I stood back to admire my artwork in the faint moonlight, I knew for certain that this act, and this act alone, would forever cement my status as a Bruise Brother. Nothing would ever be the same for me. I had made it! I was on the team!
I was one of Them!
And then the overhead lights came on.
Somebody had flipped the switch, obviously, but I never found out who, because I just stood there staring down at Mr. Z with the empty Guldenâs bottle poised in midair. All I could see were swirls of spicy brown mustard on the crisp white sheet and the crisp white pillowcase and the bulging whites of Mr. Zâs eyes glaring up at me. There didnât seem to be
any
shaving cream at all, only tons and tons of mustard, way more than Iâd had in my bottle. A loud bleat of torment issued from Mr. Zâs lips. I looked around; the others appeared to be sleeping.
The Music Man and I remained motionless in our respective positions for what seemed like minutes until he got up to rip the covers from his cot. They were covered in mustard from bow to stern, and as my eyes began watering freely, I suddenly realized where Sam and Jason had snuck off to during the movie, to raid the kitchen for spicy brown mustard!
I stood there like a fool and let him slap the soiled bedding into my arms. I followed him out of the cabin like a fool to the boysâ latrine. He spoke not a word to me the entire time, content with making strangled animal cries in the back of his throat. He planted himself behind me at the sink while I rinsed out the sheets, and when Iâd finishedand followed him to the cabin, I noticed that he was wearing dried mustard on each ear. The rats in the room were still feigning sleep. Mr. Z motioned me with an angry jerk of his thumb to get up to my bunk, and when Iâd done so and shuffled into my sleeping bag, he growled directly into my face, âI donât care
whose
son you are! Tomorrow morning â¦
youâre mine
.â
I nodded at him, horrified at the concept, and when I heard the springs of his cot groan, I slid my CD player out of my backpack, slipped on the headphones, and shut my eyes. The mysteries of the day had finally unraveled. I had been lulled into a false sense of security. They had set me up, and They had gotten me. They had used my feelings of goodwill and my readiness to forgive and forget past wrongs,
and They had gotten me
. I didnât know what lay ahead of me now. If I were to be sent home for this, my father would have me put into psychiatric treatment, given the nature of the crime, or, at the very least, ground me for the rest of my life. Or, even more ghastly, make me do community service work of some kind. I shuddered. I would have to find a way to get the Music Man to give me a punishment here at camp. No doubt something would occur to me by morning.
And I would find a way to get back at Them. A way so brutally thorough and so thorough in its brutality that it would make Their ugly heads spin. Because as far as I was concerned, this meant only one thing.
This meant war
.
Chapter 13
At dawn I awoke with what seemed like the breath of an idea â¦
for revenge
. The radio had given it to me. Iâd left my headphones on all night, and the station Iâd been listening to kept interrupting its broadcast to give me news bulletins on Tropical Storm Judith, which had stalled off the coast of North Carolina. The people there were being advised to batten down their hatches and start barricading themselves in. For some reason this put the word âbunkerâ into my brain.
As I mentioned before, way back in its heyday Cape Rose served as a U.S. Army coastal fort, and not only did it have its very own watchtower, it had a bunker, a concrete stronghold submerged within the capeâs biggest sand dune. According to the film at orientation, it was located to the left of camp, where the forest met the beach. And the idea I had was really more a visual in my mind. I
I was one of Them!
And then the overhead lights came on.
Somebody had flipped the switch, obviously, but I never found out who, because I just stood there staring down at Mr. Z with the empty Guldenâs bottle poised in midair. All I could see were swirls of spicy brown mustard on the crisp white sheet and the crisp white pillowcase and the bulging whites of Mr. Zâs eyes glaring up at me. There didnât seem to be
any
shaving cream at all, only tons and tons of mustard, way more than Iâd had in my bottle. A loud bleat of torment issued from Mr. Zâs lips. I looked around; the others appeared to be sleeping.
The Music Man and I remained motionless in our respective positions for what seemed like minutes until he got up to rip the covers from his cot. They were covered in mustard from bow to stern, and as my eyes began watering freely, I suddenly realized where Sam and Jason had snuck off to during the movie, to raid the kitchen for spicy brown mustard!
I stood there like a fool and let him slap the soiled bedding into my arms. I followed him out of the cabin like a fool to the boysâ latrine. He spoke not a word to me the entire time, content with making strangled animal cries in the back of his throat. He planted himself behind me at the sink while I rinsed out the sheets, and when Iâd finishedand followed him to the cabin, I noticed that he was wearing dried mustard on each ear. The rats in the room were still feigning sleep. Mr. Z motioned me with an angry jerk of his thumb to get up to my bunk, and when Iâd done so and shuffled into my sleeping bag, he growled directly into my face, âI donât care
whose
son you are! Tomorrow morning â¦
youâre mine
.â
I nodded at him, horrified at the concept, and when I heard the springs of his cot groan, I slid my CD player out of my backpack, slipped on the headphones, and shut my eyes. The mysteries of the day had finally unraveled. I had been lulled into a false sense of security. They had set me up, and They had gotten me. They had used my feelings of goodwill and my readiness to forgive and forget past wrongs,
and They had gotten me
. I didnât know what lay ahead of me now. If I were to be sent home for this, my father would have me put into psychiatric treatment, given the nature of the crime, or, at the very least, ground me for the rest of my life. Or, even more ghastly, make me do community service work of some kind. I shuddered. I would have to find a way to get the Music Man to give me a punishment here at camp. No doubt something would occur to me by morning.
And I would find a way to get back at Them. A way so brutally thorough and so thorough in its brutality that it would make Their ugly heads spin. Because as far as I was concerned, this meant only one thing.
This meant war
.
Chapter 13
At dawn I awoke with what seemed like the breath of an idea â¦
for revenge
. The radio had given it to me. Iâd left my headphones on all night, and the station Iâd been listening to kept interrupting its broadcast to give me news bulletins on Tropical Storm Judith, which had stalled off the coast of North Carolina. The people there were being advised to batten down their hatches and start barricading themselves in. For some reason this put the word âbunkerâ into my brain.
As I mentioned before, way back in its heyday Cape Rose served as a U.S. Army coastal fort, and not only did it have its very own watchtower, it had a bunker, a concrete stronghold submerged within the capeâs biggest sand dune. According to the film at orientation, it was located to the left of camp, where the forest met the beach. And the idea I had was really more a visual in my mind. I
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