Cartboy Goes to Camp (8 page)

“Well, maybe it's not buried behind the museum,” said Scot.

Vinny put the piece of paper back in his pocket. “I looked everywhere else.”

“Well, it's not here.”

“Let's not panic,” I said. “Where else could it be? Maybe we can find another clue.”

“The thing is,” said Vinny, “I looked through every shelf of the museum. The diary this page came from is gone.”

All the way to dinner, and all during dinner, we argued about what to do next.

“I say we call off the hunt,” said Perth.

“I say we keep looking,” said Scot.

“I say we keep looking only if we find another clue.”

We all agreed to hunt for another clue. But we kept arguing over where to find one. We argued so much, we forgot to listen to Mr. Prentice's dinnertime lecture on wilderness survival.

I vaguely heard him say something about using a stick and the sun for a compass. And mention which plants were edible.

It wasn't until Mr. Prentice's lecture was over that my ears finally perked up. “And now, it's time for mail delivery!” he said.

My heart skipped a beat when a counselor handed me a letter.

It was from Arnie. It had to be. He said he was going to send me the sports section so I could see how the Phillies were doing. And that he'd try to sneak in a couple of baseball cards and gum.

I ripped open the envelope and pulled the letter out as fast as I could.

Not only was it not from Arnie. It was from my
dad.
He said my
whole family
would be coming for Pioneer Day. And that he knows I can “win the competition.”

The first thing that came to my mind was that there were two people my dad had never met:

1. Cora.         2. Me.

I wanted to lie down on the splintery floor of the dining room and
sob.
I actually was going to do it. But just then, my eye caught something that could make me forget about my dad's letter. The missing treasure. And my chances of winning Pioneer Day.

Theo must have seen me staring at the table of chocolate cake with my mouth hanging open, because he came over and sat down next to me. “Every once in a while,” he said, “Mr. Prentice serves dessert as a special treat. It makes the campers happy. That, and if you go home too skinny, he gets in trouble.”

I took a piece of cake from the dessert table and carried it to the front steps of the dining hall.

Outside, the cool air filled my lungs.

As I lifted a bite of the creamy chocolate to my mouth, I felt myself relax for the first time since I got here. I felt like somehow, some way, everything might be okay. I might actually survive.

The feeling lasted about one minute. Right up until Ryan grabbed the cake out of my hands.

 

A CLUE

Dear ?:

After Ryan stole my dessert, I went back to Cabin 2. I climbed in bed and lay there all night long. Wide awake.

I couldn't help but think, well, at least my dad is getting his money's worth. After all, I was having the full Jamestown experience:

By the time the gourd blew at five forty-five, I was sure of one thing: I was not going to the day's first activity. No matter what it was.

D
OO
  D
O
  D
O
  L
OOO
!

“Up and at 'em,” said Theo. “C'mon, Hal.”

“Unhh.”

“We're going straight to the museum after breakfast!”

“Unhhnh. Just want sleep.”

From the sound of things, Scot and Perth weren't budging either. “Us too,” they mumbled.

“We'll be beading leather in the museum! It's good fun!”

Even Vinny buried his face under his pillow. “What's the point, Theo?” he said. “It's not like our cabin has the slightest chance of winning Pioneer Day.”

Theo sat on the end of my bed and took a deep breath. “Maybe your scores haven't been too high, guys. But there's lots more stuff to do. Carving canoes. Yarn spinning. Churning butter. And don't forget, we've got to practice for the tug-of-war!”

I dragged my feet out of bed, trudged over to the dining hall, and forced the gluey glop down my throat.

After breakfast, we slogged over to the Museum of Colonial Artifacts. As soon as we got inside, I plunked down in an antique wooden chair in the back corner. Maybe, I thought, I could catch some sleep while everyone else did their beadwork.

After about a minute, Mr. Prentice appeared at the museum door. He held up a small square of something dark and leathery.

“As many of thee know,” he said, “the Powhatan Indians wore clothing made from animal skins. They used needles made of bone to sew through the tough hides. And decorated the skins with beads.”

He stepped a little farther into the museum. “The Powhatan's bead designs included clouds, animals, trees—all the things they loved. My question for thee is, what design was the favorite of the Powhatans?”

Mr. Prentice took a few steps in my direction. Here we go again, I thought. He is going to point to me.

And sure enough, he walked right past the girls in Cabins 5, 6, and 7, and stopped dangerously close to my napping chair.

“Mr. Rifkind. This time I shall give thee a hint. The favorite design of the Powhatans is something you see on a dollar bill.”

I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Finally, I knew the answer. Finally, I would not be embarrassed in front of the entire camp.

“George Washington,” I said.

When Mr. Prentice heard my answer, he stayed pretty quiet. He kind of hung his head down and muttered to himself. I couldn't be sure, but I think I heard something along the lines of, “Holy Hanger of Deerskins, what is wrong with that kid?”