Sunday, June 13; 3:53 p.m.
Hank Grayson grinned as he walked towards Cabin Nine. Receiving the state's history award had served two purposes. It proved to the 206 people in South Prairie that he wasn't just another one of "those rotten welfare orphans" and it meant he would stay in the best cabin in Camp Rainier, bunking with only one other camper, rather than eleven. As he entered the cabin, he saw that his roommate had already arrived and was unpacking. Hank studied the dark-haired boy for a moment, then gave him a friendly "Hi!"
"Hi," the boy replied without looking up from his task.
That made Hank a little nerous, and he was as quiet as possible as he set his knapsack on the remaining bed. Finally, he decided to try again. "I'm Hank Grayson."
It worked. The boy turned to look at him. "Eric Montgomery."
"Nice to meet you."
Eric smirked. "Terribly polite of you to say so." He gave Hank the once-over before saying smugly, "Window bunk."
"Huh?"
"Whoever arrives first gets dibs on whichever bed they want. Usually either the bottom bunk or the bed by the window."
"Oh!" Hank laughed. "That's fine."
The dark eyes narrowed as Eric studied the blond boy more carefully. "How old are you?"
"Fifteen."
"Haven't you ever been to a summer camp before?"
"No. See, I won a contest this year, and--"
"Won a contest?! You mean you wanted to come here?"
"Sure," Hank replied, puzzled. "Didn't you?"
"Hell, no!" Eric snorted. "My parents decided I shouldn't go to Europe this summer and that it wouldn't do for me to stay at home without supervision, either. So they packed me off to camp. I decided on this one because they've got one of the better equestrian programs." He noted Hank's faded blue jeans and tank top. "So you won a contest, huh?"
"Yeah, I'd never be able to afford this place on my own."
"Your parents won't pay for it?"
"I don't have parents," Hank said flatly.
"Oh." Erik turned around and began lining his cassettes up beside his ghetto blaster. "Sorry I asked."
"I didn't mean for it to come out like that," Hank sighed.
"S'okay."
Groping for another topic, Hank said, "So you like horses, huh?"
"Yeah, I've got a bay thoroughbred. His name's Lancelot."
"Yeah? What breed is he?"
Eric chuckled as he sat on his own cot. "Thoroughbred is a breed."
"Oh." Hank smiled self-consciously.
"I take it you haven't been around horses much."
"I've been to a few rodeos," Hank said, just a little defensively.
"Really? I've never been to one in my life," Eric grinned. "Lance is a jumper."
"Like those hurdle things?"
"Yeah, those hurdle things." Seeing Hank's embarrassment, Eric sobered. "It's much more popular on the East Coast than it is here. That's where I usually jump him. And Canada, in the fall. Sometimes Europe, when I can talk my parents into it. I want to run him in some steeplechases, but they won't let me yet."
"Steeple...?" Hank bit his tongue before he asked what that was. "So...would you teach me how to jump?"
"Sure," Eric replied, flattered. "We'll start you out on a Western saddle until you get the hang of riding, then switch to English."
"Great!" Hank was quiet for a few moments. "What's the difference?"
"Westerns have a saddle horn you can hang onto."
"Good idea," Hank laughed.
Wednesday, June 23; 12:07 p.m.
"Hey, who's that?" Hank asked as he and Eric found an empty table.
Eric gave the slim boy a quick glance. "He's a nerd."
"Er-ric," Hank frowned, drawing out his roommate's name disapprovingly. "You don't know that." He gave the loner a sympathetic look. "I'm going to invite him to sit with us."
"Gimme a break!" Eric groaned. If Hank thought that he judged people too quickly or harshly, Hank's outgoing, congenial attitude was practically driving Eric out of his mind. They both watched as the boy unsuccessfully tried the 'floating penny' trick. Neither could help laughing as his coin landed in his glass, splashing orange juice on his face. "Okay, Hank, call him over. I've always enjoyed dinner theater." Grinning, Hank walked to the young magician's table. "Excuse me."
The boy went on wiping his glasses.
"Hey, Presto."
The youth started, quickly replaced his glasses and looked up. "Yes?"
"Don't quite have the hang of it yet, do you?" Hank's smile kept the remark from being a nasty barb.
"Nope. I don't think I ever will," he sighed dejectedly. "I doubt I'll ever be good at much of anything."
That was a little too close to the way Hank himself felt two years ago for him to let it pass. "Sure you will, Presto," he said encouragingly. "You'll be pulling rabbits out of hats in no time."
"Thanks," 'Presto' replied with a grateful smile.
"My name's Hank Grayson. I was wondering if you wanted to join me and my roommate," he nodded in Eric's direction.
"Sure!" the boy jumped up immediately, nearly dumping his tray on the floor.
Hank caught it easily. "C'mon," he led the magician to their table. "This is Eric Montgomery. Eric, this is...uh...Presto," Hank laughed. "What is your name anyway?"
"Russell Sydney, but you can call me Presto," he grinned.
"Alright, Presto," Eric smirked. "What do you do for an encore? Dump your plate in your lap?"
Hank gave him a dark look, but Presto answered good-naturedly: "I think I'll quit while I'm ahead. But I could show you some card tricks later."
"Not as messy," Eric nodded.
