There were six large gray tents, and each one had a black letter on it: A, B, C, D, E, or F. The first five tents were for the campers. The counselors slept in F.
Stanley was assigned to D tent. Mr. Pendanski was his counselor. “My name is easy to remember,” said Mr. Pendanski as he shook
hands with Stanley just outside the tent. “Three easy words: pen, dance, key.”
Mr. Sir returned to the o ce.
Mr. Pendanski was younger than Mr. Sir, and not nearly as scary looking. The top of his head was shaved so close it was almost bald, but his face was covered in a thick curly black beard. His nose was badly sunburned.
“Mr. Sir isn’t really so bad,” said Mr. Pendanski. “He’s just been in a bad mood ever since he quit smoking. The person you’ve got to worry about is the Warden. There’s really only one rule at Camp Green Lake: Don’t upset the Warden.”
Stanley nodded, as if he understood.
“I want you to know, Stanley, that I respect you,” Mr. Pendanski said. “I understand you’ve made some bad mistakes in your life. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. But everyone makes mistakes. You may have done some bad things, but that doesn’t mean you’re a bad kid.”
Stanley nodded. It seemed pointless to try and tell his counselor that he was innocent. He figured that everyone probably said that. He didn’t want Mr. Pen-dance-key to think he had a bad attitude.
“I’m going to help you turn your life around,” said his counselor. “But you’re going to have to help, too. Can I count on your help?”
“Yes, sir,” Stanley said.
Mr. Pendanski said, “Good,” and patted Stanley on the back.
Two boys, each carrying a shovel, were coming across the compound. Mr. Pendanski called to them. “Rex! Alan! I want you to come say hello to Stanley. He’s the newest member of our team.”
The boys glanced wearily at Stanley.
They were dripping with sweat, and their faces were so dirty that it took Stanley a moment to notice that one kid was white and the other black.
“What happened to Barf Bag?” asked the black kid.
“Lewis is still in the hospital,” said Mr. Pendanski. “He won’t be returning.” He told the boys to come shake Stanley’s hand and introduce themselves, “like gentlemen.”
“Hi,” the white kid grunted. “That’s Alan,” said Mr. Pendanski.
“My name’s not Alan,” the boy said. “It’s Squid. And that’s X- Ray.”
“Hey,” said X-Ray. He smiled and shook Stanley’s hand. He wore glasses, but they were so dirty that Stanley wondered how he could see out of them.
Mr. Pendanski told Alan to go to the Rec Hall and bring the other boys to meet Stanley. Then he led him inside the tent.
There were seven cots, each one less than two feet from the one next to it.
“Which was Lewis’s cot?” Mr. Pendanski asked.
“Barf Bag slept here,” said X-Ray, kicking at one of the beds. “All right, Stanley, that’ll be yours,” said Mr. Pendanski.
Stanley looked at the cot and nodded. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about sleeping in the same cot that had been used by somebody named Barf Bag.
Seven crates were stacked in two piles at one side of the tent. The open end of the crates faced outward. Stanley put his backpack, change of clothes, and towel in what used to be Barf Bag’s crate. It was at the bottom of the stack that had three in it.
Squid returned with four other boys. The first three were introduced by Mr. Pendanski as tosé, Theodore, and Ricky. They called themselves Magnet, Armpit, and Zigzag.
“They all have nicknames,” explained Mr. Pendanski. “However, I prefer to use the names their parents gave them—the names that society will recognize them by when they return to become useful and hardworking members of society.”
“It ain’t just a nickname,” X-Ray told Mr. Pendanski. He tapped the rim of his glasses. “I can see inside you, Mom. You’ve got a big fat heart.”
The last boy either didn’t have a real name or else he didn’t have a nickname. Both Mr. Pendanski and X-Ray called him Zero.
“You know why his name’s Zero?” asked Mr. Pendanski. “Because there’s nothing inside his head.” He smiled and playfully shook Zero’s shoulder.
Zero said nothing.
“And that’s Mom!” a boy said.
Certainly! Here’s a rewritten version:
Mr. Pendanski gave a warm smile. “If calling me Mom makes you feel better, Theodore, then go ahead,” he said, turning to Stanley. “If you have any questions, Theodore will assist you. Got it, Theodore? I’m counting on you.”
Theodore responded by spitting a thin stream of saliva through his teeth, prompting some of the other boys to grumble about maintaining cleanliness in their “home.”
“You all were newcomers once,” Mr. Pendanski reminded them. “You know how it feels. I’m relying on each of you to help Stanley.”
Stanley lowered his gaze to the ground.
After Mr. Pendanski left the tent, the other boys gradually followed, taking their towels and clothes with them. Stanley felt relieved to be alone, but his thirst was so intense it seemed unbearable.
“Hey, uh, Theodore,” he called, chasing after him. “Can you tell me where I can fill my canteen?”
Theodore spun around and grabbed Stanley by the collar. “My name’s not Thee-o-dore,” he corrected. “It’s Armpit.” He then shoved Stanley to the ground.
Stanley looked up at him, frightened.
“There’s a water spigot on the wall of the shower stall,” Armpit said. “Thanks… Armpit,” Stanley replied.
As Stanley watched him walk away, he couldn’t understand why anyone would choose the nickname Armpit. In a strange way, it made him feel slightly better about sleeping in a cot previously used by someone named Barf Bag. Perhaps it was a sign of respect.
