The Camp Rockaway brochure promised every kid was a rock star waiting to happen, but they never met me. We hadn’t even arrived, and I was ready to turn around and go home. My heart beat faster and faster, like the world’s worst metronome, until it froze – until I couldn’t feel or think or breathe. Then, just when it felt like nothing but a jumble of clockwork bits, it stuttered to life again.
I was sitting in my family’s Honda Odyssey, heading toward my destiny, but the GPS kept rerouting. Maybe I should’ve taken it as a sign. Was a higher power trying to tell me something? That I should turn back? That my fate was not, in fact, to be found in the Catskills of Upstate New York? Even if a higher power wasn’t trying to dissuade me from going to summer camp, the higher power in this minivan definitely was.
I flipped through the book 3 times (March = the 3rd month) and stopped at page 133.
Is my singing so bad that they won’t even let me leap around in a stripy unitard because I’ll pull the whole chorus off-key?
So back we went, and heard that Reanne hadn’t posted the ten-day wonder cast until eight thirty -explaining the cluster Wilders who stood around the bulletin board that Morales had left his final decisions until the morning, which is why it went up late.
Wat een leuk boek, ik moet snel eens kijken of ik de rest kan vinden, jammer alleen dat mijn bibliotheek alleen maar dit deel en nog een deel heeft. Ach, misschien dat ik dan over 3 weken eens kijk bij bibliotheek #3.