Cartboy Goes to Camp Page 2

  “Let’s get up close.”

  “That’s okay, Vinny,” I started to say. But Vinny and I got caught up in the crowd, and before we knew it, we were two feet in front of Mr. Prentice.

  “I’d like to begin your Jamestown experience,” he said, “by asking ye a simple question: What is the best way to learn history?”

  For reasons I can’t begin to understand, he pointed right at me.

  “You. Young man. What do you think is the best way to learn history?”

  I racked my brain to think of what I learned in Mr. Tupkin’s class last year. But when it comes to history stuff, my mind pretty much goes blank.

  “Um, flashcards?” I said.

  “Try again.”

  “The Discovery Channel?”

  “No.”

  “YouTube?”

  “Christopher Lord of Columbus! What is your name?”

  “Hal Rifkind, sir.”

  “Mr. Rifkind. The best way to learn history is to live it! Every day. And that’s exactly what ye shall do here.”

  Mr. Prentice pulled a small scroll out of his coat and unrolled it. “Now, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Life at Jamestown in the year 1607 wasn’t easy. The settlers suffered hard weather. Severe food shortages. And battles with the Powhatan Indians.”

  He took a few steps toward us, but his foot got caught on a rock. “Ow. And these shoes weren’t doing them any favors. But just because this is a history camp doesn’t mean we can’t do lots of fun and kid-friendly activities!”

  “And the best part,” said Mr. Prentice, “is these daily activities will prepare ye for Pioneer Day. A competition on the second-to-last day of camp that includes all the main aspects of pioneer survival. Food, clothing, shelter—”

  A girl’s hand shot up. “Mr. Prentice,” she said. “Will the bow-and-arrow portion of the competition be worth six points again this year?”

  “Yes, Cora, it will.”

  The girl was about my age, and she had a dark ponytail that went all the way down her back. She was holding a shiny bow and arrow, and the way she handled the thing, it looked like she could take out a sparrow from about thirty yards away.

  She caught me looking at her and she smiled right at me.

  I did what anyone would do when someone holding a bow and arrow smiles at them.

  I smiled back.

  “Finally, campers,” said Mr. Prentice, “as part of Pioneer Day, the whole camp will compete in a favorite game of my ancestors. Tug-of-war!”

  Mr. Prentice told us we’d be learning more about the tug-of-war later. And we’d also hear all about his ancestors, starting with his great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, “the original Sam Prentice,” who came to Jamestown from England.

  “Now, quickly,” said Mr. Prentice, “before it gets dark. Let’s divide ye into groups by last names, and meet thy counselors.”

  Vinny and I spotted a picnic table for kids whose last names began with R through Z. By the time we reached it, one boy was already there.

  “Scot Taylor,” said the kid.

  I reached out my hand.

  “Wait. Hold on. Sorry.” The kid pulled a bottle of Purell out of his pocket and smothered his hands with it.

  “I’m pretty sure they didn’t have that in the 1600s,” I said.

  “And it’s half the reason they died. Disease.” Scot aimed the bottle at me. “Want some?”

  “Uh, sure,” I said, taking the bottle. I didn’t want to hurt the kid’s feelings. Or get scurvy. Or the plague.

  While Vinny, Scot, and I were standing there, a little kid walked up to the picnic table. He couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. “Hi, guys,” he said in a voice that sounded like a duck on a cartoon. “I’m Perth Wallace. If it’s okay with you, I call the bottom bunk.”

  We all nodded yes.

  “Thanks,” said Perth. “It’s just that the bottom bunk is a little closer to the outhouses. And I’m still working on some, uh, issues.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder why Perth’s parents would send him to sleepaway camp, let alone one with outhouses and no electricity.

  A tall skinny guy with long hair walked up to our table. He was about seventeen and was wearing the same T-shirt as all the other counselors.

  “Hello, men. I’m Theo. We’ll be in Cabin Two. Down by the pond. Why don’t you guys eat the rest of the meals you brought from home. Then head over to the cabin to unpack. I’m going to grab some supplies, and I’ll see you there in a minute.”

