Church Camp Chaos by Annie Tipton Page B

row—mostly boys from EJ’s church—kept ruining the picture by posing ridiculously at the exact moment Gene snapped each shot. For the first picture, they turned around so their backs were toward the camera. Then they all saluted, crossed their eyes, and stuck their tongues out. After that they jumped and pumped their fists in the air. Next they played air guitars. For the last shot they picked up a camper named Michael Draper and sat him on their shoulders.
    The rest of the campers, who were amused by the boys’ antics at first, were quickly losing interest under the hot sun. Plus, supper in the dining hall smelled exceptionally delicious. (EJ thought that at least half of the camp could probably hear her stomach growling.)
    “Gene, they’re fifth graders—not senior citizens,” Susan said to Gene as she walked toward him. “You’ve got to speak their language.” Then she turned around and addressed the boys.
    “Tom Foolery was a camper who didn’t know when to stop messing around, and because he didn’t listen to his camp counselors, he lost swimming privileges,” Susan said matter-of-factly. “So if you want to swim tomorrow, boys, I suggest you learn a lesson from Tom and let Gene take this picture so we can get to dinner.”
    “Go, Susan,” EJ whispered to Macy, grinning.
    The boys looked wide-eyed at each other and appeared to silently agree to straighten up. Susan nodded at the boys and took her place in the crowd.
    “Okay, everyone—one last shot,” Gene called through the megaphone. “Here we go … ten, nine, eight—“ Gene pressed the camera’s timer button and ran to join the rest of the group as everyone counted down.
    “Ready for the best week ever?” EJ asked Macy
    “Ready!”
    The girls each put an arm around the other’s shoulder and grinned with the rest of the campers as the camera clicked.
    “Everybody head over to the dining hall—but NO running!” Gene ordered through the megaphone. Then for added emphasis, he turned on the megaphone’s siren for a few seconds. A few campers plugged their ears with their fingers and gave the gangly counselor annoyed looks. Gene didn’t seem to notice.
    If EJ thought Gene was a little strange, he had nothing on the crazy camp cooks, she decided. In the supper serving line, each lady was dressed up as a different US president.
    “Oh yeah, I am so used to their costumes, sometimes I forget they’re dressed up,” Susan said, chuckling. “They’ll wear different outfits at every meal.”
    Abraham Lincoln served grilled cheese sandwiches (“We’ve made four score and seven of these sandwiches, so please eat hearty, campers!”), George Washington served the green beans (“I cannot tell a lie. Green beans are my favorite vegetable.”), Teddy Roosevelt served fresh fruit cups (“Bully for you!” Roosevelt said. “I’m not a bully,” EJ replied, confused. “No, bully doesn’t mean ‘bully’ to Roosevelt,” the cook said. “He used that word the same way you could say ‘cool’ or ‘awesome.’ ” “Oh, cool—er—bully!” EJ said, grinning.)
    EJ had to ask the cook serving cookies which president she was supposed to be.
    “I’m James K. Polk—this great nation’s eleventh president,” the cook said. “I’m probably the least-known president of all of them, so instead of quoting him, I will just tell you that you have a choice between a chocolate chip or an oatmeal raisin cookie.”
    “Chocolate chip, definitely!” EJ held her tray out to James K. Polk. Then she added, “Please.”
    “Good choice,” James K. Polk said, winking.
    After supper, everyone went to the rec field to play organized games—mostly a mish-mash of relay races and activities that were intended to wear out the campers so they’d go to sleep that night, despite the fact they were super excited for the week. EJ’s favorite game was one they called “earth ball,” which was like soccer, except with an eight-foot-tall inflated ball that