Revenge of the Happy Campers Page 2

  “Maybe we can all agree that the area belongs to both campsites,” Robbie suggested. “Like a neutral zone.”

  “Yeah! And we can take turns. Like … we can have it from midnight to noon and you can have it from noon to midnight,” Delaney said.

  Jay did his fast headshake again. “No, we should have it in the morning,” he said. “We like to get up early.”

  “You mean you do,” Robbie mumbled, but I wasn’t sure if Jay heard him.

  “Yeah, why are you guys up so early?” Delaney asked.

  “We were having a meeting,” Jay said. “It’s just how we do things. You wouldn’t understand.”

  Dawn put her hands on her hips again. “And why wouldn’t we?”

  Then Jay said something that made Dawn’s eyes go wider than I’ve ever seen them go.

  “It’s like … practice,” he said. “For a cabinet meeting. Because someday I’m going to be president of the United States.”

  We picked our way through the clump of trees, heading back to our camp. Daylight was everywhere now. Birds were singing and a breeze was making the leaves dance on the branches. It was the best part of the day — light and cool and cheerful.

  Dawn had that fierce look on her face. The one she gets when her brain is all fired up over some injustice. It happens pretty regularly. Last month she had that look and we ended up spending a whole weekend writing letters to the manager of our dad’s apartment complex pointing out that their staff should have Presidents’ Day off. At first Darby didn’t want to waste her Saturday and Sunday writing letters, but I convinced her. I told her that if she helped us with Dawn’s letter campaign, we’d help her try to convince Mom to buy a trampoline — so she agreed. I felt proud of myself, since this is just the sort of deal-making I’ll have to do when I grow up to be Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives.

  Dawn was grumbling under her breath as she walked to our campsite, and the sound blended in with all the birds that were chirping and twittering around us. I could only make out the words “bigheaded” and “arrogant” and “lousy amateur.”

  “Dawn? Are you mad because Jay wants to be president?” I asked.

  Dawn spun around and shot her fierce expression right at me. “No!” she snapped.

  Darby and I exchanged a look. We could tell that Dawn’s “No” meant “Yes,” and that she was sore at Jay but too stubborn to admit it. I know it seems impossible to communicate all that in a one-second glance, but my sisters and I do it all the time. It’s a triplet thing.

  “You know, since presidents are elected every four years, both of you could end up being president at some point,” Darby pointed out.

  You can always count on Darby to be positive and try to cheer people up. Dawn is stubborn, though. Once she’s in a bad mood, she usually refuses to budge.

  “First of all,” Dawn said, kind of huffy-sounding, “the office of the president isn’t a carnival ride where everyone takes turns. Secondly, I plan to be reelected and serve at least eight years. They might even change the rules for me to allow a third term. You never know.”

  “Well … you could be president first and then Jay could get elected after you,” Darby said.

  Dawn shook her head. “And have him tear down all my programs and bad-mouth everything I worked hard to create? Forget it.”

  “Maybe you could be president after him,” I suggested.

  “And have him beat me to it? Have him create such a mess of things that I’d have to spend my entire term fixing it? No, thank you.”

  See what I mean? Sometimes Dawn is just determined to be miserable.

  “Well, there’s no point in fretting,” Darby said. “This is a big campground and we don’t have to see those guys anymore. They’re probably with a scout troop and will be busy doing their own thing.”

  Also see what I mean? No matter what, Darby is determined to look on the bright side.

  We pushed through the last branches in the brushy section separating the two campsites and saw Aunt Jane standing in front of our little Coleman stove that she’d set on the picnic table. She was already dressed in cropped pants and a striped T-shirt, but her short brown hair was sticking out in all directions so you could tell she hadn’t been up long.

  “Good morning, girls,” she said, waving a spatula at us. “I was just about to make breakfast. Who’s hungry?”

  “I am! Me! I’m starving!” I said and ran over to her. As soon as she mentioned food, I could feel how empty my stomach was. We’d all been so busy helping Dawn after her plummet into the creek yesterday evening that I never went back for a second hot dog like I’d planned to.

