Gravediggers Read Free Page A

care)—we have lunch at the mess hall, its wooden walls lined with art projects that consist of twigs and leaves glued to construction paper. I use the time to text Jutta and David from the braintrustfund.org message board about DEET (N, N-Diethyl-meta-toluamide) levels in the insect repellents they’ve used, and about which berries they’ve eaten on past camping trips. David tells me he usually uses DEET-free spray—his parents prefer organic alternatives—and that he generally enjoys thimbleberries, but that my trip might be too mountainous to find them. No word from Jutta, but that’s understandable. David’s from Portland, Oregon, while Jutta’s from Hamburg, Germany. She’s probably eating dinner.
    After lunch, we all return to the campfire pit, where we’re split up into our sections and sent to stand next to our assigned teacher. Ms. Brandt checks us off her attendance list, beaming. In the classroom, Ms. Brandt is overly rigid—the sight of her small, spherical form next to your desk is worrisome—but the seventh and eighth graders who I spoke to say that she becomes a kindhearted naturist at Homeroom Earth— naturist in this case meaning one who worships nature, not one who walks around without clothes on. Or so I assume.
    Either way, her face glows with a wide grin and she rubs her chubby-fingered hands together excitedly. Some of the other kids find this funny and giggle to themselves, but watching her take on such a different persona outside of the classroom gives me a warm feeling in my chest. Today, we can be pioneers!
    â€œOkay,” she mumbles. “Wright, Kendra. Jones, Leslie. Todd, Barbara. Dylan, Jenny. Richter, Tom. Wilson, Peter Jacob . . .” She trails down the names of the kids around me, then looks over to Coach Leider, who gives her a thumbs-up. “Splendid. And Buckley, Ian.”
    Excuse me?
    Sadly, this is not a mistake on her part—there’s Ian Buckley, all skinny muscles and messy blond hair, crossing his arms and looking completely miserable as Coach Leider leads him over to our group. (Let it be noted that Coach Leider’s outfit is astounding. I will never own that much camouflage.) Blood instinctively rushes into my face as I catch sight of him—he’s all boy, all stupid, lanky, mean, sexist little boy.
    â€œWeren’t you supposed to be in Coach Leider’s group?” asks Tom Richter.
    â€œWell,” says Ian, “I definitely wasn’t supposed to be here, with . . .” He trails off.
    â€œGo on, Ian,” I ask, “with who?”
    He laughs and shakes his head, but refuses to look at me.
    Relax, Kendra. So, yes, you’re in an Activity Group with a loudmouth jock whose primary goal in life is to jump off a cliff and see how it feels. This may be inauspicious (that’s two for inauspicious, you need three more), but it is by no means the end to your work out here.
    By the looks of things, Ian doesn’t seem incredibly pleased to be in Ms. Brandt’s group either, since there isn’t a single basketball player amongst you, just “pathetic nerds” like yourself, which is what Ian called you in science class before you hit him in the face with your textbook so hard that he had to be sent home and you had to spend your first and only afternoon in detention.
    So. Maybe his lack of someone to grunt at will keep him quiet and you can work in peace. Forget him. Take a deep breath of fresh mountain air and let it out. Owls. Keep your eyes out for owls.
    Professor Randy sidles over to Ms. Brandt and says, “Everyone here? Wonderful! Guys, I’d like you to meet Maris, your outdoor teacher for the day.” A pale, acne-spotted girl with black lipstick appears next to Professor Randy and waves excitedly at us. “She’s going to make sure you kids have a rockin’ time on your first activity!” When he’s looking away, I take a picture of