Charlie Joe Jacksons Guide to Summer Vacation Page 6

  And of course so was Ms. Domerca, in her usual way-too-good mood.

  “Charlie Joe, welcome!” she sang.

  “Hi,” I said back.

  Jack looked at me. “What’s a slacker like you doing in a place of learning like this?”

  I pointed at Ms. Domerca. “She asked me to come, and said I could write about whatever I want.”

  Ms. D. clapped her hands. “Guys, your attention for a second. Charlie Joe has joined us as a columnist. That means he will be writing opinion pieces, as opposed to doing the kind of straight reporting that the rest of you will be doing.”

  Jared gave me the evil eye as usual. “Wait, what? Why does he get to write what he wants?”

  “The rest of you will get a chance to do opinion pieces next week,” said Ms. Domerca. “We’re all part of the same team.”

  Jared stood up. “Well, I’m going to be doing a study of campers’ eating habits at breakfast, and how that affects their ability to do good work at the morning workshops,” he announced. Then he put his arm around Lauren. “And I’ve decided to let Miss Rubin work on it with me.” Lauren, who was apparently missing the part of the brain that recognized obnoxious people, nodded in agreement.

  “Sounds fascinating,” said Ms. Domerca, which made her the only one to feel that way. “How about someone else?” She looked at Jack Strong. “Jack, any ideas for what you’d like to write about?”

  Jack sipped on a soda. “I thought maybe I’d talk to kids about how they deal with the pressure to succeed at such a young age.”

  “Oooh, juicy stuff,” Ms. Domerca said.

  “Maybe you should interview parents,” I told him. “Because they’re the ones stressing kids out about things like what colleges we should go to.”

  Jack’s face got red. “You don’t know anything about my parents,” he said.

  “Who said anything about your parents?” I protested, but I realized he was right. I’d crossed a line. The pressure he felt from his dad must have been intense. Being told to get good grades was one thing. Being told to get into Harvard was another.

  “Sorry, dude,” I told him.

  Ms. Domerca turned to me. “And how about you, Charlie Joe? Have you had a chance to look through the books I gave you? Did you pick one to focus on?”

  The true answer to those questions was no and no, but it didn’t seem like the right time to be truthful. “Absolutely,” I said. Then I reached over to the stack of books and randomly grabbed one. “I thought it would be great to read this.”

  “What a wonderful choice!” Ms. Domerca exclaimed. That made me curious, so I looked at the mystery book I’d chosen. There was a picture of a man on the cover. He had a big smile and a bushy mustache. Then I noticed the title. Lech Walesa: The Road to Democracy.

  Lech Walesa? What was that? A country? A foreign language? Some kind of weird sea monster?

  “Radical choice,” snickered Jared with a nasty grin. “Who IS that dude?”

  “It’s a long story,” I answered, which seemed like the safest answer at the time.

  Thankfully Ms. Domerca jumped in. “Lech Walesa is one of the greatest heroes of the twentieth century,” she announced. “He was a Polish worker who founded the Solidarity Movement, which was very instrumental in bringing about the fall of communism in Eastern Europe.” She smiled at me. “Charlie Joe, you’re in for a fascinating journey. I’m very impressed with your selection. I look forward to seeing how this book helps you craft your first piece for the newspaper. I need it by tomorrow to get in Wednesday’s edition.”

  I tried to smile back. “Awesome.”

  Solidarity? Communism? Eastern Europe?

  Holy moly. What had I gotten myself into?

  Dear Zoe,

  I’m trying to decide why you haven’t written me back yet. I’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities: 1) your pet iguana ate the piece of paper that had my address on it, or 2) your letter got lost in the mail and wound up at some other camp with a similar name, like Camp Eataboogie.

  Seriously, I’m sure you’re having a fantastic and busy summer, but it would be awesome to hear back from you. Is everything okay? I got a letter from Jake that said he hadn’t really seen you around much.

