The day before camp began,
my mom and I packed up together.
I read aloud from the camp list.
"'Two flashlights,'" I read, "'with batteries.'"
"One moment," my mom said.
She searched through shopping bags
and pulled out two flashlights
and two packs of batteries.
"Marker, please," she said.
I handed her a permanent marker,
and she started writing my name on a flashlight.
Because the camp list said to label everything.
"Next?" she said.
"'One sleeping bag,'" I read.
My mom pulled my sleeping bag into her lap.
It was so much thinner than hers had been.
I saw that without checking the photo
on the wall by my bed.
Because I already knew that picture by heart.
"Your sleeping bag must've been so much softer,"
I said to my mom.
"This one's plenty soft," she said,
writing my name on my bag.
"And remember what Natalie told us?
She has practically the same one!"
Natalie is my nice babysitter,
who has beautiful hair.
"I know," I said.
"But I still like yours better."
"Mmm," my mom said.
She'd gotten distracted.
She sat very quietly for a second
with the bag in her lap,
thinking.
"What is it?" I asked her.
She smiled.
"I was just remembering how beautiful
Wallumwahpuck is," she said.
"You're going to have such a nice time."
Then she set my sleeping bag aside and said,
"What's next?"
"'Seven pairs of underwear,'" I read from the list.
"Get them, please," my mom said.
So I opened a dresser drawer
and started counting out underwear.
I gave my mom the stack,
and she uncapped her marker.
"Wait!" I cried.
She looked up, surprised.
"I don't want my name in my underwear!" I said.
"But what if you lose it?" my mom said.
"What if you drop it somewhere?
Like on your way back to your cabin,
after taking a shower."
"Then I really don't want my name in it!" I cried.
"I don't want everyone knowing
it's my dirty underwear!"
"Please, Eleanor," my mom said.
"Don't forget—
your laundry gets done after the first five days.
If you don't have your name in your underwear,
you won't get them back for the last five days."
"Oh," I said.
I tried to decide which was worse.
Everyone seeing my dirty underwear.
Or wearing no underwear for the last half of camp.
I couldn't decide.
Finally, my mom said,
"How about just your initials?"
"Fine," I said.
"But I'm leaving the oldest ones at home."
As she handed me back my most
worn-out underwear,
I realized
she wasn't going to be at camp with me at all.
Not even to help me put my things away.
Or make sure my flashlights worked.
Or tuck me in, under my thin sleeping bag.
My heart started to hurt.
"What if I miss you and Dad too much?"
I asked her.
"Will you come get me?"
"You won't miss us that much," she said.
"I can't even call you, can I?" I said.
I was starting to feel sweaty.
"Only in an emergency," my mom said.
"But what if they keep me from calling?"
I said.
"What if they're evil?"
I thought for another second.
"And what if they read my letters before
mailing them? To make sure
I'm not telling you their evil deeds?"
"I promise you, they're not evil," my mom said.
"The director was a counselor back in my day.
She's always been lovely."
I ignored that.
Then I had a brilliant idea.
"We'll have a code!" I said.
I came up with one, real quick.
"If I write in one of my letters,
'I just met Esmeralda,'
then you must rescue me.
Got it?"
"If you meet Esmeralda," my mom said,
"then I rescue you.
Can we finish packing now?"
"Yes," I said,
feeling much better.
"We can."
