Chapter 5

Chapter five Halfway to the parking lot, my dad stopped dead in his tracks. "The bags," he shouted. "I forgot the bags." He turned around and ran back to where we were still standing. He grabbed all the bags we had brought and threw them over his shoulders. He looked like a stack of duffel bags with a head. Bags were hanging off every part of him. It was amazing that he could walk with all that stuff on him, let alone run. He took off again, heading for the parking lot. "Dad, where are you going?" I yelled. "As far away from those stingers as I can get!" he shouted back.

We followed him and didn't stop until we reached the car. "Okay," he said, panting. "This has been a fun trip. Who's ready to head back? I know I am." "There's no reason to leave," my mom said. "How about a nest of buzzing, stinging insects?" he said. "That seems like a pretty good reason to me." "Calm down, Stan," my mom said. "We'll just set up our camp under another tree." "Look, there's a great spot down by the lake," I said. Without waiting for my dad's answer, we all headed for the clearing by the lake. Cheerio whined a little as we walked. I thought maybe his tummy was still pickle sick, so I picked him up and carried him under my arm.

"Hey, isn't this where that groundskeeper said the possums come at night?" Frankie asked me. I gave him our special signal to be quiet, the one where you just slightly wave your hand under your chin. I didn't want my dad to hear what we were saying. I knew that possum talk would push him right back to the city. We picked out a wooden platform at the lake's edge far from the yellow jackets' nest. It was a lot of work to set up our campsite. Emily took Dad's hand and led him into the

woods to gather sticks to make a fire in the fire pit. Mom took the food out of the cooler. Cheerio helped her. Actually, he didn't exactly help her, but he did eat two raw hot dogs directly out of the package. "Any poems popping into your head?" Frankie asked me as we sat down on the edge of our platform. "Funny you ask," I said to him. "I was just trying to think of words that rhyme with 'yellow jacket.'" "Did you come up with anything?" "Yup, I sure did. Jello shacket. Or pellow packet. And then there's wellow wacket."

"Tell you what, Zip," Frankie said. "Maybe we should try putting up the tent. Give that brain of yours a rest." "Good idea," I said. "It's been working very hard these last few minutes." I had never put up a tent before, and following the instructions was not easy. There were lots of pictures of hands pushing rods through loops. No matter which way I held the instruction sheet, it looked upside down to me. "How about I read the instructions and tell you what to do," Frankie suggested. "You just listen and do it."

I nodded. "Okay, first find the tarp and lay it on the ground flat. That's our ground sheet." I laid the blue plastic tarp out on the wood platform. That was pretty easy. "Now you take those rods and put them together to make two long poles," Frankie read. I did that, too. It wasn't that hard, either. I was getting the feel for this camping thing. "Okay, Frankie," I said. "Got it. What's next?" "Put the rods through the flaps in the tent so they cross each other at the top." I could hardly believe it myself, but I could do that, too. "Now what?" "The instruction sheet just says that now you raise the tent and it will pop up." "I have no idea how to do that," I said. "Maybe you say a magic word or something."