Nate's Story Read online

  Carlos shrugged. “Nothing, everything,” he said. “I’m sure every one of you guys has done something today that you’re proud of, or found out something new about yourself. Celebrate that.”

  “Cheers!” the boys said.

  Nate didn’t have to ask himself what he was celebrating. He knew exactly: facing his fear of riding. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d made himself do it anyway. It was worth a silent taco toast to himself.

  One by one, the boys toasted each other for goofy achievements, like Jim wearing the same shorts for six days in a row, and for semi-serious achievements, too, like Yasu always being the first one into the lake, or Kareem knowing every camp song, or Erik helping a guy who’d been homesick, or Vik turning out to be a natural around horses. They knocked together soda cans, spoons full of beans, and tacos. Then, sitting on their trunks or bunks or on the floor, the campers crunched and slurped like they had never been fed before.

  When all had been eaten, down to the last beans and swipes of guacamole, and cold soda drained from the cans, Carlos strummed his guitar and sang to the tune of “Happy Birthday to You”:

  Happy tacos to you,

  Soda, beans, and chips too.

  Now you’ll dream of guacamole,

  And you’ll sleep in it too.

  The boys climbed back into their bunks and fell back asleep. Nate felt greasy, cheesy, full, and very happy.

  “Word of the day, guys,” sighed Zee. “Tah-coh-tah-coh-tah-coh-oh!”

  Chapter Eight

  Lying in his bunk the next morning, Nate peered through the screen out into the woods. Crunch, crackle, plink. A squirrel sat on a low branch in the morning sun, chewing the green hull of a black walnut, dropping chunks of the outer part on the ground as he worked his way to the tasty nut inside. He’s hungry ’cause he missed the tacos last night, Nate thought, smiling. He would have fit right in; he’s a messy eater too.

  The cabin still smelled strongly—sort of reeked, actually—of taco sauce and cheese. Nate reached under the covers for his notebook. Not finding it, he hopped down from his bunk to the floor. Ouch! His legs ached from riding. Where did I hide my notebook? he asked himself, looking around the cabin, which was a disaster area. Nate turned to his trunk. Uh oh! Nate lifted the leaky leftover taco bag that was lying on his trunk. Sure enough, underneath the bag was his notebook. It was soaked with greasy orange taco sauce.

  With the tips of two fingers, Nate lifted the notebook and moved it to the floor. He wiped it off with a towel, trying to blot up the sauce. That didn’t work too well, so Nate slipped on his flip-flops and carried the notebook outside, hoping that he could find a hidden spot to let the notebook dry in the sun. Behind the cabin, near the edge of the woods, Nate found a wide tree stump. He did his best to peel apart the wet pages of the notebook without ripping them, and then he left the notebook open in the sun, walking back into Birch Cabin where his friends were just waking up.

  After breakfast, the boys were ambling back to Birch Cabin. Erik was teaching them how to say hello, good bye, and guacamole in Norwegian, and Yasu was teaching them those same words in Japanese, when a brown streak shot past them, zooming down the path toward the dining hall. It was Cookie.

  “You missed breakfast, Cookie!” teased Jim.

  “Hey, Cookie!” called Zee. “Hello! Or in Japanese, ‘ Konnichiwa.’”

  Cookie stopped, turned, and wagged his tail.

  “Look! Cookie speaks Japanese!” said Kareem.

  “What’s in his mouth?” asked Zack.

  The dog gave them a guilty glance. As the boys started toward him, he backed away.

  “Whatcha got, Cookie?” asked Nate. And then he saw. His notebook was sticking out of Cookie’s mouth. “Aw, man, ” groaned Nate. “He’s got my notebook! Cookie! Hey, buddy, sit please.” But as Nate approached Cookie, the dog took off like a rocket, bounding toward the dining hall. Nate chased him, calling, “Cookie, stop! Hey, stop.”

  “C’mon,” Erik hollered to the rest of the guys. “Let’s help Nate.”

  Cookie led the boys down the twisting trail, darting between trees and leaping over fallen logs, all the way back to the dining hall. At the door of the dining hall, the dog skidded to a stop. He reached up with his front legs and pawed at the door, then with a flip of his ears, he nosed the door open and slipped inside. When the boys finally caught up, they found Cookie crouched under a table, licking the taco-sauce-flavored notebook.

