1
“You know I get bus sick, Harry,” Alex groaned.
“Alex, give me a break.” I shoved my brother against the window. “We’re
almost there. Don’t start thinking about getting bus sick now!”
The bus rumbled over the narrow road. I held onto the seat in front of me. I
gazed out the window.
Nothing but pine trees. They whirred past in a blur of green. Sunlight
bounced off the dusty glass of the window.
We’re almost to Camp Spirit Moon, I thought happily.
I couldn’t wait to get off the bus. My brother, Alex, and I were the only
passengers. It was kind of creepy.
The driver was hidden in front of a green curtain. I had glimpsed him as Alex
and I climbed on board. He had a nice smile, a great suntan, curly blond hair,
and a silver earring in one ear.
“Welcome, dudes!” he greeted us.
Once the long bus ride began, we didn’t see him or hear from him again.
Creepy.
Luckily, Alex and I get along okay. He’s a year younger than me. He’s eleven.
But he’s as tall as I am. Some people call us the Altman twins, even though
we’re not twins.
We both have straight black hair, dark brown eyes, and serious faces. Our
parents are always telling us to cheer up—even when we’re in really good
moods!
“I feel a little bus sick, Harry,” Alex complained.
I turned away from the window. Alex suddenly looked very yellow. His chin
trembled. A bad sign.
“Alex, pretend you’re not on a bus,” I told him. “Pretend you’re in a car.”
“But I get carsick, too,” he groaned.
“Forget the car,” I said. Bad idea. Alex can get carsick when Mom backs down
the driveway!
It’s really a bad-news habit of his. His face turns a sick yellow. He starts
to shake. And then it gets kind of messy.
“You’ve got to hold on,” I told him. “We’ll be at camp soon. And then you’ll
be fine.”
He swallowed hard.
The bus bounced over a deep hole in the road. Alex and I bounced with it.
“I really feel sick,” Alex moaned.
“I know!” I cried. “Sing a song. That always cures you. Sing a song, Alex. Sing it really loud. No one will hear. We’re
the only ones on the bus.”
Alex loves to sing. He has a beautiful voice.
The music teacher at school says that Alex has perfect pitch. I’m not sure
what that means. But I know it’s a good thing.
Alex is serious about his singing. He’s in the chorus at school. Dad says
he’s going to find a voice teacher for Alex this fall.
I stared at my brother as the bus bounced again. His face was about as yellow
as a banana skin. Not a good sign.
“Go ahead—sing,” I urged him.
Alex’s chin trembled. He cleared his throat. Then he began to sing a Beatles
song we both really like.
His voice bounced every time the bus bumped. But he started to look better as
soon as he started to sing.
Pretty smart idea, Harry, I congratulated myself.
I watched the pine trees whir past in the sunlight and listened to Alex’s
song. He really does have an awesome voice.
Am I jealous?
Maybe a little.
But he can’t hit a tennis ball the way I can. And I can beat him in a swim
race every time. So it evens out.
Alex stopped singing. He shook his head unhappily. “I wish Mom and Dad signed
me up for the music camp.” He sighed.
“Alex, the summer is half over,” I reminded him. “How many times do we have
to go over this? Mom and Dad waited too long. It was too late.”
“I know,” Alex said, frowning. “But I wish—”
“Camp Spirit Moon was the only camp we could get into this late in the
summer,” I said. “Hey, look—!”
I spotted two deer outside the window, a tall one and a little baby one. They
were just standing there, staring at the bus as it sped by.
“Yeah. Cool. Deer,” Alex muttered. He rolled his eyes.
“Hey—lighten up,” I told him. My brother is so moody. Sometimes I just want
to shake him. “Camp Spirit Moon may be the coolest camp on earth,” I said.
“Or it may be a dump,” Alex replied. He picked
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