Young Writers Society

Dust Storm

Bunger Hill Reservation, June 19th, 2003

Chapter 1

The Arrival

There’s warm air, but a cool breeze flies through the window of Mr. Citapelini’s pickup. We arrive at the Bunger Hill Reservation, which is by far the nicest camp I’ve ever seen. Just from the entrance it was so sleek and refurbished, nothing like back in Sacramento, where it’s always brutally hot. “So yous boys ready for ya last year a’ summer camp?” Mr. Citapelini says with a heavy New Jersey accent. Not like he could help it though. His son, Vincent, shrugs and looks at me, “Are you ready?” Vincent always avoids questions, so people stopped asking him them. He’s always been a quiet kid, but once you get to know him, he can be quite the extrovert. “I don’t know.” I say as I readjust my watch to think. “I think it’s weird how we chose here instead of Camp Marshall. The Gold Mine is so much closer than here.” Mr. Citapelini scoffs, “Would you rather be there learning about the gold rush for the 5th time?” Vincent lets out a chuckle, because he remembers everything about the gold rush just from those lessons.

“Troop 15! You are in Campsite 1, take the first left and it’s all the way down the road. You can’t miss it.” We hear someone say to some cars in front of us. We drive down the gravel road hitting bumps ever so often. We arrive at the site along with the rest of our troop. It's good seeing everybody after not seeing them for about 5 hours. “Alright!” Scoutmaster Bronson shouts, “We need to unload the trailer and start setting up camp before the welcoming ceremony. I believe that starts at 7:30, right after dinner.” A few of the ASMs nod their heads and start heading towards the trailer. I grab my footlocker and drop it near the rest of them. I grab more footlockers, and as I’m putting the last one down. I see them.

Troop 457.

This troop is the biggest in Oregon. They have some rich kid’s dad fund their trips, so they’re loaded. They roll in with their bus. Yes, their own bus. No one in our troop had ever seen a bus for a troop, not even Jack, who had been in scouts longer than any of us. Even Vincent’s mouth drops, but he picks it back up, and continues unloading the trailer. He was the only one doing it now. All of us are watching this huge bus decorated with murals on each and every side. Even Bronson was in shock, he shouts, “Now boys, we don’t want any unnecessary conflict with any other troops, we are here to make friends, not enemies.” We all say “Yes sir.” and continue unpacking. “You want them gone because they’re better, right?” Vincent says as he sits next to me. “You know how things will go, Brian, you’ll lose your shit.” Vincent hands me an old Polaroid of us back home. It shows him and I in our uniforms holding up a trophy from the Gold Rush Derby. “This could be us again, just don’t go AWOL.”

I sigh and go to our tent.

I jump onto the cot, which is nicer than I expected. I think if Vincent gave me advice, I should take it, he knows what he’s talking about.

Bunger Hill Dining Hall, June 19th, 2003

Chapter 2

The Welcoming

We all enter the dining hall in full uniform to eat dinner, and the grub smells immaculate. I get a chicken sandwich, some mac n cheese, and those little rolls with butter. I look for our troop’s table and start heading over. I look around the mess hall to see Troop 457, and they’re leering at anybody they can. I sit next to Vincent, who had already given half his food to Jorge Gridger. “Hey, thanks, Vince, I've been craving chicken for about two days now.”

Vincent just nods his head, and looks out the window. The first years are amazed at the quality of the food, but they don’t realize that the food back home isn’t as good as it is here. “So what do you guys think of the place?” I say. “Well, it’s definitely better than the gold mine back home, who knew Oregon of all places was a haven for camps?” Conner Schnadd says, as he gulps down an entire milk carton. “I’d like to see the aquatic center, since we’re so close to the Pacific.” Seán McMeer says. Seán is my ASPL, and he knows almost everything. He isn’t a nerd, he just knows his stuff.

“Vincent, what about you, you like the camp?” I ask him. He shrugs and points out the window at the horizon, showing a radiant combination of orange, yellow, blue, and pink. “That’s what I like.” He pulls out his Polaroid and takes a photo.

“All troops please report to the amphitheater! We will be having our welcoming ceremony!” That was our cue to get going. We leave the mess hall and follow everybody down to the amphitheater on the lake. We pass a sign that says, “Bunger Lake”. It seems like they really like this Bunger guy.