  “Stay, Cookie, stay,” said Nate. He inched toward the dog.

  Cookie lowered his head so that his drooly jaw rested on the notebook. He looked at Nate with big eyes.

  “Hey, Cookie. Hey, buddy,” cooed Zack. He knelt down and offered Cookie a piece of bacon left over from breakfast.

  Cookie lifted his head and sniffed. Then cool as a cucumber, he crawled out from under the table and took the bacon from Zack’s hand.

  “Smart move,” Nate said to Zack.

  As Cookie ate, Zee dove under the table and grabbed the notebook. “Got it!” he said.

  “Thanks,” said Nate, reaching for the notebook. “I’ll—”

  But just then, Kareem and Jim, who’d trailed the pack when the boys were chasing Cookie, burst through the door.

  “What happened? What did we miss?” Jim gasped.

  “Zack distracted Cookie with bacon,” said Yasu. “And Zee rescued Nate’s notebook. Or what’s left of it.”

  Everybody looked at the notebook as Zee handed it to Nate.

  “Bummer, Nate,” said Kareem. “Cookie made dog chow out of your notebook.”

  Yasu leaned in and squinted at the notebook. “What is this anyway?” he asked. “You have drawings in here?”

  “Sort of,” said Nate. He felt his face getting hot. Which was worse? Having his notebook soaked in taco sauce, licked and chewed by a dog, or having his notebook recovered, which meant being discovered by his friends?

  All of the boys crowded close, looking over Nate’s shoulder at the sticky, chewed notebook. The cover was gone, so Nate couldn’t hide the drawings on the first page. Nobody said anything. Nate thought he heard a woodpecker outside, banging its beak on a tree. Nate’s head felt like he was banging it on a tree as he waited to be teased.

  But Camp Wolf Trail had another one of its surprises in store for him. This time, it was a good one, not like finding out that he didn’t like horses.

  “Hey, I’ve seen that bird,” said Jim, pointing to Nate’s sketch.

  “Me too,” said Kareem. “I didn’t know it was called a nuthatch.”

  “Look at the ducks,” said Sean, pointing to another sketch.

  “Those aren’t ducks, you nuthatch,” said Zee. “Look, it says right here: geese.”

  “Honkers, not quackers,” said Vik.

  “Let me see,” said Yasu, leaning in.

  Slam! The screen door swung shut as Skeeter ran into the dining hall. “What’s Cookie done now?” the cook asked as he mopped sweat from his face, which had gone cherry-red from running.

  “Cookie ate Nate’s notebook because it got soaked in grease and taco sauce from last night when Carlos brought us tacos,” Erik explained in a rush. “And it’s a lousy deal, because Nate had sketches of birds in the notebook.”

  “Here’s another sketch,” Vik said. He picked up a rumpled piece of paper from the floor and flattened it out on the table. “Pretty gross: dog slobber and taco sauce. But you can still kind of tell that it’s an owl.”

  “You saw that owl that’s been hooting sometimes?” asked Sean. “Cool.”

  “No, I—” Nate began.

  But Skeeter interrupted him, saying solemnly, “Son, I am sorry that Cookie ruined your work.”

  “That’s okay,” Nate mumbled. “I mean, it’s only a hobby.”

  “Whaddya mean, only a hobby?” said Kareem.

  “How come you never told any of us that you like birds?” Yasu asked.

  Nate shrugged. “I guess I was afraid you’d laugh at me,” he said. “The kids l
ast year at school did, big time.”

  “We’re not the kids at school,” said Jim.

  “They said it was dorky to like birds and know facts and stuff about them,” Nate added.

  “Hey, I know facts and stuff about animals,” said Zack, “from my Outdoor Guide book. So if you’re dorky, I am too, bro.” He high-fived Nate.

  “If knowing lots of anything makes you a dork, sign me up too,” said Vik, “because I know millions of knock-knock jokes.”

  “How about me and how I know all the words to all the camp songs?” said Kareem.

  “Major dorkdom.”

  “Do I get to qualify as a dork for my ‘wordsof-the-day’?” asked Zee. “Or for knowing the cowboy songs?”

  “Okay, okay. I get it, ” laughed Nate. It was great that all his friends now knew about how he liked birds, and even greater that they supported him in it. “You guys are crazy.”

