Charlie Joe Jacksons Guide to Summer Vacation Read online

“A lot more than you,” Nareem responded.

  “So you’re the big expert now?” answered Jack.

  Nareem ended the conversation by snapping his towel at Jack.

  Jack re-started the conversation by smearing toothpaste on Nareem’s underwear.

  “Cut it out!” Nareem hollered.

  There was a bang on the wall. “Would you kindergartners give it a rest for once?” Dwayne yelled. I think it was the first time Dwayne had ever yelled at anyone besides me.

  I was so proud of them.

  Dwayne came into the main room. “Jackson.”

  I put down my Lech Walesa book, which for some reason I was taking a quick look at before breakfast. “What’s up?”

  “I got a call this morning. Dr. Mal wants to see you in his office after breakfast.”

  “What about?”

  Dwayne shrugged. “I don’t know, but getting summoned by the big man is never a good thing.”

  George wandered in, looking like Justin Bieber’s nerdy cousin.

  “What’s up, Charlie Joe?”

  “Don’t know. Mal wants to see me.”

  George put his various hair items back in his trunk. “Well, I’ll come with you. No one goes to see Dr. Mal alone.”

  Kenny Sarcofsky, who never said anything unless it was to talk about the healing powers of garlic, nodded and said, “I’ll come, too.”

  The rest of the guys all nodded their heads, too.

  “We’ll all go,” said Nareem.

  “Totally,” said Jack.

  I shook my head. “Nah, I got this.”

  I wasn’t sure I had anything, to tell you the truth. Except the guys in the cabin. I knew I had them.

  It was a good feeling.

  24

  At breakfast, I noticed three things right away.

  The first was the copy of the Bukkee Bugle that sat on top of everyone’s plates.

  The second was that the dining room was a lot quieter than usual.

  And the third thing was the reason for the silence. Everyone was reading my article, which was at the top of the front page.

  George was reading it with his mouth open.

  When he finished, he said one word.

  “Wow.”

  “Wow, what?” I asked him.

  “Wow, this is awesome.”

  “Thanks.”

  He shook his head. “You’ve got nerve, Charlie Joe, I’ll give you that much.”

  I was starting to thank him when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up to see Dwayne smiling down at me, holding a copy of the paper.

  “Dang,” was all he said, then he walked away.

  He was just the first. During the entire breakfast, kids and counselors came up to me in a steady stream, saying one of two things: I was awesome or I was crazy. Sometimes both.

  Katie was one of the last to come talk to me.

  “I really liked your article,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  “See you later.”

  “See ya.”

  I watched her walk back to her table, and kept watching as she said something to Nareem. Then he laughed, she smiled, and he put his arm around her shoulder.

  Just like a real couple.

  * * *

  “Announcements!”

  Dr. Mal’s shorts were shorter than ever as he took the podium.

  “Today after lunch, there will be a meeting to help prepare the study materials for our Overnight Adventure next week to Old Bridgetown and the Little Yellow Schoolhouse. Anyone who’s interested please meet at Workshop Cabin 3, where Dr. Kretzler will be supervising.”

  Kids started murmuring excitedly. I’d already heard something about the Overnight Adventure, which was supposedly the big event during the last weekend of camp. Everyone talked about it like it was this awesome thing, but I wasn’t sure how a trip to a school could be awesome. It kind of sounded like the opposite.

  “Also,” continued Dr. Mal, “we’re very much looking forward to our first morning of Extended Workshop, which you’ll remember is in two days.”

  The room got very quiet.

  Dr. Mal looked around the room, then stared at me. “This is something that we’ve been planning for a long time, and I have no doubt that once our new schedule is up and running, it will be just the latest in a long line of wonderful changes that have helped make Camp Rituhbukkee the preeminent academic camp in America.”

  He stopped. All the kids turned and looked at me, as if they expected me to get up and lead a protest, but I couldn’t do it. It’s one thing to write an article. It’s another thing to stand up to the camp director in person.