Saturday, July 3, 11:44 a.m.
"Shouldn't we get back to camp?"
"C'mon, Presto," Eric scowled at him. "Do you really want to sit through a film on hygiene?"
"Good point."
"This is a nice place," Hank commented.
"That's 'cos there's no camp counsellors around," Eric replied.
"Watch this, sis!" came an excited young voice.
"Sounds like we're not the only ones skipping out," Eric said as they made their way toward the voices.
"Bobby, no! It's too dangerous."
The three boys arrived in time to see a blond boy posed for a dive on the edge of a cliff overlooking the lake that the campers weren't allowed to swim in. "Aw, c'mon, Sheila!"
"You'd better not, Bobby," said a slim black girl. "The camp doesn't like us swimming in this part of the lake."
"Oh, alright." Obviously disappointed the boy put his arms back at his sides. As he turned to walk back to his sister, his foot slipped and he disappeared over the brink of the cliff.
"Bobby!!!"
"Oh my God!" Hank rushed toward the edge, kicking off his boots as he ran.
"Grayson! You aren't going to--" Eric stopped when Hank dove off the cliff. "Oh, I guess you are."
"C'mon," the dark girl headed for the path that led to the bottom of the cliff.
Hank knew he would hit the water hard, but he hadn't expected to have the breath knocked out of him. He surfaced, gasping for air and scanning the water for any sign of the boy. He saw the blond head for only an instant before it disappeared under water again. Hank dove under water, grasping a flailing arm and dragging him up. Treading water, he held the coughing, spluttering boy around the waist while he fought the powerful undercurrent. "You okay, kid?"
"Y-Yeah," the boy gasped.
"Okay...I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm not sure if I can--" they both went back under. "If I can carry us both back."
"Float on your back."
"What?"
"Floating on your back is easier," the boy repeated.
"Alright." Hank flipped onto his back, holding the boy against his chest. It made staying up much easier, and he felt a spark of admiration for the child. "Ready? Kick!"
The shore was a long way off and they went under quite a few more times. Hank was immensely grateful when he felt someone grab his arms. "I think you can touch bottom now," said a sarcastic voice. "You bloody show-off."
Hank grinned as he found his footing and Eric held the boy up. The water was up to their chins, and the boy would have been under again. "For a minute there I thought we weren't gonna make it."
"I knew we would!" the boy piped up.
"You're taking this awfully well, kid," Hank laughed.
"Well, his sister isn't. She's having a hissy fit. Let's go to shore." Eric started out of the water, holding the boy until he could touch bottom and keeping a close eye on Hank, who wasn't all that steady on his feet.
"Bobby!" his sister was waiting on the edge of the bank.
"Aw, Sheila," the boy tried to squirm out of her embrace. "Cut the gushy stuff! I'm okay."
"So how does it feel to be a hero?" the dark girl asked Hank as she helped him and Eric out of the water.
"Wet'" he replied, prompting a laugh from the group.
"I don't know how to thank you," said the pretty redhead.
"S'okay," Hank smiled self-consciously.
There was an uncomfortable silence, until the boy asked, "What's your name?"
"Hank Grayson. What's yours?"
"Bobby O'Brien. That's my sister, Sheila." Bobby pointed in the redhead's direction.
"Well, these are my friends, Eric Montgomery and Russell Sydney, but we call him Presto."
Bobby grinned at that.
"What about you?" Eric asked the other girl. "What's your name?"
"Diana Curry."
Presto glanced at his watch. "The film finished about fifteen minutes ago."
"Oh no!" Sheila exclaimed. "We're gonna get in trouble."
"No, we won't. It's lunch hour right now," Diana reminded her.
"Besides, it's Saturday," Eric added. "We get weekend afternoons to ourselves."
"So what are you guys going to do this afternoon?" Diana asked as they started back to the camp.
Eric shrugged. "Just hang around our cabin all day."
"We were going riding," Diana said. "You want to join us?"
"Sure," Eric grinned.
"Great!"
"Uh...why don't we meet at the stables around three?" Hank suggested. "I have to take care of a few things first."
"Alright, sure." Sheila and Diana turned towards their cabin, Bobby in tow. "See you at three."
"What do you have to do?" Eric asked.
Hank glared at him. "Learn how to ride a horse. You're supposed to teach me, remember?"
Saturday, July 3; 2:02 p.m.
"This one's yours?" Hank patted the big stallion cautiously.
"Yeah, I told you about him."
"You didn't say he was here." Hank took the reins Eric handed him.
"I had him shipped over." Eric rubbed the bay's nose affectionately. He glanced at Hank. "That's your horse. What do you think?"
Warily, Hank rubbed the white diamond patch in the center of the chestnut's forehead. "He's nice."
"His name is Lincoln. He's gentler than Lancelot."
"That's good." Hank took a step back as Lancelot tossed his head and reared slightly.
"Don't worry," Eric laughed, leading his horse out of the stables. "C'mon."
"Where's Presto?"
"He's coming. He knows his way around horses--reasonably well, anyway."
Hank frowned. "He's from New York City."
"He's been to this camp before."
"Oh."
"Okay. Watch. Put your foot in the stirrup," Eric demonstrated.