  Aunt Jane showed us how to get the stove going and pulled out a big cast-iron skillet. Then she cooked up Spam and eggs. My job was to cut the Spam into little chunks. This made me really happy because at home Mom doesn’t like to have me around knives. She says I’m too wiggly and might accidentally chop off a finger. Also, Mom doesn’t let us eat Spam at home. Or dinners that come in boxes. Or the kinds of cereal that have prizes in them. But Aunt Jane likes fun food that’s easy to make. Once she even let us have pie before dinner!

  I was really careful cutting the Spam so that Mom would get a good report from Aunt Jane. Meanwhile, Darby cracked open and beat the eggs, and Dawn cleared off and set the table. She was obviously still miffed about Jay, because she banged down the plates and plastic juice cups and muttered the whole time.

  I concentrated really hard and did the cutting perfectly. Only … when I was done and bounced around shouting hooray, I accidentally knocked over a cup of juice that ran all over the picnic table. I wiped it up, but the ants, flies, gnats, and bees were congregating around the big wet spot, so Aunt Jane said we should eat in the camper. This made Dawn even more cantankerous.

  Luckily, with everyone pitching in, we sat down to eat in a matter of minutes. Aunt Jane had even picked some nearby wildflowers and put them inside an empty soda bottle with some water. When she set it in the middle of the table, it made the place seem extra snug and homey. Well … as homey as an old camper can be.

  Our pop-up trailer hadn’t been used since our parents divorced, so it’s kind of musty smelling (and Dawn’s moldy creek-water clothes didn’t help). Plus, it must have gone all off-kilter while it was cooped up in Mom’s shed for two years, because it tilts a little to one side. Our breakfast dishes kept slowly sliding away from us as we ate.

  “You know, I was concerned when I woke up this morning and couldn’t see you guys,” Aunt Jane said. She turned her head and looked at each of us. Her eyes didn’t have that usual twinkle, so it made me squirm and feel guilty. “You should have left a note. You know the rules.”

  “We’re sorry,” Darby said. “We …” She glanced over at me and Dawn. I could tell she wasn’t sure how to explain.

  “It was kind of a mission, only we didn’t know it was a mission,” I said. “Or maybe it was a quest. Or a hunt. But not like a hunt where you kill things. I don’t know why someone would ever hunt rabbits.” I was blathering and I knew it. I just wasn’t sure what to say — and I especially didn’t want Darby to know that Dawn had called a secret meeting without her.

  “Basically we heard something and went to investigate,” Dawn said. “And anyway, we’re on vacation. I thought we were leaving rules and schedules behind.”

  “Of course you still have to follow the same rules you have at home,” Aunt Jane said.

  Darby nodded. “Without rules, we would have anarchy. There have to be rules in order to have civilized society.”

  “But we’re not in civilization. We’re camping!” Dawn pointed out.

  “Your mom and I had to follow them when we went on our campouts,” Aunt Jane said.

  This made us sit up to listen. The fact that they had to abide these rules made it seem more right and just. Plus, we love it when she talks about growing up. Sometimes she acts out scenes, with funny voices and everything.

  “You’re free to wander around, just follo
w common sense,” Aunt Jane said. “Don’t go looking for trouble. No poking wasps’ nests with a stick or things like that.”

  “That’s crazy. Who would do such a thing?” I asked.

  Aunt Jane looked a little shrunken. “It’s been known to happen.” She reached over and mussed up Dawn’s hair — in a nice way — making it almost as unruly as her own. “Listen, I’m being trusted by your parents to look out for you, and I plan to do a good job. I still want you to have fun. In fact, that should be a rule. Have fun — that’s an order.”

  “Can we also add ‘No raisins allowed’?” Darby asked. She hates raisins. On the drive to the campsite she found some in the trail mix we were snacking on and drank three boxes of juice to get the taste out of her mouth. We had to make a lot of restroom stops after that.

  “No problem,” Aunt Jane said. Then she cupped her hands around her mouth and declared loudly, “All raisins and raisin-containing products are hereby outlawed from camp!”

  By this time we were done with breakfast, so we all tossed out rules as we gathered up the dishes and took them outside to wash in a plastic bin full of soapy water.