  You would need to be Lech Walesa to do that.

  25

  Dr. Mal’s office was on the top floor of the dining hall. Climbing the stairs behind him, I felt nervous, but I tried to look on the bright side—I was missing First Workshop.

  When we got to his room, I was surprised to see Ms. Domerca sitting there.

  “Have a seat,” Dr. Mal said to me, pointing at a chair.

  I sat.

  He sat down, too. Then he leaned back in his chair and twirled his pen for about a minute. Finally he sat straight up and stared at me.

  “I love students like you, Charlie Joe,” he said. “I really do. I admire your intellectuality, curiosity, and independent thinking. It’s the first step toward leading a fulfilling life.”

  He stopped, and I waited. Surely he didn’t call me in here to compliment me on my “intellectuality,” whatever that was.

  “Here’s the thing, though,” he continued. “This camp has an advisory board, with over three hundred years of combined experience in education. Your parents pay us to make thorough and thoughtful decisions, which benefit the welfare of the children. You have to trust me on this one. The decision to create Extended Workshop was not something we took lightly, and I would appreciate your support.”

  I didn’t want to look at Dr. Mal, so I looked over his head and at the wall, where there were about six thousand diplomas from six thousand colleges in six thousand frames.

  “What do you mean by ‘support’?” I asked.

  “Well,” said Dr. Mal, “it would be great if for Friday’s edition of the newspaper you wrote an article about how you’re willing to give Extended Workshop a chance, before passing judgment on it.”

  I looked at Ms. Domerca. “Is that what you want me to do?”

  “Ms. Domerca and I have discussed it,” said Dr. Mal before she could answer. She looked at her feet, and suddenly I felt bad for her. I figured she probably got in trouble for picking up the pizzas at the basketball game, and I’m sure Dr. Mal didn’t love the fact that she published my column. She wasn’t really in a situation to argue with him about anything.

  I took a deep breath and looked at Ms. D again. She nodded a little sadly.

  “Okay,” I said to Dr. Mal.

  Dr. Mal jumped out of his chair and shook my hand. “Good news, Charlie Joe. I really appreciate your flexibility on this one. That’s just terrific. If you hurry, you can still make the rest of First Workshop.”

  We were heading out the door when we both realized that Ms. Domerca was still sitting in her chair.

  “Are you coming?” Dr. Mal asked her.

  She sat there for a second, then slowly shook her head. “Actually, no. Something doesn’t feel quite right about this.”

  Dr. Mal stared at her. “I’m sorry?”

  Ms. Domerca got up and stared at the same wall I had, with all the framed diplomas. “You’re a brilliant man, Malcolm,” she said. “Surely you understand how important it is to endorse freedom of expression in our students. And how dangerous it would be to try to censor them, at this impressionable time.”

  “That’s not the point,” said Dr. Mal.

  “I think it is the point,” said Ms. Domerca. “I’m ashamed at myself for almost going along with this. Charlie Joe, you write whatever you want. And frankly, I think you make a very good point. I’m not convince
d we need this extra workshop.” She turned to look at Dr. Mal. “I think the kids at this camp—kids like Jared Bumpers, who’s trying to live up to his brother’s brilliance, and Jack Strong, who’s spent his entire middle school career molding himself into the perfect college applicant—could use a little more swimming and splashing and running and jumping and just general fun.”

  She strode toward the door. “Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m late. Charlie Joe, I’ll see you in Third Workshop.”

  And she left.

  Dr. Mal slowly sat back down in his chair, staring into space.

  “Um, I’m gonna go,” I said. And I walked out, leaving him sitting there with a very annoyed look on his face.

  Dr. Mal might have six thousand diplomas, but I was pretty sure he just got schooled.

  Dear Charlie Joe,

  Thanks for writing! I hope you’re doing okay! I know that you’re not exactly loving camp, and I feel bad for you. But maybe by the time you get this, things will be a little better, and anyway, it will be almost time for you to come home. Everyone will be very happy to see you, especially me!