  “Nope,” said Yasu. “We’re nuthatches.”

  “Quackers,” said Erik.

  “Honkers,” said Sean.

  “Bonkers,” said Zack.

  “Are you gonna start all over with your sketches?” asked Jim. “If you need paper, I’ve got lots because I still haven’t used any to write home.”

  “Thanks,” said Nate.

  “Just don’t drench it in taco sauce,” sighed Skeeter, “or Cookie will eat it up again.”

  “Knock, knock!” said Vik

  “Who’s there?” asked somebody.

  “Sal,” said Vik.

  “Sal, who?”

  “Salsa is tasty too!”

  Erik pummeled Vik, and Sean said, “Hey, all this talk about tacos and salsa is making me hungry.”

  “Me too!” agreed Zee. “How long’s it been since breakfast? Five minutes?”

  Skeeter laughed. “I’ve got a watermelon with all your names on it,” he said. “Who’s interested?”

  All the boys shouted at once: “I am!”

  Nate shoved his tattered notebook in his back pocket and joined the rush of boys headed outside to eat watermelon.

  Vik swatted Nate with the back of his hand and said, “Told you so. Did I call it or what, about the guys not teasing you?”

  “Okay, Einstein,” Nate said to Vik happily.

  “You were right, as usual.”

  To himself Nate said, Here’s what I’ll write in what’s left of my notebook:

  Chapter Nine

  For the next two days, Joe took the boys on short trail rides. Joe rode his horse, April, at the head of the line, and the rest of the horses followed along peacefully, only occasionally running into one another. Even so, Nate didn’t like trail rides any better than he liked riding in circles inside the paddock. In fact, on the trail there were lots more things to worry about: getting whacked by lowhanging branches, getting your knee knocked on a tree, heaving forward when Herschel was going downhill, and falling backward when he was going uphill. Also, Herschel loved to stop and reach up and yank off leaves to nibble or bend down and rip up a big wad of grass to chew. The trailside evidently looked like an all-you-can-eat buffet to Herschel, and Nate was not very successful at talking him out of snacking.

  So when Joe announced that the Isabels would be leaving on their overnight trek the next day, Nate sighed while all the other guys cheered.

  “You up for this?” Vik asked him.

  “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Nate answered.

  The morning of the ride, Nate made circles on Herschel’s coat with a rubber currycomb, leaving crinkled rings of dirt on Herschel’s sides. Then Nate brushed away the loose dirt, as Joe had shown him.

  “Herschel’s looking good,” said Joe as he helped Nate lift the saddle onto the horse’s back. “Since you’ve been grooming him, his coat has begun to shine. He’s almost perky these days. Well, perky for Herschel, that is.”

  “He’s a party animal,” said Nate. “No question.”

  Herschel, meanwhile, dozed on his feet.

  “Okay, boys, mount up,” said Joe. The boys swung themselves into their saddles. Every boy had a sleeping bag, water bottle, flashlight, mess kit, and change of clothes rolled up tight and fastened to his saddle.

  “Keep to a walk,” said Joe. “No rodeo tricks. I’ll be first, what we call ‘Point,’ leading the line on April. Simon will be our Sweep, bringing up the rear. Everyone else, fill in. Head ’em up, move ’em out.”

  The boys followed Joe out of the paddock. Nate took a deep breath and pressed his shoes into the stirrups. Here goes nothing, he thought.

  The horses walked through the tall grass of the field before turning onto a trail that wound its way through the woods. Except for an occasional snap of a dry twig, and the comfortable thump of the horses’ hooves on the pine-needle-softened ground, everything was quiet in the woods. Nate concentrated on holding the reins loose and steady, so that they did not pull on Herschel’s mouth, and on keeping Herschel walking forward in the middle of the narrow trail. After a while, the trail sloped down an embankment to a small stream.

  “Let your horses drink,” said Joe. “Then cross the stream.”

  “I’ve never seen the stream this shallow,” said Simon, as the horses lowered their heads to the water. “We sure do need rain.”

  When it was Herschel’s turn to drink, he lowered his head, put his nose in the water, and snorted. He pawed with his front hoof, churning up mud from the creek’s bottom.

  “What’s he doing?” Nate asked nervously.

  “Herschel’s just having a little fun,” said Joe.