"I could have figured that out for myself," Hank drawled.
Eric ignored the remark. "And swing up." Lightly, he vaulted into the saddle.
"Looks easy enough," Hank started to put his foot in the stirrup.
"Wait!"
"What?"
"You have to get on from the other side."
"Why?"
Eric rolled his eyes. "Why? How the hell would I know why? Because they're trained to be mounted from the left side, and if you mount from the right, the horse will probably freak--that's why."
Properly mollified, Hank walked around to the left side and put his foot in the stirrup.
"Hank, hold both reins in your left hand and hang onto his mane, too. Make sure you don't jerk on the reins when you swing up. Put your right hand on the back of the saddle, then move it to the pommel as you get on. Don't--"
"Eric," Hank scowled, exasperated. "How about I just get on the horse?"
"Okay, sorry," Eric grinned.
Hank bounced on his right leg a few times before springing into the saddle. "There!" he exclaimed triumphantly, grabbing the saddle horn when he nearly lost his balance. "I'm on. I know how to make him go."
"You do?" the Bostonian had an amused look on his face.
"Yep. You kick him in the ribs," Hank grinned, demonstrating. His neck whipped back as the horse took off at a breakneck gallop.
"Hyah!" Eric gave the bay stallion a hard kick. Easily, he caught up with the chestnut. "Grayson, stop him!"
"I can't! I lost the reins!"
Eric urged Lancelot forward until he could grab Lincoln's bridle. After that, it was relatively easy to bring the even-tempered Lincoln to a halt. "Well, you got him to go," the future Cavalier laughed.
"Guess I kicked him too hard," Hank smiled shakily.
"I guess so," Eric chuckled, handing his friend the reins. "You'll make a pretty good rider, though."
"Oh yeah?" Hank ran a hand through his messy blond hair. "What gives you that idea?"
"You've got good instincts," Eric replied. "You managed to stay in the saddle. Most beginners would have fallen off the minute the horse bolted. Anyway, we got the hardest part out of the way."
"Good."
"Hey!" Presto reined in the grey mare he was riding as he approached them. "What happened?"
"Hank's horse got away from him," Eric explained, stroking Lancelot's neck. The stallion was prancing nervously, constantly pulling at the bit.
"What's wrong with him?" Hank asked.
"Her wants to run," Eric replied, pulling tighter on the reins. "Okay. Are you ready to learn how to walk and trot him? You've already tried the gallop."
"Wipe that smirk off your face, Montgomery, or I'll plow you," Hank threatened good-naturedly.
"When you want him to go," Eric said as if Hank hadn't spoken, "press your legs--not your heels--into the horse's sides." He watched carefully as Hank followed his directions. "Don't hold the reins too tightly...let them move with his head...there! Okay, now when you turn--don't turn him till I'm finished, dummy! Okay, say you want to go left. You pull on the left rein and press a little with your right knee. It's just the opposite for a right turn. Okay?" Hank nodded. "Alright, turn." Hank obliged and Eric frowned. "No! No, no, no. Stop him." He grimaced as Hank reined the chestnut. "Hank, this isn't a '68 Chevy, it's an animal. You don't have to pull that hard unless you're at a full gallop. Would you pull that hard on your dog's collar?"
Concern immediately sprang into the blue eyes. "Did I hurt him?"
"Not too badly, but if you keep doing that, he's not going to like you very much."
"Oh."
"C'mon, try again," Eric said.
Hank nudged the horse forward again, executing a near-perfect turn this time.
"Alright, you've got it. Now kick him just a little harder and hang onto the saddle horn," Eric called, then turned to Presto with a grin. "I always get a kick out of watching people learn how to trot." They both laughed as Hank bounced ungracefully against the saddle. "Post!" Eric called.
"Where?" Hank looked around, making both observers start laughing again.
"Stand up in the stirrups!"
With that piece of advice, Hank quickly adapted to the new gait. Too quickly, in Eric's opinion. He turned his horse again and cantered back towards Eric and Presto. "Now what?"
"That's enough for now."
"Are you sure?" Hank looked dubious.
"Sure. You did pretty good for your first day," Eric said, not one to overstate the obvious. You know enough so that you won't make a fool of yourself in front of the girls."
"What if I have to jump something?"
"Go around it," Eric frowned. "You didn't honestly think you were going to learn everything in one day, did you?"
"Well, I..."
"Gimme a break,!" Eric rolled his eyes. "Grayson, if you can walk tomorrow, the we'll talk about jumping."
Sunday, July 4; 7:15 a.m.
This is going to be the worst Fourth of July in my whole entire life! Hank thought as he managed to roll out of bed. He grabbed a towel and some clean clothes, quietly left the cabin and headed straight for the showers. One of the few advantages of being an early riser was that it assured Hank he would have plenty of hot water, and his aching muscles were warning him that he'd need every drop of it this morning. Now I know what Eric was talking about yesterday. Tenatively, he stretched his arms up over his head and felt every vertebrae in his back pop and creak in protest. You could have at least warned me, Montgomery, or stopped me when I suggested we ride for another hour. I hope by the time you get up, all that's left in these pipes is ice-water!
