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    Camp Disaster
    Camp Disaster
    Camp Disaster
    Ebook67 pages49 minutes

    Camp Disaster

    By Frieda Wishinsky

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Charlotte Summers is sure that summer camp is going to be a disaster. And she’s right. But it’s not as disastrous for her as it is for her counselor, Abby. Abby has no control over the girls in her charge. The control is held by the cabin’s mean girl. Charlotte realizes that she could tip the balance of power and unseat the bully, but does she have the courage to go for it?
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOrca Book Publishers
    Release dateApr 26, 2016
    ISBN9781459811164
    Camp Disaster
    Author

    Frieda Wishinsky

    Frieda Wishinsky is the international award-winning author of over seventy books. She writes picture books, chapter books, novels and nonfiction. Her books have been translated into many languages. Frieda lives in Toronto, Ontario.

    Read more from Frieda Wishinsky

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      Book preview

      Camp Disaster - Frieda Wishinsky

      Sixteen

      Chapter One

      The door to cabin eight creaks open, and I’m smacked on the nose by a pair of frilly pink underwear. I duck as a green T-shirt and three pairs of black socks fly toward me.

      Girls are shrieking, laughing and throwing clothes. A long-legged girl with big black glasses is leaning against the pillows on her bed, reading. No one notices me.

      I spy my name over a bunk near the window and edge my way over. I drop my duffel bag and backpack beside my bed. A shoe grazes my arm and hits the window behind me.

      What’s going on? Where’s the counselor? I know her name is Abby.

      A chunky, older girl stands in a corner, hugging her arms to her chest. Stop, girls, she mutters.

      That must be Abby!

      The girls ignore her. Their shrieks get louder. Their clothes fly faster and harder. Someone throws a book.

      Abby takes a step forward. Please. Before something breaks.

      A green lamp on a nightstand crashes to the floor near me.

      The shrieks, the laughter, the throwing stop. Abby, get a broom. I don’t want glass in my foot, snaps a girl with long straight-as-a-board brown hair.

      Abby blinks. Me?

      Yes. You. The girl with the brown hair mimics Abby’s shaky voice. You’re the counselor, aren’t you? That’s your job. That’s what my mother is paying you for.

      Abby doesn’t move. The rest of the girls surround the long-haired girl, waiting.

      I can’t stand it. I grab a broom in a corner. I’ll help.

      Abby swallows hard. Thanks.

      I sweep as Abby holds the dustpan. No one says anything. Two girls nudge each other and giggle. Everyone watches us dump shards of broken glass into the garbage can.

      We finish and Abby hurries into the next room.

      The long-haired girl turns to me. Who are you?

      Charlotte Summers. Who are you?

      Madison Moore. Madison scans my face, my battered red duffel and my frayed gray backpack. How did you get here?

      I feel like I’m being drilled by an army general. My grandmother drove me from the city.

      Mine drove me too. An hour ago. We live in River Heights. Where do you live?

      Near Birch and Oak.

      Oh. Madison draws her words out like a long wad of gum. She knows my neighborhood is run-down. Nothing like her neighborhood, expensive River Heights, with its glossy towers overlooking the river.

      Madison points to the door of the counselor’s room and rolls her eyes. Abby has no idea what she’s in for. What a wimp.

      Two girls nod. The long-legged girl peers over her book. Why do you have to be so mean, Madison?

      Madison makes a face. Mind your own business, Ellie.

      Ellie shrugs and returns to her book. Her clothes are neatly folded on the shelves beside her bed.

      I unpack my suitcase. I place my sketchbook, pencils and markers in a drawer. I love sketching. I sketch all the time at home. People, trees, our apartment, the view of the street from my bedroom window.

      Abby pokes her head into the room. Dinner in ten minutes, she says. Her eyes are puffy and red. She closes her door, and it’s quiet again.

      Did you see her face? She’s been bawling her eyes out, says a short blond girl. I actually feel sorry for her. The girl combs her hair in front of a mirror with a pink sequined frame. She must have brought the mirror from home.

      Give me a break, Olivia, says Madison. She shouldn’t have taken the job if she can’t deal with teens. And she can’t. Trust me.

      Madison is right, says a girl with shoulder-length red hair and a freckled nose.

      Madison beams at the red-haired girl. Stella understands.

      You’re right, says Olivia.

      What do you think, Char-lotte Sum-mers? says Madison.

      About what?

      About Abby, of course. She’s pathetic, right?

      I don’t know her yet, I say.

      You’d better make up your mind soon. Madison wrinkles her nose as if I smell bad. It can get lonely at camp.

      My heart thumps so loudly I’m sure everyone in the cabin hears it.

      I’ve only been here an hour and I already hate Camp Singing Hills.

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