  Right now I’m avoiding reading a book about Lech Walesa, who’s famous for stopping communism and winning the Nobel Peace Prize. If you ask me, though, his greatest accomplishment is his mustache, which is awesome.

  Can’t wait to hear from you!

  CJJ

  19

  “Now’s your chance,” I said to George, elbowing him in the ribs. “Just go talk to her. Man up.”

  We were down at the lake during Water Sports. It was later that afternoon, and I was trying to forget all about Lech Walesa and his annoying book. I figured the best way to do it was to continue my project to help George win Cathy Ruddy’s love.

  George was weird about Cathy. In the cabin with the guys, he made it sound like the two of them were about to get married. But in front of her, he had a habit of forgetting how to talk.

  Cathy was lying on a towel, talking to her friend Samantha, who apparently was some kind of National Spelling Bee champion.

  George looked at them nervously. “Come with me,” he begged me.

  “Nope,” I said. “It’s up to you. You’re ready. This is your time.”

  George took a deep breath, then headed over to Cathy’s towel like he was walking to the principal’s office. I watched as he said something that made Cathy look up and smile. They talked for a second, then George sat down. About ten seconds later, Samantha got up and ran into the water. Cathy stayed with George. Five seconds later, he put his arm around her.

  I watched them, totally impressed with myself. First Jake and Hannah, now George and Cathy. If there were a college scholarship for matchmaking, I’d win it for sure.

  “Charlie Joe! Charlie Joe! Charlie JOE!”

  I turned around and was greeted with a blast of water in my face. After wiping my eyes, I saw Jared standing there with a bucket in his hand, cracking up. Lauren was standing next to him, looking a little embarrassed, as usual.

  “Sorry, man, it just seemed like you needed to get a little wet,” Jared said, still chuckling.

  “You’re right, I did,” I said, wiping my face with a towel. “That actually felt awesome, thanks.”

  “No it didn’t,” Jared insisted.

  Dwayne came marching over. “Jared, what was that about?”

  “Nothing, Dwayne, just having a little fun.”

  Dwayne stared down at Jared. “Well, that’s not the kind of fun we want to be having.”

  “He’s sorry,” Lauren interrupted.

  “Just remember, free time is for relaxation, so let’s all try to get along and enjoy ourselves,” Dwayne said. “Especially since it might not last.”

  We stared at him. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  He nodded up the hill, toward Dr. Mal’s cabin. “I’m hearing rumors that Doc wants to add another workshop before lunch.”

  Aha—so that was the “exciting announcement” Dr. Mal was talking about at the basketball celebration.

  I stamped my foot, which in the sand doesn’t really have any effect. “Another workshop? You can’t be serious!”

  “I couldn’t be serious-er,” Dwayne answered. “It’s been in the works for a while now. Apparently the powers that be are worried that we’ve added too much recreation over the last couple of years, which is turning us into every other camp.” He sat down on a beach chair. “Plus, I hear some of the parents have been complaining, saying that they’re paying a lot of money for an academic camp, but there aren’t enough academics.”

  We all looked at Jack, assuming his dad was the culprit.

  “What?” he said, defensively.

  “Leave Jack alone,” Dwayne said. “It’s just how the world is these days. Hyperintense and hypercompetitive.”

  “But this is crazy,” I moaned. “We’re in class all morning alr
eady!”

  Katie and Nareem heard the commotion and came over. So did a bunch of other kids. The only ones who didn’t seem to notice were George and Cathy, who were too busy staring at each other.

  “What’s going on?” Katie asked.

  “Dr. Mal wants to add another workshop,” I told her. “Which is perfect for me, right, Katie? I mean, since I secretly love reading and writing so much.”

  “Quiet, you,” she said.

  Nareem scratched his head. “I must say, even though I enjoy the workshops very much, I feel there’s currently a perfect balance of studies and recreation.”