We sit down in the benches at the amphitheater and a man starts to speak. “Gooooooood Evening, everyone!” The staff behind him shout, “Goooooood Evening, Mr. Shellbuhrn!” He chuckles and continues talking. “I’d like to welcome you all to Camp Bunger Hill! It’s is my pleasure to have you scouts here. Now you’ll be here for six days, not including this one, so you better be ready. Now we come to summer camp to have fun, right? Right. Now I don’t want to keep you any longer, but one more thing is that we will be hosting our 32nd Annual Gaga Ball Tournament. Troop 457 has yet to be beaten for over 10 years, and I'll even be surprised if someone else can beat them. Now that’s all I have folks, you can go back to your campgrounds, and get a good night’s rest, because it's going to be a long day tomorrow.”

We leave the amphitheater and start heading back to camp. “I have to beat them in that tournament, someone needs to put those smug-faced assholes in their place.” I say angrily. “We got a decent amount of people, we can take them on. I mean, I haven’t played goo goo ga ga ball, or whatever it’s called but I’m confident we can do it.” “Brian are you serious?” says Jorge with a nervous tone in his voice. “Now I’m a big guy, but those guys? Ehhh, I ain’t up for fighting some kid named Johnathan Bridgerton, who has to win the competition to carry on his father’s legacy. I ain’t up for that or anything like it.” The rest of the troop nods. Vincent puts his hand on my shoulder, “Like I said earlier, if you get too into this, you’ll lose your head.”

I sigh, and continue walking back to camp across the parade field. I look up at the sunset, I hope it’s just as good tomorrow as it is tonight.

Bunger Hill Dining Hall, June 20th,

Chapter 3

Confrontation

“I slept like a baby last night… if the baby was chucked across the room.” Michael Dencer says as we walk up to the mess hall doors. “Ooh, smell, that, food. Damn, you think they hired Brian to cook?” Seán says as he elbows me in the chest, which takes a bit of effort for him considering he’s the height of a leprechaun. It’s only fitting he’s Irish.

“Waffles with berries and syrup, they're making a good impression on us, we might have to staff later this Summer.” I say as I get my food. “Hey you three.” A younger scout says as she points to Jorge, Vincent, and I. “I want to let you know that if you even think of signing up for the tournament, your asses will be sorry, listen to me now, you-“ “Man, shut up.” I say. “Just shut up, like, now. Go back to your breakfast, because if you don’t eat enough, you’ll starve to death, because I just know from your gangly, lanky, figure, you’ll be begging for food by 10 o’ clock.”

The young scout looks as if steam is coming out of his ears. He stomps off back to his table. “Hey! Now that’s impressive!” Michael says, and starts clapping. And then Jorge, and then Connor, and then Seán, and then everyone at our table. Soon the whole mess hall is clapping for me, and they don’t even know it. The only people who aren’t clapping are Troop 457, because they know why we’re clapping. Vincent just smiled. The clapping eventually died down and we continued to eat. “You know, maybe we should sign up for the tournament. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be fun.” I say. Everyone at our table looks at me as if I’m delusional. In unison, they all say, “Nuh uh!” I shrug it off. But a voice in my head says to do it. Do it, sign up your troop, it’ll be fun. Just don’t lose your cool.

But I’ll lose my cool.

We leave the dining hall and I’m the last of us to walk out. Someone grabs my shirt and drags me behind a car. “Now, you listen here, California, I don’t know who you think you are, but we, I rule this camp, it’s practically mine. Like the boy said, don’t even let it cross your mind about entering.” I shove him off me and I just walk away. “Hey! You remember what I said!” I walk away and give him the finger. By the time he walks around to the entrance of the mess hall, I’m walking with my troop. What’s the worst that could happen, death? Like one of them would commit a crime just for a summer camp tournament.

Right?

What a dumb confrontation.

Trading Post, June 20th, 2003

Chapter 4

Sign Me Up

“What's Ale8? This looks like some hillbilly type drink. Ya think I should buy it? Just to try it out?” Jorge says as he pulls the green bottle out of the fridge. “It looks good, it says it's from Kentucky. Wonder what the camps over there are like.” He slams the bottle down on the counter, “Yo! I’m buying something!” A girl with dark brown curly hair, round glasses, and freckles walks out from the back. “S-sorry it’s my first time working at the trading post.” Jorge’s mouth just about falls on the counter. He covers his mouth. He hands the girl a dollar. She slides the bottle back to him, “Th-thanks! Come again soon.” Jorge walks out of the store slowly, and he sits down at the bench just outside. I chuckle. I walk up to the counter and put down an Ale8 and a flat brim hat with a Bunger Hill embroidery on the front. “Just these, please. Oh, and are the pickles here any good? I say as I point behind her to a huge pickle in a bag. “O-oh, I don’t know.” I tell her I’ll take one. “$7.50, please.” I pull out my wallet and I see her. An old photo of Liz. I shake my head and pull out the money. She rings it up and slides the bottle back to me. “I-if you don’t mind me asking, what happened with him out there?” She points to Jorge who’s still sitting out on the bench. “Oh, he’s just shy.” I say knowing damn well he’s not. I walk out of the trading post and see a bulletin board on the wall. There’s a signup sheet. It has a long list of troop numbers and their team names. The troop on the top of the list, which to no surprise, was 457. I look down to see our name, Troop 15. I’m in shock at who wrote our name down. I was the one who wanted to sign up, I was the one who wanted to win. I look at the penmanship, and now I know who wrote it.

