Stuck at Camp Whatever
By: Paula L. Jones
CHAPTER ONE
Benny Giuramento
Benny Giuramento
I looked up from the worn and tattered copy of Enders Game that sat in my hands and glanced out of the back passenger seat window.
Trees, trees, trees, and more trees.
I sighed.
Sure, I had my favorite song playing in my ears, “What’s up Danger” by Blackway, and my favorite book in my hands.
But everything else was going badly.
I shifted my attention from the window’s boring scenery to the chaos in our family’s SUV.
In the front passenger seat, Dad was motioning for me to take out my earbuds because he had something to say to me.
He always had something to say. Not just to me. To everyone.
Dad was huge at 6′3″ and about 230 lbs., and his personality was even bigger.
Everyone he encountered was coerced into conversation.
When he took his daily morning walk around our neighborhood, joggers spotted him and ran in the opposite direction to avoid an hour-long conversation about his favorite cheese or the progress of his battle with gout.
In the line at the grocery store, he yakked the ears off the people in front of and behind us. After that, he’d tell his entire life story to the check-out clerk. This would happen even if the ‘clerk’ was an automated self-checkout machine.
I once saw Dad explain his life goals to a mockingbird that was hanging out at the birdfeeder in our backyard. He only stopped when Mom threatened to film him on her phone and turn him into a meme.
Poor Mom.
She was behind the wheel, driving slowly and carefully like she always did.
That was the epitome of her temperament: patient, cautious, and quietly sarcastic.
People told me I took after her in personality, but after my dad in looks.
They were right, even I saw it. I had Dad’s curly brown hair and blue eyes and I didn’t inherit Mom’s genius-level IQ, but she and I were alike in that we were both always right.
This was because we were both patient, observant, and noticed things most people didn’t.
Thanks to this, we were usually right about everything.
I noticed Mom glancing at me in the mirror.
Dad began waving at me to get my attention.
I knew exactly what was going to happen if I took my earbuds out.
I’d hear Mom gently teasing Dad and saying something like, “Leave Benny alone, Sal. He’s trying to read, which I realize is a foreign concept to you. But trust me, if you just leave him alone, he’ll be fine.”
Over the sound of that conversation would be the ruckus coming from the backseat of our SUV.
I knew exactly what I was going to hear, and I wasn’t ready to come out of my quiet world with Blackway just yet.
So, I ignored Dad and glanced right, where my twin brother Jimmy sat in the other back passenger seat quietly playing a game on his phone.
Jimmy took after Mom in both personality and appearance.
He had her knack for science and math in addition to her withdrawn personality.
Actually, he was even more withdrawn than Mom.
He hardly talked to anyone at school. But that didn’t stop people from talking to him, especially girls. This was because he inherited Mom’s looks.
Jimmy had Dad’s blue eyes, Mom’s milk-chocolate-colored skin, and the sort of face that could give a guy a shot at playing a superhero in a Marvel movie.
But my brother was so shy that he didn’t know what to do when girls talked to him. Even if he liked them, he’d get super awkward and say no more than two words to them.
Despite this, everyone at school liked him and respected that he was just a quiet guy.
Jimmy looked up at me, nodded towards the backseat, and rolled his eyes.
I nodded in return, understanding completely.
No matter how loudly our father was monologuing about whatever, the commotion coming from the very back of our SUV was where the real chaos was.
I turned around, already knowing what I’d see.
Our three younger brothers Eric, Dean, and Ken were fighting.
I could hear them, even with Blackway turned all the way up against my eardrums.
Eric, an 11-year-old holy terror of a kid, had his rear end turned towards our youngest brother, seven-year-old Ken.
Ken was seated between Eric and our other brother, nine-year-old Dean.
Eric was yelling at Dean to turn his butt towards Ken so they could both fart on him at the same time.
I shook my head and rolled my eyes as I slipped my earbuds off.
“Dad,” I said, pointing to the backseat. “Can you tell them to stop torturing Ken?”
I had to yell my request to be heard above the sounds of Ken’s high-pitched screams and Eric and Dean’s villainous laughter.
“It’s good for the kid,” Dad waved this off and said, “It’ll put hair on his chest. Now, what I wanted to tell you about Camp Wisteria-”
“Mom?” I looked at her for help.