  Other kids nodded. Jeremy—the sneezer from my cabin—sneezed in agreement. “God bless you,” said Nareem. He was the only one who still said “Bless you” to Jeremy. The rest of us had decided that, based on the amount of time he spent sneezing, Jeremy was already the most blessed person on the face of the earth.

  Dwayne shrugged. “Dr. Mal runs the place, so if he wants more workshops, we’re going to have more workshops. Or should I say, you guys are going to have more workshops.” He chuckled. “I’ll be at the basketball court, working on my jumper.”

  “Not cool, Dwayne,” I said.

  But he was already halfway up the hill. “Almost time for Quiet Hour, gentlemen,” he yelled back, “and then dinner. At least Dr. Mal still lets you guys eat.”

  “For now,” said Jack, as we trudged back to our cabin. “For now.”

  20

  Dinner was quiet, as we all waited for the announcement we knew was coming. Our whole cabin was sitting together. George had even managed to tear himself away from Cathy. In tough times, you want to be with your buddies.

  I didn’t even have much appetite for dessert, for maybe the first time in my life.

  Finally, the moment of truth. Dr. Mal went up to the microphone.

  “Announcements. Quiet, please, for announcements.” That was a totally unnecessary request, since the place was completely silent. “We have one major announcement this evening.”

  Dr. Mal cleared his throat. “As most of you know, we always strive to keep Camp Rituhbukkee the most satisfying, rewarding camp experience on the planet. Our mission is to prepare our campers for successful, gratifying lives.”

  He paused, as if he were waiting for applause, but there was none. It may have been a camp of nerds, but at a certain point, even they’d had enough.

  “It is crucial that we continue to search for ways to improve our programs. We can’t be afraid of change. In fact, it’s essential, if we’re to survive in these tough times.” He cleared his throat again. “As a result, we have decided to add another academic workshop to our daily schedule. It will be called Extended Workshop, and it will discuss the application of your academic growth to the real world, in order to prepare you not just for school, but for the school of life, which can be graded very harshly.”

  The school of life? What a frightening thought.

  But Dr. Mal wasn’t done. In fact, he’d saved the worst for last. “This new workshop will meet every morning right after breakfast,” he continued, “and the new schedule will result in the elimination of the 11:00 am Free Swim.”

  Wait, WHAT?!?!?

  The entire dining room groaned, but Dr. Mal plowed ahead.

  “Please. I understand your concern, but let’s not rush to judgment. We will continue to have Water Sports in the afternoon. In addition, the new schedule won’t take effect until Friday morning, which gives you several days to get used to the idea. Workshop assignments will be posted in the dining hall before breakfast tomorrow. That’s all for tonight.”

  Dr. Mal put down the microphone and practically sprinted out of the dining hall. It was obvious he knew how unpopular the new plan was, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near us.

  If he knew what was going to end up happening, he probably would have just kept going.

  21

  Usually during the Reading Hour before bed, I did anything but read.

  Sometimes I stared at the wall. Sometimes I counted Jeremy Kim’s sneezes (I think the record for one hour was sixty-two). Sometimes I talked with Nareem, who was on the bunk below me, until he told me to be quiet so he could read.

  But that night, after Dr. Mal’s cruel and shocking announcement, Nareem didn’t feel like talking, the wall didn’t have any interesting stains on it, and Jeremy was too stunned to sneeze.

  So I opened the book with the guy with the big mustache on it. And I started reading.

  Please don’t tell anybody.

  Anyway, it turned out that this guy Lech Walesa wasn’t a very good student and never even went to college. (I liked him right away for that.) He was an electrician in a shipyard in Poland, helping build boats I guess, until one day when he realized that the communist bosses were treating the workers really badly. So he got all the workers to go on strike until the bosses made the working conditions better. When that didn’t work, he got more and more people to agree with the shipyard workers, until practically the whole country was on their side. Eventually, all the people forced out the bad bosses, which was the government, and made Lech Walesa the president of Poland.

