Camp Wild Read Free

junk-food policeman.”
    â€œHey, I need the energy for afternoon classes. And for getting away from Charlie. He follows you around too, doesn’t he? Is he really only ten?”
    â€œSo they say. I consider him the king of hyperactivity and the prince of deviousness. But he can paddle a kayak like a demon.”
    â€œThat’s ‘cause his dad taught him. And he likes you, Wilf. You have noticed he likes you, right?”
    â€œHerb, I’m only going to say this once. I hate kids. And on the brat scale of one to ten, Charlie rates an eleven.”
    Herb laughs. “Yeah? Well he worships the ground you walk on.”
    And sticks to me worse than you,
I think. Did I ask for two demented shadows?
    â€œI’m going for a walk,” I say aloud.
    â€œBut it’s quiet time.”
    â€œExactly.” I heave myself up, tuck my notebook into my back pocket and stride out the door. I let the screen door slam. I walk briskly to the canoe house and step inside. The moldy smell of drying lifejackets assaults my nose. I scan the racks and stick my head inside the shortest aluminum canoe to inspect it. Too long. Good thing I know where the shorter, solo canoes are stored. I select two paddles (one as a spare), a lifejacket and wetsuit just my size, a helmet, flotation bags, waterproof gear bags and abailer. I glance around to make sure I’m alone, then stash them in a cobwebby corner beneath a tarp. I pull out my notebook and start checking things off.
    â€œHi, Wilf. Whatcha doin’?”
    I swing around. His head is poking out from under the longest canoe, and he’s grinning all over.
    â€œHey, Charlie. Just making sure all the gear’s ready for class tomorrow. What are you doing here?”
    His beady little eyes bore into me. He squeezes out from under the canoe and brushes dirt off his overalls. “Spying.”
    â€œYeah? Well I wouldn’t spy from under there. Probably mice or rats in this shed.”
    He grins wider. “You can’t scare me.”
    It’s too true. I pull a stick of gum from my shirt pocket and offer it to him. He grabs it, then tears out of the shed like I might change my mind.
    â€œI hate kids,” I mutter as I jam a stick of gum into my own mouth and head down to the river. “Especially that one.”

chapter four
    â€œWilf, Herb, wake up guys.”
    Patrick’s voice wafts through our cabin’s screen door, but I know for a fact it’s not seven o’clock yet. How do I know? Because the camp’s obnoxious wake-up bugle hasn’t blasted through the chill morning air. And the sun hasn’t yet cast beams of light on the clothes Herband I have left scattered about our tiny cabin. (That’s the only thing we have in common, I’ve decided.)
    â€œGo away,” I mumble, and sink deeper into my sleeping bag.
    Patrick takes this as an invitation to step in.
    â€œSorry you two, but one of our canoe and kayak instructors is ill this morning. I’d normally take over for him, but I have to run into town on business. I’m wondering if you can help out. Just one class: the little kids.”
    â€œNo thanks,” I say.
    â€œYou bet!” Herb pronounces at the same time. I feel the entire bunk bed sway as he sits up above me.
    I lift my feet and push up on the mattress beneath him in the hope he’ll take it back. But he’s such a suck-up to Patrick, I know he won’t.
    â€œOw! Wilf, stop doing that. You heard Patrick. He needs help.”
    â€œWilf, are you in?” Patrick’s voice sounds a little muffled from inside my sleeping-bag cocoon. “I’ve noticed you’re both strong paddlers. Claire would really appreciate your help.”
    Claire? I pop my head out of its shell. As it turns out, I’m suddenly
sooo
available to help juniors with their J-strokes. “Sure, why not? Does that get us out of arts and crafts?”
    â€œIf you like,” Patrick