Nothin But Net (2 page)

“Did you pack the pepperoni sausage I got for you? What about your shower slippers? You don’t want to get athlete’s foot.”

“Would you leave him alone, Elaine?” Mr. Futterman pleaded to no avail. Mrs. Futterman kept it up
until Tim’s dad beeped the car horn. That seemed to snap her out of it long enough for Billy to make his escape.

“I’m surprised they didn’t take you to Europe with them if your mom’s so worried about you,” Tim said as Billy slid into the
backseat, semisquashing him.

“My dad thinks she needs a vacation from me,” Billy said.

“Your dad’s right,” Tim’s dad said flatly. “It’ll do you both good.”

“Now, Peter!” Tim’s mom said in a hushed voice. “Keep your opinions to yourself.”

“Sorry.”

The three-hour ride was peaceful and even pleasant. Billy and Tim spent most of the time playing with Billy’s handheld video
game system. They found the camp without getting lost, and Billy and Tim started unloading their gear while the grown-ups
went inside to sign the paperwork.

While Billy sat on the steps playing his video game, Tim took his first look around at Camp Wickasaukee. It was laid out on
a hillside above a long, blue lake. Near the office was the beach, with the swimming
areas roped off. Unbroken woods climbed the slopes on the far side of the lake. To the left were softball, soccer, and football
fields.

Up the hill and to the right of the office, where the slope flattened out, were dozens of cabins. The larger ones were for
the staff. The smaller, more basic ones were for the campers. Nobody had to tell Tim any of this. It was obvious, even to
a kid who’d never been to sleep-away camp. As Tim well knew, kids were always on the bottom of the totem pole.

Off to the right, beyond the cabins, were several large, hangarlike buildings. Tim figured this was where they ate and did
indoor activities. Up the hill from the ball fields was a huge gym with a Plexiglas roof. Tim could hear dozens of basketballs
being dribbled.

A middle-aged, bald-headed man in a blue
CAMP WICKASAUKEE
T-shirt came over to them. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Coach Gabe, the head counselor. And who might you be?”

Tim and Billy introduced themselves and shook hands. “Great, great!” Coach Gabe said. Turning to Billy, he added, “Um, you’re
going to have to send that home with Mom and Dad. We don’t play video games up here — too much good stuff to do!”

Billy looked like he’d just been hit with a sledge-hammer. “What do you mean?” he asked, as if Coach Gabe had been speaking
Chinese. “It’s mine!”

“And it’ll be yours again when you get back home,” Coach Gabe assured him. “Don’t worry — you’ll never miss it.”

Billy shot Tim a dubious look. “I can’t believe this,” he said, his shoulders slumping. “No video? Sheesh.”

But Coach Gabe had moved on, to greet Tim’s parents as they came down the steps. With a deep sigh, Billy placed the video
system gently in Tim’s mother’s hands. He looked like he was about to cry as the car drove off with his electronic security
blanket. Now what am I gonna do? he wondered.

“Come on,” Tim said, hoisting his duffel bag, “let’s go find our bunk.”

The building that housed the thirteen-year-old campers was larger than most of the other cabins. In front of the building
hung a sign that said E
AGLES
N
EST
— Eagles being the name of their age group here. The fourteen-to-fifteen-year-olds lived in Condors Roost, an even larger
house higher up the hill. Other cabins — the ones for the younger campers — were farther
down the slope and had signs that said C
UBS
, C
OLTS
, and S
PARROWS
. Tim wondered what names the girls’ bunks had. Probably K
ITTENS
, F
AWNS
, and B
UTTER-FLIES
. Sheesh.

Sitting on the steps in front of Eagles Nest was a muscular guy with a blond buzz cut and an orange T-shirt that said
HOFSTRA
on it. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Jody, your counselor. You guys first-timers, huh?”

“How’d you know?” Billy asked.

“I’ve been here every summer since I was five,” Jody answered, flashing them a brilliant smile. “You’re gonna love it. It’s
the best.”

“Yo, Jody!”

They all turned to see a group of four boys approaching, duffel bags slung over their shoulders.

