There's a Bat in Bunk Five (7 page)

“So how did your first day go?” I say.

“Fine. And yours?”

“Okay.”

“This is a wonderful conversation,” Ted says. “For two people who were hired for their creativity, this is really dull.”

I giggle. Giggling must be catching. “I'm sorry. I guess I'm just feeling a little overwhelmed . . .by camp.”

“Not by me?” Ted grins. “Well, good then. I can handle that as long as I know that the diagnosis is overwhelmed due to occupational hazard.”

As we sit there, I see Jimmy walk by with one of the girls who is on the grounds crew. He's got his arm around her waist and he's pointing something out in the sky.

I'm glad that's not me. Tonight at the campfire Jimmy asked if I wanted to go back to his room later to look at the newspaper clippings he's got about his sports triumphs. He asked while we were trying to deal with the marshmallow in Ginger's hair. I said no. Risa volunteered to go in my place, but Jimmy just looked at me, said, “Your loss,” and left.

Ted pinches me on the arm and says, “Marcy.”

I look at him.

“I don't think you've heard one thing I've said for the last four minutes.”

“Oh, Ted, I'm sorry.”

He shakes his head. “You were too busy looking at Jimmy. I can't believe you could be turned on to that creep. I thought you had better taste.” He stands up. “We'd better get back to our cabins.”

I jump up. “It's not the way you think it is. Don't be mad at me.”

He says, “I'm not . . . Well, maybe I am. I don't really know exactly what I'm feeling. I just think you're special and it makes me angry to think you like Jimmy better than me.”

“But I don't,” I say and realize that it's absolutely true. “I do care about you, not him. I'm just a little confused.”

“Marcy, I want us to be friends. At least friends. Probably more.”

At least friends. Probably more. This thing with Ted isn't a crush. It's something more for me too, only I'm not sure. What if I let myself start to care and get hurt? I'm not sure I can survive a broken heart. I get hurt so easily anyway, so I've never let myself get too close to a guy, not that there have been that many opportunities. I'm scared. What if it turns into a real relationship and it's as bad as my parents' marriage?

I look at Ted. He's bright and fun and very cute. He's one of the nicest people I've ever met. He likes me, obviously a lot, and he's not afraid to let me know.

I push the hair out of his eyes and say, “Friends. At least friends.”

He puts his arms around my waist.

I bet he's going to think I have no waist at all, that I'm just a puffball. Then I remember, I'm not fat anymore.

I put my arms around him.

A mosquito's draining all of my blood out of my right arm, but I decide now is not the time to slap it.

We kiss.

It's wonderful.

We kiss again.

It's still wonderful—until the large flashlight beams on us, we hear a cough, and separate.

It's Carl and Barbara, who are smiling.

I could die of embarrassment.

Ted says, “We're on a ten-minute break. The cabins are supervised.”

Carl says, “We're just doing our nightly check of the areas, to make sure everything's okay.”

“Everything's okay,” I say.

“So I noticed.” Barbara smiles.

I blush.

“About time to get back, isn't it?” Carl says.

Even though our parents aren't around, I've got the feeling that Barbara and Carl keep an eye on things.

I'm not so sure that's bad.

As Carl and Barbara go off to check out the camp area, Ted puts his arm around my shoulder and we walk back to the cabin.

I feel good. A little nervous but good.

We stand by the cabin for a minute.

I hear muffled giggling.

So does Ted because he leans over and gives me a fast kiss and whispers, “I'll see you tomorrow.”

As I walk into the cabin, there's applause and a lot of voices start singing:

Corrine's standing there, singing with the kids.

I look at everyone, wave as if I'm a queen greeting her subjects, and walk into my room as everyone applauds again.

T
wo weeks of camp gone already.

Linda and Risa organized a midnight raid on the kitchen.

Kitty's been taking extra food from the dining hall and hiding it under her bed, in case hunger strikes late at night. We found a mouse under her bed. Stacey brought it to the nature shack.

Crying a lot from homesickness, Bobbie said she's allergic to bug juice and wanted to
leave. Now that she's having fun, her allergy has disappeared and she's consuming large quantities of bug juice.

Alicia's teaching everyone to swear in Spanish.

Ellen's circulating a petition, protesting the amount of meat served. She wants a choice for vegetarians.

Ginger's been brutal. I tried to talk to her one day and she told me “bug off.” Another time I put my hand on her arm and she pushed it away. Only once was she ever friendly, the time that I suggested that she do some drawings for the camp magazine. When I asked her about the artwork later, though, she said, “Who wants to work on that lousy magazine, anyway?” So I gave up.

I hardly have any chance to be alone with Ted. Camp's been in session for two weeks and while it's mostly fun, Corrine and I've been run ragged.

We've just called a bunk meeting.

Barbara's on her way up the hill right now to be part of the meeting.

The kids are sitting around, not saying much, playing jacks, writing letters, practicing dance steps.

I look over my notes about what we're going to cover at this meeting.

Barbara arrives. “Hi, gang. Let's get started.” She smiles.

Everyone looks at her.

“Why don't we hold the meeting under a tree outside?” Corrine suggests.

“Good idea,” Barbara says.

Outside we go.

Barbara takes out a clipboard. “I understand some of you want the chance to air your feelings. Well, let's do it.”

The girls look at each other.

“I don't think it's fair that we have to go swimming,” Janie says. “I don't want to learn. It's impossible.”

“But it's good exercise,” Barbara answers.

“Not when Jimmy's had to rescue me twice,” Janie says.

“Lucky.” That's from Risa.

Ellen raises her hand. “I think the food here is nutritionally bad, too starchy, too much meat. Meat makes people act like animals.”

“I like meat,” Kitty says. “Just because you don't, doesn't mean the rest of us have to live on rabbit food.”