  As soon as we finished eating, everyone raced off to Cabin 2. I tried to keep up with them. But the wheels of my cart got stuck in the dirt.

  “Uhhh, uhhh.” I grunted and groaned, trying to get the wheels unstuck.

  “Need some help there, Cartboy?”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I turned to face the person who was talking.

  Six feet tall, 180 pounds, most of it muscle.

  As Ryan Horner’s squinty eyes bore a hole right through me, three other words about Camp Jamestown came to mind.

  Must. Escape. Now.

  Cabin 2

  Dear Alien Who I’m Praying Can Get Me Out of Here:

  I tried to back up. To take tiny steps away from Ryan Horner. But I didn’t get far. My back bumped into a knotty pine tree right behind me.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Cartboy?”

  “T-t-to the uh…”

  “I’ll tell you where you’re going. You’re going to listen to me. And you’re going to listen good.”

  I turned my ears toward Ryan and squinted my eyes half-closed. As if somehow that would help.

  “The only reason I’m at this dump is because of you. Because you were the one who told on me for cheating on the history test.”

  I thought about telling Ryan how it wasn’t me who told on him. How the only reason I was talking with Mr. Tupkin at the end of the year was to find out my history grade.

  But then I remembered the Sweatpants Wedgie.

  My mouth stayed shut.

  Ryan leaned in so close to me, I could feel his breath on my face. “My parents sent me to this camp as punishment. So what I’m going to do is punish you. You will be my personal slave. You will do whatever I tell you to do. The whole time we’re here.”

  “W-won’t p-people think it’s weird that I’m your slave?”

  “As far as you’re concerned, Cartboy, I have a twisted ankle. I’ll need to rest the whole time. In that hammock by my cabin.”

  He pointed to a run-down-looking cabin at the edge of camp, near some dark and creepy woods. Behind the cabin, a hammock was tied between two trees.

  The sun was starting to set, and the tree branches cast so many black shadows over the hammock, it looked like a horror movie.

  “One last thing,” said Ryan, pulling my collar up to my chin. “If you tell anyone, I’ll give you another wedgie. And this time, your underwear is going to come out your ears.”

  Ryan loosened his grip on my collar. I took that as a sign to get out of there. Fast.

  I ran all the way to Cabin 2 without stopping once. Even though I was shaking like a wet poodle and my old-lady cart was squeaking behind me the entire way.

  I sprinted inside the cabin door and sat on the first bunk bed I saw. I must have been shaking pretty hard because Scot leaned over the top bunk and said, “What’s the matter, Hal?”

  “N-nothing. It’s just that, I ran into a big, ugly, hairy, um … spider.”

  “Did you touch it?” he asked, holding out the Purell.

  “If it makes you feel any better, Hal, I’m scared of spiders too.” Perth was unpacking his bag onto the bottom bunk next to mine. “Spiders, ants, beetles. Just looking at a bug gives me diarrhea.”

  He placed a pile of NightTime diapers on the table between our beds. “Feel free to borrow them if you like.”

  I sat there trying to catch my breath, and for the first time, I had a look around Cabin 2.

  The ceiling and f
loors were made of splintery, jagged logs, and the walls were some sort of combination of dirt and sticks. Mostly, the whole cabin was so old, you could practically see through the cracks to the outside.

  Let’s just say it was pretty breezy in there.

  I spotted Vinny in the corner, sitting on the floor with his map. He looked up at Scot, Perth, and me. “You’re all going to need to calm down,” he said. “You need your nerves for the treasure hunt.”

  “Treasure?” yelled Scot.

  “What treasure?” asked Perth.

  “It was buried by Mr. Prentice’s ancestor, Sam Prentice,” Vinny said.

  “You mean the guy who first came here off the ship?” asked Scot.

  “Yes. I found a page of his diary in the camp museum a few years ago. He buried pearls so he could use them to trade with the Indians.”

  Vinny pointed to a spot on the map, behind the Museum of Colonial Artifacts. “I‘ve searched the whole camp, except this one place. The treasure has to be buried there.”

