Can he do tricks? Did you teach him? Does he know his own name?

  Frieda is standing in front of me. The words are inside me. If I keep them in one more second, I’ll explode.

  “Your dog?”

  Does my voice sound this shy? Did I really only say two words? Did it make a real sentence?

  A smile breaks across Frieda Franca’s face like it had been hiding there all along. “Yes! He’s ours! He’s a golden retriever puppy and his name is Oro. He’s only seven months old, and he’s really friendly. He sleeps in the hallway outside my bedroom, and I’m trying to teach him how to shake hands. Come say hi to him!”

  It’s like Frieda Franca heard every single question in my head.

  Together, we bang out of the store. We run right over to where Oro’s lying down at his post. As soon as Frieda says “¡Hola, Oro!” he jumps up. He licks Frieda’s chin and then mine.

  He has the sweetest doggy face I ever saw. And now that we’ve broken the ice, Frieda and I have plenty of things to say to each other. That’s how I find out that she’s going to Young Explorers Camp.

  “I just know we are going to be best camp friends,” I tell her.

  “I’ve never been to camp before,” says Frieda.

  “When I was at Camp Easy Breeze, I won for most camp spirit. So I am kind of an expert. Stick with me, I’m great at camp! I even get awards for it!”

  “Oh, okay,” says Frieda, though her smile isn’t as big as I’d hoped. “Cool.”

  “The Francas are nice,” says Caroline, after they leave.

  “They’re better than nice!” I shout. “That whole family is one giant Beautiful Alert!”

  Gran smiles. “They are, aren’t they? They’re from—”

  “Peru! They lived on six hundred acres of land, but they moved here a few months ago to start an alpaca farm!”

  Gran nods. “And it’s—”

  “Only a couple of miles away! And I can visit! Also, Frieda’s going to come over to Blackberry Farm one day, so I can show her my hammies and penguins and eraser faces.” I don’t say anything about Frieda’s other suggestion—to have Oro and Mr. Fancypants meet up for a play date. “Mr. Fancypants” and “play date” don’t go together. The only playing Mr. Fancypants does is with his dog food, nosing out the liver chunks that he doesn’t like.

  I’ve just got to keep working to earn Noble. An Oro-Noble play date would be the best.

  Gran laughs. “Sounds like you two will get along just fine.”

  “I’d love to see their farm,” says Caroline. It’s one of the first times I’ve heard her sound interested in something around here. “Alpacas are just like llamas, but half the size and with cuter ears.”

  I hadn’t put “Find a New Best Friend” on my list—and now here she is, Frieda Franca, with her own alpacas and bouncy dog. I wish Mr. Fancypants had a little more bounce for a play date with “Beautiful Alert” Oro. Then again, Frieda’s been a country kid for longer than me. Of course she’d already have the perfect dog. It doesn’t make sense to be jealous.

  Except maybe I am, a little.

  chapter 8

  Safety Tips

  Mom brought home some fun camp supplies for me: a penguin thermos, a rainbow backpack, and a moss-green towel. Green is my favorite color since it’s the color of nature (except not mint green, which reminds me of the dentist).

  There’s just one problem: my lunchbox. The picture of the puppy on the front looks like a sad puppy-clown-seal.

  “Then you should’ve come shopping with us,” says Mom when I start to complain. “Anyway, it was on sale.” Translation: she isn’t taking it back.

  Nicholas has an outer space lunchbox with a silver-foil Milky Way. Even though I don’t like outer space stuff, it’s actually pretty cool.

  But I don’t care. He might have found a better lunchbox, but I already found my new best friend, Frieda Franca.

  On the first morning of Young Explorers, I set my alarm so that I’m up even earlier to feed and brush Pickle and Chew. This time, it’s Chew that kicks me, right on my shin—and I’m not quick enough to dodge.

  Ouch! That’ll be a bruise.

  Next, Gran and I collect eggs from the henhouse. I refuse to make eye contact with Laying Godiva, and I don’t collect any eggs near where she’s roosting. But I know she’s got her eye on me. I’m her Stranger Danger and she is mine.

  Once I’m done, I leave that henhouse fast.

  Since I’m the first awake, I also let out Mr. Fancypants. As always, he spends a few minutes blinking at the sun. Mr. Fancypants is used to hitting the pavement, and I wonder if he likes being retired from his morning walk. Then he starts coughing, which my parents say is because of his heart and his trachea, but Nicholas says it’s also anxiety. So I go outside to rub his head until his coughing fit passes. Then I stay with him while he does his business. The Great Outdoors seems to confuse him.

  “You’ll learn to like it,” I tell Mr. Fancypants. “You need to give it some time.” Next, I make my delicious breakfast—toasted cheddar on bread with a smear of clover honey from Gran’s friends at Bee Sweet Farm. When Mr. Fancypants comes waddling back inside, he goes bananas slurping up a tiny bit of the honey that dribbled off my spoon onto the kitchen floor. Usually we just hide Mr. Fancypants’s morning heart pill in his dog bowl with breakfast—but when I take a pill and coat it in honey, he gulps it down.

  Then he looks up at me for more.

  “Mr. F, you’re sure easy to trick,” I tell him. “But I think your taste for Bee Sweet honey puts you one paw closer to country dog status.”

  He sighs in agreement, eats his breakfast, and settles in for his morning nap.

