Show and Prove (28 page)

“C
hill out,” says Smiles, but he's panicking, too. “They couldn't have come back down past us without us seeing them, so we gotta go this way.” We head down the opposite side of the mountain, praying that any second now Pedro and Shorty will pop into our line of sight. No luck.

I check my watch. “We need to find them kids now, Smiles. We're supposed to be back at the bus by three, and it takes at least fifteen minutes to get to base camp.”

“That's where they are!” But Smiles sounds way more confident than he looks. “They already headed back.”

I can't believe he said that. “All this time, B, and you still don't know my kid? Shorty done dragged Pedro deeper into these damn woods.” I slap my hands to my face. “Them kids is lost and don't even know it!”

“Calm down.” Smiles turns in the direction we just came. “Cross your fingers that Shorty took him that way back toward the bus.”

I make the sign of the cross and yell for the hundredth time, “Shorty!”

“Pedro! Stevie!”

I cringe at the thought of other counselors hearing us wail for our kids, but we ain't got no choice. “Shorty! I swear, Smiley, when I catch the kid, I'ma kill him. You think I won't…SHORTY!”

We walk and call their names for ten minutes. Then I spot some other counselors and kids from Saint Aloysius in the distance. Smiles cups his hand around his mouth to holler again, and I yank at his arm. “Don't! We got to play this off. We got to stroll back to base like everything's copacetic and pray that they're there like you said.”

Cookie sits on a blanket playing gin rummy with a few kids. Sure enough, the second she lays eyes on us, she asks, “Where are Pedro and Stevie?” I swear she got a sixth sense for opportunities to stick it to Smiles and me.

“They right back there,” I say, quickly tossing my hand over my shoulder to no place in particular. “We got any more juice? I'm thirsty.” My throat feels like sandpaper. I head over to the table where the cardboard lunch boxes are stacked and look for something to drink. There are some extra sandwiches and fruit but no cartons of milk or juice. “Damn.”

A few moments later Big Lou blows his whistle. “We're breaking out in five minutes, people. Pick up your garbage. Like Smokey the Bear says,
Keep America beautiful.
And make sure you have all your stuff, because once that bus starts moving, we're not turning around.”

Cookie yells, “Motivate!”

Smiles and I gawk at each other like two pooh-butts as counselors and kids scuttle around, dumping their trash and collecting their bags. Nowhere in the crowd is either Pedro or Shorty Rock. “What we're going to do, man?”

“I don't know, B.” Smiles lets go a deep breath and tosses up his hands. “I don't know.”

“Shit!”

And here comes Cookie. “What's up, guys?” Her voice sounds friendly and unsuspecting. I wonder if she knows something we don't. What if this is just one big prank on me?

Smiles blurts out, “Our kids are lost, yo!”

“Smiles!”

“What, B? They are. This isn't the time to play the role.”

Cookie laughs.
She laughs.
“Stop lyin'.” She thinks
we're
playing a joke on
her.
It only takes a second for her to realize that Smiles and I aren't kidding. “Oh, my God. Wait. For serious?”

“Like a heart attack.”

I say, “We went hiking up that mountain over there, and we all sat down…. ”

“All four of us together,” Smiles adds, to prove that we're not total fuckups. “And at one point, they took off…. ”

“Without permission!” I say. “They just broke out without telling nobody. Cookie, you know how Shorty be!”

I wait for Cookie to yell that we do, too, which is why we never should have taken our eyes off of him. Instead she says, “OK, this is what we're going to do. Nike, you go back to the bus. If anyone asks where Smiles and I are, you tell them that you saw us near the bathrooms.”

“And that Shorty and Pedro are with Smiles.”

“Yeah, we took them to make one last trip before getting on the bus,” says Cookie. “And you make sure all my kids get on the bus.”

“Bet.” I break into a run toward the parking lot.

“Wait!” I stop in my tracks for more direction from Cookie. “If we aren't back in fifteen minutes, come clean to Big Lou. Pray to God it doesn't come to that.” I've started running again when Cookie calls out, “And don't say anything in front of the kids! We don't want to upset them.”

If Cookie ever wanted to show and prove, this is the time, and as I run toward the bus, I think she just might.

“W
e went this way,” I say, and Cookie and I break into a jog toward the mountaintop. As we run, I explain that they had to have gone down another side because they didn't pass Nike and me on the path we came. When we reach the foot of the hill we had climbed, I start to hike up, but Cookie grabs my arm.

“Let's just step back a few yards and see if we can spot them first,” she says. “If they're still up there, we might be able to see them.”

“Good idea,” I say. “You go over that way. I'll go over there.”

We separate, both of us calling out for Stevie and Pedro. I go for five minutes, and I don't see anyone, let alone my kids. Could they have covered that much ground already? I turn back toward where I left Cookie, and soon enough she reappears, alone but excited.

“Smiles! I saw some people from another camp, and they said they saw two boys with orange T-shirts on the other side.” Cookie waits for me, and when I reach her, we break out into a sprint to the other side of the mountain.

“Pedro!”

“Stevie!”

As we call their names, I keep my eyes peeled for a patch of orange amid the brown and green. “Pedro!” She stops, grabbing my arm.

“Wait, Smiles, I just thought of something. Isn't the lake this way?”

“I think so.”