  “I’ve got a brand-new shovel,” said Scot, pointing to his camp pack. “Count me in. The first thing I’m buying with the treasure money is tickets to One Direction.”

  “I’m in too,” Perth said to Vinny. “I’ve got a whole list of stuff I want to buy. Three-speed bike, mood ring, Rainbow Loom, Pop Rocks, Fiddle Faddle, Double Stuf Oreos…”

  Perth listed about a thousand things, and the whole time he was talking, he was rubbing his stomach. When he finished his list, he let go a huge fart. “Ooof. Maybe a little Pepto too,” he said.

  Meanwhile, I sat there listening. And seeing the profits diminishing before my eyes.

  I sat down next to Vinny and whispered in his ear. “What about all the money? If we let Scot and Perth hunt with us, we’ll have to divide it by four. I don’t know about you, but I’m guessing one quarter of a scooter is not that easy to ride.”

  “I hear you, Hal,” said Vinny. “Dividing the treasure four ways will be less money for us. And Scot and Perth do seem a little, um, high-strung. But this time, I’m not going home without it. We need all the help we can get.”

  I had to admit, Vinny had a point. We didn’t have much time to hunt. There were so many activities and chores.

  “So what do you say, guys?” said Vinny. “All in for the treasure hunt?”

  Scot, Perth, Vinny, and I made a four-way handshake. “Let’s just make sure no one else knows,” I said. “It’ll be our secret—”

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  We all turned to see Theo walk into the cabin. “I was helping that Ryan Horner kid. I guess he hurt his foot.”

  Theo put his duffel bag on one of the beds. “Shouldn’t you guys be unpacking?”

  Everyone emptied their bags, and Cabin 2 suddenly looked like the camping aisle at Denby’s, filled with brand-new sleeping bags, LED flashlights, and shiny titanium mess kits and tools and shovels.

  With no other choice, I grabbed the bottom of my bag and tried to turn it upside down. Theo must have seen how heavy it was, because he jumped in to help.

  “Sorry, Theo,” I said, attempting to pick up my dad’s leaden ax and Grampa Janson’s “World War II Edition” flashlight.

  “No worries. Looks like you’ve got some nice antiques in there.”

  “If by antiques you meant stuff that’s been in my family since the dinosaur age, then yes.”

  “I’ve got a family heirloom too.” Theo reached in his bag and pulled out an old feathered cap. “This was my grandfather’s. It’s irreplaceable.”

  “Are you sure? Because I saw one just like it in the costume section at Bargain Basement.”

  “Ha. You’re funny, Hal.”

  The thing is, I wasn’t trying to be funny. I just didn’t see how a dusty old cap could be so valuable. Especially one with a hole in the top. And loose threads everywhere.

  While everyone put most of their gear under their beds, Theo explained that we would have to get up around 6 A.M. for breakfast. And that we needed to start practicing for Pioneer Day right away.

  Then he told us how it works.

  “Up to six points are awarded for each activity. But instead of points, Mr. Prentice uses little Pilgrim hats. A few of the activities, like the bow-and-arrow contest and the tug-of-war, are worth up to six hats. The cabin with the most hats wins.”

  Theo quickly unpacked his duffel bag and lay down in his bed. “We better get some sleep,” he said.

  “Do we really have to get up at six?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Oh good,” I said with a big sigh of relief.

  “Mr. Prentice blows the gourd at five forty-five A.M.”

  The Pioneer Life

  Dear Possible Owner of a Real Working Time Machine:

  One thing I learned pretty quickly at Camp Jamestown is that 5:45 A.M. means 5:45 A.M.

  And not a minute later.

  DOO DO DO LOOO!

  The sound of Mr. Prentice’s gourd nearly knocked me out of my bunk.

  Vinny, Scot, Perth, and I stumbled out of bed and followed Theo to the dining hall. I was pretty surprised we made it there. Considering our eyes were half-closed. And Perth had put his shoes on the wrong feet.

