Charlie Joe Jacksons Guide to Summer Vacation Read online

  “I appreciate that, Malcolm,” said Ms. D. She looked at me and winked.

  Wow, I thought to myself. This seemed like it was heading for a happy ending!

  “And you have to compromise too, Charlie Joe,” Katie said.

  Why is it that happy endings always have a catch?

  “Compromise how?”

  Katie put her arm on my shoulder. “Think about where your ideas came from, Charlie Joe. How you came up with this whole camper-strike thing. How you found out about the hero you were trying to be like. And your idea for the inspirational speech at breakfast this morning. Where did all that come from?”

  I removed her arm from my shoulder. “What’s the compromise already?”

  She grinned. “You have to say out loud to the whole camp that reading isn’t the most horrible, awful thing in the whole entire universe.”

  “WHAT?”

  “And that books can actually be quite wonderful and valuable.”

  All eyes were suddenly on me. I froze. I think it probably would have been easier for me to run naked through the dining hall at dinnertime.

  She elbowed me in the ribs. “Come on, Charlie Joe, say it.”

  “Yeah, say it,” Jack said.

  “Just say it,” Lauren added.

  “Actually, I’d like to hear it as well,” Ms. Domerca chimed in.

  While I was trying to figure out what to do, Dr. Mal walked up to me. “I remember your first day at camp very well, Charlie Joe,” he said. “You proudly announced that you’d never read a book from cover to cover in your entire life. Well, from what I understand, you recently read a book on Lech Walesa, and that’s why we’re here, at the waterfront, instead of at our new workshop.” He stood over me, his big, bald head blocking the sun, just like on that first day at the Welcome Ring. “So surely this must help you realize the value and importance of books.”

  I thought for a second. Katie wouldn’t leave me alone until I gave her some small victory. And Dr. Mal, for all his love of reading and learning, wasn’t such a bad guy after all, and he’d had a tough day.

  I figured why not give them each a break, just this once.

  “Okay fine,” I said as softly as the human voice can go. “Reading isn’t the most horrible, awful thing in the entire universe.”

  ”Go on,” Katie said. “A little bit louder this time, please.”

  I looked for a hole to crawl into, couldn’t find one, then took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

  “And sometimes books can be quite wonderful and valuable,” I said.

  All the kids gasped sarcastically. Then they roared. Even Dr. Mal cheered.

  Someone yelled, “Charlie Joe read a book!” Soon, the entire camp was chanting, “Hey hey, ho ho! A book was read by Charlie Joe!”

  I wasn’t done. I wanted to add that reading one book doesn’t make someone a nerd. But I decided to let it go. Katie had saved my skin, so the least I could do was let her think she was right, that I really was a book lover at heart. I’d have plenty of time to correct her later—as in, the whole rest of the summer, when I wouldn’t read anything. Not even a menu.

  I went over to her.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  We hugged.

  “For nothing,” I added, and ducked before she could smack me.

  As kids started jumping into the water to enjoy Free Swim, Dr. Mal and Ms. Domerca came up to me.

  Dr. Mal spoke first. “Charlie Joe, we’ll make a Rituhbukkean out of you yet. Even if it kills me. Which it may well. I’ll go call your mother and tell her you’ll be staying.” Then he headed up the hill, shaking his head.

  Ms. Domerca watched him go, then put her arm around me.

  “Oh, Charlie Joe,” she said.

  “Oh, Ms. Domerca.” I waited for her to thank me for helping get her back on the paper, and congratulate me for being a hero. But instead she just looked me straight in the eye.

  “Next issue of the Bugle comes out on Wednesday,” she said. “Got any ideas?”

  Week Three

  THE LITTLE YELLOW SCHOOLHOUSE

  33

  Poke. Poke.

  “Charlie Joe.”

  Poke. Poke.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  Poke. Poke.

  “I’m ready to learn how to kiss a girl.”

  I was lying on my bunk, face to the wall, trying to decide whether or not I was happy or sad that there was only one more week of camp left. Life can be so confusing sometimes. Especially when someone is poking you in the back.