Vincent.

His perfect penmanship was recognizable from miles away. I wasn’t angry, I was just… confused. Why would he sign us up? Why would he sign me up? And then I see him, he’s lugging a crate up to the trading post. “Shirt drop off.” He says as he sets it down on the snack counter and knocks on the door. He walks into the shop, but I stop him. “Why’d you do it? I thought you said it would ‘get to my head’. This isn’t you.” Vincent sighed, “I talked to Bronson, he said it would be a good team building activity within the troop. He knew the consequences, but it's good to learn from experience.” I was wishy-washy on the idea, but so was everyone else. “Alright, what’s our team name?” I say. Vincent thinks for a moment. “What about Gold Miners?”

I was thinking the same thing.

I walk over to Jorge and he’s still bright red from talking to the girl. Before I can speak, he starts. “I just got so flustered, I couldn’t speak.” He plays with his thumbs as he drinks his Ale8. “I want to know her, but I know damn well I don’t have the confidence. You gotta help me, man. You’ve been with Liz for years.” He’s right, I’ve been with her for 4 years now. “We got a game soon, so get your head in the game.” He nods and walks back to camp. Vincent walks out of the shop with an Ale8 and he’s wearing the same flat brim I got. He says, “Come on, it starts in an hour.”

The Pit, June 20th, 2003

Chapter 5

It Starts In An Hour

“It’s quite the hexagon.” Connor says as we walk up to the pit. “It’s an octagon, you dumbass.” Seán snaps. “Woah, slow down, I’m not tryna steal your lucky charms.” Seán just stared at Connor. “Well, boys, we’ll be in here fighting some Oregonians in about an hour.” I say. We hop over the wooden walls of the pit and walk around. “Do we even know how to play this game?” Jorge grunts. Vincent raises his hand. “I know how to play, I’ll give you all a run-through.” He takes the dusty dodge ball and directs us to the walls of the pit. He chucks the ball up in the air, and as it hits the dry dirt, Vincent says, “Ga-Ga-Ball.” for each bounce the ball takes. “Hit it with your hand. Your objective is to hit others, knee below with the ball.” Connor hits the ball towards me. I hit it back. It hits his foot. “Connor.” Vincent nods his head to let him know he’s out. Jorge hits the ball near Seán. Seán lifts himself up with the wall to avoid it. “Seán.” Vincent nods again. “No using the wall to dodge the ball.” Seán climbs back over the wall. Quincy runs up to join in, but Vincent nods again. “No late-game joining.” Jorge and I are hitting the ball at each other's feet. I slam the ball with my fist and it hits his shin. “Damn.” he says climbing out of the pit. “That’s how the game goes, I’ll explain more rules later, just get used to playing.” Vincent says as he watches us get in. “Hey Vince! Get in here, won’t ya! It’s not fun without the whole crew in here.” Vincent hesitates, but he eventually hops in.

He hands the ball to me. “Winner serves.” I throw the ball up. “Ga-Ga-Ball!” we shout. Vincent hits the ball like a rocket, hitting Quincy and Connor. Vincent hits the ball between his legs at Seán, who jumps out of the way. I turn my hat around, knowing it’s going to get messy. Jorge hits the ball. “Ah, shit! I scraped my knuckles on the dirt!” Vincent smiles. He goes for Jorge hitting the ball from all angles, it was like a street fight. I was so mesmerized, I didn’t even realize Vincent pummeled the ball into my shin. Jorge trips over his own feet, to which the ball slowly rolls into his foot. Everyone’s mouth is wide open. Vincent says, “If we wanna win, you gotta play like that.” We decide to elect Vincent in charge of teaching everyone Gaga ball skills. We begin another game. Vincent sits out and gives us pointers for “striking”, which is slang for hitting the ball. “Nice bullet, Brian.” Vincent says as I pummel the ball into Quincy’s leg. We practice over and over, again and again. A few more scouts in our troop run up to join in. Soom, it’s all 16 of us in the pit. Vincent coaches us on what we’re doing right and wrong. It’s fun seeing everyone bond. Even Vincent shows a faint smile, and that’s all I want from him.