“Hey, you mugs!” Jody called back, flashing that grin again. “How’ve you been?” They all hugged and high-fived and started
talking about people and events Tim knew nothing about. He could see that this was going to go on for a while, so he turned
to Billy and said, “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Eagles Nest was two stories high and had small rooms with two or three beds each. “It doesn’t say
whose room is whose,” Billy said, dropping his duffel bag on the wood floor. “Man, that is heavy. My mom must have put a bunch
of bricks in there!”

Another counselor approached them. He had curly dark hair and heavy stubble, as if he hadn’t shaved in two days. “Hey, you
guys,” he said, shaking hands with them. “I’m Tito. Welcome to Eagles Nest.”

“Thanks. My name’s Tim. Tim Daniels.”

“I’m Billy Futterman,” Billy said. “Say, where are we supposed to bunk?”

“Let’s see,” Tito said, whipping a chart out of the back pocket of his shorts. “Billy Futterman? You’re in room three.” He
continued looking at the chart. “Tim Daniels … Daniels … yep, here you are. Room sixteen.”

“Huh?” Billy said, looking suddenly alarmed. “You mean, we’re not in the same room?”

“Apparently not. Is that a problem?”

“No!” Tim said quickly, not wanting Tito to think he was a baby or something.

“Yes!” Billy said at the same exact instant. “We were supposed to be together. My mom requested it.”

“She did?” Tim said, his eyes wide.

“I can switch it around if you want,” Tito said.

“Never mind, it’s no big deal,” Tim assured him. “What the heck, Billy — no biggie, right?”

“I don’t know,” Billy said, shaking his head and looking at the ground. “My mom was very specific.”

Tim frowned. So Billy’s mom had made a big deal out of it. He could believe it. Billy’s mom was like that. Still, from the
way Billy was acting, Tim could tell it was Billy who had put her up to it.

“Here — I’ll tell you what,” Tito said,. putting a comforting arm around Billy’s shoulders. “Don DeGeronimo’s not here yet
— I’ll just switch him with you, Billy, and put you two guys together in sixteen.”

“Thanks,” Billy said with a grateful smile.

“No sweat,” said Tito. “Anything I can do, just ask. We aim to please here at Camp Wickasaukee.”

“Great,” Tim said, with just an edge of annoyance in his voice.

“First year here, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” Billy said.

“How many years for you?” Tim asked.

“Seven. Once you get hooked, there’s nothing that can keep you away. Hey, you know who else is coming here for the first time
this year?”

“No. Who?” Billy asked.

“Dick Dunbar.”

“The forward at North Carolina?” Tim asked, his jaw dropping. “Second team All-American?”

“That’s the one,” Tito confirmed. “He’s your other counselor, besides me and Jody.”

“Awesome!” Tim said. Not only would he be getting tips from NBA players, but Dick Dunbar was going to be one of his counselors!

There was a sudden commotion by the front door. “That must be him now,” Tito said, “judging by the noise level. Yo, Dunbar!
That you?”

They went back outside, where a dozen or so kids were mobbing the six-foot-eight-inch Dunbar. Tim knew his face from watching
the NCAA tournament on TV. “How cool is this?” he asked, turning to Billy. “Come on, let’s say hi.”

But there was no way they could get near Dick Dunbar. The other kids had him surrounded and were talking his head off, telling
him all about Camp Wick-asaukee. Apparently, every one of them had been here for years and years.

Tim felt a sudden, unfamiliar shiver of self-doubt go through him. If these kids had been getting coached
every summer of their lives, they were sure to be miles ahead of him at basketball. Back at the playground, Tim had been a
star. Would he be nothing but a scrub here?

Tim and Billy unpacked their gear and said hello to some of their bunkmates. There was a friendly kid named Bobby Last, who
had to be at least six foot three. Then there was a stocky, pug-nosed, freckle-faced kid by the name of Brian Kelly, who looked
them up and down like they were defective goods, and shook hands with a limp handshake.

Tim’s favorite right off the bat was Don DeGeronimo, a tall, slim, dark-skinned kid with a sly grin, who actually seemed interested
in where they were from and what they were into besides basketball.

All in all, it was a start at making new friends. Tim knew in his heart that if Billy hadn’t been there, stuck to him like
glue and whining about his video game system, he could have made friends a lot quicker. But he didn’t want to make it someone
else’s fault. After all, Billy couldn’t help it. Tim just wished he would let it go and try to get into Camp Wickasaukee the
way he himself was doing.

