There's a Bat in Bunk Five (13 page)

After everyone goes outside, except for the searchers who are awaiting instructions, I go up to Barbara.

“Please let me look,” I say. “It'll make me feel better.”

She shakes her head. “It may make you feel better, but I don't think it's what's best for the rest of the kids in the bunk, Marcy. You'll be more useful here being with them.”

I go outside, feeling awful.

Sandy, the counselor who refused to have Ginger in her bunk, comes up to me. “Marcy, I'm sorry this had to happen. I warned Barbara. Ginger needs more than we can give her.”

“But I thought maybe I could reach her.” I shake my head. “But I didn't do enough, actually hardly anything. She was nasty whenever I attempted to talk to her.”

“Look, you tried. She's really manipulative. She's done just about everything to get attention. This is her latest. I only hope she gets some help before she really hurts herself.”

I stare at the ground. “Thanks, that makes me feel a little better. I just hope they find her and she's all right.”

I look up to check on the rest of the girls in bunk five. They're all sitting together, under a tree.

Saying good-bye to Sandy, I walk over and join them.

Kitty says, “We should have been nicer to Ginger.”

I think about what Sandy just said. “Maybe. But I think none of us could've given her all that she wants or needs. Don't blame yourselves.”

“She was getting a little better. She only called me a moron once in a while instead of every few minutes.” Ellen arranges rocks in a pile.

“She taught me to swim,” Janie cries.

That makes me wonder more about Ginger. She's so hard to figure out.

Alicia shakes her head. “I hope Ginger's okay, but we've got to remember that she's done lots of bad things to us. She started it. How long do we have to turn the other cheek?”

They all start to talk at once.

“She used a lanyard stitch on the laces of my ballet slippers,” says Betsy.

“And she licked all of my stamps so the glue's gone and they're hard to use,” Ellen says.

“What about the time she told one of the little kids that eating the bark of the tree would help him
fly? That kid could've died if the counselor hadn't pulled him out of the tree.”

“I should have listened to her when she wanted to talk,” I say.

“One of the goats should've eaten her,” Helene says.

“Look, everything will work out,” I say to reassure them. “Now, I think it would be a good idea for all of you to take part in some activity. Okay?”

They get up and go over to the basketball court, to play “horse.” That's the game where you've got to make the basket the way the person in front does, if the basket's made. Missing means getting a letter. If you keep missing and get all five letters, you're a “horse” and you're out.

I sit on the sidelines, watch the game, and keep hoping Ginger will turn up.

Linda comes over and sits down.

“You out already?” I ask.

“I'm just HO, but I thought I should tell you something. Ginger once bragged she had some extra money hidden—about twenty dollars—that she didn't turn in at the canteen like she was supposed to do.”

“Are you sure?”

Linda nods. “Yeah. She showed it to me and bragged that her father sent it to her. She kept it in her baseball mitt.”

“Please, Linda, go up and see if it's gone.”

“Okay, but you've got to take my turn at basketball.”

I nod and go over to play.

Linda rushes back in a few minutes, out of breath. “It's gone. So's the mitt.”

“Please go tell Barbara.”

“First tell me how many letters I've got now that you took over.”

“HORS.”

As she runs off, she yells, “Change the game to ‘horsie.' I'll be back in a minute.”

When she returns, I gladly get out of the game.

Barbara and Corrine come over.

“I know it's too late to apologize, but I want you to know Ginger did try to talk to me a while ago, but I was too involved with other stuff. And then, last morning, she was mad at me, and I don't think I handled it right.” I have to confess.

Barbara frowns. “Marcy, I know I told you you didn't have to be perfect, but this time I wish you
were. But I'm not sure that anyone could have known what the best way to handle the situation is.”

Corrine starts to scratch. “Dumb poison ivy. I could be out there looking for her right now if . . .”

Barbara says, “Half the camp's looking. So are the police. It's okay that you can't search.”

“Have you heard any news?” I want to know.

“Carl and Ted just called in. I told them about Ginger's twenty dollars. They're going to check out the bus stops in Woodstock and Kingston.”

“If she left here in the middle of the night, she could be long gone to anywhere,” Corrine says.

“Well, we've contacted both of her parents. Since they're divorced, she may go to either one of them. They're awaiting further word from us, and they'll let us know if she runs to them. Somehow I doubt it though. I don't think she likes either of them very much.” Barbara shakes her head. “I don't think Ginger's had an easy home life.”

I'm so nervous. I feel as if my head's going to explode, and my stomach hurts all the way to my legs. The only other time I ever felt this bad or felt so helpless was the night my father had the heart attack and the ambulance took him away.

Finally it's lunchtime. Everyone comes in for a quick meal and goes out again.

Still no word.

The crafts teachers bring down rolls of lanyard materials and hooks.

Soon a lot of the kids have put the hooks on trees and are working on the lanyards. It looks like the kids are attached to the trees. I wonder what the kids do with all the lanyards when they get home. Probably they give them to their parents as presents. I can just see an executive going to work with a lanyard and a briefcase. Maybe it'll become a new fashion fad.

Some of the searchers return to say they've had no luck.

We're in the middle of the woods. I don't know where she could have gone.

More searchers return.

The police check in.

No luck.

It's enough to drive someone crazy.

It's almost dinnertime, and they still haven't found her.

One of the goats comes up and sniffs at my sneaker. Maybe the goats can be trained as police
goats, sniff an article of clothing, and find a missing person.

Finally Katherine, who's on phone duty, sends a messenger out to us.

Carl and Ted have called in.

They've found Ginger on the village green at Woodstock.

They're on their way back to camp.

Relief.

Barbara rings the bell to let everyone know.

I start to cry.

So do a few other people.

