There's a Bat in Bunk Five Read Online Free PDF

Marcy.”
    I look at her, then realize she’s not kidding around.
    They really are mouse turds.
    I think I’m going to throw up.
    But at least it’s mice and not bulls.
    I wonder if bats make pellets too.
    I feel like Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
, when she turns to her dog and realizes that she’s far from home.
    Well, Toto, I guess we’re not in New Jersey anymore.

CHAPTER 4
    C amp’s wonderful. I only hope it stays that way once the campers get here later today.
    I lie in bed, listening for the patter of little mice feet. So far so good. No more pellets. No sounds.
    It’s quiet outside. Birds singing.
    Corrine snores.
    The clock says six A.M. I think it runs in my family’s genes to be early risers. I decide to go out before work starts.
    Work. We’ve been cleaning the entire camp, getting supplies ready, holding more workshops, playing lots of games. For a camp stressing creative arts, there’s certainly a lot of physical activity. Carl says it “enriches the whole person.”
    My body hurts from all the enrichment. My blisters have blisters.
    I quietly climb down the ladder, dress, grab my soap, towel, and blow drier. Corrine’s warned me to be silent until she’s had her first cup of coffee.
    The door creaks when I open it. I catch it before it slams.
    No one else seems to be up.
    I’ve got the bathroom to myself. Usually all the females in camp seem to be using it at the same time. It’s as bad as taking a shower after gym.
    Finishing up, I go back to the cabin, sneak inside, and put my stuff away.
    Corrine’s still snoring.
    I didn’t think skinny people snored.
    I grab my notebook and pen and go outside again. It’s beginning to get really light.
    Two-thirds of the way down the hill, between the cabin area and the main building, there’s a goodtree to sit under to write the daily letter to my family. The pool’s toward the left, the fields are on the right. The main building’s down below. I owe four letters. Things are too busy. I can just imagine what it’s like at home. My mother will rush every day, anxiously checking the mail. When no letter arrives from me, tears’ll come to her eyes. At first she’ll imagine the worst. She’ll think I’ve been captured by a band of demon bats or fallen off a mountain. Then she’ll get upset and angry. I’ve really got to make this a good letter to make up for not sending the others.
    I write a lot, big, so that it takes up lots of room. It’s hard. I’m not sure what I should say. I want to have some privacy, also there’s not much to really report. Does she want to hear about my blisters, about my crush on Jimmy, about Corrine’s snoring? What do you say about camp to someone who’s not there to get the whole experience?
    I do my best, filling up four pages and putting them by my side.
    There’s a goat standing right next to me. It starts to eat my letter. Then it takes off down the hill with all of the pages in its mouth.
    Someone behind me laughs. “I’ve heard of peoplehaving to eat their own words, but that’s ridiculous.”
    I turn around and see Ted Chaback, one of the CITs. He’s carrying his guitar.
    â€œI bet that really gets your goat.” He grins.
    Oh no, more goat jokes.
    Ted sits down next to me. “Relax. We’ll rewrite it. What was it? I’ll help.”
    â€œIt’s just a letter to my family. I promised to write every day and haven’t. That animal just ate a week’s worth of news.”
    Ted says, “Why don’t you start out with: ‘Dear Family, I’ve just met a wonderful human being and while we’re not planning to elope, I think I’m going to like going out with him. His name’s Ted. You’ll love him.’ ”
    I look at Ted. He’s cute, brownish-blond hair, blue-green eyes. He’s been in some of my training groups and we’ve