Like Bug Juice on a Burger (12 page)

I could barely get a sound out.

The man tapped again.

I closed my eyes and tried harder.

“Hope!”

She came then,

so fast.

She shined her flashlight all around

and saw that I was the only one awake.

“What happened?” she whispered to me.

“There’s someone out there!” I said.

“Someone’s trying to come in!”

I pointed at the window.

“I don’t think so,” she whispered,

shining her flashlight in that direction.

We couldn’t see anything in the beam of light

except my bottles of sunscreen.

Hope walked over and peered out

for a good long time.

Then she came back to me.

“It’s just a branch,” she whispered.

“Knocking against the windowpane

in the wind.

I promise—there’s no one there.”

I tried to relax.

But I couldn’t.

What if he’d just hidden behind a tree?

“I’m still scared!” I whispered.

She thought for a second.

Then she walked back over to my cubby,

picked up a bottle of sunscreen,

and brought it back to me.

It was such a weird thing to do.

Why would I possibly need sunscreen?

It was the middle of the night!

But I took the bottle from her.

“No one’s out there,”

she whispered.

“But just in case,

use this.

Spray him right in the eyes.

And call me.

I’ll take care of him. OK?”

“OK,” I said.

I set the sunscreen next to my flashlight.

Then she tiptoed back to her bed.

And

after listening carefully

and hearing no more tapping

and telling myself again and again

there’s no one there,

I finally fell back to sleep.

At lunch the next day,

someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I turned

and almost fell off my chair.

It was the
camp director
!

“Are you finished eating?” she asked.

I nodded,

speechless.

I’d never seen her talk to a camper before.

She made announcements

and drove around in a golf cart

and spoke into a walkie-talkie.

Why did she care if I’d eaten?

“I’m taking Eleanor for a second,”

the director called across the table to Hope.

I looked with wide eyes at Joplin.

She looked with wide eyes back.

“Come,” the director said to me.

My brain raced as I followed her.

But I couldn’t think of why she wanted me.

She led me into a little office

and shut the door behind us.

We sat down at a round table.

I waited for her to speak.

“I just received a call,”

she said.

“From two very worried parents.”

“Oh,”

I said.

I looked down at the table.

I knew she meant
my
parents.

I knew they must’ve read my Esmeralda letter.

“This happens every year,” she said,

sounding very kind.

“Someone has a tough start to camp.

I’ve thought about your situation,

and I’ve come up with a plan.”

I looked at her serious face.

“Have you heard about the Wall of Feelings?”

she asked.

I nodded.

Hope had told us about it.

Every summer,

girls write down their feelings about camp

and post them on the dining hall wall.

For everyone to see.

“We’re starting the Wall of Feelings tomorrow,”

the director told me.

“I want you to post two pieces there.

One about how you felt

when you wrote that letter home.

And one about how you feel now.

Be absolutely honest, please.

You do
not
need to include your name.

Lots of people don’t.

But you do have to be honest.

And include pictures!

I’ve heard you’re a good artist.

After that,

if you still want to go home,

you come and tell me.

I’ll give it
serious
consideration.

How does that sound?”

I thought for a second.

Something worried me.

“If I write honestly about my feelings,”

I said,

“I’ll say bad things.”

“Of course!” she said

with a big smile.

“That’s perfect!

Who wants a Wall of Feelings that only says

‘I love camp,’

‘I love camp’?

That’s boring!

Besides, happiness is only one feeling.

It’s a Wall of
Feelings.

Plural.

So you have an important role to play.

Can you do it?”

I nodded.

“Good,” she said.

“Don’t forget.

If you still want to go home,

you let me know.

OK?”

“OK,” I said.

She stood up.

I stood up, too.

“One last thing,” she said.

“Will you please write your parents

a little something positive?

To make them feel better?”

I nodded again.

Then she opened the door and set me free.

I sat in my bed at rest time

and thought and thought and thought.

Of positive things.

Then I wrote a letter to my parents.

I wrote:

Dear Mom and Dad,

My counselor is nice.

I got to walk a goat.

And gluten-free cookies are okay,

as long they’re chocolate chip.

Here is a picture of me walking a goat.

And here is a picture of a gluten-free cookie.