Attack of the Mutant Underwear (14 page)

Zach and I are assigned to Amy's dad's minivan, whether we like it or not. We climb into the backseat. Amy stakes out the middle for her and Libby. When Libby shows up from calling Emerson, Zach says, “Rats! I was hoping you'd gotten lost!” Libby and Amy both glare.

9:12—A backpack the size of an elephant appears, with Emerson under it. It takes another fifteen minutes to tie his mountain of gear on top of the van. But at least all kids are now accounted for. Ms. B tells the drivers, “Stay together in a convoy.” And we are
finally
on our way.

9:27—Zach pretends to blow snot in Amy's and Libby's hair. Amy and Libby act like he doesn't exist.

9:43—Zach gets out a marker and piece of paper and writes “Help! We've been kidnapped!” I hold it up in the window so other cars can see. We act like we are screaming to be rescued.

9:55—Zach says, “This curvy road is making me sick!” then acts like he is barfing down Amy's and Libby's backs. I add some good sound effects. Amy and Libby act like we don't exist.

10:23—Emerson has to pee,
now.
Convoy of cars pulls over at gas station. Zach and I hassle Amy and Libby some more. Libby calls me a “dork accessory.” I smile and say, “Thank you, ma'am!” Amy still acts like we don't exist.

Ms. B's Carefully Planned Schedule for Things to Go Right:
10:30-11:30—Educational tour at the Metolius River fish hatchery.

Life According to Murphy's Law:
11:15—Still a
bunch
of miles from the fish hatchery, Amy's dad, and Ms. B, and several of the other convoy drivers change the back tire on our minivan. Zach and I lead the class in a roadside song: “Great big globs of greasy grimy gopher guts, mutilated monkey meat, little tiny birdy feet, great big globs of greasy grimy gopher guts, guess I'll go eat worms!”

Ms. B's Carefully Planned Schedule for Things to Go Right:
11:30-12:00—Lunch by the Metolius River.

Life According to Murphy's Law:
12:07—All cars actually arrive at the fish hatchery, but the fishy guy who was going to take us on a tour has given up and gone home to eat lunch. At the sound of the word
lunch,
Emerson starts whining that if he doesn't eat his soon, he'll faint. Ms. B lets out a long sigh. No tour. We eat.

Ms. B's Carefully Planned Schedule for Things to Go Right:
12:00-1:00—Travel to Tumalo State Park campground.

Life According to Murphy's Law:
12:23—Finished with his lunch, Zach starts poking around and spots a small garter snake sunning itself on a rock. He catches it and puts it in my empty Pringles can. He offers chips to Amy. Amy says, “Not on your life.” Emerson goes for it, though, and we have a good laugh when he screams and Ms. B tells him to quiet down. We all get in the cars and take off, get lost twice, but finally make it to the campground, over an hour late.

Ms. B's Carefully Planned Schedule for Things to Go Right:
1:00-2:00—Set up camp.

Life According to Murphy's Law:
2:05—Glad to finally be there, kids go nuts and run around the campsite, checking it out. It's cool, except for the nearby toilet, which is one of those stinky Porta-Potti things. Emerson says it looks like an outhouse on skis, what with the wooden runners on the bottom. Zach says those are so it can be moved easily. I say as long as it doesn't move backward, especially with me in it, because it's sitting at the top of a hill. Ms. B says, “Enough enlightening discussion. Get your tents set up.”

Which Zach and I do in less than five minutes. Zach claims the grassy, soft side to sleep on. I don't mind. The lumpy side has the best view of Amy and Libby looking confused as they try to set up their tent, and an even better view of Emerson's tent falling down.

Because that's what keeps happening. He gets done with the job and walks around looking really pleased with himself, then trips over one of the ropes, pulling the stake out of the ground, and
flop,
down the whole thing goes.

It's great entertainment. Emerson gets all huffy when we laugh at him, and says he can do it, he's been camping “thousands” of times. The fourth flop gets us laughing so hard, he yells at us. Which is
really
fun.

Until Ms. B says, “Since you're so great at putting up tents, you can help Emerson. And Amy and Libby, too, for that matter.” So we have to, and Amy and Libby and Emerson act like it's fair, even though it isn't. Murphy's Law again.

After all that slave labor, I say to Zach, “Let's go exploring.” Emerson says, “Yeah!” and tags along, whether we like it or not. We wander down to the creek, where we skip rocks. Zach gets his to skip eleven times!