Hank ignored the cold water tap, and turned the hot on full. He stayed under the hot spray until he heard other campers coming in. Reluctantly, he got out of the shower, toweled off and got dressed. He draped his towel around his neck and walked to the sinks to brush his teeth. "There's a free shower, Jeff," he said to a red-headed youth who still looked half-asleep.
"What? Oh. Thanks, Hank," Jeff yawned.
Hank made his way back to "The Den", which was what the other campers had christened the smaller cabin he and Eric shared (Two very rich, sixteen-year-old girls inhabited a similar cabin known as "The Palace"). Sure enough, his roommate was still sound asleep. Hank glanced at Eric's gold watch--there was still forty-five minutes to kill before he could wander down to the cafeteria for brunch. He flopped down on his bed and decided to do absolutely nothing while he waited the time out.
"Timeizzit?" mumbled a sleepy voice.
"Quarter after nine," Hank replied.
"Dayizzit?"
Hank grinned; they went through this routine nearly every morning. "It's the Fourth of July, Eric."
Eric bolted upright. "Oh, jeez! That's right!"
"Yeah, that's right," Hank laughed.
Eric stretched and yawned, then glanced over at his friend. "Have trouble getting up this morning, Grayson?" he grinned.
"No more than you usually do."
"Liar." Yawning again, Eric got out of bed and grabbed a towel. "You goin' to brunch?"
"In a while."
"Wait until I get back before you go."
"Okay," Hank agreed, overlooking the fact that Eric's words were almost the equivalent of an order. He had discovered soon after meeting Eric that the Bostonian never asked or suggested, he simply told. Hank guessed it came from having your every wish granted by servants all your life and doubted Eric even realized what he sounded like. "I'm gonna go see if Presto's up first, though."
"Whatever," Eric called over the banging of their screen door.
Sunday, July 4; 2:37 p.m.
Hank glanced to his right for the fourth time in as many minutes. Sure enough, Diana was still right beside him, matching him stride for stride. He thought he'd left her behind when they'd swam to the raft and back. She must've caught up with me during the obstacle course, Hank decided with a good deal of surprise. He'd always prided himself on being a good runner, and had built up quite a lead during the swimming leg of the races, besides. He had practically left all the other runners in the dust when the starting gun went off. What was Diana doing beside him?
The finish line was just coming into view, so Hank decided to surprise his opponent with a final burst of speed. Much to his dismay, Diana matched it with one of her own. Hank poured it on, putting every drop of spare energy he had into making his legs move faster. Hah! There! Now she's...she's...hey! She's passing me! Despite all his efforts to regain his lead, Hank still made it to the finish line one stride behind Diana.
"Don't stop," Diana caught Hank's arm as he prepared to drop to the ground in exhaustion. "Keep walking."
"Are you out of your mind?" Hank panted.
"If you stop, your muscles are going to cramp up," Diana informed him. "And then you'll never win any races," she teased.
"Very funny," Hank said, but grinned as he brushed his wet hair off his forehead. "Jeez, can you run. I thought I'd left you in the lake."
"Well--"
"Here you are, Diana," June Oppenheimer, one of the camp counsellors, handed her a blue ribbon. "Congratulations."
"Thanks," Diana smiled, still breathing hard.
"And for you, Hank," June gave him a red ribbon, indicating second place. "The two of you gave us a very exciting race."
"Thanks."
Neither of them got the chance to see who'd placed third, as their friends hurried over. Sheila and Bobby came to congratulate Diana, and Eric and Presto came to rub in Hank's second place finish.
"I knew she had you the minute you guys started the obstacle course," Sheila grinned.
"She just flew over those everything!" Presto exclaimed. "Somersaults and back flips and--"
"Back flips?!"
"Oh, didn't she tell you?" Sheila's tone was casual, although her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Diana's a gymnast. She won the Illinois State Championships for the past three years. And she placed second in ther Nationals."
Eric let out a low whistle. "Done any milk commercials?"
"No, not yet," Diana laughed.
"Well, you really should have told Hank you were a pro," Eric continued. "Then he could have sat the race out instead of making a complete fool of himself."
"Oh, shut up," Hank said, amidst snickers from their friends.
"Yeah, Eric," Diana added, "I didn't see your name entered in any of the races. Aren't you going to run?"
"Me? Run? Gimme a break!" Eric favored them all with a look of utter superiority. "I never run unless there's something big and ugly chasing me."
Sunday, July 4; 6:38 p.m.
"Oh, god," Hank groaned as he practically fell to the ground. "I ate too much. I can barely move."
"I think we all did," Diana agreed, patting her stomach. "I'll have to run ten extra miles tomorrow to work this off."
"Hey, who can blame us for pigging out like that?" Eric said in the group's defense. "It's the first half-decent meal we've had since we got here. A barbeque isn't my idea of fine dining, but at least it's not that gruel they've been feeding us since we got here."
"C'mon, Eric, the food here isn't that bad," Sheila chastised.
"Give it up, girl, " Diana said. "You're talking to a guy who eats steak and caviar for dinner every night."
Eric snorted. "Shows how much you know. I'm from Boston, we eat lobster for dinner."
"Caviar for breakfast?" Diana suggested.
"Midnight snack," Eric grinned.
"Of course." The gymnast rolled her eyes.