She sighed and raised her voice slightly, “Eric and Dean, would you at least pretend to be normal human beings for five seconds?”
“But we’re not normal, Mom!” Eric shouted.
“Yeah,” Dean said in between peals of laughter, “we’re fart monsters from Planet Fart Butt!”
And then it happened, they both let one rip at the same time.
I put my head in my hands.
Is every family like this?
Mom opened every single one of our Range Rover’s windows and much-needed fresh air filled the SUV.
“I bet you’re thinking that leaving us to spend a few weeks at Camp Wisteria isn’t so bad now, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Jimmy said in a soft voice, his eyes still on whatever game he was playing. “That’s exactly what I was just thinking.”
“Benny, son, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Dad said in his booming voice. “This is the best camp in the nation. You’re going to be rubbing shoulders with future senators, congressmen, maybe even future U.S. presidents. The richest of the rich go to this camp…”
I sighed and glanced out of the window as Dad went on.
Even though the outside breeze was helping, our SUV still smelled like rotten eggs thanks to my two little brothers, who had yet to stop messing with poor Ken.
I didn’t enjoy family trips. They were loud, disorganized, and Dad found new ways to embarrass us on every vacation.
But the thought of spending three weeks with a bunch of rich, snobby kids while being forced to sing songs around a campfire or play stupid games like horseshoe wasn’t any worse than putting up with my younger brothers and my dad.
What I’d always loved best about summer were the days when me and Jimmy would head to the backyard and climb up into our treehouse where we would spend the entire day playing or just reading. It was peaceful haven away from the rest of our crazy family.
Some summer days, Jimmy would convince Mom to let him accompany her to Lux Research Group, which was the name of the lab where she worked. On those days, I missed having him around, but I still enjoyed just chilling in our treehouse on my own, reading and snacking on pralines.
But there’d be none of that this summer.
Dad was obsessed with our family’s status, which meant all of his kids had to go to the ‘most prestigious summer camp in the history of the nation’ when they turned 13.
Unfortunately, Jimmy and I turned 13 a few months ago.
So, we were leaving our hometown of Baton Rouge, Louisiana and forcibly being hauled off to stuffy old Camp Whatever in Alabama.
I glanced at Dad, he was still talking to me even though I hadn’t been listening.
“… I may be the Furniture King of Baton Rouge,” he said, referring to the family business he’d started when Jimmy and I were born. “But one day, I’m going to be the Furniture King of North America and your mom is going to be the most famous chemist in the world and-”
“If I were a chemist that would be nice,” Mom smirked and briefly glanced at Dad. “Sal, do you even know what I do for a living?”
“Uh, of course,” Dad laughed, and I instantly knew he was lying.
“Then, what’s my title at work?” Mom lifted her chin and gave him a quick look before returning her attention to the road.
“You’re Head Scientist,” Dad quickly replied. “And like I said, one day you’ll be the most famous scientist in the world, all because our boys made connections with the richest and most prestigious families in the nation when they went to Camp Wisteria.”
“I’m not ‘Head Scientist,’” Mom laughed. “And there’s no such thing as ‘Head Scientist’ at Lux.”
“She’s a behavioral endocrinologist,” Jimmy said, glancing up from his game.
“Of course, I knew that,” Dad scoffed. Though I noticed he also turned red and began to shift in his seat, like he was uncomfortable. “I’ve been married to the woman for fifteen years.”
“Seventeen years,” Mom laughed again. “And since you know me so well, what have I been researching for the past six months?”
The car went silent except for the horrible sounds of torture coming from the far back seat.
The longer Dad said nothing, the more his face began to resemble a tomato.
I smiled to myself.
Turning to my twin brother, I whispered, “You could help him out, Jimmy.”
“She studies pheromones,” Jimmy said without looking up from his phone.
“That’s what I was going to say,” Dad gestured to the windows. “Ann, would you put these up? We’re all aired out, and my hair’s getting messed up.”
I glanced at my father, who is nearly bald, and wondered if he was joking.
Nope. The look on his face is serious. He meant that.
Mom muttered, “Can’t mess up those beautiful, luscious locks of yours, can we?” as she put the windows up.
I heard Eric whisper, “Let’s fart on him again,” from behind me.
Okay. Enough is enough.
I turned around and Ken’s bottom lip was jutting out as he pouted and shouted, “I hate everyone!”