Zach finds a long limb on the ground that he uses for a pole to vault over the creek, which is cool. So I do it, too. Emerson walks back and forth looking worried. Zach says, “Good, he's not going to come with us!” But then Emerson finds a log to cross on. It looks slippery, but he puts one foot out on it and doesn't slip. So he puts another foot out and inches toward the center, and doesn't slip. He grins and says, “Hey, look at me!” and slips and falls into the creek.

Zach and I take off running and pole-vaulting through the woods, and are laughing our heads off. Until Murphy's Law kicks in again and we realize we're lost. We wander around for about thirty minutes before we finally pole-vault into the campsite again. By which time we've missed all of
Ms. B's Carefully Planned Schedule for Things to Go Right Nature Walk
and half of
Ms. B's Carefully Planned Schedule for Things to Go Right Ecosystems Class
.

Ms. B isn't happy. Zach says that it's Emerson's fault we are late. Ms. B says, “You are one hundred percent responsible for your own reality.” While I'm trying to figure out what that means, Zach gets mad and kicks at Emerson's tent stake and the whole thing falls down again. Ms. B makes him go sit by himself under a big pine tree.

The rest of ecosystems class isn't nearly as exciting, but thankfully has to be cut short. Because then we will
finally
be back on
Ms. B's Carefully Planned Schedule for Things to Go Right
(5:00-6:00—Fix dinner and clean up).

“Whew!” says Amy. As if just being back on
Ms. B's Carefully Planned Schedule for Things to Go Right
means things actually will.

Fat chance!
Life According to Murphy's Law:
Emerson's hot dog falls off his stick into the fire. He rolls it out onto the ground, picks it up, blows off some of the dirt, and deposits it into a bun and chomps away. Libby says, “Disgusting!” and for once I agree. Emerson shrugs. I move to the other end of the picnic table.

Where Zach is making fun of Amy and Libby's dinner of fresh salad, pasta with pesto sauce, and sourdough bread. He says, “That's sissy food.
Real
campers cook
real
camping food like this!” He lifts the lid of our cooking pot to reveal a big glob of burned chili. Into which a bug immediately flies.

Libby and Amy think this is very funny. “Mmm!” they say, “that looks
real
yummy!” Zach starts to look a lot like an insulted grizzly bear, and I think, Uh-oh.

But then he brightens up and says to me, “Forget the chili. This way we'll have more room later for the main course.” By which he means all the candy and pop he's smuggled along in his suitcase. All during capture-the-flag and campfire songs and a trip to the stinky Porta-Potti, I think about how hungry I am, and how great all of those goodies are going to taste. Forgetting about …

Ms. B's Carefully Planned Schedule for Things to Go Right:
9:30. Bedtime. Lights out. No talking.

Life According to Murphy's Law:
Come on! What adult really expects kids to be quiet and go to sleep at 9:30 on an Incredible-Fantastic-End-of-the-Year Camp-Out? Zach and I have some serious junk food eating to do. We chomp on Reese's peanut butter cups, Snickers bars, York Peppermint Patties, and pure milk chocolate, all the time talking a mile a minute about how good it is.

Libby comes over and asks us to please be quiet, we are keeping her and Amy awake. Zach just laughs, and as soon as she leaves pulls out the extra bag of marshmallows. “Let's play chubby puppy!” he says. “You put a marshmallow in your mouth and say ‘chubby puppy.' Then, without chewing and swallowing the first marshmallow, you put another one in and say ‘chubby puppy' again. The winner is the person who can hold the most marshmallows in his mouth and still say ‘chubby puppy.' It's a great game.”

In the middle of chubby puppy, Libby comes over again and tells us to be quiet, “Now!”

Zach sticks his head out of the tent and acts like he is going to spit marshmallows at her.

Libby jumps back and says, “You are so gross. I ought to tell Ms. B!”

Zach just laughs.

After Libby stomps off, Zach says, “Speaking of gross, last summer my mom ate a little green caterpillar that was in her salad.” Which reminds me of the time my mom found half a worm in an apple she was eating, and almost threw up. Which reminds Zach of the time his big brother drank a whole gallon of root beer on a bet, and
did
throw up. Which reminds me of the time I took a big swig of the Coke at a picnic and there was a fly in it, and I threw up, too. Which reminds Zach that he smuggled along a few Cokes, and he'll give me one if I promise not to throw up. I say, “It's a deal!” And I get so busy thinking about how nice that is of him, and that he really is a generous person, and people just don't understand him, that I don't notice him shaking the Coke up before he hands it to me.