  Jake and I were talking about maybe throwing a welcome-home party for you, Katie, and Nareem. Do you think that would be fun? Speaking of Katie and Nareem, I got a letter from her that said she and Nareem were kind of going out! Is that really true? That is so cool! You must be so psyched for them!

  Can’t wait to see you!!

  Xoxo,

  Hannah xx

  26

  The next day, I got to The Table of Contents a little early. The only person there was Lauren, who was already working on her story.

  “Hey, Lauren,” I said. “Where’s Jared?”

  She smiled self-consciously. “He’ll be here in a minute, for sure. Our story is due today.”

  That was typical. After watching the two of them for a few days, I’d noticed a pattern: Lauren was the one who did all the work, and Jared was the one who took all the credit.

  “Cool,” I said, sitting down next to her.

  Lauren looked up from the computer. “I thought your article yesterday was awesome,” she said. “Really brave.”

  “Wow, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  After another second, I asked her, “So, do you like Jared? I mean, like like him?”

  Another self-conscious smile. “He’s pretty cool, I guess.” She looked at me, as if she were waiting for me to tell her I thought he was a jerk, but I couldn’t do it. This was probably exciting and new for her, being liked by a boy—especially an older boy—and who was I to ruin it for her?

  “That’s great,” I said. “You must be totally psyched.”

  “I guess.” Then, as if she was trying to convince herself, she added, “He’s really cool once you get to know him.”

  “Awesome,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it.

  The door opened with a slam. “Speak of the devil,” Lauren said, as Jared, Jack, and a bunch of other kids piled into the room.

  “Lauren and I have been working on our piece and it’s really coming together,” Jared announced to nobody in particular. “Sweetie, want to grab it?”

  The rest of us all looked at each other. Sweetie?

  Lauren handed Jared the article she’d been working on, and he cleared his throat. “As most of you know, we’re doing an article about camp food. So far, we’ve interviewed the head cook and two of his assistants, and the results have been fascinating.”

  I was trying to figure out how to not listen to the rest of their report when the door to the canteen opened again. I turned around, thinking it was Ms. Domerca, but in walked Dr. Singer instead. Dr. Singer was a pretty old guy who’d been the camp director before Dr. Mal, and he still had an office at camp. As far as I could tell, he mostly walked around and looked over people’s shoulders while they were doing stuff. Some people called him “The Breather,” because when he was hovering over you, his breathing was pretty distracting. So was his breath, which always smelled like cough syrup.

  But he was an okay guy, so we were all perfectly happy to see him. Especially me, because his arrival meant the end of Jared’s report on camp food.

  “Hey, Dr. Singer,” I said. “If you’re looking for Ms. Domerca, she’s not here yet.”

  “Which is weird,” said Jack, “because she’s never late.”

  Dr. Singer sat down and sighed, sending cough syrup fumes across the room. “Well, that’s why I’m here, children.” (He always called campers “children.”) “Unfortunately, Ms. Domerca is no longer able to be the staff supervisor for the camp newspaper. I’ll be taking over for the rest of the session.”

  We all looked at each other. No one knew what to say. Or, more accurately, they expected me to say it.

  I stood up. “Is this because of my article yesterday, and our meeting with Dr. Mal?”

  Dr. Singer shook his head. “She has other responsibilities she needs to attend to, which makes her unavailable for this activity. I’m afraid that’s all I know.” He nodded at Jared. “I believe you were reading from your piece when I walked in. Would you like to continue?”

  “Sure,” said Jared. “As I was saying, we’ve interviewed all three cooks—”

  “Hold on a second,” interrupted Jack. His voice sounded a little nervous. “Ms. Domerca would never just quit the camp newspaper. She loves working on it, and she loves working with us. This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “That’s true,” agreed Lauren. Everyone else nodded. Jared was the only one who didn’t seem to care too much one way or the other, as long as he got his food article in the next day’s paper.