This only made Eric and Dean laugh harder.
“Hey, Eric, Dean, listen up,” I said, looking at the two little monsters, “I have ten of Mom’s praline candies that I was planning to bring with me to camp. What if I gave you all ten?”
Eric and Dean shut up and looked at me with wide eyes.
“Really?” Eric’s blue eyes shone with interest. “All ten?”
“Yeah, you get five and Dean gets five,” I said.
“What do we got to do for them?” Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
“You have to leave Ken alone for the rest of the trip to Alabama, and on the way back home,” I said.
Beside me, Jimmy chuckled and arched an eyebrow, “You’re bribing them?”
“It’s the only thing that’ll work,” I said and then returned my attention to the boys. “What do you say? Do we have a deal?”
Ken whispered, “Please say yes.”
Poor kid.
“No farting on Ken, no pushing him, don’t even touch him. Be polite to him. And when we get to Camp Whatever, I’ll give you the pralines. I swear,” I said, pointing to my duffel bag, which was near my feet. “They’re right in there, and they’ll be yours as soon as we pull into the camp’s parking lot. But only if you’re good.”
“Okay,” Eric and Dean said in unison.
Thank God.
I sighed with relief and turned around.
The back seat was instantly quiet.
That’s how good Mom’s pecan candy was; no one made pralines better than she did. When she had time, she’d make enough for every house on our street. So, they’d even become like a commodity in our neighborhood. I’d once traded four batches of her candy for a skateboard.
When I told her, she thought this was hilarious and pointed out she could’ve just bought me a skateboard.
I said there was something special about the thrill of the trade, and she looked at me like I’d hung the moon and said she respected my game.
As I slipped my earbuds back in and looked down at the copy of Ender’s Game that used to belong to Mom when she was my age, it dawned on me that I’d be without her pralines for an entire three weeks.
My heart sank.
Yet another reason to hate Camp Whatever.
I turned to the window just in time to see the ‘Welcome to Mississippi’ sign.
We were one state closer to the terrible place.
“Only about four and half more hours to go and you’ll be in Camp Wisteria!” Dad’s voice boomed over the sound of music in my ears.
I closed my eyes and let myself drift off, hoping to at least dream of being back home in the treehouse with Jimmy, enjoying our favorite books, games, and snacks.
Trees, trees, trees, and more trees.
I sighed.
Sure, I had my favorite song playing in my ears, “What’s up Danger” by Blackway, and my favorite book in my hands.
But everything else was going badly.
I shifted my attention from the window’s boring scenery to the chaos in our family’s SUV.
In the front passenger seat, Dad was motioning for me to take out my earbuds because he had something to say to me.
He always had something to say. Not just to me. To everyone.
Dad was huge at 6′3″ and about 230 lbs., and his personality was even bigger.
Everyone he encountered was coerced into conversation.
When he took his daily morning walk around our neighborhood, joggers spotted him and ran in the opposite direction to avoid an hour-long conversation about his favorite cheese or the progress of his battle with gout.
In the line at the grocery store, he yakked the ears off the people in front of and behind us. After that, he’d tell his entire life story to the check-out clerk. This would happen even if the ‘clerk’ was an automated self-checkout machine.
I once saw Dad explain his life goals to a mockingbird that was hanging out at the birdfeeder in our backyard. He only stopped when Mom threatened to film him on her phone and turn him into a meme.
Poor Mom.
She was behind the wheel, driving slowly and carefully like she always did.
That was the epitome of her temperament: patient, cautious, and quietly sarcastic.
People told me I took after her in personality, but after my dad in looks.
They were right, even I saw it. I had Dad’s curly brown hair and blue eyes and I didn’t inherit Mom’s genius-level IQ, but she and I were alike in that we were both always right.
This was because we were both patient, observant, and noticed things most people didn’t.
Thanks to this, we were usually right about everything.
I noticed Mom glancing at me in the mirror.
Dad began waving at me to get my attention.
I knew exactly what was going to happen if I took my earbuds out.
I’d hear Mom gently teasing Dad and saying something like, “Leave Benny alone, Sal. He’s trying to read, which I realize is a foreign concept to you. But trust me, if you just leave him alone, he’ll be fine.”
Over the sound of that conversation would be the ruckus coming from the backseat of our SUV.
