Tips for Taking Over Summer Camp Chapter 1: Did My Teacher Just Call us Turds?

Chapter One: Did my Teacher Just Call Us Turds?

My fingers tapped at my desk anxiously as Mr. Lumpert drawled on about…well, I wasn't quite sure. I was pretty certain that he was reading something from the grey sheet of paper he held in his wrinkly hands, but he was looking at the blackboard instead, suggesting otherwise. My eyes were locked onto the clock above the board as I waited for the last two minutes of the school year to finish. Every part of my being begged me to jump out of my chair and escape from this dull class.

The walls of the dull classroom were bare and grey and the lights were always off, making everything appear way darker than they needed to be. Somebody should have probably told him that this class wasn't a play in the middle of a blackout.

Meanwhile, Mr. Lumpert was a tall, plain man with thick white hair and a saggy face. He always wore the same grey vest and pants and his voice was less lively than someone speaking in monotone, which is practically impossible unless you’re a robot. (That made me wonder…)

His classes always ended with at least four people having fallen asleep. Nobody could even manage to survive the entire class without dozing off. Three students were even snoring quietly at that moment.

He would, without a doubt, win all of the trophies and cash prizes at the Housendale School Boring Awards.

Suddenly, breaking my intense clock-watching trance, someone yelled something rude and then the eardrum-busting sound of nails on a chalkboard echoed though the classroom, making all of us jump in our seats. Our attention was fully directed to Mr. Lumpert, who was wearing a scarlet face. His fists were clenched tightly around his sheet of paper, causing it to rip in some places.

“I. Have. Had. ENOUGH!” he screamed. “All you lazy brats do are lay there, not even paying attention to the wonderful and exciting teachings before you.” (Was he serious?) “I’ve heard what talk you’ve said about me. Don’t think I haven’t heard what rude gossip you’ve been saying behind my back! Yeah, I’m looking at you, Valerie Willows! And don’t even try to pretend that you turds haven’t written fan fictions about me making out with Mrs. Monroe for English class!

“I guess you brats will be happy to know that I am retiring. Oh, but don’t worry. I’ll take extra care to make sure that I get replaced by someone extra nasty. It’s about time you bi—“

That was when the relieving sound of the bell screamed through the school and everyone flew from their seats, mainly hoping to get away from Mr. Lumpert so he wouldn’t try to swear at them again. I only got to a stand before a sudden thought struck me. Did he just call us turds?

I could feel shock plastered across my face and a coat of fictitious ice freeze me in place. What kind of teacher calls their students turds?

Mr. Lumpert suddenly appeared right in front of my desk and slammed his hands onto it, creating a thunderous sound.

“I suggest you go, Molly,” he seethed.

That made the imaginary ice shatter and, with a yelp, I picked up my bag and scrambled out of the room, nearly slamming into the doorframe. I skidded into the hallway and began quickly weaving my way around bodies, trying to get away from my scary teacher. This proved a mighty challenge considering there were so many of us crowding the hall. But I somehow managed to squeeze past groups of chatty friends and texting zombies and out of the school.

I was hit full-force with the warm summer air. As I hurried down the school’s steps, I inhaled the fresh air, feeling it throw away all of the school-related worries.

The front of the school was basically composed of a lone cobblestone pathway which winded around a large grassy field. The pathway led to the parking lot and the area where the buses would pick us up. But there were never that many buses because the majority of us live in the area.

I was quickly spotted and flanked by a small girl with hair the colour of wheat and skin so pale her veins looked like pen marks. She smiled at me fondly.

“Hi Molly. Are we still going to walk home together?” she asked shyly.

“Of course, Rosa. Why wouldn’t I?” I replied.

To that, she only nodded.

For as long as I have known her, Rosa has always been way more shy than she needed to be. She never seems to be quite so sure of if Cordelia and I still wanted to be friends with her.

We had first become friends during a nice day—quite like this one. During recess, a couple of other kids and I had heard someone shouting. We raced towards the forest which lined the playground to see a boy in our class, Kaylem, stuck in a ditch with his foot trapped under a rock. An eight-year-old version of Rosa was leaning over the ditch, screaming for help.

The other kids raced to grab a teacher while I climbed into the ditch to pull the rock off Kaylem. It took a lot of effort, but I finally managed to haul the rock off his leg (which was now swollen) by the time the teacher arrived.

Kaylem and Rosa both thanked me greatly and we started to play together, something that would last for a very long time.

“You excited to go to Camp Newwodtunrub?” Rosa asked.

“Definitely. It’s going to be a blast!” I replied enthusiastically.

“Hm. Sounds fun. But doesn’t it get a bit boring? You know, since you’ve been going since you were six?”

I shook my head. “No way! There are so many things we do there. Things will change up in a few years when I get to be a junior councillor.”

Rosa covered her mouth with her hands. “Sorry, that came out rude.”

“It’s too bad that I won’t get to hang out with you guys this summer,” another voice cut in just as I was about to reassure Rosa that everything was fine.

I turned to my other side and my gaze landed on a tall girl with dark skin and night-black hair. Her left arm was wrapped in a neon orange cast which was sporting multiple black signatures.

“Cordelia!” I exclaimed. “You should come to camp with me. It will be so much fun!”

Cordelia shook her head sadly. “Sorry Molls. You know that my dad said that I must rest my arm. Stupid rules. Stupid basketball.”

Cordelia had joined Rosa’s and mine's circle (can you make a circle out of two people?) of friendship around a year after Kaylem moved to France. Rosa and I were devastated when he moved away, but we made sure to stay connected with him via email and Skype.

Once Cordelia moved here from Chile, we jumped at the opportunity to start a new friendship. Because she had no friends here, she quickly decided to befriend us and we had been great friend ever since.

“I’ll make sure to tell Kaylem you said bonjour,” Rosa said to me softly.

“I know that I haven’t met this friend of yours yet, but please organize a Skype chat for me soon so I can finally meet him,” Cordelia requested.

“Count me in too,” I added, excited to see Kaylem again, even though it may be by Skype.

Rosa smiled shyly. “Sure.”

“You’re so lucky that you get to go all the way to France to visit him,” I continued. “I wish I was that lucky.”

Cordelia smiled cheekily. “Well that wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t go to camp every summer.”

I crossed my arms stubbornly. “Well at least I didn’t break my arm doing basketball.”

“Guys! Guys! Please don’t fight,” Rosa begged, fearing that we would break out into one of the many arguments that never happened.

We continued to chat as we neared our quiet neighbourhood and soon separated onto our respective streets.

When I found myself alone, I jogged the rest of the way home, past quaint two-storey houses which were complete with neat flowerbeds.

Near the bottom of the street, I started to climb up the driveway of a simple, garageless blue house with mint green shutters. The lawn had been painted with a brown tinge that reflected badly upon my family's gardening skills. As I climbed up the porch steps, the mahogany door opened, revealing the face of Mom.

She was a tall woman with a muscular body. Because she was in the army and we did a lot of camping and hiking, she was very strong and fast. Her wavy dark brown hair swept behind her, reaching her feet and freckles dotted her nose.

“I’ve got some good and bad news, sweetie,” she said.

My face fell. “W-what’s the bad news?”

“Camp Newwodtunrub burned down.”