Free Noses Are Red by Richard Scrimger Page B

hands to it. An elemental force. “Thanks,” I say. “We really need your help here. You’re from a camp, right?”
    “Yes. I am staying at Camp Omega.”
    “Oh, that’s great,” I say. “We need to get to your camp right away.”
    “You can’t,” she says.
    “You don’t understand. We’re hungry and tired. We’ve lost Christopher, my mom’s…” I don’t know if “friend” is the right word. “Our trip leader,” I say. “With any luck, the rangers are looking for us. We’ve escaped from bears. You have no idea of our plight.”
    I don’t know if “plight” is the right word, either, but I’ll try it.
    “No,
you
don’t understand,” she says. “Have you heard the thunder? Do you feel the wind? It would take me three hours hard paddle to get back to camp. Sunset in two hours. I will not risk traveling in the dark.”
    “Do you have a phone?”
    “No.”
    “Oh. Well, who’s with you now?”
    “I am alone,” she says. “I must spend the night away from the camp in order to complete my qualifications for the Master Tripper Award. Only two campers in the history of Camp Omega have been awarded the Master Tripper Scroll. I will be the third. And you boys will
not
stop me.”
    I take a breath. “Okay, let me see if I have it right. This Omega is a regular camp, right? Like in the Disney movies, with cabins and archery and a dining hall, right?”
    She nods.
    “And there are grown-ups too: nurses and counselors and camp directors?”
    She nods.
    “But because you’re trying for this Girl Scout merit thing –”
    “Master Tripper Scroll!” She makes it sound like the Victoria Cross.
    “And because of this badge –”
    “Scroll!”
    “Whatever. Because you’re in line for this award, you are here, alone, hours from camp. And no one is coming to get you until tomorrow.”
    She throws a log on the fire. It lands perfectly, and bursts into flame. “Yes,” she says.
    “Wow. Well, what do you say, Victor?”
    He stares at me. I get a sense of the old Victor coming back. “I’m hungry,” he says.
    You can’t fight your nature. Actually, I’m hungry too. I rub my hands together. I wonder how much food Zinta has. I could probably eat it all myself. Usually I’d feel bad about imposing on a stranger, but Zinta isn’t the sort of person you have to feel bad about. She can look after herself.
    “So, do you mind if we stay for dinner? We don’t have anywhere else to go.”
    “Of course you will stay. You are not fit to look after yourselves, you boys.”
    Well, she doesn’t have to put it like that. But I suppose she’s right. “So, what did they give you for dinner?” I ask. “What’s in the food pack?”
    “Nothing,” she says.
    “What?” Victor’s face darkens. The goddess girl has lost points. “You don’t have anything in your food pack?”
    “It is a survival exercise,” she explains. “A true Master Tripper can live off the land. For my out-trip, I must find and cook my own food. The only things in my food pack are salt and pepper and a bit of flour. Good news, though. I have some gear in the canoe. Rod, reel, and a bucket of worms I dug up. You boys can come with me. This time of day, and with this wind, the fish should be rising nicely.”
    “You’re kidding,” I say.
    She folds her arms. Her biceps bulge. “I
never
kid.”
    You know, she probably doesn’t.

The open lake is too windy to fish in, so we’re in a narrow stretch below the rapids. It’s still choppy. The canoe bounces up and down. The fishing rod in Victor’s hand moves like a conductor’s baton.
    “Ready? Cast over towards the reeds!” calls Zinta. She’s in the stern, paddling gently. Victor’s in the bow. “Cast away!”
    I have no idea what Zinta’s talking about. I thought a castaway was someone stranded on a desert island. Victor flicks the rod back and forth, and lets fly. The line sails gently out. The boat rocks some more. The motion takes me back in time.
    I remember the