I knew exactly what I was going to hear, and I wasn’t ready to come out of my quiet world with Blackway just yet.
So, I ignored Dad and glanced right, where my twin brother Jimmy sat in the other back passenger seat quietly playing a game on his phone.
Jimmy took after Mom in both personality and appearance.
He had her knack for science and math in addition to her withdrawn personality.
Actually, he was even more withdrawn than Mom.
He hardly talked to anyone at school. But that didn’t stop people from talking to him, especially girls. This was because he inherited Mom’s looks.
Jimmy had Dad’s blue eyes, Mom’s milk-chocolate-colored skin, and the sort of face that could give a guy a shot at playing a superhero in a Marvel movie.
But my brother was so shy that he didn’t know what to do when girls talked to him. Even if he liked them, he’d get super awkward and say no more than two words to them.
Despite this, everyone at school liked him and respected that he was just a quiet guy.
Jimmy looked up at me, nodded towards the backseat, and rolled his eyes.
I nodded in return, understanding completely.
No matter how loudly our father was monologuing about whatever, the commotion coming from the very back of our SUV was where the real chaos was.
I turned around, already knowing what I’d see.
Our three younger brothers Eric, Dean, and Ken were fighting.
I could hear them, even with Blackway turned all the way up against my eardrums.
Eric, an 11-year-old holy terror of a kid, had his rear end turned towards our youngest brother, seven-year-old Ken.
Ken was seated between Eric and our other brother, nine-year-old Dean.
Eric was yelling at Dean to turn his butt towards Ken so they could both fart on him at the same time.
I shook my head and rolled my eyes as I slipped my earbuds off.
“Dad,” I said, pointing to the backseat. “Can you tell them to stop torturing Ken?”
I had to yell my request to be heard above the sounds of Ken’s high-pitched screams and Eric and Dean’s villainous laughter.
“It’s good for the kid,” Dad waved this off and said, “It’ll put hair on his chest. Now, what I wanted to tell you about Camp Wisteria-”
“Mom?” I looked at her for help.
She sighed and raised her voice slightly, “Eric and Dean, would you at least pretend to be normal human beings for five seconds?”
“But we’re not normal, Mom!” Eric shouted.
“Yeah,” Dean said in between peals of laughter, “we’re fart monsters from Planet Fart Butt!”
And then it happened, they both let one rip at the same time.
I put my head in my hands.
Is every family like this?
Mom opened every single one of our Range Rover’s windows and much-needed fresh air filled the SUV.
“I bet you’re thinking that leaving us to spend a few weeks at Camp Wisteria isn’t so bad now, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Jimmy said in a soft voice, his eyes still on whatever game he was playing. “That’s exactly what I was just thinking.”
“Benny, son, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Dad said in his booming voice. “This is the best camp in the nation. You’re going to be rubbing shoulders with future senators, congressmen, maybe even future U.S. presidents. The richest of the rich go to this camp…”
I sighed and glanced out of the window as Dad went on.
Even though the outside breeze was helping, our SUV still smelled like rotten eggs thanks to my two little brothers, who had yet to stop messing with poor Ken.
I didn’t enjoy family trips. They were loud, disorganized, and Dad found new ways to embarrass us on every vacation.
But the thought of spending three weeks with a bunch of rich, snobby kids while being forced to sing songs around a campfire or play stupid games like horseshoe wasn’t any worse than putting up with my younger brothers and my dad.
What I’d always loved best about summer were the days when me and Jimmy would head to the backyard and climb up into our treehouse where we would spend the entire day playing or just reading. It was peaceful haven away from the rest of our crazy family.
Some summer days, Jimmy would convince Mom to let him accompany her to Lux Research Group, which was the name of the lab where she worked. On those days, I missed having him around, but I still enjoyed just chilling in our treehouse on my own, reading and snacking on pralines.
But there’d be none of that this summer.
Dad was obsessed with our family’s status, which meant all of his kids had to go to the ‘most prestigious summer camp in the history of the nation’ when they turned 13.
Unfortunately, Jimmy and I turned 13 a few months ago.
So, we were leaving our hometown of Baton Rouge, Louisiana and forcibly being hauled off to stuffy old Camp Whatever in Alabama.
I glanced at Dad, he was still talking to me even though I hadn’t been listening.