  “I understand how you all feel,” said Dr. Singer. “She’s a wonderful teacher, and it hurts to lose her. But as all journalists know, the newspaper comes first. So let’s concentrate on getting tomorrow’s edition out the door.”

  “Dr. Singer’s right,” I said suddenly. “Let’s get tomorrow’s newspaper done. I know I have an article due, and Jared and Lauren have the food thing, and Jack has his stress article. Let’s finish this issue. We have some important things to say, and the camp is counting on us. Ms. Domerca wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  Lauren and I looked at each other, and we both nodded. Everybody seemed to understand what I was trying to say: The best way to fight for Ms. Domerca was in the newspaper itself.

  Dr. Singer clapped his hands together. “That’s what I like to hear! I’ll be outside, if anyone needs me or has any questions.” He took a book out of his bag, went out to a couch on the porch, and promptly fell asleep.

  The rest of us all looked at each other.

  “Let’s get to work,” I said.

  27

  Later that day, after the intense meeting at the Bugle, I was really looking forward to getting on the basketball court. Dwayne claimed the court was still a little wet from the rain the night before, though, and we weren’t allowed to play.

  “Dude!” I begged. “Come on!”

  Dwayne answered by telling me not to call him “dude.” Then he asked me if I wanted to be dunked like a basketball. I said no.

  “Don’t worry, little man,” he said. “I’ve got an even better game planned.”

  Uh-oh. Dwayne had a talent for coming up with the most exhausting drills ever invented by man.

  “What kind of game?” asked Nareem.

  “This is going to be awesome,” Dwayne said, which meant that it would be the opposite of awesome. “I want you guys to each take a ball and dribble down to the tennis court and back.”

  We all groaned. The tennis court was on the opposite end of camp.

  “And because this is a camp of learning,” Dwayne went on, winking, “I want you to count how many dribbles it takes to get there. Assuming you can count that high.”

  We all groaned louder.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” moaned Jack, who was wearing an unfortunate T-shirt that said SMART IS THE NEW COOL. (Which just proved that it wasn’t.)
/>   “This is a reading and writing camp,” complained Nareem, “not a math camp.”

  “Same thing,” Dwayne said. Then he looked at me and laughed. “If you guys think it’s unfair, you can always get Charlie Joe here to write an article about it.”

  “Ha-ha,” I said.

  As we set off on our journey, Nareem came up alongside me. “Charlie Joe, thank you again for your advice about Katie. As you may know, we are now officially going out, and it’s wonderful.”

  “I didn’t know, but that’s great,” I answered. “Twenty-two … twenty-three … twenty-four.…”

  Nareem wasn’t finished. “Naturally, I would be happier if you two would resume your normal friendship.”

  I kept counting.

  Jared was eavesdropping, as usual. “Are you still mad at Katie for calling you a secret nerd?” he asked, getting too close to me. “I don’t know why you don’t just admit it, Jackson. She’s right. You’re totally trying to become like the rest of us. You’re even writing for the camp newspaper now, which is pretty much page one of the nerd handbook. Look it up.”

  “I don’t read handbooks,” I answered. “Or any other kind of books, for that matter.”

  “You do now,” Jared said.

  “Leave Charlie Joe alone,” said George, distractedly. It was taking all of his concentration to avoid bouncing the ball off his foot.

  Seven hundred and forty-eight dribbles later, we got to the tennis courts, where a big crowd was gathered.

  “Oh right, today’s the camp tournament!” exclaimed George. “Girls’ final!” He was right. I suddenly realized Dwayne was actually giving us a break by sending us down here to let us watch the tennis match. (That’s the thing about Dwayne: if you ignored his I-will-break-your-body approach to life, he was a really good guy.)

  As we got closer, I noticed who was playing: Katie Friedman and Cathy Ruddy. Or as they’re otherwise known, Nareem’s girlfriend and George’s girlfriend.

  I wasn’t totally thrilled to see Katie, to be honest with you. It’s not like we were fighting, exactly, but Nareem was right: things were off between us. We weren’t relaxed around each other, which was different for us.