  Poke. Poke.

  “C’mon, Charlie Joe, you’re the only one here who knows how to kiss. You need to teach me!”

  I flipped over and saw George staring at me, his glasses foggy with sweat.

  I turned back to the wall. “Not now, George.”

  Jack looked up from one of the college test-prep books he read for fun. “Help the guy out, Charlie Joe. If only so the rest of us don’t have to listen to his whining.”

  I groaned and got up. I didn’t want to talk about kissing. Kissing reminded me of the two girls I’d actually kissed: Hannah Spivero, the world’s most perfect creature, who was now going out with Jake Katz, and Zoe Alvarez, the world’s other most perfect creature, who hadn’t written me back in a week and a half.

  “I’m not really in a kissing mood right now,” I told George.

  George looked puzzled. “I’m not actually asking you to kiss me.”

  “I knew that,” I said quickly. “So, what then?”

  George took off his glasses and cleaned them, which was something he did whenever he got nervous.

  “Well, things are going really well with Cathy, and I’m pretty sure she likes me.”

  “Duh,” I snorted. “You really are Einstein.” (I know that sounds mean, but he could take it, since he basically was Einstein.)

  “Charlie Joe, you don’t understand,” George said. “I’ve never been liked by a girl before. It took me a while to get used to the idea.”

  He was right, I didn’t understand. I’d been liked by Eliza Collins, the prettiest girl in school, for about five years straight. Too bad I didn’t like her back.

  “I’m still not sure how I can help,” I told George. “It’s not like I’ve kissed a thousand girls.” Nine hundred and ninety-eight less, to be exact, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Well, here’s the thing,” George said. “Friday is the Overnight Adventure. I thought that might be the perfect time to make my move. You know, before camp ends.”

  Overnight Adventure, just to remind you, was not a fun trip to an amusement park or a beach. Sure, that’s what a typical camp would do, but since when were we a typical camp? Nope, we were going to Old Bridgetown, which was one of those fake towns that are set up just like olden times. Not only that, we would be spending most of our time at the Little Yellow Schoolhouse, which was supposedly one of the oldest schools in the country. Yay, right? But wait, there’s more. We’d be camping out in tents, which was cool, but instead of telling ghost stories and roasting marshmallows, we were supposed to build a campfire and listen to Dr. Mal give a speech about the schoolhouse, because THERE WAS GOING TO BE A TEST ABOUT IT THE NEXT DAY.

  I know, I couldn’t believe it, either. What a treat.

  Anyway, back to George, who wasn’t about to give up. “So, how do you make your first move?” he asked. “What’s the first stage of the kissing process?”

  Only at Camp Rituhbukkee would someone ask about the “first stage of the kissing process.”

  “Okay, fine,” I said. “I’ve got one word of advice for you, and that’s it.”

  Suddenly all the kids were at my bunk, listening. Apparently I was not only the best basketball player at camp, I was also the best kisser. Meaning, I was probably the only kisser.

  I paused, to let the suspense build.

  “What is it already?” asked George, getting impatient.

  “Yeah, what’s the one word?” Jack wanted to know. �
��Is it tongue?”

  We all stared at him.

  “What?” Jack said. “I happen to know the tongue is a very important part of kissing.”

  “Ew,” said Jeremy, speaking for pretty much the entire cabin.

  I sat down, ready to offer my word of wisdom. Everyone leaned forward. Then I waited a second more, just to torture them a little bit.

  “Gum,” I announced, at last.

  Everyone leaned back. George scratched his head. “Gum?”

  “Yup, gum,” I said. “Here’s the crazy thing about kissing: You’re thinking about so many things before you do it, that when the time finally comes, you can’t remember anything. Your mind goes totally blank. So if I gave you some advice like ‘put your hand on the back of her neck’ or something, you’d totally forget to do it until it was too late, then you’d do it at the wrong time and it would be stupid.”

  Everyone thought about that for a second.

