Camp Lore - 8. Chapter 8

I was maybe half-unpacked when the screen door on our side of the bunk opened, and the last of the eight waiters came in. He looked like he’d just been swimming. He was wet though was wearing shorts, and he carried a T-shirt instead of a towel. Seeing us, he immediately laughed.

“‘Bout time I got some company.”

“Been here long?” Nate asked.

I was expecting an answer in hours.

“‘Bout a week.”

He seemed to be counting on his fingers.

“Five-and-a-half days.”

“Helping open the camp?” Nate asked.

“A little. Mr. Linden has a crew for that. But I was helping in the kitchen. John, Joe, and the guys.”

“Got to break you real fast of that ‘Mr. Linden’,” Nate said.

“Linden?”

“Better.”

“Done.” He smiled. “Thanks.”

Nate introduced himself. So did Greg and I. The guy’s name was Brian.

“How much did Linden pay you to set up?” Nate asked. “It’s never much. That’s why I skip it.”

“I wasn’t doing it for the money – I needed a place to stay. I’ve been visiting friends for a month, driving all over the place. That was fine with my parents as long as I checked in every night, and they got a call from my friends’ parents as back-up.”

“That’s hard.”

“Nah – I’ve been on my own since graduation.”

“Early.”

“Prep school.”

And then he fake ducked.

“Yeah, I know – prep school. Can you stand it?”

“How can you?”

“It’s not so bad. Wasn’t. It’s finished now. And I’ve been doing it since seventh grade.”

“Why?” Nate went on. And I could see where Andy might have thought he was being hit on. Nate asked a lot of questions.

“Let me get into something dry,” Brian said. “I know we gotta work. But it was hot, and I was just walking along the waterfront, after shooting some baskets, so I dove in.”

“You play?”

Nate mimed a lay-up.

“Well enough.”

“You’re our man.”

“Does that let me off the hook?” I asked.

“Nah – just puts you where you said you were. Back-up.”

“Thanks,” I told Brian. “Now I can play for fun.”

By that point, he was toweling dry.

“That’s all I play for,” he said. “All I do anything for. It’s amazing I got into a decent college. But some of that’s connections.”

“So you just graduated from high school?” I asked. “So did I. But the other guys...”

“Are stuck for another year,” Nate said, faking a pout. Then he grinned. “But one more year. One more year!”

“Where’re you going?” Brian asked me.

We swapped school names and both were impressed enough not to admit it. But not so impressed we could be smug. Nate and Greg just listened.

“Are the waiters usually high school seniors?” Brian asked Nate.

“Most of the time. That’s how Linden works.”

He’d quickly finished unpacking and had started changing into something my camp inventory called “dress whites.” Greg hadn’t started but had them laid out on his bed: A white tennis shirt with the camp logo above its pocket. White chinos and a matching belt. And white bucks and socks.

“I didn’t know about that,” I interrupted. “The clothes.”

“Yeah,” Nate said. “First night and all. Linden likes to make it special.”

So I dug out my whites.

“Anyway,” Nate told Brian – and I guess me, “Linden gets most of his kids from the lower grades. Second through ninth. After you’re fifteen, there’s almost no reason to be in camp – there’re so many better things to do.”

“So what are you...”

“I’ll get to that. Give me a minute.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyhow, Linden gets them in second grade – he won’t go younger. So he has a bunk of seven-year-olds. Then maybe two of eights. And definitely two of kids nine through fourteen. Then usually one of Seniors – the fifteen year olds – and then he starts offering bribes. Free camp for junior counselors, waiters, some special counselors, like junior waterfront and things he invents – part-time HQ staff. Office help. Canteen boys.”

“He lets all these people come free?”

“It’s really only a dozen of us – at each camp. And when you figure out how much he saves...”

“But considering what he charges...”

“You checked, huh?”

“How could I not?”

“Yeah – it’s obscene. You could get a two-year degree at a state school and have money left.”

This was all between Nate and the guy named Brian. Greg and I were following.

“It still wouldn’t pay for five minutes in prep school,” Brian joked.

Nate just laughed.

“Or college,” Brian added.

“I hope you’re both on scholarships,” Nate told us.

“A couple,” I admitted.

Brian agreed.

“Anyway,” Nate went on, trying to finish his story, “Linden uses the bait of free camp to get free labor. And if he can pitch a batch of sixteen year olds to be waiters – and keep them for two years– there’s less training. Plus, he can set us up as future counselors. He won’t hire anyone who’s not accepted to college to do that – and they gotta be eighteen.”

“How do you remember all this?” I asked.

“Cause I’ve lived it since I was nine. And that’s what Linden likes – people who know the camps. He pays extra to former campers who come back.”

“So that’s why I’m not making much,” I said.

“Why should you? For a free vacation.”

“It’s seven days a week.”

“For three hours a day – max. The rest of the time is yours, and you have run of the camp.”

“‘Long as you stay away from the girls,” Greg reminded me.

“Till Lights Out.” Nate grinned. “And he’s got a system,” he said, pointing at Greg. He ACTS.”

“You always make it sound dirty,” Greg joked.

“I wish I’d figured it out sooner – and it’s too late now. Besides, I hate acting – I can’t remember the lines.”

“You’re an actor?” Brian asked Greg.

“I’m in high school. Even if I got offered jobs, my parents wouldn’t let me take them. But they’ll let me go to Tisch if I can.”

“What’s that?” I had to ask.

“The performing arts school of NYU,” Brian said.

“He’s not stupid,” Greg told Nate.

“Never said I was.” Brian smiled. “I’ve got an ex-girlfriend going there.”

“A co-ed prep school?”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “One break.”

“Damn,” Nate sighed. “I always thought you guys were monks. That was one reason not to be jealous.”

He suddenly looked at me.

“Did I ever finish my story?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know where it was supposed to end.”

“You came close enough,” Greg told him. “Now tie your shoes.”

“Wait! Tell him about your acting,” Nate insisted.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not,” Nate disagreed.

“During the week,” Greg explained, “the kids do other stuff. Game shows. Sing-alongs. Talent shows.”

“This is at night – after dinner.”

“But Saturdays and Sundays, we do a comedy show.”

“Saturday Night Live – Di-rect from Camp!”

“It’s stupid but fun.”

“And has girls in it. That’s that’s the part that gets me,” Nate said.

“Yeah,” Greg admitted. “We write and rehearse between meals, and do it on Saturdays in one camp and Sundays in the other.”

“So he gets to be around girls a lot.”

“Three girls. The same ones all summer.”

“But campers, too. When they’re needed.”

At that moment, a bugle sounded from the direction of the Mess Hall.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“See, that’s why Linden wants people who’ve been to camp,” Nate said. “He doesn’t have to explain.”

“That’s for us,” Steve interrupted, standing in the hall doorway with a toothbrush in his hand.

“It’s only first call,” Dan added, peering over Steve’s shoulder.

“But you know Joe likes us early.”

“Since when are you on time?” Nate poked.

“It’s something I’m trying out,” Steve volleyed. And he disappeared.

Dan just laughed.

“You elect a guy Student Council president for two years in a row, and he gets all full of himself. We’ll take that out of him.”

And Nate laughed, too.