  Herschel dunked his nose again and took a long, sucking gulp of water. Finally he crossed the stream and stepped up on the sandy bank, water still dribbling from his lips.

  When Simon, the last in line, made it across the creek, Joe declared, “Lunch!”

  “Finally!” said Vik.

  Nate hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he heard the word lunch. He swung his leg over Herschel’s back and slid to the ground, landing on his feet. Gently, he looped Herschel’s reins over the horse’s head and led him into the shade. Joe pulled a long rope out of his pack and strung it between two trees. The boys tied their horses to the rope, and then loosened the leather girths that held their horses’ saddles tight. At ease, the horses dozed in the shade. As they rested, the sweat on their necks and rumps dried to a white dust.

  Joe and Simon passed out sandwiches and apples to all the boys. When Nate had finished his smashed cheese and mustard sandwich, he stood up, walked over to Herschel, and held the apple to the horse’s nose. Herschel perked up at the sight. With one giant slurp, he sucked it into his large mouth. His jaws pumped up and down slowly. Kersplunch, kersplunch, kersplunch. Sweet-smelling white foam oozed out of his mouth.

  “You’re a real applesauce factory, Herschel,” said Nate.

  “He’s going to have to work on his table manners if he wants to be adopted,” said Wu-Tsing.

  “Yeah,” Nate sighed, worried. Even though he wasn’t crazy about horses in general, he sure did like old Herschel.

  “I’d take him if I had the money,” said Vik, patting Herschel’s sweaty neck. “I can just see my parents’ faces if I walked in the door with him and said, ‘Hey, Mom and Dad! Guess what?’”

  Herschel stopped chewing. He tossed his head and snorted, spraying Vik with sticky apple slobber.

  “Nice,” said Vik. “My mom would love that.”

  By late afternoon, the trekkers had ridden up the mountain trail all the way to the remote campsite where they were going to spend the night. Nate was glad to get there. He was pretty tired from staying alert every hoof-step of the way. He’d heard lots of birdcalls, but hadn’t dared to look up or take his eyes off the trail for an instant.

  The boys rode their horses into a rustic paddock, dismounted, and lugged their saddles and bedrolls off their horses and over to the three-sided wooden shelter for sleeping that stood at the edge of a narrow stream. After they’d fed and watered their horses and rubbed them down
, the boys cooled themselves off by wading in the stream. The water was so low due to the lack of rain that it came up only to their ankles. Still, it felt great to soak their feet and splash their faces.

  “It’s too dry to have a campfire this far from the lake,” Simon said. “But I’ll rustle up stew for dinner on the camp stove.”

  “I’m so starved that I could eat the stew cold, straight out of the can,” said Nico.

  “I’d eat the can,” joked Tyler.

  All through dinner, the campers told jokes and silly stories, their spoons clinking and clanking as they scraped the bottom of their metal mess-kit bowls.

  “Here’s the plan, guys,” Joe announced after they’d finished eating and rinsed their bowls. “We’ll tack up and go for a sunset ride up on the ridge trail. It’s not far from here. Then we’ll come back, and you can tell ghost stories all night long if you want.”

  “Sounds good,” said Zee. “Let’s cowboy up!”

  The boys saddled their horses. Joe checked their work and soon they—and about ten thousand chirping crickets—were on the trail. After a ten minute ride, they came to an opening in the trees. They stopped and watched silently as the sun dipped behind the mountains in a blaze of hot orange, tinting the sky purple, streaking it with red.

  “Okay, now that was worth the whole trip!” said Wu-Tsing. Nobody said anything; they didn’t have to, because they knew that they all agreed.

  After swigging a drink from their water bottles, they rode on. Nate kept his eyes on the trail, which was framed by Herschel’s big brown ears that flopped—just a little—with every step the horse took.

  Nate knew something was wrong when the brown ears suddenly came to attention, pointing straight up. Herschel’s neck went rigid too.

  “What is it, boy?” Nate asked, alarmed.

  Just then, all the riders were surprised by a sudden swoosh of birds flying toward them in a rush, like a dark, intent cloud.

  “That’s weird,” said Nate. “Something must have scared the birds to make them all take off at once like that.”

  “You mean it’s a bad sign?” asked Vik, who was riding ahead of Nate.