"Do you really--" Sheila began, then caught sight of her younger brother heading for the lake. "Bobby! You can't go swimming right now! You just ate!"
"Aw, Sheila!" Bobby complained, but changed his course and headed towards the group settled under one of the huge pines.
"That's a myth, you know," Eric told the blond boy.
"What is?"
"That thing about waiting half-an-hour after eating before you go swimming. It's not true--you don't get cramps."
Bobby looked at his sister hopefully.
"You don't know that for sure," Sheila favored Eric with a dark look. "No, Bobby, just wait a little while, then all of us will go in."
With a gusty sigh, Bobby dropped to the ground beside Hank. "Speaking of 'all of us'", Hank said, "what happened to Presto?"
"I don't know," Sheila glanced back towards the small circle of buildings. "The last time I saw him was when we finished eating."
"Maybe he got suckered into clean-up duty," Diana suggested.
"Maybe he's giving a magic show," Eric snickered.
Hank scowled at him and wondered briefly if he shouldn't go looking for the amateur magician. In the week-and-a-half since they'd met, Hank had discovered that Presto attracted the bullies of the world like a magnet, and he knew that there were more than a few at this camp. "I'll be right back," he said as he got up.
His friends made polite noises of agreement before turning back to their conversations.
"C'mon, nerd, we want to see a magic trick." Grant Wozankowski demanded when he and his friends had Presto cornered in the boys' lavatory.
"Sure...uh...but I don't have cards or anything...they're in my...um...cabin," Presto glanced at the open door, which was effectively being blocked by Grant's friend, Frankie Lewis.
"Why don't you make yourself disappear?" Grant suggested, giving Presto a hard shove.
Believe me, if I could, I would. "Look...uh...Grant..if you'll excuse me...I gotta go..." He took a step forward in a vain attempt to casually brush past Grant and Barry Kendricks.
Barry clamped one hand on his upper arm and yanked him back. "And where do you think you're going, dork?" he asked, shoving his face close to Presto's.
To get you some mouthwash, Presto thought, but knew that such a remark was not the way to ensure a long and healthy life. "My friends...they...they're waiting for me..."
"Yeah, your friends!" Grant spat. Grant hated the litle clique that Presto had become a part of. Before meeting them he had been easy pickings, and literally jumped when Grant had told him to. Lately, however, he'd been harder to track down, because he was usually in "The Den" or in the company of that cabin's two occupants. Grant had no desire to pick a fight with the magician when Hank Grayson was around. Catching Presto alone presented the perfect opportuinty to make up for some lost time. "You think you're pretty smart, doncha? Hanging out with that rich snob."
"Who? Eric?"
"Who? Eric?" Grant mimicked. "Yeah, 'Eric'."
"Well, if you don't like him, why're you taking it out on me?" Presto asked, surprised to find himself attempting to actually reason with a neanderthal. "Besides, I never would have made friends with him if Hank hadn't..."
"Hank!" Barry sneered. "Just shut up about him, nerd. All we've heard since we got here is Hank Grayson this, Hank Grayson that--from everybody."
"Jeez, Barry, that's not my fault..." Presto pointed out, trying unsuccessfully to pull his jacket collar out of Grant's grasp. "Why don't you talk to Hank about it?"
"Yeah, why don't you talk to Hank about it?" asked a low voice from the doorway, making Frankie jump.
"C'mon, Grant, let him go," Hank said calmly, casually leaning against the doorframe.
"You gonna make me, Grayson?" Grant sneered.
"If I have to," Hank replied, abandoning his post and stepping further into the washroom.
Frankie took one look at Hank's icy glare, suddenly remembered he had other things to do and dashed out the door. Grant hesitated only an instant before he released his grip on Presto with a hard shove against the tiled wall. "He ain't worth it," he said, stalking out of the washroom. Barry was quick to follow.
Presto released his pent-up breath in a huge sigh of relief. "Thanks, Hank."
"You okay?" Hank asked.
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure," Presto stressed, straightening his collar. "They just shoved me around a little. But he's really going to have it in for you now, y'know."
Hank shrugged. "Story of my life." When he saw Presto staring at him curiously, he forced himself to smile. "C'mon, Bobby stil wants to get a swim in before the fireworks start."
Sunday, July 4; 10:19 p.m.
Red, white and blue fireworks exploded over the lake in rapid succession, while "The Battle of New Orleans", "God Bless America" and other national melodies played over the camp PA system. Five teenagers sat in a group on the beach, having left the dance momentarily to enjoy the display--well, four of them were enjoying the display. "Kinda wimpy fireworks, aren't they?" Eric commented.
"Er-ric!" Sheila, Diana and Hank all said together.
Eric rolled his eyes in exasperation. Sheila and Diana had quickly picked up Hank's habit of drawing out his name to express disapproval. As if one person doing it weren't annoying enough. "What now?"
"There's nothing wrong with the fireworks," Sheila said.
"There's nothing to them," Eric replied. "Man, back at home, we'd go into Boston and they'd have the most amazing fireworks at the Common. They had fireworks shaped like the Stars 'n Stripes and an eagle and--"
"And a 200-piece band playing in the background," Diana finished.
"100-piece", the New Englander corrected.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," Diana drawled.
