“I really doubt that,” I told him.
Uncle Ahdoanwanna checked his clipboard for my name. Then he showed me which bunk I should go to. It was right next to the big flagpole in the middle of all the bunks. I dragged my duffel bag out of the car while my parents talked to Uncle Ahdoanwanna about the weather and other stuff grown-ups care about.
Some kids were hanging out on the front porch of the bunk. As I got closer, I saw Michael, Ryan, Neil, and a boy I didn’t know.
“I didn’t know you guys wanted to go to sleepaway camp,” I told my friends.
“I only came because my parents said you would be here,” Michael said to Ryan.
“I only came because my parents said you would be here,” Ryan said to Michael.
“I only came because my parents said you three would be here,” said Neil.
Oh, great. None of us wanted to go to sleepaway camp. Our parents tricked us into going by telling us the rest of us would be going.*
Mom and Dad came over to me to say goodbye.
“Well, this is it,” said my dad. “You’re going to have a great time, A.J. We’ll see you on Saturday.”
“You be a good boy,” said my mom, giving me a hug.
“No hugging in front of the guys!” I told her.
“We love you, A.J.,” said my dad.
Not the L word! Gross!
“I can’t believe it,” my mom said with tears in her eyes. “Look at you, such a big boy going to sleepaway camp. It seems like only yesterday that you were in diapers.”
Then they drove away.
“You were in diapers yesterday?” Ryan asked. The guys all laughed even though he didn’t say anything funny.
I dragged my duffel bag into the bunk. There were mosquitoes in there too. I could already feel the bites on my arms and legs.
Everything inside the bunk was made out of wood. It was like Abraham Lincoln’s house. The one kid I didn’t know followed me inside.
“Psssssssst!” he whispered. “C’mere.”
I went over to him. He was wearing a trench coat, like spies wear. What is his problem? Who wears a trench coat during the summer?
“You new?” he whispered.
“Yeah,” I told him.
“Well, I’ve been coming to this camp since I was six,” he whispered. “I know all the ins and outs. What’s your name?”
“A.J.,” I told him. “What’s yours?”
“Shhhhh!” he whispered, for no reason. “Everybody calls me . . . Candyman.”
“Why do they call you Candyman?” I asked Candyman.
He opened his trench coat. All kinds of candy were hanging from it. Kit Kats. Milk Duds. Sugar Babies. Twix. Snickers. Mars bars. It was like his trench coat was a candy store.
“You like candy?” he whispered. “I’m your man. I’ll set you up. I’ve got gummy bears, jawbreakers, Skittles, whatever you need. Just don’t tell anybody. It will be our little secret.”
“Maybe later,” I replied.
That Candyman kid is weird. My parents always tell me not to take candy from strangers, and this kid was stranger than anybody.
I looked around. There were bunk beds in the bunk, of course. I guess that’s why they’re called bunk beds. If I picked a top bunk, I might roll over and fall out of bed in the middle of the night. And if I picked a bottom bunk, some kid in the top bunk might roll over, fall out of bed in the middle of the night, and land on top of me. I didn’t know which was worse.
It didn’t matter because, by the time I got there, there was only one empty bed left. I started to unpack my stuff. That’s when Ryan, Michael, and Neil came in from the porch. They were with some tall, skinny teenager.
“Gather around, Owls,” he told us.
“Owls?”
“Every bunk has a name,” the teenager said. “It’s a camp tradition. We’re the Owls.”
“Are you our counselor?” I asked him.
“No, Einstein,” he replied. “I’m Santa Claus.”
