The Stars of Summer by Tara Dairman Page A

and running to the pool, but she understood how important a notebook was. She would hate it if she asked someone to keep an eye on her reviewing journal and they just disappeared. Then again, Hamilton had just assumed that she would be happy to watch it for him—probably because he was a “celebrity.”
Ugh,
she thought.
After we make it to the pool, I’m never speaking to him again.
    Hamilton ran back a minute later in his swim trunks, stuffing his other clothes into his bag and grabbing his notebook. “Come on!” he said impatiently—as though
Gladys
was the one making
him
late! More annoyed than ever, she followed.
    Hamilton walked quickly, and given that his legs were longer than Gladys’s, she had to scurry to keep up. The camp clock struck nine with a
bong!
when they were halfway across the field. “Maybe we’ll just be able to slip into the group unnoticed,” Gladys panted.
    â€œSure,” Hamilton said, but a second later, as if by unspoken agreement, they both broke into a run.
    They reached the pool in less than a minute, but any hopes of quietly joining the class were shot the moment they skidded to a stop on the concrete.
    â€œLate!!!” screamed a high-pitched voice. “Coach! Coach! The big kids are
late
!”
    The source of the scream was a little girl with bright red pigtails and freckles on pretty much every bit of skin not covered by her frilly pink bikini. She was pointing a finger at Gladys and Hamilton and nearly jumping up and down with excitement. Next to her, an even smaller boy with dark skin and closely shaved hair was shaking his head like he’d never been more disappointed.
    â€œLate,
late,
LATE!” the pigtailed girl sang, and around her, more and more of her peers joined in.
    Gladys had hoped that the Basic Beginners group might have a couple more older campers in it—maybe a poor swimmer from the Elephant Elevens or the Tarantula Tens—but not one of the kids looked to be over the age of six. In fact, she was pretty sure she saw a swim diaper poking out of the littlest boy’s trunks.
    â€œSilence!” roared Coach Mike. From behind her clipboard, Rolanda smirked.
    The coach paced back and forth along the pool’s edge. “This is Basic Beginners—which means that none of you little varmints has the foggiest idea how to swim. You are one false move away from drowning. And the only people who stand between you and a miserable death are me and my assistant, Rolanda. So you’d better listen up and do exactly what we say, or when the time comes . . .”
    The coach just let those words hang in the air, but he didn’t have to finish the sentence. All the little kids were staring at him now, several of them trembling as they no doubt imagined their watery demises.
    â€œWell, that’s a bunch of baloney.”
    Gladys had been thinking the same thing, but at least she’d been smart enough not to say it out loud. Now every head in the group (including Coach Mike’s and Rolanda’s) turned toward Hamilton, whose ghost-pale chest was puffed out, Gladys realized, in preparation for another speech.
    â€œYou may be able to scare these children with your threats, Coach Mike,” he began, “but I am your intellectual peer. I know that you’re legally required to save every one of us, no matter how badly we listen to you or how little we obey. If you let a child drown, this camp will be shut down and you’ll lose your job—and probably be sued. So you can request that I do you the favor of listening, but empty threats against my life will get you nowhere.”
    Now the little kids were gawking at Hamilton.
    â€œHerbertson,” the coach growled. “My office. Rolanda, start them on the drills.”
    Hamilton’s spine was straight as he marched past the other kids and followed Coach Mike into the office at the edge of the pool area, and Gladys honestly