  It was a pretty amazing story, actually, even if it was in a book. When it was time for lights out, I realized I’d read like fifty pages! That’s a lot, even for a human computer like George. I put the book away, but I couldn’t fall asleep. I kept thinking about what this guy had done. Somehow he’d convinced a bunch of people to agree with him, to bravely fight against injustice, and they were able to do something about it.

  Suddenly I sat up straight in bed. An idea hit me, an idea so simple I couldn’t believe it.

  I wasn’t Polish, I wasn’t an electrician, and I definitely didn’t have a supercool mustache … but it was time to do my best Lech Walesa imitation.

  I got out my flashlight and started writing.

  22

  The next day, at our Bugle staff meeting, I gave Ms. Domerca my article.

  CAMPERS UNITE!

  By Charlie Joe Jackson

  Yesterday, Dr. Mal announced that he was adding another workshop to the morning schedule, and taking away Free Swim.

  I don’t think that’s fair.

  All of us work very hard here at Camp Rituhbukkee, especially when you compare us to our friends back home, who are hanging around at the beach or in the playground or someplace else that’s fun. We’re already reading and writing way more than a normal kid should have to, especially considering it’s summer.

  Now, we’re being told that we have to work even harder. To me, that makes no sense. Just because all of the kids that go to this camp are smart, doesn’t mean they want to spend twenty-four hours a day doing schoolwork-type activities. No one likes reading THAT much.

  So what are we campers going to do about it? I have an idea.

  I have been reading the book Lech Walesa: The Road to Democracy, which is all about how people who unite together can tell the people who are in charge of them that they’re being unfair, and if they stick together they can make those people stop being unfair.

  That’s what I propose we campers do.

  Let’s stick together. Let’s refuse to go to this extra workshop! Let’s demand more fun activities!

  In the words of Lech Walesa, “We have the right to decide our own affairs, to mold our own future.” I agree! Campers unite!

  The new workshop is supposed to start on Friday. We have two days, my fellow campers. It’s now or never.

  * * *

  Ms. Domerca read it without saying a word. Once in a while, she nodded, but that was about it.

  After she finished, she still didn’t say anything for about a minute.

  Eventually she looked up at me. “Unite together is redundant,” she said. “When people unite, they’re together by definition.”

  “Okay,” I said. “That’s it? Anything else?”

  Another long pause. Then she sighed and shook her head.

  “It’s excellent,” she sa
id finally. “It runs tomorrow.”

  Dear Hannah,

  Camp is almost half over, which is very exciting!

  But that means camp is only half over, which is very annoying.

  How’s your summer going? Please tell Jake I say hi, and then immediately break up with him. Also, tell Zoe to write me back.

  See you soon.

  Charlie Joe

  23

  George Feedleman was a great kid, but he’d developed this annoying habit of combing his hair for, like, ten minutes every morning. He wasn’t the most handsome guy in the world, to be honest with you, but he was really proud of his hair. Way too proud.

  On Wednesday morning, he was taking even longer than usual, and the rest of us were starting to get impatient.

  “Dude, you’re hogging the mirror,” I said. “You look great. Move it along.”

  George ignored me.

  “Come on,” I said.

  “Make up your mind, Charlie Joe,” George said, still staring at himself. “You’re the one who told me there was more to life than studying. That I should get out there and get a girlfriend and live a little. Well, guess what? I’m living.” He gave his reflection a thumbs-up. “And if you don’t mind, I prefer to do my living with excellent hair.”

  I looked at this guy, who’d spent his entire life being the school dork. Now all of a sudden he was acting like he was the man. All because he was going out with Cathy Ruddy—thanks to me, by the way. (Have I mentioned before that I set them up?)

  “Well, whatever,” I said. “Cathy doesn’t like you because of your hair.”

  “She likes you despite your hair,” said Jack, who was sporting a T-shirt that didn’t say a college, for once. It said NORTHRUP DISTRICT YOUTH ORCHESTRA, which was almost as bad.

  “What do you know about hair?” Nareem asked Jack.

  “What do you know about girls?” Jack asked him back.