Like Bug Juice on a Burger (4 page)

Joplin let me sit by the window.

“Thanks,” I said.

She shrugged.

“I like to stick my feet out in the aisle,” she said.

She stuck them right out there, too,

as soon as she could.

Other girls settled in around us.

The driver swished the door shut.

I looked out the window

and saw my parents.

They were standing beside each other,

shading their eyes with their hands,

searching the bus windows for me.

I waved and waved.

Finally, they saw me

and waved back.

Then the bus rolled past,

and they disappeared.

I turned—I didn’t want to lose them.

But they were gone.

My body slid low in my seat.

And I thought,

Why
am I going to this stupid camp?

Why
did Grandma Sadie send me?

Why
didn’t I just say
no
?

“Are you going to vomit?” Joplin asked.

I thought for a second she could see inside me.

I thought she knew exactly how I was feeling.

But when I turned to her,

surprised,

I realized she wasn’t talking to me at all.

She was looking at the girl across the aisle.

“Me?” that girl said, pointing at herself.

She had braces and two braids.

“Yes,” Joplin said. “You.”

“Why would I
vomit
?”

the braces girl said.

Joplin shrugged.

“Last year a girl got carsick

and vomited in the aisle.

I don’t want vomit on my ankles.”

Braces Girl made a face.

“That is
disgusting
,” she said.

“I’m not going to vomit on your ankles.”

“That’s good,” Joplin said.

Braces Girl turned away from us then

and said something to the girl sitting beside her,

and they both laughed.

I felt bad for Joplin.

Because they must have been laughing about her.

But Joplin didn’t seem to care.

She just yawned.

And yawned again.

“My baby brother,” she said to me.

“He has an ear infection.

He screamed all night.

I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh,” I said.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head.

“I need to rest for a second,” she said.

And just like that,

she fell asleep.

I watched out my window for a while.

Rows of brownstones changed

to bigger buildings

with signs painted on their sides.

Like BEST HOT CHICKEN IN BROOKLYN.

We s-l-o-w-l-y crossed a long bridge

crowded with cars.

Then we inched through even more traffic until,

finally,

we were zooming up an open highway.

Buildings started disappearing

and trees started appearing

everywhere.

At some point,

Joplin’s head fell on my shoulder

and stayed there,

bouncing a little with the bus.

No one had ever slept on my shoulder before.

Not even Pearl.

I thought about writing Pearl a letter,

telling her that my strange new friend

was bruising my shoulder.

But I couldn’t get my stationery out of my backpack

without waking Joplin.

I kept watching out the window instead,

as the world outside

got greener and greener.

Watching out that window

got boring.

So I slept, too.

Eventually, Joplin shook me awake.

“Look!” she said

when I’d opened my eyes.

She pointed out the window.

A sign there read:

WELCOME TO CAMP WALLUMWAHPUCK,

A HAVEN FOR GIRLS SINCE 1958.

The bus was bumping

down a gravel road

with bushes and trees and weeds all around.

This isn’t beautiful,

I thought.

This is
creepy.

I missed sidewalks full of people

checking their phones

and walking their cute dogs.

I missed paved roads, too,

filled with taxis and bike riders.

Finally, the bus turned

and stopped in a dirt lot.

“All right, girls!” the head of the junior unit shouted,

walking down the aisle.

“Step outside and find your counselors!”

“But we don’t know who our counselors are,”

I said to Joplin.

“They’ll be holding signs,” she told me.

Sure enough,

when I stepped off the bus,

I saw teenagers holding signs:

GYPSY MOTH, DRAGONFLY, HONEYBEE, CICADA,

DOODLEBUG, MONARCH, PRAYING MANTIS,

HISSING COCKROACH.

“I’m glad we’re not in Hissing Cockroach!”

I told Joplin.

“That one’s fake,”

she said.

“The counselors make up a cabin name every year.

Last year it was Seed Head Weevil.

I still think they should use Seed Head Weevil

instead of Doodlebug.

Doodlebug is stupid.”

I thought about that.

Doodlebug
was
babyish.

But still.

I wouldn’t ever want to be

in Seed Head Weevil.

“Come on,” Joplin said.

She started walking toward the Gypsy Moth sign.

I followed her.

We kicked up dust with every step.

And flattened weeds, too.

It seemed too quiet on that lot,

even with the sound of girls talking and laughing.

After a second,

I realized why:

no cars honking,

no sirens wailing,

no truck brakes squealing.

Just girls.

And a whole lot of birds,

chirping.

I didn’t like it.

The Gypsy Moth counselor started waving

as soon as she realized we were walking toward her.

“Hello!”

she called.

“I’m Hope!”

She was wearing sunglasses

and red sneakers.

“I don’t remember her from last year,”

Joplin muttered.

“She must be new.”

“You’re the Gypsy Moths

from Brooklyn!” Hope said

when we stood in front of her.

“So, one of you is Joplin,

and one is Eleanor.”