Now I know how my parents felt the time I was five and got lost at Disney World. I want to hug Ginger. I want to kill her.

But most of all I want to understand why she did it.

“H
ow about some food? I only had one slice of pizza and a soda all day.” Ginger sits on a chair in Carl and Barbara's living room.

Corrine, Carl, Barbara, and I look at each other.

Ginger continues. “My parents paid for my meals. You owe me three.”

Barbara says, “And you owe us an explanation.”

Ginger looks at her Woodstock purchases.

We all stare at her.

She smiles, says nothing, and continues to take things out of bags.

With the amount of money that she obviously has spent, she couldn't have been planning to take a bus anyplace. I bet she had no intention of staying away longer than for the day.

I could murder her.

Barbara looks ready to explode. “You're very pleased with yourself, aren't you? Well, I've had it. We keep giving you chances and you keep holding out. Don't you realize what could have happened, running away? Hitchhiking? I don't know what to do anymore.”

Ginger says, “I thought you never gave up.”

Carl takes Barbara's hand and pats it. “Ginger, do you want to tell us why you ran away?”

“No.” She gives him a wide grin.

He shakes his head. “I wish you would. Then we might be able to help you.”

I want Ginger to talk, to explain. It's so hard to understand her.

“Your parents have been called and are on their way up,” Barbara tells her.

For the first time Ginger's not smiling. “No. I don't want to see them.”

“They're on their way up,” Barbara repeats.

“No.” Now Ginger's yelling. “I don't want to see them. Call them back and tell them not to come.”

“We've got to have a conference with them,” Carl says.

Ginger stands up and tries to run out of the room.

Carl stops her.

She kicks him and tries to get away.

He holds on to her.

She kicks and screams for a while and then goes limp and sobs.

Carl lifts her up and sits down on the chair, holding her.

Barbara goes over, stoops down, and strokes her hair.

Ginger continues to sob.

The tears start to stream down my face. I'm not even sure why I'm crying.

Corrine's staring at her mittens, her face still swollen with poison ivy.

No one says anything for a few minutes.

Finally Ginger looks up. “Please don't make me go home with one of my parents. Let me stay.”

Carl says, “I don't think we can help you enough.”

Ginger looks at me. “It's Marcy's fault. I wanted to talk to her, and she didn't have time.”

I feel as though I've been shot through my heart.

Everyone looks at me.

“You should send her home too,” Ginger says. “If I have to go, so should she.”

I panic. Maybe they will send me home. Maybe I should be sent home. I'm probably the worst counselor-in-training ever.

Barbara shakes her head. “Ginger, you're still trying to run things your way, blaming everyone else. Marcy's not the only person to talk to, and anyway, I know that she did try to talk to you in the beginning, and you made it impossible.”

“She likes everyone else better than me. So does Corrine. So do you. So does everyone.” Ginger starts to rock back and forth in Carl's arms.

Carl shakes his head. “You can't treat people the way that you do and expect them to take it.”

Ginger continues to cry. “I'll apologize to everyone, tell them I'm sorry. Corrine, I'm sorry that I rubbed wet poison ivy all over your sheets. I won't do it again.”

I look at Corrine.

She looks like she could kill Ginger.

Barbara gets up. “I think Corrine and Marcy should go now.”

The three of us walk outside.

“I'd strangle that monster if I weren't wearing mittens,” Corrine says. “I really hate her.”

“She is rather hard to love,” Barbara says. “I don't know what to do anymore. I really thought that I could help her, but she's too much for me. I'm going to recommend that her parents get professional help for her.”

I think of the counseling that my family got and hope that it works for Ginger too.

I used to think that things were the worst in my family. Now I can really see that other people have problems too.

We all stand in front of the house for a few minutes, saying nothing.

Finally I speak. The suspense is killing me. “Are you going to send me home too?”

Corrine says, “Please don't. Marcy's a really good CIT.”

“I know that.” Barbara looks at us. “Who died and left Ginger in charge?”

“I was going to try to reach her,” I confess. “Then I got all tied up with other things.”

“I know.” Barbara nods. “Part of camp is your own growth and experience. I'm not sure that any of us are aware of what Ginger's going through. Look, I'd better go back inside and make sure that she and Carl are doing all right.”

She returns to her house.

Corrine says, “I'm going back to the infirmary for more Calamine lotion. You'd better go back to the bunk.”

I nod and start to go up the hill.

“Marcy.” Corrine runs up to me. “I just want you to know that I think you've done a good job but I also want you to think about how much time you've put into getting your own head together and your relationship with Ted and how much time you've spent getting to really know the kids.”

“Do you think I've been bad?” I ask.

She shakes her head and smiles. “Not bad. Human. You've really got to stop seeing things as all bad or all good. And you've got to learn that just because someone tells you something that you don't want to hear, doesn't mean that person's out to get you.”

I nod. My mother tells me that all the time, especially
when I'm angry at something my father's said. Somehow it's different when you hear it from a friend, not a parent.

She says, “We're still friends, right?”

I nod again. “We could even become blood sisters, like the kids did the other day.”

“Not till I get rid of this poison ivy. That's all we'd need, to get it into cuts.” Corrine smiles.

We wave good-bye.

I think of Ted. I really want to see him, talk to him, have us hold each other.

I also want to see the kids in the bunk, find out how they're doing.

I finally understand what my parents mean when they say that there aren't enough hours in the day. I used to get so jealous when they wanted to spend some time alone together and I wanted to be with them. I think that a day should be at least thirty-five hours long.

I'm beginning to realize that it's like my glasses have been focused inward on me and not outward to see the rest of the people in the world. I wonder if my eye doctor can help make me a special pair of glasses so that I can see the right amount inside and outside.