"You don't have to--jeez!" Eric jumped back as a tiny fireball spewing sparks was shoved into his face.
"These are always the best part," Bobby informed him. "Aren't they neat?"
"They're a lot neater when you're not trying to put someone's eye out with them," Eric scowled.
Bobby ignored him as he waved the sparkler around in the air. When it began to reach the flammable coating, Bobby pulled another one out of his pocket and placed the end to the original's dying embers. There was a slight hissing before sparks exploded from the end of the wire.
"Bobby, be careful with those," Sheila said reflexively.
"Aw, Sheila, you can't burn yourself on these! The sparks aren't even hot." The boy demonstrated by holding the glowing end bare millimeters from his palm. "See?"
"Bobby, stop that."
Bobby sighed and sauntered back to the rest of the nine-year-olds, well away from his sister's watchful eyes.
"More guts than brains," Sheila sighed.
"What?!" Presto half-laughed.
"That's what my dad says about Bobby. He's got more guts than brains." That got grins out of the group. "Actually, I'm surprised he's lived to be nine, considering all the stunts he's tried."
"The kid's got nine lives," Hank said simply.
"Nine?!" Sheila's dark eyes widened. "Try thirty-two! If he only had nine lives, he wouldn't be here right now."
"Considering what I've seen of him, I believe it," Presto commented.
"Well, should we go back into the auditorium?" Eric glanced at his watch. "The dance should be starting any time now."
"The dance started at nine o'clock," Diana said, confused. "You were there."
"When you've got a bunch of nine-to-twelve-year-olds running around the hall it's not a dance, it's a daycare. They have to go beddy-bye right after the fireworks, so now it'll be a dance." The Bostonian sat back and waited for the usual chorus of Er-rics.
Instead there was complete silence.
"Jeez, I never thought of it that way..." Diana said after a few minutes.
"Well, I hope they'll at least play some decent music now," Presto grimaced.
"I hope the C.I.T.'s spiked the punch," Hank grinned.
"I'll just go say good-night to Bobby," Sheila jumped to her feet. "I'll meet you guys in the auditorium."
"I'll come with you," Diana got up. Once they were out of earshot, the gymnast said, ""Do you think it's all that important that you say good-night to Bobby?"
"Not really," Sheila replied, "but I do think that it's impotant to get changed, fix my hair, and put on some make-up if this is going to turn into a real dance."
Diana grinned. "I was hoping you'd say something like that."
Sunday, July 4; 12:17 a.m.
"Well?" Eric grinned, as Hank sat down on the bench beside him.
"Well what?" Hank didn't bother glancing in his direction.
"Where did you disappear to?"
"I went for a walk, Eric. Is that okay with you?"
Eric was silent for a few minutes. "I was talking to Diana a while ago. Seems Sheila disappeared about the same time you did."
Hank willed himself not to blush. "Just shut up, Montgomery, okay? I'm going back to the cabin. The dance is over, anyway. Are you coming or not?"
"Yeah, I'm coming," Eric stood up. "Jeez, you sure are testy when you're in love." He barely managed to duck the punch Hank aimed at him, but laughed all the way back to their cabin just the same.
"There you are!"
Sheila glanced up at the top bunk, where the gymnast was stretched out. "Here I am," she replied, changing into a nightgown. "Why?"
"Oh, no reason. I was just wondering...is Hank a good kisser?"
"Diana!!!" Hot color burst into Sheila's cheeks. There were several giggles from the other girls in their cabin and more than a few envious looks cast in Sheila's direction.
Diana leaned over the side of the bed to peer into Sheila's bunk. "Well? Is he?"
"As if it's any of your business!" Sheila whispered as she climbed under the covers.
"Ohhhh...so you did kiss him."
It didn't seem humanly posible, but Sheila's face became redder. "I think you'd better go to sleep, Di."
"I might as well; It doesn't look like you're going to spill the beans." Diana settled herself back in her bunk. "Sweet dreams, Mrs. Grayson," she said, prompting more giggles from their cabinmates.
Thursday, July 8; 2:57 a.m.
"Hey, Eric," Hank whispered as loudly as he dared.
"Mnh?"
"Do you hear something?"
"Yeah. You." Eric pulled his covers over his head.
"I'm serious, Eric. I think I hear people out there. Don't you think we should go check?"
"It's probably just someone going for a night swim or a night raid. Now go back to sleep, would you?"
"But, Eric, I--"
Eric let out a sigh of frustration. "Look, if you want to go check, then go check. But for cryin' out loud, do it quietly. Some of us like to sleep at night, you know."
"Sorry." Hank sat in silence for a few minutes before pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
"Have fun," Eric muttered drowsily.
"Right," Hank whispered, opening the door and stepping out onto the wooden steps. He'd barely begun to descend when his feet were pushed out from under him and he went sprawling to the ground. Someone shined a flashlight directly into his eyes so that he couldn't make out anything past the glaring light. Then something heavy sat on his stomach, knocking the breath out of him. He immediately started to struggle, but before he made much progress, two more silhouettes pinned his arms and legs.
"It's payback time, Grayson," hissed Grant Wozankowski.
Thursday, July 8; 7:46 a.m.