When I pop the top, it goes off like a geyser and soaks me. Zach hoots, “Gotcha!” I quickly peel off my pants and shirt and open up my suitcase. I'm not in such a good mood by then, but am thinking, I sure am glad I packed that extra change of clothes. Instead of my favorite Imadude jeans and Nike sweatshirt, though, what I find makes me break out in an instant sweat. My suitcase is completely crammed with nothing but underwear. Yep, underwear. My underwear. Dad's underwear. Mom's underwear. MC's underwear. Nothing but underwear.

“Molly!” I say between clenched teeth, trying to act angry instead of freaked. “So
this
is what she and Jordy were doing in my bedroom before the trip. ARRRRGH!”

Zach thinks this is the funniest thing he's ever seen, though. He laughs so hard he can hardly breathe. “Haw! Haw! What a gotcha! A suitcase full of underwear! Haw! Haw!”

“It's not funny!” I yell at him. “Because of you and your Coke joke, I don't have anything to wear!”

Zach laughs even harder. “Sure you do!” He grabs the suitcase and starts pulling out pairs of underwear and forcing them onto my arms. “See? There's a new shirt!” And onto my head. “And a new hat!” I am pulling them off and telling him to stop, I REALLY don't like it, but he keeps putting them on faster. “Look out!” he hoots. “Mutant underwear are attacking! Haw! Haw!”

“
What
is going on in there?”

Zach and I both jump. It's Ms. B, and she doesn't sound happy. Zach starts scooping up all the junk food goodies, while I dive headfirst into my sleeping bag. I hear the tent door zipper. “You've got candy!” Ms. B says, and I scrunch down even farther in my bag. “I told you no junk food! Give it to me!” I hear her grabbing our real guy camping goodies. “You two are absolutely pushing the limits! One more thing and you're in big trouble!” she barks. “Now BE QUIET!” And she is gone.

“Whoa,” I whisper, sticking my head out of hiding. “She was steamed. Guess we'd better really get to sleep, huh?”

“Libby told on us!” Zach hisses. He shakes his fist toward her and Amy's tent. “Now we've lost all our survival food, and it's her fault. Nobody does that and gets away with it. She's going to pay!”

And all of a sudden I've had enough of Zach and the grizzly bear look in his eye. He just doesn't know when to quit. He's over the edge. “Hey, forget it,” I say. “I don't want any more trouble with Ms.—”

“Wimp!” Zach sneers at me. “If you're not man enough to defend your honor, then
I'll
do it!” He sticks his head out of the tent. “There goes Libby into the Porta-Potti. Perfect! I'll get her good!” And before I can get a word in edgewise, he scrambles out of the tent, scoops up a piece of firewood and the pole we used to vault over the creek, and runs to the Porta-Potti.

“Hey!” I whisper after him. “What are you going to—”

Zach slams the piece of firewood onto the ground, then quickly wedges the tip of the pole over the top of it and under the front edge of the Porta-Potti. The other end of the pole rides up in the air. He grabs it, a wild grin spreading across his face.

That's when it hits me: he's built a lever, just like we studied in science. Lay a bar (or in this case, a pole) across a pivot point (the firewood), and any power you apply to the long end is multiplied big time at the short. With a large enough lever, you can move just about anything.

Including a Porta-Potti!

I try to shout, “No!” But the word sticks in my throat as Zach heaves down on the pole and the front of the Porta-Potti lurches up off the ground.

A startled shriek comes from inside—Libby's voice, full of fear. I can hear her scrambling to get the door open.

But Zach laughs like a maniac, as if this is just a big joke, a cool prank, and heaves down on the pole again. The Porta-Potti teeters for one horrible second, then begins to slide backward down the hill, picking up speed fast, headed toward the creek.

The grin drops from Zach's face. “Uh-oh,” he says.

Libby screams, “Help!”

In a flash I'm out of the tent and running for all I'm worth. I sprint to the top of the hill and leap onto the Porta-Potti. Which is really moving now. I jerk the door open. Libby locks her eyes onto mine, a look of sheer terror on her face. I grab her and do the only thing I can think of at the moment—bail out—just as the Porta-Potti careens off a rock and veers sideways into the bushes with a giant crash.