathe.

Finally, I pulled myself out of the freezing lake

and back onto the dock.

I stood there shivering and dripping

as the lifeguard told us how we’d done.

Then it was official.

I was the worst swimmer in Gypsy Moth.

“You’ll be in the Guppies swim class,”

she told me.

And only me.

Guppies were the second-lowest class,

next to Tadpoles.

A
baby
class.

Everyone else in my cabin was an Angel Fish

or a Shark

or a Great White Whale.

“She can’t do breaststroke
at all
,”

I heard Dylan whisper to Kylie.

“She practically can’t
swim
at all,”

Kylie whispered back.

I wanted to sneeze on their arms.

But I didn’t have a sneeze in me.

I stepped away from them instead

and tried to hide in Joplin’s long shadow.

The lifeguard still saw me, though.

“If Guppies want to go on the

floating trampoline,”

she told me,

“they need to wear a life jacket.”

A life jacket! I thought.

That’s like wearing a diaper!

Joplin turned to me.

“Life jackets aren’t bad,” she said.

“They’re puffy.”

I tried to smile a little,

because I knew she was being nice.

But it was hard to do.

We walked together off the dock.

Dirt stuck to the bottoms of my wet feet.

And,

when I reached for my towel,

I saw a mosquito on my arm,

sucking my blood.

I slapped it,

to kill it,

and it smushed into my skin.

I had to wipe the dead parts off with my hand

because I didn’t have a tissue.

My poor hand.

Still scraped up at the bottom

and now smeared with bug parts

at the top.

Hope gave each of us paper and pencil

that night at dinner.

“What’s this for?” Joplin asked.

“A special project,”

Hope said.

“We have a baby goat in the barn.

We just adopted him from a local farm.

He needs a name.

So every camper gets to submit three choices.

The farm staff will vote for their favorite.

That’ll be the name of the goat.”

“Forever?” curly-haired Kylie said.

“Forever,” Hope said.

We all sat down then.