“… I may be the Furniture King of Baton Rouge,” he said, referring to the family business he’d started when Jimmy and I were born. “But one day, I’m going to be the Furniture King of North America and your mom is going to be the most famous chemist in the world and-”
“If I were a chemist that would be nice,” Mom smirked and briefly glanced at Dad. “Sal, do you even know what I do for a living?”
“Uh, of course,” Dad laughed, and I instantly knew he was lying.
“Then, what’s my title at work?” Mom lifted her chin and gave him a quick look before returning her attention to the road.
“You’re Head Scientist,” Dad quickly replied. “And like I said, one day you’ll be the most famous scientist in the world, all because our boys made connections with the richest and most prestigious families in the nation when they went to Camp Wisteria.”
“I’m not ‘Head Scientist,’” Mom laughed. “And there’s no such thing as ‘Head Scientist’ at Lux.”
“She’s a behavioral endocrinologist,” Jimmy said, glancing up from his game.
“Of course, I knew that,” Dad scoffed. Though I noticed he also turned red and began to shift in his seat, like he was uncomfortable. “I’ve been married to the woman for fifteen years.”
“Seventeen years,” Mom laughed again. “And since you know me so well, what have I been researching for the past six months?”
The car went silent except for the horrible sounds of torture coming from the far back seat.
The longer Dad said nothing, the more his face began to resemble a tomato.
I smiled to myself.
Turning to my twin brother, I whispered, “You could help him out, Jimmy.”
“She studies pheromones,” Jimmy said without looking up from his phone.
“That’s what I was going to say,” Dad gestured to the windows. “Ann, would you put these up? We’re all aired out, and my hair’s getting messed up.”
I glanced at my father, who is nearly bald, and wondered if he was joking.
Nope. The look on his face is serious. He meant that.
Mom muttered, “Can’t mess up those beautiful, luscious locks of yours, can we?” as she put the windows up.
I heard Eric whisper, “Let’s fart on him again,” from behind me.
Okay. Enough is enough.
I turned around and Ken’s bottom lip was jutting out as he pouted and shouted, “I hate everyone!”
This only made Eric and Dean laugh harder.
“Hey, Eric, Dean, listen up,” I said, looking at the two little monsters, “I have ten of Mom’s praline candies that I was planning to bring with me to camp. What if I gave you all ten?”
Eric and Dean shut up and looked at me with wide eyes.
“Really?” Eric’s blue eyes shone with interest. “All ten?”
“Yeah, you get five and Dean gets five,” I said.
“What do we got to do for them?” Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
“You have to leave Ken alone for the rest of the trip to Alabama, and on the way back home,” I said.
Beside me, Jimmy chuckled and arched an eyebrow, “You’re bribing them?”
“It’s the only thing that’ll work,” I said and then returned my attention to the boys. “What do you say? Do we have a deal?”
Ken whispered, “Please say yes.”
Poor kid.
“No farting on Ken, no pushing him, don’t even touch him. Be polite to him. And when we get to Camp Whatever, I’ll give you the pralines. I swear,” I said, pointing to my duffel bag, which was near my feet. “They’re right in there, and they’ll be yours as soon as we pull into the camp’s parking lot. But only if you’re good.”
“Okay,” Eric and Dean said in unison.
Thank God.
I sighed with relief and turned around.
The back seat was instantly quiet.
That’s how good Mom’s pecan candy was; no one made pralines better than she did. When she had time, she’d make enough for every house on our street. So, they’d even become like a commodity in our neighborhood. I’d once traded four batches of her candy for a skateboard.
When I told her, she thought this was hilarious and pointed out she could’ve just bought me a skateboard.
I said there was something special about the thrill of the trade, and she looked at me like I’d hung the moon and said she respected my game.
As I slipped my earbuds back in and looked down at the copy of Ender’s Game that used to belong to Mom when she was my age, it dawned on me that I’d be without her pralines for an entire three weeks.
My heart sank.
Yet another reason to hate Camp Whatever.
I turned to the window just in time to see the ‘Welcome to Mississippi’ sign.
We were one state closer to the terrible place.
“Only about four and half more hours to go and you’ll be in Camp Wisteria!” Dad’s voice boomed over the sound of music in my ears.
I closed my eyes and let myself drift off, hoping to at least dream of being back home in the treehouse with Jimmy, enjoying our favorite books, games, and snacks.