The Stars of Summer by Tara Dairman

essay, but her sixth-grade teacher, Ms. Quincy, had been annoyed on her behalf, since Gladys’s own essay had lost to his zombie entry.
    â€œAfter that essay was published, an editor at FutureFlame Publishing offered to publish the book I’d been working on. So just last month my novel,
Zombietown, U.S.A.
, was published, and now I’m officially a
New York Standard
number one best-selling author!”
    A series of
ooh
s and
aah
s rippled through the crowd.
    â€œI’ve heard that
Zombietown, U.S.A.
is
so
good!” Rolanda breathed.
    â€œSo,” Hamilton said, “I know lots of celebrities say they just want to be treated like regular people”—he paused dramatically here, peering through his black-framed glasses at the crowd—“but I’m not like most celebrities.”
    The crowd hushed.
    â€œI’m only attending this camp because my parents are forcing me,” Hamilton went on. “But I will
not
be wearing the Camp Bentley uniform, and I will
not
be participating in any CIT duties. I’ll be using my time at camp to work on my next book in that pavilion over there.” He pointed to a covered patio, where rows of lunch tables were set up.
    Mrs. Bentley stepped forward. “Now, Hamilton,” she said, “while we’re all very impressed with your accomplishments—”
    But Hamilton wasn’t finished. “However,” he interrupted, “I’m not entirely without respect for my fans. I’ll reserve one half hour every day for book signings. You can bring your copies of
Zombietown, U.S.A.
to my table between eleven thirty and noon for an autograph, though I request that no flash photographs be taken at that time.” Hamilton then took a small bow and said, “Thank you for your attention. Over to you, Mrs. Bentley.”
    He stepped away then, leaving the microphone clear, but at this point Mrs. Bentley’s mouth was hanging so far open that it was pretty clear no words would be coming out of it for a while. The entire audience watched in near-silence as Hamilton vaulted himself off the front of the stage and loped across the field toward the lunch patio. There, true to his promise, he turned his back on the campers, pulled a notebook out of his black messenger bag, and sat down to write.
    Charissa’s face, meanwhile, had turned as red as the flamenco dress she’d worn on Gladys’s birthday. “Who does that kid think he is?” she fumed. “No one gets out of CIT duties. Being a CIT is an
honor.
” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “And no one gets away with not wearing the uniform. I don’t care if he
is
a celebrity—Mommy and Daddy will kick him out of this camp before lunchtime.”
    Gladys didn’t always agree with Charissa’s snap judgments, but in this case, she was pretty sure her friend had it right. Sure, Gladys herself had had similar thoughts about the purple T-shirts . . . and the CIT duties . . . and, okay, she may also have fantasized about slipping away to find a quiet place to write. But she would never have stood up in front of the whole camp and made such a braggy speech about it.
    In her mind, Gladys added one more item to the short list of things she and Charissa had in common: They both thought Hamilton Herbertson was a jerk.

Chapter 6
    SALTY MEAT ON WHITE BREAD
    M ORE NEW CAMPERS WERE INTRODUCED after Hamilton, but Gladys didn’t pay attention to their names. She wasn’t sure any of the other kids did, either, since their glances all kept trailing over toward the lunch patio. Even Mrs. Bentley seemed distracted, stumbling over one-syllable last names and running her hand repeatedly through her auburn bob. Finally, she wrapped up the announcements with a feeble “New campers . . . er . . . please kneel for the Oath of Loyalty, led by Counselor Jamie.”
    A perky-looking teenage girl with short black hair