  “But gum is easy to remember,” I continued. “That’s why gum is the key. Because bad breath is a deal-breaker. And everyone gets bad breath when they get nervous. Your throat gets itchy, and your mouth gets dry, and your breath gets real gross, real fast.”

  George nodded, like I’d just proved the theory of relativity.

  “Gum,” he repeated, committing it to memory in that incredibly powerful brain of his.

  “Not just any gum,” I clarified. “Bubble gum. And make sure you give her a piece.”

  George blinked through his glasses. “Why’s that?”

  “Because watching a girl blow bubbles is hot,” I said.

  Everyone cracked up. “Bubbles are hot!” Jack said, guffawing. “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard!”

  Suddenly Nareem, who had been the only one not hanging on my every word, decided to add his opinion.

  “It’s true,” he confirmed. “Bubbles are very hot.”

  I pictured Nareem blowing a bubble. Then I pictured Katie blowing a bubble. Then I pictured Katie kissing Nareem. Then I decided I didn’t want to think about kissing anymore.

  “Can we talk about something else?” I asked, but the rest of the guys were too busy laughing about kissing and blowing bubbles to even hear me.

  34

  As the last week of camp wound down, three interesting things happened:

  1) The Free Swim/Extended Workshop compromise worked really well, and Dr. Mal started acting nice to me.

  2) I read a pretty decent book about Greek mythology, but I made sure to hide it whenever Katie was around.

  3) George started chewing a lot of bubble gum.

  35

  The day before the Overnight Adventure, there was another end-of-camp tradition: the campers vs. staff basketball game.

  Dwayne called me over before the game. “I named Jared Bumpers captain of the kids’ team for this game.”

  I made a face.

  “Listen, I get it,” Dwayne said. “But he’s older, and this is his last year as a camper. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Fine.”

  Jared’s first official act as captain was to not start me. “I want you coming off the bench, to give us a spark,” he said.

  I looked at Dwayne, who laughed. “Take one for the team,” he said.

  When the game started, George was on fire. I think all that bubble gum gave him superpowers. That, plus the fact that besides Dwayne, the staff was just as unathletic as the campers. Either way, when I went into the game in the second quarter, we were already winning, 14–8, and George had ten points.

  I was guarding Ms. Domerca. She’d never really played basketball before, so I didn’t have a lot to do. But what she lacked in skill, she made up for in trash talk.

  “Hey, Jackson, watch this move and learn a thing or two.”

  “Charlie Joe, are you sure you belong on the same court with me?”

  “Get ready to be taken to school, rookie.”

  She kept up a steady stream of chatter until the middle of the third quarter, when I went around her and sank a pretty sweet reverse lay-up. She immediately high-fived me. When her teammates reminded her that I was on the other team, she smacked her forehead and said, “Oops! I can’t believe I did that! Charlie Joe, I totally take that high-five back.” Then she winked at me and whispered, “Not really.”

  Did I mention that Ms. Domerca was pretty awesome?

  In the fourth quarter, Jared got even more annoying. He started showing off to Lauren, by hoisting shots from all over the court. None of them went in. Meanwhile, Lauren cheered every time he managed to dribble the ball without kicking it out of bounds. Their developing relationship was one of the great mysteries of camp. Why did Jared, who thought he was the coolest guy around, decide to like Lauren, one of the quietest girls at camp? And why did Lauren, who was a really great person, decide to like Jared, who wasn’t? And for that matter, how could a wonky brainiac like George suddenly be all about kissing and chewing gum and blowing bubbles and making shots like a superjock?

  I guess when it came right down to it, the answer was simple.

  Camp does strange things to people.

  With two minutes to go, we were ahead 30-26 (not exactly a high-scoring battle). Suddenly a car pulled up to the court, just like during the Camp Jockstrap game.

  This time it was Dr. Mal who got out.

  “Pizza!” he yelled.

  “Pizza!” the campers yelled back.

  Dr. Mal, Dr. Singer, and Ms. Domerca started handing out slices of plain, pepperoni, and pineapple pizza to the entire camp, with cartons of apple juice to wash it down.