  We sat at a long wooden table, next to a bunch of girls from Cabin 6, and looked around to see what we were going to eat. I was hoping for something hot and yummy. Like a waffle with whipped cream. Or a cinnamon Dunk-a-Roo.

  But breakfast was just like the rest of camp.

  I sat there wondering if it was legal to serve kids glue, when suddenly I heard a voice in my ear.

  “Cartboy, get me some food.”

  And then, another voice.

  “Shee if you can find shum shaushages shumwhere.”

  I looked up to see not just Ryan, but another kid standing next to him. The kid was even bigger than Ryan, and he was missing about five teeth.

  “And shhhhtep on it, Cartboy,” he said.

  I tapped Vinny on the shoulder and pointed behind me. “Who’s that?”

  “Ninth-grader. Billy Bendigan. They call him Billy the Bully.”

  “What happened to his teeth?”

  “I heard he lost them in a fight at school. Apparently it involved two fists, a rolled-up gym towel, and an algebra textbook. Let’s just say you do not want anything to do with him.”

  Ryan shoved his plate in my face. “Get goin’, Cartboy.”

  I walked to the other side of the dining room, filled up Billy’s and Ryan’s plates, and brought them back to their table.

  “Ooh, thank you, Cartboy,” said Ryan in a fake, singsongy voice. “I really wish I could have gotten it myself. But, ouch, my ankle hurts sooo much.”

  With that, Ryan and Billy fell on themselves laughing.

  Ryan and Billy stopped laughing when Mr. Prentice appeared at the dining hall door.

  He was wearing the same wool coat as the day before, and he had the gourd tucked under his arm. “Good morrow, Jamestown settlers!” he yelled. “Two minutes till thy first activity! Gather ye in the clearing.”

  All the kids finished eating and walked over to the far side of the clearing. There was a pile of logs about ten feet high, and Mr. Prentice was standing in front of it.

  “Now,” he said, grabbing a log off the pile. “Who can tell me the first thing the settlers did when they arrived in Jamestown, Virginia?”

  Once again, for reasons I can’t begin to understand, he pointed right at me. “Mr. Rifkind. What do you think the settlers did first?”

  “Um, went to the bathroom?”

  “Try again.”

  “Took a nap?”

  “No.”

  “Had a snack?”

  “Mother of Moccasins! Mr. Rifkind, the answer is build shelters! The settlers needed a place to live. So they cut down trees to make wood for their cabins. Today, ye shall do the same.”

  While the counselors handed out axes, Mr. Prentice explained how the settlers made their homes.

  “They used a system call
ed wattle and daub,” he said. “The wattle was a frame made of thin strips of wood. The daub was the wall, made of soil and clay. A thick wooden frame held the wattle and daub together.”

  Theo handed out a few axes and started going over the rules of ax safety. He told us we needed to hold the ax at arm’s length at all times. And keep the sheath on when we weren’t using it. But I was hardly listening.

  I was watching Cora pull a piece of wood off the pile. Judging by the size of her biceps, I was pretty sure she could wattle and daub a baseball stadium.

  Once again, Cora saw me looking at her. Except this time, she took it as a sign to walk up to me and start talking.

  “I wish the guy who built my cabin had known how to cut wood straight. It’s like the Tunnel of Wind at Great Adventure,” she said.

  “Except you don’t have to wait on line for ninety minutes.”

  Cora stepped even closer to me. “I’m guessing this is your first time here. I could show you how to chop wood. Seeing as how you’re a rookie and all.”

  “N-no thanks. I’m good. A good axer. Excellent chopper. First-rate.”

  “Great. Let’s have a race. On your mark, get set, go!”

  Cora grabbed some logs and raised her ax. With no other choice, I did the same. And before I knew it, there was a lot of fast and furious chopping.

  CHOP CHOP CHOP

  CHOP CHOP CHOP

  CHOP CHOP CHOP

  Sadly, it was all done by Cora.

  My ax pretty much got stuck in a log on the first swing. I never did get it out.

  After a couple of hours, Mr. Prentice came by to check on our progress. He examined Cora’s nicely cut logs, piled in a neat stack.

  “Four hats for thee!”