“I'll give you my spinach,” offers Linda.

“Sugar's bad for us. There's too much sweet stuff given out.” Ellen won't quit.

“How come there's a rule that we can only get two candy bars a day from the canteen?” Janie makes a face.

“How about some rice and beans?” Alicia asks.

Barbara says, “I want all of you to notice the differences of opinion here and see how hard it is to meet all of the individual needs.”

“You end up meeting no one's needs,” Robin says, pulling bark off a twig.

Sighing, Barbara says, “We try.”

Stacey says, “Someone put bubble gum in my flute. No one's been caught.”

“And someone cut the strings on my guitar.”

“My sculpture got destroyed.” Ellen is angry.

Corrine says, “It's hard to prove who's responsible.”

Everyone stares at Ginger.

“I get blamed for everything. I don't have to take this.” Ginger sticks out her tongue. “And I have a complaint too. How come you won't let me bring up my portable television? I'd rather watch that than
have to be part of all the stupid group activities around here.”

“No TVs allowed. You know that.” Barbara stares at her.

“Rules are made to be broken,” Ginger smirks.

“No they're not.” Barbara shakes her head. “Not the rules here. They're for your own good.”

“You've broken some rules in your life,” Ginger says. “So don't play Ms. Perfect with us.”

“Ginger,” I yell. “Stop that.”

“It's all right,” Barbara says. “It might as well be out in the open. I've been hearing a lot of that lately from a few people. It's better to get it all straightened out.”

She looks very tired but continues. “I know I've taken some stands that don't go along with everyone's wishes. But I want you to realize, Ginger, that I felt that there were some very important issues at stake. It wasn't done lightly or without a lot of careful thought. That's different from the way that you've been acting, Ginger.”

“I don't see the difference.”

“Well, that's what we've all been trying to help you see.”

“Why don't you just leave?” Janie says. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“No name-calling, please,” Corrine says.

Ginger says, “Someday I'll be gone and then you'll all be sorry.”

“I doubt that,” Betsy says, speaking for the first time at the meeting.

Everyone looks at her.

She shrugs. “Well, it's true. None of us would be sorry if Ginger left. I know she's the one who put peanut butter in my sleeping bag . . .the crunchy kind.”

Barbara says, “I really hope you can all learn to get along.”

“Dream on.” Kitty makes a face.

Linda says, “We're making it sound like camp's terrible. I don't think it's that bad. I'm having a lot of fun.”

Of course she is, I think. She loves camp and kidding around. The other day someone told her that if you put a sleeping person's hand in warm water, that person would think she wet the bed. This morning I woke up with my hand in warm water.

“I like camp too. I just want a vegetarian diet,” Ellen says.

“I don't want to find bubble gum in my flute again, but I like it here,” Stacey says.

The kids continue to talk.

I keep waiting for Barbara to come up with the magic solution, the thing that's going to make it all better.

It doesn't happen.

What does happen is that everybody gets a chance to talk out what's bothering them.

Barbara takes some notes and promises to consider the suggestions.

The meeting ends, and the girls go on to other activities.

I'm not sure what's been accomplished, except that I'm going to try again to reach Ginger, to do something no one else has been able to do.

Barbara puts down the clipboard. “What a week. I'm exhausted.”

“It'll be okay,” I say.

She smiles. “Carl would say you're beginning to sound like me, always sure that everything's okay.”

“That's what I tell her,” Corrine nods. “Barbara, are you getting discouraged?”

Barbara nods. “I figure that we've got a great place
here—creative, open, sensitive to the individual—and still, people complain. Not only that, but we've had to send home two staff members for breaking the rules, smoking grass in their cabin. It's not been easy.”

“But think of all the good things happening here.” Corrine puts her hand on Barbara's shoulder.

“I'd like it to be perfect. How are we going to work all of this out? Where are we going to get the money to afford all these different foods? Vegetarian? Ethnic? No sugar? Some sugar?”

We sit quietly for a minute.

She speaks again. “Is Ginger getting any better? Do you think she's responsible for all those problems?”

“Most of them.” Corrine nods.

“Maybe I made a mistake, letting her come back.” Barbara puts her head into her hands.

“You wouldn't do anything that's not right,” I say. “Somebody may be able to reach her.”

“Marcy, stop making excuses for me. It's getting a little hard for me to be the perfect example that you want me to be. I'm really getting tired of it.”

“But . . .”

“Just get off my back,” Barbara says, standing up. “I'm going for a walk.”

She leaves.

I feel stunned.

I really hurt.

The tears start.

I'm glad the kids aren't around.

Corrine says, “Marcy, she didn't mean to hurt you. People sometimes say things without meaning them.”

“But she's really mad at me.”

“She's upset and just took it out on you. Marcy, you really do expect her to be perfect. You don't think that the people you care a lot about can make mistakes or be human. That's a heavy load to lay on someone.”

“I'm sorry,” I sniffle.

“You don't have to be perfect either. I know I'm not.”

“Sure, you are.” I smile at her.

“I snore. That's not perfect.” She's grinning at me.

“How do you know you snore?” I ask. “You seem to sleep right through it.”

She grins more. “I've had some comments and complaints.”

I grin back. “Well, your snores are perfect, just the right decibels and very even. When I grow up, I want to snore just like you.”

“Surprise, my dear, you do snore.”

“Really? Nobody ever told me that before.” I'm surprised.

“That's because you usually don't sleep with anyone.”

I get up. “I guess I'm just not as worldly as you are. Have you gotten
many
complaints about your snoring?”

“Nosy,” Corrine says, getting up. “I'm not going to answer that on the grounds that it might incriminate me. Look, don't you have the afternoon and evening off today?”

I nod, drying my tears.