Not a Happy Camper by Mindy Schneider Page B

Would my parents do this? Did my parents do this? This? Sex? God. Yech.
    I decided Philip was not the one to ask. He walked into the newly vacated room. “All ours,” he said. I didn’t move. “C’mon, don’tcha want to see what’s in here?” I did. A lone light bulb dangled from the ceiling and what was left of the pale green paint on the walls (which we’d find out ten years later was loaded with lead) was peeling in large chunks. This place had all the style and wit of a police interrogation room, but it also had a mirror and a cot and I guess, ultimately, that was all that mattered to Julie and the waiter.
    â€œThis was what you wanted to show me?” I asked.
    â€œI guess,” came the reply. “Wanna get out of here?”
    I did, quickly returning to the hallway.
    After peeking into a few more rooms, including the ones the Wolverines were crammed into, Philip and I concluded that the first room was, tragically, the nicest and we dubbed it “The Hanky Panky Suite.” We were laughing, but I was nervous, afraid Philip might want me to go back in there with him and close the door like the waiter and Julie.
    â€œI think I have to get back now,” I said.
    â€œWhat time is it?”
    â€œI don’t know. I just have a feeling.”
    â€œâ€™kay,” Philip said. “I’ll go with you.”
    Which was fine with me as long as it wasn’t into that room.
    An hour and a half had passed and Philip accompanied me to the kitchen just as Autumn Evening, Betty and Hallie returned from a film festival in the boys’ social hall where they were screening old
Three Stooges
shorts (less popular ones from the Joe Besser years) which Saul had acquired from a movie theater that went out of business.

    â€œMindy with a boyfriend. Never thought I’d see that,” Betty commented. “Guess you’re not who I thought you were.”
    Which was possibly the nicest thing anyone ever said about me, so I got defensive. “Shut up, he’s not—I mean-”
    Philip looked hurt, but I pretended not to notice as Dana walked in with the Adonis, Aaron Klafter, and announced he’d be joining us in bread baking.
    â€œGuys can come?” I asked. “Philip, you want to?”
    Feeling guilty as usual, I had to make it up to him for my previous remark.
    Philip tried to look nonchalant. “Beats watching basketball, I guess.”
    As we headed into the kitchen, Aaron took Dana’s hand. Philip saw it and turned to me, so I put my hands in my pockets.
    Rumor had it that Maddy was off with Jacques, some sort of scheduling crisis she had to help him figure out. For a camp that appeared to have no set schedule, she sure spent a lot of time helping him plan things.
    The rest of us watched as Walter rolled the dough into nine long snake-like strands. Then, grasping three strands at a time, he braided them together perfectly. “I wish you could’ve done my hair like that,” I told him. “That would’ve looked good when I was Frau Schmidt.”
    Once all the loaves were braided, Walter showed us how to paint the bread with egg wash and sprinkle on poppy seeds. This was all a new experience for me, as I was never really exposed much to baking. My mother barely liked to cook and mostly stuck with broiling things. Her repertoire later expanded when the microwave revolutionized the kitchen and she is the only person I know whomakes tuna salad in a Cuisinart, which makes it, let me tell you, very smooth.
    Betty Gilbert had returned to the kitchen only to resume peering at us over the top of her book.
    â€œCould use your help here,” I said, trying to sound annoyed.
    â€œOh, all right,” she groaned, putting down the book. “I need a brush.”
    â€œYou can share mine,” I said, and she snatched it away from me.
    Betty acted like the whole thing was a chore, but she didn’t fool anyone. Mitzvah