Free The Goats by Brock Cole

her nervous. She hadn’t thought that Pardoe had noticed her. She didn’t want him to think about her. When he smiled, the skin at the corners of his mouth folded into dry little wrinkles.
    â€œNo, she couldn’t,” said Tiwanda, who had come back with two boxes of chicken. “She’s not going to mess with any of that stuff. You hear, Bonnie?”
    â€œGet off her case, Tiwanda,” said Pardoe. “What’s she supposed to do? Get a paper route?”
    â€œI mean it. You shut up about that stuff. She’s not going to do any of it.”
    Pardoe looked away, smiling dreamily. He seemed very sure of something. So sure that he wouldn’t explain it to people who refused to understand.
    When they had finished eating, Mr. Carlson got up
and gave a speech. He welcomed them to the camp, and asked them to take good care of the facilities, because it was state property and that meant it was theirs, too. He apologized for the box lunch; Milo promised hot food tomorrow. Everyone whistled and cheered, and a man in a white paper cap stood up and bowed. Then Mr. Carlson explained the next day’s schedule. In the morning they could explore the camp and get acquainted. There were tennis courts and a lake nearby where they could swim. The buddy system would be strictly enforced. He pointed out the buddy list by the door. It didn’t matter if your buddy wasn’t a friend; he or she was still your buddy.
    In the afternoon there would be an excursion to the Corraine Caverns. They should be ready to board the buses at one o‘clock sharp. Mrs. Higgins would stay behind to hold the hands of those who didn’t make the buses. They should bring sweaters and jackets and wear sturdy shoes. No clogs or heels. It had been a long day, and lights-out was at ten o’clock. Until then they could do what they wanted. Keep it decent. And no, he wasn’t going to tell them where the lake was until morning.
    When Mr. Carlson had sat down, some of the kids got up and began to collect the empty lunch boxes in big plastic bags. Others began to push the tables back against the walls. Someone turned on a large portable radio, and a boy in a windbreaker and a big felt hat began to sketch a few steps of a private break dance off in a corner.

    Lydia came over to their table carrying a cup of cocoa. “What’s this Corraine Cavern excursion? I’m not sure I want to mess with that.”
    â€œYou’d love it, Lydia,” said Pardoe. “It’s a big black hole in the ground. People are always getting lost down there. They never find most of them.”
    â€œDon’t give me that. Why would anyone want to go down a hole? Even subways give me the willies.”
    â€œIt’s probably interesting,” said Tiwanda. “I was in Mammoth Cave once. Mammoth Cave in Kentucky? They had interesting stuff there. Fish with no eyes and underground lakes and stuff. They had these stalagmites that looked like fried eggs and some like a pipe organ. They played music and had a light show. It was real educational.”
    â€œMammoth Cave is where they found these mummies of people who got lost.”
    â€œShut up, Pardoe. There ain’t no mummies in there. That’s in the pyramids. In Egypt.”
    â€œNo, man, it’s true. There’s something about the air in there. These people dies, but they don’t rot. They just sort of dry up.”
    â€œI was in a cave once,” said the boy suddenly. He was sitting up very straight like a little kid and looking at them. The girl noticed that he hadn’t eaten much of his chicken. She couldn’t understand that, because she was starved.
    â€œWhat cave was that?” asked Tiwanda.
    â€œI don’t remember the name. It’s in Greece. It’s really old.”

    â€œWas it scary?” asked Lydia. “Because if it’s scary, I don’t want to hear about it.”
    â€œNo, it wasn’t scary.