  “Chocolate every day!” Dawn suggested.

  “That’s a good one,” Aunt Jane said.

  “Getting dirty is not only acceptable, but encouraged!” Darby said.

  “Fine with me,” Aunt Jane said. “As long as your hands are clean when you eat.”

  “I know! I know!” I said, bouncing in my sneakers. I’d thought of a good one. “Everyone has to do a cartwheel at least once a day.”

  Aunt Jane shook her head. “Now, hang on, I’m not sure I can follow that one.”

  “Oh.” I felt bad. Like I’d just spoiled a good game.

  “I’m just not as spry as I used to be. But …” Aunt Jane started making waving motions with her hands, as if trying to push all of us to one side. “Clear the way, you three. It’s been several years since I’ve done a cartwheel, but let me try.”

  Dawn, Darby, and I moved off the grass and onto the cement square where the picnic table stood.

  Aunt Jane stood with her arms straight down at her sides and stared hard at the stretch of grass in front of her. She opened and closed her hands a couple of times, took one step, and kind of rocked forward and back on her feet.

  “You can do it, Aunt Jane!” I hollered.

  With a whoosh, Aunt Jane raised her arms and whirled around in a cartwheel. It was great! Her legs were kind of bent and she made a noise like “wah!” but she did it! We all cheered, and then did cartwheels of our own.

  “You know what we need?” Aunt Jane asked, as we reassembled at the picnic table. “A motto.”

  “Yeah!” my sisters and I said in unison.

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Well, I just thought of one as you all did your cartwheels,” Aunt Jane said. “How about ‘United in Fun’?”

  Dawn suggested we vote to make it official, and it was unanimous in favor.

  “Good job, team. Let’s finish up with the breakfast cleanup and then go down to the horse riding area,” Aunt Jane said as she dried the cast-iron skillet. “You know, horse riding was always your mother’s favorite part of our trips here.”

  “Aunt Jane, did you and Mom argue when you were camping? Or were you united in fun?”

  “Well …” Aunt Jane ducked her head and looked a little guilty again. “Let’s just say I used to chase her with daddy longlegs. I’m not proud.”

  “Sounds kind of like Darby,” Dawn said. “She loves picking up daddy longlegs.”

  Darby shook her head. “But I wouldn’t chase anyone with them. That was kind of mean of you,” she said to Aunt Jane.

  “It sure was,” Aunt Jane said. “Don’t worry, your mom got revenge.”

  “What happened?”

  “So later that same day, your mom and I were eating pinto beans with our smoked brisket, and I was trying to ruin her appetite by sticking beans in my nostrils.”

  “Eww!” exclaimed Dawn.

  “That’s mean, too!” Darby said, but she was giggling.

  “What’d Mom do?” I asked.

  “She … um … she tossed her milk in my face and I ended up inhaling beans. Dang near choked, too. But I tell you what — I never tried that again.”

  We laughed so hard, the birds in the nearby trees all flew away.

  I love camping, and I love Aunt Jane. Camping plus Aunt Jane equals united in fun.

  I knew Aunt Jane thought the horses would get us all excited, and it was nice of her to walk us out to the pasture. But while Darby and Delaney skipped along the gravel road, I lagged behind. I didn’t want to say it out loud, but horses scare me. Darby is always going on about how smart they are and how much they helped shape society. Delaney thinks they are adorable and wants to have at least a couple as pets. Me? I think they look like wild giants who could stomp you to death.

  It was bad enough that I already almost drowned. Now I was probably going to end up a bloody pulp for no good reason. It was hard to get enthusiastic about that.

  “I hope they have a paint horse. That’s what I want to ride,” Delaney was saying. She was half running, half dancing down the lane and occasionally had to double back so that she didn’t get too far away from us. All that motion was stirring up little tornadoes of dirt, and it would still be hanging in the air as I reached the same spot. The dust was sticking to my sweaty, sunblock-covered skin, making me look like a giant snickerdoodle.

