Camp Berkeley

Tommy

“Oh my God, our parents our psychotic!” I told my best friend Jodi. That was the only way you could explain the craziness of their idea.

“CAMP?!” we yelled together. No way were they sending us off.

“Never!” I yelled. “You’ll never take us alive!”

“Yeah,” Jodi said. “We refuse to go.”

“You’ve made that clear enough,” her dad muttered.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Mom said quickly. “You will go anyway.”

“Yes,” Jodi’s mom agreed. “We know what’s best for you.”

“We will not go,” I said.

“Yes, you will.”

“No we won’t!” Jodi yelled.

“You will.”

“No!” I said.

“You will.”

“WON’T!!!” we screamed.

Okay, we sounded like we were three years old, and maybe we were overreacting a little, but camp? Especially a peace freak camp. Hippies everywhere. Anti-war rallies everyday. Campfires with people singing ‘Kum Ba Yah’?? That is totally not my style. Besides, we already had the summer planned.

While Mom caught her breath, Dad exploded.

“ENOUGH!!” my dad bellowed. I cringed. “You will go, and that is it!”

“What about me?” I heard Jodi ask.

“You will go too,” I heard her Mom answer smugly. “I mean, look at you.”

I looked down at myself. I looked normal to me; did I look weird to them? Was it my camouflage bellbottoms? Maybe it was my combat boots. I tried to look up at my black leather headband but I couldn’t. Did I look that weird?

“What’s the matter with us?”

I saw Jodi’s mom stifle a laugh and Dad shoot me an angry glance.

“We all have decided that you will go,” Dad said.

“But...” I started.

He interrupted, “You have two weeks to get ready!” He said before they all turned and left.

“Oh, we’ll get ready all right,” I said turning to Jodi.

She nodded and said, “This means war.”

That was a flashback. In reality, we were on our way to go to ‘Camp Berkeley,’ which was, in my opinion, a torture chamber for kids to get brain-washed. The real reason that we were going to this camp was that our parents thought we, out of all things, were becoming too rebellious. Us? Nah, couldn’t be.

Out of curiosity I wanted know what the heck we were going to do at that place. So I turned to one of the zombies and asked if they had a spare flier of the camp.

“Sure, have one,” she said smiling. She was way too perky. I thought she had been there too many times.

“Are you new to camp?” Before I could answer her question she said, “Oh, you must be because you want a flier. Do you want a flier for your friend?” Again, before I could answer she interrupted.

“Have another,” she said giving it to me. I passed it to Jodi.

“By the way, my name’s Sandy. Hey if you want me to show you and your friend around just ask. I have been here lots of times,” she said giggling. “There was one time...”

I tuned her out. I knew she was trying to be nice, but DANG she was annoying. I was more concerned about the barbed-wire gates that we were going through.

“And then...” She stopped in the middle of her sentence. “EGADS! We’re here!” Everyone cheered, everyone but us.

Egads?

I let that hillbilly word pass and looked outside. We had entered a grove of trees and the bus had come to creaky stop. Everyone groaned, including us this time. The bus had to be at least forty years old. Then the doors opened with a screech. It sounded like a billion people screaming.

Everyone started to get up to go to the door, but then insisted others go first. The aisle was still empty, so we got up. Since Jodi and I didn’t really care about manners, we rushed into the aisle and out the door.

I thought of rushing out and breathing in the cool mountain air. The thought had seemed wonderful after two hours in a stuffy bus. As we came out I took in a big breath and gagged. The bus had kicked up tons of dirt and dust.

“Stupid bus,” I mumbled.

The bus diver started unloading the gear and everyone finally came out.

“Do you have The Bag?” Jodi asked, picking up her own bags.

“Yes.” I answered, picking up mine and a black case. “I even checked it to make sure.”

Then, out of the corner of my eye I spotted four guys climbing off one of the other buses. I turned to Jodi and pointed them out to her.

“Hey Jodi, see those guys over there?”

“Yeah. Where did they come from?” she asked.

“I think they came on one of the other buses.”

“Probably. Do you see what they’re wearing?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled as I studied them.

They did not fit in at all.

I mean it, they didn’t. They where all pretty tall,(one was as thin as a bean stalk.) and one of them was a little older.

The older one was wearing a black muscle-shirt, some not to baggy, worn, black jeans, and had jet black hair that hung into his intense crystal blue eyes.

One of the younger ones had spiked black hair, a bright yellow skateboard shirt, jeans that went down to his knees, and two different color sneakers, red and black. I don’t think that he and the older guy were related.

Another one of the guys had spiked bleached blonde hair, a heavy-metal shirt, and slightly baggy olive green pants. A heavy metal shirt? At this camp? No way.

The last guy was very tall. He was the beanstalk all right. He had wild brown hair had been combed forward. He wore denim jeans, a dragon shirt, and hiking boots.

“Wow,” I said after looking them over, “they look different.”

“So do we,” Jodi answered.

“Yeah, you’re absolutely right.”

Then over the loudspeaker came a voice saying, “Welcome to Camp Berkeley!”