Free Camp Wild by Pam Withers

chapter one
    â€œSummer camp!” I roar at my startled parents. Anger surges through my cracked voice with such electricity that I don’t even blush about the vocal-chord break. “Why don’t you just send me to Siberia? If you’re so set on always getting rid of me, why did you even have a kid?”
    That is going too far, I know the instant I’ve said it. But I’m livid they’ddare to mess with my summer plans without even asking me. A moment ago, they looked so pleased with themselves for having arranged it all. Then they looked surprised at my ungratefulness. And now they are both wearing a wounded expression.
    â€œBut you’ve always enjoyed Camp Wild,” my mother protests.
    I groan. How clued out can she be?
    â€œYeah, when I was eight,” I blast back. “I’m fourteen now. Way too old for that crap. I told you last year I’d had it with that place.”
    My parents exchange a look. That is never a good sign.
    â€œWilf,” my dad begins sternly, rubbing his freshly trimmed sideburns and tugging on his tie, which he hasn’t removed even though he has been home from work for an hour. “You know as well as I do that we can’t let you spend the entire summer on your own. You know yourmother and I work long hours. You’ll appreciate the structure and opportunities. You may be among the oldest campers this year, but that can’t be all bad. Next year you can apply to be a junior camp counselor.”
    â€œOh, that’s rich, Dad,” I explode back.“My dream job, looking after a bunch of brats. That would be even worse than being the only fourteen-year-old at a little-kids’ summer camp. Don’t do this, Mom and Dad. You can’t make me go when you didn’t even ask me first.”
    I shoot a sideways glance at my mother, at the beads of sweat beneath her pearl necklace. This exchange is getting to her, but Dad has that set jaw that makes me fear they really are going to go through with this.
    â€œAfter what happened last month, son, we felt we didn’t have a choice,” he declares in his bank-executive voice, as though he is talking to a failed businessowner looking for a loan. “You’re too old for a baby-sitter and clearly not responsible enough to be unsupervised. We felt this was the best option. The subject is now closed.” He loosens his tie as if that will force me to cave in.
    I jump up and run out the door, my temper about to explode. I know what Dad is referring to, all right, but he never sees the whole picture. So I held a party at our house when he and Mom were working late one night. So what? A guy has to do something when left alone day and night by parents who are addicted to insane workloads. It wasn’t my fault that a few uninvited thugs showed up and trashed the place a little. But I cleaned up the house. I endured the lectures. I even put up with being grounded for a month. Not that
being
grounded was much different from
not being
grounded. It’s not like either of my parents cut back on their work to do stuff with me then. No,they just
phoned
me to make sure I was in my prison alone. They had clients to tend to, important clients. Always more important than me.
    â€œClients pay the bills,” Dad is always saying cheerfully. Like my parents aren’t so loaded that they can’t pay for anything they want, including a little unexpected house-party damage, after-school lessons or summer camps to get rid of me so they can tend to more clients. Getting rid of me is always the point. Well, they are going too far this time. I am going to have a good summer, and it won’t affect their clients one bit. They’ll see me getting on the camp bus, all right, if that’s all they care about. But the minute I get to Camp Wild, I’ll be plotting my escape. I’ll design my own summer adventure. I’ll do an instant graduation from Camp Wild to Camp