Cookie hop-skips into a run again. “Shorty made a big deal about wanting to go to the lake, 'member? How much you wanna bet that's where they're at?”

My stomach knots up into a braid of relief and fear. Relief because I already know that Cookie is right—the kids are at the lake—and fear that the worst has come to pass. Always spending time in a public pool where the waters rarely run deeper than three feet, lots of city kids tend to think they can swim when they can't.

“Pedro!”

“Smiley!”

Just when I think I can't go any faster, both Cookie and I ramp up our speed at the sound of Pedro's voice. We race toward the lake, leaving the competition between us in the dust. I spot them. Shorty sits on the ground with his right leg resting on a big rock. Shirtless Pedro sits beside him. He sees me and comes running. “Smiley, Smiley, Smiley!” Pedro leaps into my arms, and I hug him tight, the Spanish flooding over my tongue as if it were my first language.

“Chico, ¡me asustaste!” I try to scold him, but there is too much relief in my voice. “Why did you take off without telling me? You know you're not supposed to do that.” I carry him over to where Cookie kneels beside Stevie on the ground.

Pedro says, “Stevie, he fall and get hurt.”

Shorty's snot and tears have left streaks across his dirty face. Every few seconds, a sob bursts out of him like a hiccup. I have never seen the kid so beaten. I hate seeing him like this, yet wish Nike was here. My mom would say,
A quick mouth often guards a soft heart,
and Cookie was right—there's a lot of Shorty Rock in Nike Fresh.

I put down Pedro so I can kneel beside Cookie as she wipes Shorty's face with the gentleness of a mom. Pedro's camp T-shirt is knotted snugly around Shorty's ankle, which is wedged between two sticks into a makeshift splint. I smile proudly at Pedro. “¿Dónde aprendiste cómo hacer eso?”

“Yo estaba en e-boyscaut en Puerto Rico.”

Cookie scolds, “¿Cuando él fue herido, por qué tu no viniste a buscarnos?”

“Porque él no quería que yo le dejo solo. Puso a llorar y llorar y llorar.” I can hear the break in Cookie's heart at the picture of Shorty Rock pleading for Pedro not to leave him alone to come get us. “Y yo sabía que Smiley no me dejara.” And that breaks open my heart. Of course I wouldn't leave without him, and not because it's my job. “Pues, decidé a esperar aquí con el.” Cookie and I nod at him. Pedro was right to wait with Shorty.

“OK, buddy, we need to get you back to the bus.” She pivots on the balls of her feet so Shorty can climb onto her back. And even though he's just fine, I hoist Pedro onto my hip and carry him, too. “It's been over twenty minutes, but hopefully Nike chickened out and didn't tell Big Lou what happened.”

“From now on we shouldn't come on these trips without walkie-talkies,” I say.

“That's a fresh idea, but can you imagine how much it would cost to have one for every counselor?”

The second Big Lou spots us, he yells, “What the hell happened?”

“Stevie got hurt while hiking.” I wait for Cookie to throw Nike and me under the bus, but that's all she says. Big Lou looks to me for some kind of confirmation or denial, but I have nothing to say.

He's not having it, though. “Go on.” Big Lou fumes as he steps aside and watches us carry the kids onto the bus. “We'll deal with this when we get back to the Bronx.”

W
hen Smiles carries Shorty Rock onto the bus, some of the other kids applaud, while a few counselors mumble sarcastically,
'Bout time.
Me? I almost die. No one has a clue yet how serious this could have been. They just think Shorty and Pedro zoned out during their adventures and lost track of time.

And that's what the kids are supposed to do at day camp. Our job as counselors is to keep track of them and time so they can lose themselves without getting lost. I failed at my job today.

Big-time.

A few kids spot the splint on Shorty's leg, and the buzz starts. As the bus driver pulls out of the parking lot, Big Lou heads to the back where I'm hiding. Without raising his voice, Big Lou says, “You're docked for the rest of the week.”

What am I going to do? Jump bad? Instead I nod twice, look down at my Nikes, and say, “Yes, sir. I'm sorry.”

I watch Big Lou make his way to the front of the bus. Cookie, Smiles, and I look at each other. I can tell we're thinking the same thing. Are they next?

But Big Lou walks right past them. When he reaches his seat, he claps his hands and starts a chant. “Everywhere we go-oh…”

“Everywhere we go-oh…,” the kids repeat.

People want to know-oh

People wanna know-oh

Whooo we are-ah

Whooo we arrah

And we tell them

And we tell 'em

We are the Champions!

We are the Champions!

The mighty, mighty Champions!

The mighty, mighty Champions!

Your leeeft, your left

Your leeeft, your left…

While Big Lou and the rest of the campers continue the chant as if it were still an ordinary day, I get up and head toward the front of the bus. I find Shorty Rock sitting by himself, hiccuping sobs. He looks up at me and throws his arm over his head, trying to block the oops upside his head he's expecting from me.

But that's the last thing on my mind. “Scoot over.” For the first time all summer, Shorty does as I ask him without first giving me any lip. “You OK?”

Shorty Rock sniffs and nods.

“Good. I'm glad.” Then I put my arm around his shoulder and stroke his hair. Within minutes the rocking of the bus puts him to sleep.

Maybe he's not such a demonio after all.