  When Dr. Mal handed me my slice, he said, “It’s not basketball without a pizza party, right, Charlie Joe?”

  That may have been Dr. Mal’s first funny joke of the entire summer.

  We didn’t even bother finishing the game. As we walked off the court, Ms. Domerca came up to me. “Rematch next summer,” she said. “And your butt will be mine.”

  “We’ll see,” I laughed.

  And that was the moment I realized something was different.

  Had I just talked about the idea of possibly coming back to camp next year, without saying “over my dead body” at the end of the sentence?

  Camp does strange things to people, indeed.

  36

  Friday morning before breakfast, Dr. Mal went up to the microphone. “Announcements, please. Announcements.”

  We looked up, surprised. Usually he made announcements after meals. Was something wrong? Or even better, was something right? Was the Overnight Adventure canceled?

  No such luck.

  “Right after breakfast, we’ll be going back down to our cabins to pack up, then we head to the buses at eight o’ clock sharp. It takes approximately two hours to get there.” Dr. Mal pointed at Dwayne. “Dwayne, who is the supervisory counselor on this O.A., has put a copy of today’s schedule on each table.”

  I took a look. It wasn’t pretty.

  Dr. Mal gave us a minute to let the schedule sink in, then added, “Tomorrow morning, of course, we will return to the Little Yellow Schoolhouse at eight a.m. for the two-hour Final Workshop, before heading back to camp.”

  He was back in his seat before anyone could ask any questions. Like for example, why were we only going to Ye Olde Fudge Factory for fifteen minutes? What’s with the Ye Olde part, anyway? And why bother calling it “Final Workshop” when everyone knows it’s really a two-hour test, just as annoying as the kind you have in school, only longer?

  “Overnight Torture is more like it,” I mumbled. “I can’t believe this.”

  George looked at me and laughed. “Just remember what Lech Walesa once said about dealing with adversity.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I believe the exact translation,” George said, “is ‘tough noogies.’”

  37

  We sang arias on the bus ride to Old Bridgetown.

  You don’t know what an aria is? Neither did I.

  Turns out they’re songs from
operas, and they’re not even in English. But Ms. Domerca LOVES ’em. So she made us sing something from some opera called La Bohème, which is French for “Holy moly, this is boring.”

  “Whatever happened to ‘Old Macdonald Had A Farm?’” said Jack, who was sitting next to me in a T-shirt that said READ A BOOK, JUST FOR THE FUN OF IT! (Not possible, fyi.)

  “Ee-i-ee-i-o!” I sang. “Now those are lyrics I can relate to.”

  Jack laughed, as usual. He always laughed at my jokes.

  “So, Charlie Joe,” he said. “What’s the deal? Any chance you’re coming back next year?”

  “I don’t know, dude. I would have to say probably not,” I told him. “You guys are awesome and everything, but I’m more into hanging out at the beach and eating ice cream than sitting in classrooms. It’s just who I am.”

  “Right,” Jack said, looking a little disappointed.

  “You really love it here that much?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “I do love it here. I love coming here.” He stared out the window. “Getting away from home is definitely part of it. I mean, my dad does get a little crazy sometimes, but my parents are basically pretty cool, my grandmother who lives with us is awesome—”

  “And so are her cookies,” I interrupted.

  “Yeah, and so are her cookies,” Jack agreed, smiling. Then his face got a little sad. “But I don’t have that many friends back home. Everyone thinks I’m kind of a dork. And I can’t really disagree with them. At camp, though, everyone is kind of like me, and that makes it really fun.” He turned and looked at me. “You wouldn’t get it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on,” he said. “When you get home, you’ll get to do whatever you want, and hang out with your friends and stuff. Not me. I’ll start right back in with cello lessons, and a science internship, and karate, and Chinese classes.”

  “You do all that? In the summer?”

  “That’s nothing, you should see the school year.”

  “Wow,” I said. “That’s insane.”