Cartboy Goes to Camp (11 page)

Since morning was free time, we decided to start with canoe building. A bunch of girls had already set up behind a big log by the pond, so we figured we'd join them.

“We can work on our log carving technique and hide from Ryan and Billy at the same time,” I said to Vinny.

As soon as we got to the pond, I grabbed a chisel and tried to gouge out some of the log.

“You want some advice?”

I looked up to see Cora standing above me, next to a nicely chiseled section of the log.

“First, you use an ax to scrape the bark off the log. Then you use a chisel to carve a groove in the top.”

Cora placed her chisel against the log. “Gently and smoothly. Right down the center. Leave about a foot on either side.”

I copied exactly what she did. Over and over again. And by the end of the morning, we had carved out a big hunk of the canoe. It actually started to look like something an Indian would have made in the 1600s.

“How is it possible that you could be so good at carving canoes?” I asked Cora. “And chopping wood. And shooting a bow and arrow. And spinning yarn, and—”

“I guess it's in my blood. My ancestor on my mother's side was a Powhatan. Her Indian name was—”

“Dancing butterfly.”

“Yes!” Cora stared down at her chisel for a minute—then she looked me in the eyes. “You know, Hal, you're smarter than you think.”

“By the way,” she said, taking a step closer to me, “have you thought about whether you're going to the dance?”

“Oh, the dance. Well, I, um, uh…”

All I knew was the last time I went to a dance was in sixth grade with Cindy Shano. I couldn't think of a
single thing
to say to her the whole way there. And then I spilled a whole glass of punch on my tuxedo T-shirt when she tried to hold my hand.

“Well, Cora, I, um, uh—”

“Gotta run!” I said.

I put my chisel back on the log, and then sprinted to my table in the dining hall. Compared to all that dance talk, corn and beans actually sounded good.

I had barely finished my plate, when Mr. Prentice appeared at the kitchen door. “Hear ye, hear ye. In celebration of all your hard work in preparing for Pioneer Day, we shall have a very special treat for dessert today.”

He wheeled a table out from the kitchen, and my mouth popped open about a mile when I saw what was on it.

The best dessert in the history of the universe: banana cream pie.

My legs, all by themselves, walked to the dessert table. My hands, all on their own, picked up a piece of pie. And my fork dipped itself into the soft whipped cream topping.

The whipped cream would have made it into my mouth. Except for one thing.

“You weren't actually thinking of eating that, were you, Cartboy?”

It took every ounce of energy I had to get the pie moving in Ryan's direction. But when Ryan tried to take the plate, I couldn't release it.

“Give it, Cartboy.”

“I c-can't…”

“I said give it…”

He pulled, but my hand pulled back.

By the time Mr. Prentice walked up to us, we were having a full-on banana cream pie tug-a-thon.

“Mother of Rusty Muskets. What's going on here?”

“Well, Mr. Prentice, Ryan tried to take my—”

Before I could finish, Ryan whispered two little words in my ear.

“Sweatpants. Wedgie.”

“—I mean, I was just … giving my dessert to Ryan. Banana cream pie is his favorite.”

And then my hand released it.

Mr. Prentice looked at Ryan and me. “I'm quite pleased to see ye conducting yeselves with such a generous pioneer spirit. As the great seventeenth-century philosopher, Ernest Dimnet, once said, ‘Friends in needeth are friends indeedeth.'”

I ran from the dining hall to the big log pile in the middle of camp and grabbed the first ax I saw. I aimed it at a piece of wood and swung hard.

Yes, I was mad. Yes, I wanted to hit something. And yes, the ax got stuck in the log and I couldn't get it out.

I stood there yanking and pulling. And that's when I noticed Cora had followed me.

“Why didn't you stand up to that guy? Why did you let him trample all over you?”

“It's hard to explain—”

“You want me to get him for you? I'll take that jerk down with one karate chop to the jugular. I'll crack his noggin open so wide, he won't know what hit him. I'll—”

“Maybe just let it go, Cora.”

“But—”

“Please.”

“Okay. You're right, Hal. Besides, we've got bigger things to talk about. I mean … I'm just gonna say it: Will you come with me to the dance?”

“Uh…”

“It will be fun. We're decorating the dining hall with tons of Indian artifacts.”

“I, um, uh…” I stood there wiggling and squirming and trying to think of an answer. “Uh, um…”

I was still stalling when I happened to look in the direction of Ryan's hammock. As soon as I saw it, I did a double take.

Even though lunch was over, the hammock was empty. Ryan was nowhere to be found.

I looked all around camp to see where he could be. And then I spotted him. He was on the back steps of the dining hall. Eating a
whole
banana cream pie. And getting a
foot rub
from Billy the Bully.

I looked back at Ryan's empty hammock: This was our chance. Vinny and I had to go dig.

“What do you say, Hal? Will you go with me?” Cora asked again.

“Yes. Yes, I'll go.” I was so busy looking at Ryan's hammock, I wasn't sure what I was saying. Did I just tell Cora I would go with her to the dance?

Whatever I had said, there was no time to think about it.

“I have to run,” I said. “I have to find Vinny.”

I sprinted inside the museum, where Vinny was spinning some yarn.