Camp Wild Read Free Page A

says. “Thanks, guys. It’ll be good training if you want to be junior counselors next year, you know.” The screen door slams, the bugle sounds, the sun creeps in to expose our messy cabin.
    â€œLike we want to be junior counselors,” I gripe. I crawl out of bed and splash water on my face from the dirty washbowl I was supposed to empty last night.
    â€œWilf, you’d make an awesome one if you wanted to be. You know exactly how the camp runs, and the kids love you.”
    The kids love me?
“Like cats who jump on the laps of people allergic to cats.”
    â€œYeah, well the kids never talk to
me
.”
    â€œMaybe if you talked
at
them less, Herbie.”
    â€œWilf, why are you always so negative? This place is a blast. Relax and enjoy it. It’ll be fun teaching this afternoon. Bet the cook will even give us extra portions at supper.”
    Ah, a second thing we have in common. A desire for more food than we’re allotted. But my agenda is long-term and more noble. Well, okay, maybe not so noble.
    The morning drags by. Finally it’s the kiddies’ canoe and kayak class. Claire’s on the shore fitting out the munchkins in puffy orange lifejackets. I admire her pierced navel from afar, not for the first time.
    â€œWilf, Herb! Thanks guys, for being willing to help out,” she calls. As we come close, she adds in a lowered voice, “This group can be a handful for just one person.”
    â€œAw, they’re just normal kids with good energy,” I say smoothly as I help her lift some kayaks from the upper racks of the boat shed. Herb’s eyebrows slant in confusion at my remark before he shakes his head and starts rummaging around the rack of paddles.
    â€œCharlie, can you help me carry these?” I hear him shout.
    â€œNah, I’m gonna help Wilf,” he says, appearing beside me. For a split second, I feel the throb of where I extracted that tick yesterday.
    â€œCharlie, dude, let’s see if you can carry more paddles than Herb and I can,” I say.
    He eyes me carefully, then falls for it. Competitive little devil, I think. Soon wehave seven little water rats on the river, four in canoes and the rest in kayaks.
    â€œEveryone switches boats in half an hour so we all learn both types of paddling,” Claire reminds them.
    â€œNot me,” declares Charlie. “I only want to kayak.” Claire ignores him.
    I dig my knees into my canoe’s foam kneepads and demonstrate the art of crossing the river’s mild current, as Claire in her kayak and Herb in his canoe do the same. One by one, our little ducklings imitate our best forward, back and sweep strokes, crossing and re-crossing the river. The canoeists demonstrate their J and crossbow strokes as well, some a little shakily. Now and then, a student gets washed downstream, prompting Claire and Herb to give chase and coax the kid back up the eddies. Once, a timid girl capsizes in her kayak, ejects and comes to the surface gasping.
    â€œYou should of rolled,” Charlie chastises her from his bright orange kayak.
    â€œNow, Charlie, you know you’re the only one in this group who knows how to roll,” Claire says.
    â€œYou can roll?” I ask, surprised.
    In response, the ten-year-old makes sure I’m watching before capsizing and righting his kayak three times in a row.
    â€œShow-off,” his wet classmate mumbles as she eases herself back into her kayak.
    â€œAwesome, buddy,” I say to Charlie with a thumbs-up, only because it makes Claire smile warmly at me. “That’ll come in real handy when you do rapids. Speaking of which, Claire, what’s downstream of here?” I remember talk from past summers about wild whitewater, but I never registered the details.
    Claire smiles indulgently, allows the kids to paddle into a sort of huddle in the biggest eddy and stabs her paddle in the direction I’m looking.
    â€œIt’s nice,