Blearily, Eric opened his eyes, grabbed his watch and glanced at the time. Only quarter-to-eight? What am I doing awake at this time? Aw jeez! I must be picking up Hank's bad habits. He glanced over at that notable and was surprised to see his friend still sound asleep. Hah! I'm up before you are for once! I-- He glanced around the cabin. What the hell?! "Hank!" he yelled.
"Hmmm...?"
"Hank, get up! Look at this!" Eric jumped out of bed, and noted with disgust that his feet stuck to the floor. Honey? Terrific! Wonderful! "Hank, look!! What the hell did you do last night?" He surveyed the complete mess surrounding him, then looked back at his friend, who still hadn't moved."Grayson!" He marched over to the bed and grabbed Hank's arm. "Get up!" He pulled Hank out from under the covers. "We have to--oh. Oh, jeez."
Hank involntarily rubbed his eyes, then let out a yelp of pain when he put too much pressure on his left cheekbone.
"What happened to you?"
"Grant Wozankowski and his buddies happened to me," Hank replied, sitting up. He let out a gasp of pain as his abused ribs let him know they didn't appreciate the action.
"I...God, Hank...are you alright?" Great going, Montgomery. Can't you think of a more stupid question to ask him? "I mean...can you get up?"
"Yeah, I think--oh, no!" Hank groaned when he saw the cabin."Look at this place!"
"I know."
"So that's what Grant and Barry were doing while the other guys held me down." Hank dropped he head into his hands. "Ow," he muttered when he made contact with his black eye again. "What time is it?"
"Five to eight," Eric replied. "Inspection's at nine."
"I know." Hank surveyed the cabin again. Besides the honey carpeting the floor, there was toilet paper streaming from every possible nail or rafter, the windows had been generously soaped, and someone had liberally sprinkled rice on top of the honey in many places. "You slept through this?!" Hank asked incredulously.
"So I'm a heavy sleeper," Eric replied defensively. "So sue me."
"Well..." Hank rose unsteadily. "I guess we'd better get to work."
"What?!" Eric practically screeched. "Are you nuts?!"
"What else are we going to do? With the demerits we get for this, we'll never be able to go on that trip to Tacoma."
"We'll go to the counsellors and tell them who did this--that's what."
"You mean snitch," Hank said flatly.
Eric rolled his eyes. "Call it whatever you want, Grayson. I just want to make sure they clean up this mess instead of us."
"No way, Eric. They'll just do something else, only next time they'll want a piece of you, too." As he expected, that shut Eric up immediately.
"So we just let them get away with it?"
Hank grinned. "I didn't say that."
They had been cleaning for twenty minutes and still hadn't put a dent in the mess when Diana poked her head in the door. "Breakfast time! Are you guys--Ohmigod! What happened in here?"
"What does it look like?" Eric snarled.
"Looks like you had one hell of a party," came the snappy reply. "Either that or sabotage."
"Right the second time," Hank sighed, brushing his hair out of his eyes.
"Need a hand?" Diana asked sympathetically.
"Are you kidding?"
She grinned. "I'll go get six more. Be right back."
Thursday, July 8; 10:12 a.m.
Sheila knocked once on the door to the Den, before entering. "I bring gifts," she said, setting a cardboard box down on Hank's bed.
"Food?" Eric asked hopefully.
"Yes, food," Sheila smiled. "Being on kitchen duty does have advantages, Eric."
"Sure it does," Eric replied sarcastically, grabbing a paper plate and digging in.
"Thanks, sis." Bobby took the full plate his sister handed to him. "I was starving."
"Seeing as we had to work through breakfast hour," Diana looked pointedly at Hank and Eric.
"Hey, you offered to help," Hank said, spearing three still-warm pancakes with his fork.
"I'm surprised they let you take all this stuff," Presto commented.
"They didn't say I couldn't," Sheila replied.
"You mean, they didn't say you could?" Hank nearly dropped his plate. "Sheila, I don't want you getting in trouble because of--" He broke off at the sound of Diana's laughter.
"Sheila? Get into trouble? Hah! She's so quiet, the counsellors never even know she's around."
"Well..."
"Oh, don't worry about it," Sheila laughed. "They can't punish us for being hungry, can they?"
"I guess not," Hank agreed slowly. Then he grinned, "They're probably too busy handing out demerits to Grant and Barry."
The entire group burst into laughter, as they recalled the inspection rounds at camp that morning. Hank and Eric's cabin had passed with flying colours, and although the stunned looks on the faces of Grant and his buddies had been amusing enough, it was nothing compared to the hilarity that ensued when buckets of some strange sort of paste had been discovered under Grant's bunk.
It wouldn't have been half as funny if Mrs. Oppenheimer hadn't discovered it by stepping in it. Then there was the precariously placed bucket of dirty soap water and who-knows-what-else that chose the most opportune moment to topple onto the head of Mr. Anderson--another counsellor. Grant, Barry and two other boys were assigned to clean-up for the next two weeks, and were forbidden to participate in any evening programs or field trips.
"By the way, Hank," Presto asked, sobering suddenly, "what did you tell Anderson when he took you to see the nurse?"
Hank shrugged. "I told them I'm a sleepwalker, that I woke up at the bottom of Campbell's Hill this morning and that I don't remember anything other than that."
