Watch Your Step by T. R. Burns Page B

Annika continues. “They get to swim! Hike! Build bonfires! Toast marshmallows! Do arts and crafts!”
    I lift the heavy shovel, aim it at the sand.
    â€œ You are not good kids! You have not earned these privileges!”
    I scoop up sand, toss it to the side.
    â€œYou want to swim? Then find your own water!”
    â€œUm, there’s water right there?” points out Carter Montgomery. After me, he’s the shortest kid in our class. “Like, a lot of it? Right behind you?”
    He’s right. Annika, wearing the same uniform she was when we arrived, stands with several other people dressed the same way in front of the huge, glittering lake featured in her photo slideshow.
    Of course, Annika knows this. That’s why she charges atCarter, presses the megaphone to his ear, and says, “ Dig , little man. Dig! ”
    He digs. So do Abe and Gabby. Elinor does too, which is surprising because she’s famous for being Kilter’s worst Troublemaker, a position that’s made her repeat first-year classes multiple times.
    Of the dozens of students scattered across the beach, only one doesn’t follow our director’s instructions.
    Lemon. Normally, he’d do as he was asked at his own leisurely pace. This wouldn’t make Annika happy, but it wouldn’t get him kicked out, either. But now he does nothing. He simply stands by a shovel, rests one elbow on its handle, and stares across the lake.
    When I follow his gaze, one of the guys standing with Annika catches my eye. He smiles, and I realize he’s Houdini, our teenage math teacher. I give him a quick wave, then check out the other people he’s standing with. They’re all wearing green cargo shirts, button-down shirts, black boots, and aviator sunglasses, but I still recognize Fern, our gym teacher; Wyatt, our art teacher; Samara, our biology teacher; Devin, our music teacher; and Lizzie, our language arts teacher. Mystery, our history teacher, wears all black and stands apart from the group, reading a book.
    â€œSee a pretty bird, Hinkle?” Annika barks.
    I pick up the pace.
    â€œHey.” Alison Parker, another Troublemaker in my class, stands up straight. She shields her eyes from the sun with one hand and looks out across the lake. “Is that my dad? Jumping on a trampoline?”
    Every Troublemaker stops digging and looks toward the beach on the other side of the water.
    â€œNice cabins,” Gabby says.
    â€œMore like lodges,” says Chris Fisher, another soon-to-be second-year Troublemaker.
    He’s right. Instead of the small rustic houses I’ve seen in movies about kids at sleepaway camp, Kamp Kilter cabins are enormous. Even from here, at least half a mile away, I can see that most are two-stories tall with wraparound porches and multiple chimneys. Some even have balconies and decks off the upper floors.
    â€œIs that where our families are staying?” Abe asks.
    Striding around holes, Annika groans into the megaphone. “If you must know, yes. While you’re fighting for protection from the elements, blood-sucking insects, and carnivorous wildlife in these makeshift tents, your families will be enjoyingair-conditioning by day, the warmth of cozy fireplaces at night, gourmet dining, and countless other amenities in their luxurious ten-star accommodations.”
    â€œBut . . . why?” Chris asks.
    Annika freezes. Then she spins around, brings the megaphone to her mouth, and yells, “Because that’s what they deserve for putting up with you!”
    Shoveling sand in eighty-five degree weather is no joke, so I’m already sweating. But at Annika’s declaration, goose bumps spread across my arms and legs.
    â€œUm, is my dad waving at me?” Alison asks, raising one hand to return the gesture. “Can he hear me?” She pauses. “Now he’s nodding.”
    â€œYour families deserve a carefree summer vacation,” Annika bellows.