  But as fast as Delaney’s feet were moving, her mouth, as usual, was moving even faster. “Someday I want my own paint horse. One with brown spots and a white mane. I think I want a mare, but a boy horse would be fine, too. And I could name it Dip Cone, because when I eat dip cones with the chocolate shell over vanilla, it makes me think of paint horses.”

  “That’s a lousy name for a horse, Delaney,” I said. “Nobody wants to be called a dip.”

  “Well … I also think of paint horses when I have black cows. The ice cream in the root beer makes the same kinds of patterns.”

  “Naming a horse Black Cow would be worse than naming it Dip Cone,” I said. “No horse wants to be called a cow.”

  “Jiminy! She can name her horse whatever she wants to, Dawn,” Darby said.

  “She doesn’t have a horse!”

  Darby shook her head in a disappointed way. “You sure are grouchy, Dawn.”

  “I also think of paint horses when I eat chocolate sundaes,” Delaney went on. “So I could name it Sundae — or maybe Sunday, with a y, like the day of the week.”

  She looked at me to see if I was going to say anything, but I didn’t. I thought it was silly of her to name an animal she didn’t have yet and never would because our mom won’t let her. But Sundae was an improvement. Besides, I did sound like a big grouch, even though I didn’t mean to. I was just sticky and grimy and not looking forward to getting kicked to death. Plus, my shoes still squished.

  I checked to see if Aunt Jane was disappointed in me and my rants, but she was in front of me so I couldn’t tell if she was frowning or not. I quickened my step to pull alongside her. When I looked over again, I noticed she was staring straight into the distance and seemed puzzled. Her brow was all scrunched and her head tilted to the left.

  “What’s wrong, Aunt Jane?” I asked.

  “Huh? Oh … nothing. The place just seems different from the last time I was here.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, for one thing, I don’t see any people. Normally there are other campers headed to the rides, and camp workers helping out.”

  I strained my neck to look beyond the fence, and she was right. We were the only people around.

  “Um … Aunt Jane? Where are the horses?” Darby asked.

  We all glanced around, and sure enough, no horses were in sight. Just a few lazy cows walking and eating among the flies and mosquitos.

  “There’s the barn, right at the end of that drive,” Aunt Jane said. She pointed to a red wood str
ucture amid a few live oak trees at the end of a dirt lane.

  “Maybe they just aren’t out yet,” Delaney said. “Can we go take a peek?”

  Aunt Jane shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” But she hadn’t even finished her sentence before Delaney took off like a shot followed closely by Darby, which sent another big cloud of dust over me.

  “Hey!” I shouted, patting my arms to try and brush off the new layer of grime.

  “I guess we better join them,” Aunt Jane said to me. “Race you?”

  “You go ahead. I’ll be along in a bit,” I said.

  I didn’t want to race — or run at all. I didn’t even want to be there. But I managed to smile a little as I said it so that I didn’t seem cranky.

  Aunt Jane jogged off after them and I took my time catching up. On the way, I let out a lot of my grumbles about the bugs, the heat, my creek-water smell, and my grubby legs. But the thing I griped the most about was that boy, Jay, who’d said he wanted to be president. Like it was no big deal. Like he was saying he wanted tacos for dinner.

  Some people have no respect for the office.

  I hoped all my complaining would be done with by the time I reached the barn. But when I got there, everyone else looked as sullen as I felt. Darby was sitting on a hay bale, frowning down at her sneakers. Delaney was leaning over one of the stable gates, making it swing back and forth. The old metal hinges made a terrible screechy sound, as if they were wailing in protest. And Delaney was so crestfallen she looked like she might start wailing, too.

  There were hoofprints in the dried mud of the stable floor, and some broken tack in the tack room, but there weren’t any actual horses in sight.

  Aunt Jane was talking in a cheery tone. “Maybe they’re just out being ridden.”

  “I’m pretty sure that horses haven’t been in here in a while,” Delaney said.

  “How can you be so sure?” Aunt Jane asked.

  “This barn seems sorely neglected,” Delaney said.

  “Abandoned,” Darby said.

  “Practically ramshackle,” I said.

  “And besides, there’s no … no …” Darby faltered.