Ann Martin - Mary Anne And Camp

Elvira stood there, chewing, until Mrs. Stone reached out and took the little strip of blue cloth from her mouth.

Then Claire started to laugh. "I got eaten by a goat."

Of course, Matt and David Michael and the other kids immediately started sticking their arms out and the tails of their shirts to see if Elvira would sample those.

And of course, the members of the BSC hustled them quickly on to the next segment of the nature walk.

They listened as Mrs. Stone explained about organic farming and why the Stone family farm was being converted to an organic farm.

They laughed at Screaming Yellow Honker, the watch goose.

But all they talked about, all the way home, was how Claire had been eaten by a goat.

Chapter 8.

My father had been gone four whole days.

I wasn't counting the days until he came back. But I was surprised by how much I missed him. It's funny how you don't miss something until it's gone. Dawn is one of my two best friends and I miss her when she goes to California. I always tell people that I don't miss my mother because she died when I was just a baby and because I can't really remember anything about her. I think I missed the idea of having a mother more than my actual mother.

But I'd never thought about missing my father. I mean, he'd been away on business trips before, when I was growing up. I'd stayed with weird baby-sitters and with my friends. When I stayed with the weird baby-sitters, I missed him a lot, and when I stayed with my friends Kristy and Claudia, I didn't miss him so much.

Since Dad and Sharon had gotten married, though, he hadn't been away except on a couple of overnight trips for his firm. I'd gotten used to my new family. I'd gotten used to being even closer to my dad, too, now that I was growing up and he didn't treat me like such a child anymore.

I hadn't realized that, but it was true. I was closer to my dad than I had ever been. As close to my dad as Dawn was to her mother.

And I was as much like my dad in many ways as Dawn was like her mom.

Okay, I'm not the neat freak that my dad is. In fact, Dawn probably keeps her room just as neat as mine and maybe a little neater. With each passing day, however, I noticed myself doing things more and more like my father, and saying things that he would say. Almost as if, by acting like him, he would seem to be around more.

The first night, the Chinese food night, was only the beginning. From there, it was takeout food every night: pizza, tex-mex, a vegetarian feast from the Tofu Express.

Dawn or Sharon always told the people not to pack the food in Styrofoam, and not to send plastic forks.

But that didn't mean that the little foil containers that were supposed to be washed and recycled got washed and recycled. At best they

made it as far as the sink where they were "put in to soak." Which meant they were filled up with water and left there.

No plastic utensils? We used up all the silverware. Then Sharon dug out the "good silver" and we started using that. It didn't take long for her to take out the "good plates," too.

And the kitchen bulletin board had disappeared under the collection of take-out menus. Sharon brought them home from work. We looked up new places that delivered food and ordered from them and they brought more food. If Dawn hadn't been so caught up in Camp BSC, she might have scouted Stoneybrook for even more take-out menus.

I didn't know there were so many places that delivered in the whole world, and especially not right here in Stoneybrook.

Do I sound cranky? I was. Partly because I'd gotten used to home-cooking, Schafer-Spier style. It sounds corny, I know, but I liked those evenings in the kitchen making dinner with Dawn or Sharon or my dad. I liked the times the menu planning was up to me and I could come up with whatever I wanted (except meat, of course). I liked seeing what new vegetarian delight Dawn was going to invent. If it hadn't been for Dawn, I might never have appreciated three-cheese macaroni, or tofu. (Although, like Kristy, I never could and never

will appreciate sprouts. She's right when she says they look like green hair and they are disgusting and embarrassing when they get stuck in your teeth.)

I tried cleaning up the house. I sorted junk mail and magazines and old newspapers into the recycling bins from the huge piles that Dawn and Sharon were letting collect in the mud room. I ran about a thousand loads of dishes in the dishwasher, trying to keep up. I wiped countertops. I put toilet paper on the toilet paper rolls' instead of letting it sit around on places like the edge of the bathtub where it was sure to fall in when someone was taking a shower. (It did. To me.)

I'd been pulled into the role of Maid Mary Anne once before, and I hadn't liked it then. I didn't like it now, either. On the other hand, no one was asking me to clean up. No one even seemed to care.

As the week drew to an end, I felt tense, cranky, and if we'd been having a real circus, I would have been the people-eating tiger. I felt completely out of it. Dawn had turned into some kind of alien house-destroyer and takeout fiend. I missed my father, and the fact that he called every night didn't help. I'd asked him, casually, if there was any way that he could come home sooner.

He'd laughed. "I know my three girls are

living a wild bachelor life. You can't fool me."

I'd laughed too. Weakly.

Dad had gone on, "I miss you. I'll get home as soon as possible."

"I miss you, too,” I'd told him. After I'd hung up the phone, I scooped Tigger up and went to bed. Downstairs I heard Dawn and Sharon talking and laughing.

Tigger purred on the bed. At least he was happy, I thought.

I felt worse than ever. The next day couldn't come soon enough.

"What was I going to do? What…" Karen put her finger on her chin and tapped it thoughtfully. At any other time, I would have been amused. It was such an adult gesture, so clearly copied from someone else. I'd wondered if her father did it. Or her mother. Or her teacher.

Then she looked at me. "Oh, yes. Now I remember. I was going to do a real circus trick. I'd like to work on my props, but I need someplace gigundoly private."

"I'll pull one of the smaller tables around to the other side of the big tree. How's that?" I asked.

"Fine, thank you," said Karen.

I got Karen settled. (She put her bulging backpack on the table in front of her, and

waited pointedly until I walked away.) Then I rejoined Claudia. She and I were overseeing some of the campers who were putting finishing touches on their costumes. The downs had tie-dyed and painted oversized old T-shirts and pants into gaudy, multicolored costumes. Some of them were painting old sneakers, too. The animal doctors and wild animals were securing tails on leotards and making lions' manes out of yarn and fabric scraps.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Bobby and Chris practicing their high-board act with Kristy's help. From behind the barn I noticed Hannie sewing big white felt claws onto fuzzy black gloves to make the paws of her bear costume. I heard Hannie say to Nancy, "It's too bad we can't have some real circus acts."

"Yeah," said Nancy. "But this isn't a real circus camp, Hannie. Just a, just a ... you know." She shrugged her shoulders.

Claudia looked up. I could tell she was annoyed. But before she could say anything, Carolyn said, "This is a real camp. We're even going to have a cookout tomorrow night. It's fun. I like it."