They trooped down to dinner, and Tim got his first look at the girls, whose campus was on the far side of the mess hall. Some
of them were really cute. He could tell they were checking the boys out, too, giggling like girls do when they get excited
about something. He wondered if the boys and girls here had any activities together, but he didn’t want to ask, for fear of
looking too interested.

That night, there was a campfire down by the lake. The campers gathered in large circles, by bunkhouse, and there was a bonfire
for each group. This is cool, Tim thought, gazing at the fires blazing everywhere in the starlit night. He was starting to
like it here already.

“Ow,” Billy said, swatting at his bare arm. “This place is swarming with mosquitoes!”

“They’re not bothering me,” Tim said. “Do you have any repellent?”

“I slathered it on back at the bunk,” Billy said mournfully. “But it doesn’t help. These things are man-eaters.”

“I haven’t gotten bit once,” Tim said.

“Mosquitoes like me,” Billy informed him. “Sweet meat, my mom says.”

Great, thought Tim. Billy had found something else to complain about besides his video game system.

The veteran campers were hanging out together, trading stories and bragging about stuff they’d done during the past year —
games they’d won, places they’d been, girls they’d dated — and bringing up memories of past summers at Wickasaukee.

Tim tried to listen in, even though he felt left out of their conversation. He figured it was a way to get to know them and
pick out which kids might be potential friends. They all seemed to think they were big-cheese athletes. Tim could well believe
it about some of them, but others looked like they were just bragging.

They roasted marshmallows and made s’mores with chocolate bars and graham crackers, and then it was time for ghost stories.
Glancing over at Billy, Tim could tell he was a little scared, especially since the story was about a killer who searched
the forests near Camp Wickasaukee, seeking campers to add to his collection of victims.

It was Tito who was telling the tall tale, and Tim liked the way he really got into it, his dark eyes dancing in the flames
from the fire. “They say the victims
roam the woods to this day, carrying their severed heads in their hands, bouncing them like basketballs …”

“Wooo-oooo …,” crooned several veteran campers, providing spooky sound effects to embellish the story. Glancing over at Billy,
Tim saw him shudder.

Apparently, someone else had noticed too. That night, just as Tim was drifting off to sleep, he heard the door to his and
Billy’s room creak open. Dark shadows played on the walls, and he heard at least three campers tiptoe into the small cubicle.
One of them seemed to be carrying something round in his hands. Tim kept his eyes half shut, pretending to be asleep. From
across the room, he could hear Billy snoring.

The intruders stifled giggles as the kid with the round object dropped it right on Billy’s stomach — just as another boy flicked
on the room light. All three started yelling, “My head! My head! Aaaaah!”

Billy shot straight up in bed, screaming at the top of his lungs. In his hands, he held a basketball with a wig on it. When
he realized what it was, he threw it from him and glared angrily at the three laughing campers who had pulled the prank on
him. One was
Brian Kelly, the pug-nosed boy. The others were kids Tim had met only briefly, and he couldn’t remember their names at the
moment, even though he was wide awake now.

Jody, Tito, and Dick Dunbar all barged into the little room. “What the blazes is going on in here?” Jody yelled.

“Billy boy got scared,” Brian said, giggling a piggy-like, snorting laugh.

“My head! My head!” one of the others mimicked, and they all started laughing again. Tim found himself laughing, too, in spite
of himself. Billy sure had looked funny, all scared like that, with the bewigged basketball in his outstretched hands, screaming
like a two-year-old.

Billy cast him a quick glance, and Tim wiped the smile off his face — but it was too late. He could see the hurt look in Billy’s
eyes, and he felt a sharp pang of guilt, as if he had been the one who’d pulled the nasty prank.

“Get back in bed, the three of you,” Jody ordered the offending campers, and they retreated from the room, still giggling
and slapping each other five. “You’ve got bathroom cleanup duty all week, you
hear?” he called after them. Even this punishment didn’t seem to ruin their good time.

Dick Dunbar was sitting next to Billy with an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, man, don’t sweat it. They’re just giving you
a hard time ’cause you’re the new kid. They’ll get tired of picking on you if you show ’em you don’t care.”

“But I do care,” Billy said, his chin trembling. “I wanna go home!”

“Billy,” Tim said, “your parents are already in Europe, remember? You can’t go home.”

“Shut up, traitor,” Billy said, giving him that hurt look again.