Comeback by Vicki Grant Page B

his eyes. “You cheated!” he says. “You didn’t wait until I was ready.”
    â€œYou’re right. That isn’t fair,” I say. Nothing’s fair . I keep that part to myself.
    Those cops are looking for us. I’m sure of it. It won’t be safe to take another bus. I’ve got to figure something else out now.
    I look around. There’s a billboard on the edge of the field. It says, This way to Camp Bonaventure: Where children’s dreams come true! A smaller sign below reads, Closed for the season.
    I hear Dad’s voice. See? Something always comes up!
    A big black arrow points down the next road. How far could the camp be? We could hide out there for a while. We might not even have to hide very long. They only looked for Dad for five days. Why would they look longer for us?
    â€œHey, Elliot,” I say. “How’d you like to go to a place where children’s dreams come true?”

Chapter Eighteen
    We cut across the field to the Camp Bonaventure road. I try to get Elliot singing songs that I remember from my own days at camp, but he’s not going for it. He’ll walk—but he’s not happy.
    He’s even less happy when it starts to rain. Before long it’s pouring, and the dirt road has turned to mud. There are too many hills to climb and nothing to take our minds off them. The only sights on the road are a few shabby houses tucked into the woods. My camp songs aren’t cutting it anymore.
    One of the houses has a satellite dish. Elliot says, “I want to stay with these people.”
    I wipe the water off my face and say, “No, I know a better place.”
    Elliot says, “Yeah, right,” and laughs in a surprisingly adult way.
    I hear a car engine rev. Elliot’s face lights up as if someone’s finally coming to rescue us, but I yank him into the woods before we’re seen. We land in a little gully, and my shoes fill up with water. The car pulls out of a driveway and heads back in the direction of town.
    Elliot starts sobbing. I hand him a banana as if it’s the best treat in the world, then get him back on the road. We walk past the driveway where the car came out.
    There’s an old bike left on the lawn.
    I don’t even think about what I’m doing. I just grab the bike, sit Elliot on the crossbar and start pedaling.
    â€œDid you just steal this bike?” he says. He’s not crying anymore. In fact, he looks sort of delighted.
    â€œYes,” I say. Sometimes you just got to do what you got to do . I don’t know if Dad ever said that, but it wouldn’t surprise me.
    I pedal as hard as I can. I’m tired, but it makes me happy to see that Elliot is almost having fun.
    It takes us about half an hour to get to Bonaventure. The driveway is barred by a metal gate. That’s good, I think. We’ll be safe here. We push the bike under the gate, then get back on and ride all the way down the hill to the camp. I make a big whooping sound as we splash through the puddles.
    We come to a dead stop at the bottom of the hill. I do my best to sound positive, but it’s hard to believe anyone’s dreams ever came true here. The grass is brown. The lake is cold and gray. There’s a playground, but the swings, the teeter-totter and the ball from the tetherball set are all missing. The buildings—the big wooden one in the middle and the little red cabins by the lake—are boarded up. Their paint is peeling.
    Elliot slumps down on a rickety step with his fists on his cheeks. Rain streams down his face. “I don’t like this camp,” he says.
    â€œYou’ll like it once we get inside!” My voice sounds fake even to me. I try all the doors and windows in the main hall. I yank away at the boards over each of the cabins. It’s hopeless. Without a crowbar—and some biceps—I’m never going to get in.
    I’m almost ready to give up when I notice another