"And he bought that?" Diana arched a doubtful eyebrow.
"I don't think he bought it," Hank replied. "But he let it go at that."
"Does it still hurt?" Sheila asked worriedly.
"Nah. Not the eye, anyway. My ribs hurt a little if I turn too fast, but the nurse said they're just bruised."
"I gotta go," Presto mumbled, quickly setting down his plate and leaving the cabin.
"Gotta go where?" Eric called after him. "Hey, Presto!"
"I'll get him." Hank got up as fast as his aching side would allow and followed Presto out of the cabin.
Hank found the young magician perched on some rocks overlooking the lake. "We've got sailing in twenty minutes," he said, sitting down beside the smaller boy.
"I know," Presto replied glumly.
"You didn't finish your breakfast."
"I know."
"C'mon, Presto, what's wrong?"
"What's wrong?!" Presto turned to him in astonishment."Grant and his buddies beat up on you because of me and you ask what's wrong?!"
"They didn't jump me 'cause of you. They jumped me 'cause of me."
"But--"
"Nevermind 'but,'" Hank cut him off. "Let's just forget about this whole mess. I think Grant and Company will be too busy working off their demerits to bother with us anymore, anyway."
Presto grinned. "I sure hope so."
"I know so. C'mon," Hank got to his feet. "Let's go see if Eric can break his own record for sinking a boat."
Presto laughed. "I doubt it. Thirty-five seconds is a pretty hard record to break."
Saturday, July 17; 12:54 p.m.
"But, Sheila--"
"Bobby, rules are rules," Sheila repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time. She raised her voice to be heard over the din of the assembling campers. "You've got to ride on the same bus as the kids from your cabin."
"But you guys are gonna be having all the fun!" the nine-year-old protested.
"Bobby," Diana half-laughed, "it's just a bus ride. Trust me, we won't have that much fun."
"I know, but..."
"Hurry up, you two," Hank said to Sheila and Diana. "The bus is loading."
"We'll be there n a minute," Sheila replied, then turned back to her brother. "Now you get on your own bus. We'll meet you at the park."
"Sure you will," Bobby sighed.
"What's the matter, kiddo?" Hank turned at the boy's dejected tone.
"He wants to come with us instead of going with the rest of his group."
"Well," Hank grinned, "maybe we could sneak him on our bus and--"
"Yeah!" Bobby agreed excitedly.
"No!" Sheila scowled at both of them. "Hank, don't encourage him."
"Sorry."
"Aw, c'mon, sis!" Bobby pleaded.
"She's right, kid." Hank rumpled the boy's dark blond hair. "Tell you what; we'll hook back up with you as soon as we get off the busses, okay?"
"Promise?"
"Hey, I promise."
Saturday, July 17; 1:12 p.m.
"And I'll bet you've never seen one of these before, either, have you, Grayson?" Eric gestured grandly to the amusement park. It never failed to astound him how little Hank had actually seen in his life. He knew ordinary people didn't have all the advantages he did, but Hank's way of life was bordering on the ridiculous.
"What? A midway? Of course I have. Mostly at state fairs and stuff, though. I used to prowl around places like this all the time."
"Really?" Eric frowned. "Doing what?"
"Nothing much, really," his friend shrugged. "Just hanging out while my mom was performing."
Now this was new. Performing what?
"Singing. She was a singer. Where'd Presto go?"
"I thought you said you didn't have parents."
"She died when I was thirteen." Hank turned away from him abruptly. "There he is. Hey, Presto!"
"Sheila and Di just went to go find Bobby," Presto said as he rejoined him outside the gates.
"Bobby?" Eric groaned. "Jeez, can't we go anywhere without dragging that rugrat along?"
"Er-ric," Hank scowled at him.
"Hey, I get it! You're trying to get in good with the sister by dragging along her pest of a brother."
"Montgomery..." Hank's voice held a warning note.
Eric and Presto exchanged grins. "Sorry, Romeo."
"Okay, we've got the squirt." Diana's timely interruption probably saved Eric's life. "Let's have some fun."
"Here's an idea," Eric muttered to Hank, after the group had been wandering the park for well over an hour. "Why don't we just strap the kid to a merry-go-round so we can actually enjoy ourselves?"
Hank tried to come up woith a snappy reply in Bobby's defense.
"You mean like someone should have strapped you to your boat yesterday?" Bobby asked, loudly, earning him a big laugh from everyone--except Eric, naturally.
I guess he can take care of himself, Hank thought with a grin. "The kid hits back, hey, Eric?" Hank whispered.
"Yeah, and damn hard, too," Eric replied with a touch of grudging admirationin his voice.
"Hey! Look!" Bobby's enthusiastic tone got everyone's attention. "A Dungeons and Dragons ride!" He headed for the tunnel-based ride as fast as he could go.
Hank was impressed by the detailing of the monsters and warriors. "This is neat!"
"Gimme a break!" Eric moaned. To him the set looked like a cheap haunted house.
"Come on," Presto handed over his ticket and hopped into the back of the waiting car.
Hank, Sheila and Bobby climbed into the front while Eric and Diana joined Presto in the back. Hank glanced behind him to make sure everyone was sitting down before pulling back on the bar that started the ride.
End Prologue