  When Mom comes downstairs, I help make camp lunches. I push my creepy lunchbox deep inside my backpack. This puppy-clown-seal needs to stay hidden from campers’ eyes!

  On the drive over to Boggs Hollow Elementary, Nicholas keeps asking Dad to change the radio stations. But he doesn’t like any of the music, no matter what Dad switches to. He’s just being crabby, which means he’s got a case of nerves.

  Sure enough, as soon as Dad checks us in and says goodbye, Nicholas wants me to find the nurse’s office.

  “My insides feel wobbly. I have the flu maybe,” he says. “I might have a stomach virus or Mona.”

  “Mono,” I correct. “Nicholas, all you’ve got in your stomach is butterflies.”

  Nicholas stares across the lawn of kids. “Doesn’t it feel like everybody here knows everybody else?”

  “That’s how the beginning of anything feels,” I remind him.

  “¡Hola, Becket!” Frieda Franca runs up. She’s wearing a sparkly peacock skirt and booties.

  “Whoa, you look more like an acrobat than a camper!” I tell her. “Didn’t you read what the printout said about sensible footwear? Believe me, you will regret that choice!”

  Frieda frowns as she looks down at her booties. “They feel okay.”

  “I think you look amazing,” says Nicholas.

  “Thank you!” Frieda smiles at him. “I’m Frieda.”

  “I’m Nicholas.” They start talking about clothes and shopping and how they aren’t really that into camp. I just stand there, waiting for Nicholas to look at me so I can give him eye daggers for trying to nudge in on my very first country friend. But he never looks.

  Soon the counselors call us by name to divide into sections. Nicholas and I are in different sections, but he and Frieda are together.

  Oh, nooo. That’s not gonna work.

  I march over to Counselor Paloma, who’s in charge of 3B. “Why am I in 3B and Nicholas is in 3A? We are twins. Twins don’t like being separated. So I’ll just scoot into 3A, if that’s okay by you.”

  “Good morning to you, too, Rebecca Branch. I see here you are otherwise known as Becket! Actually, no section scooting, please. We do know that you and Nicholas are twins. We think you’ll make new friends easier if you aren’t in the same section,” explains Paloma. “Luckily, you’ll both be outside at noon for lunch. And you’ll have neighbor time when we test our homemade boats on the stream.”

  “Outside lunch? And we’re doing a craft? I love outside lunch and crafts!”

  “A little lower, Becket,” says Paloma, pretending to adjust a dial. Then she presses my nose freckle.

  Pretty much anyone who meets my freckle likes to press it.

  I try to catch Nicholas’s eye, but he’s still talking to Frieda. I want to feel happy that he has a friend in his section, but this is total friend-theft. Just wait till Frieda learns that Nicholas has about as much camp spirit as a toadstool.

  When the bell rings for everyone to go inside, I run up the school steps and plant myself in front of the entrance. I remember all the crossing signals I learned from Mrs. Wallerby, so that everyone can proceed into the school in an orderly fashion.

  “Orderly fashion!” I call. But campers just push on past me. Where are the rules here? This camp feels like chaos!

  “Okay, Explorers! It’s morning meeting time,” says Counselor Pete once we’re inside and assembled in our classroom.

  Pete and Paloma start the meeting with one of my favorite topics, Safety. I’m relieved to learn that country camp has even more safety tips than city camp. We get tips on everything: sunburn, poison ivy, poison sumac, dehydration, deer ticks, mosquitoes, matches, slippery rocks, rushing water, still water, sharp rocks, why we wear life jackets, and why we wear helmets. We didn’t have to worry about deer ticks or life jackets in the city.

  “Do any of you want to add a tip that I might have missed?” asks Pete.

  “You didn’t mention Stranger Danger!” I say.

  “Thanks, Becket. Luckily, nobody is a stranger here at Young Explorers Camp,” says Pete.

  “Don’t be so sure.” I shake my finger. “What if there’s a wolf-man living in the forest? What if nobody has seen him since he was raised by the friendly yet deadly wolves that cared for him after his parents died? Wolf-men are real—I saw one on the subway!”

  “Okay!” Pete puts up his hands. “Stranger Danger is worth a mention.”

  “And just one more thing,” I say. “Be careful during crafts. Especially if you are using hot glue guns. You could glue your fingers together or burn the hair off your arm skin.” A camper whose name tag reads cadie makes a sort of whimpering noise. So I finish up quick. “Stay alert, and you won’t get hurt!”

  I really love safety tips. They are always so inspiring.

  “That was kind of scary,” says Cadie, and nobody disagrees.

  “Oookay, Becket. Thank you! You sure know your safety!” Paloma claps her hands. “Let’s move on to some pointers about Respecting Your Neighbor.”

  When it’s time for indoor games, it’s Cadie, not me, who gets chosen to be door helper. Even though I’m the one who understands the most about safety. Cadie doesn’t know Mrs. Wallerby’s hand signals, and everyone starts pushing and shoving. I’m not picked to be indoor games captain, either. That is weird, since at Camp Easy Breeze I got picked for stuff a lot. At kitchen activity, when 3A and 3B combine, I learn that Frieda and Nicholas are already paired up. I have to be Cadie’s partner, and she’s not very talkative. Not to me, anyway.

  The whole entire morning, there hasn’t been one Beautiful Alert.

  “I don’t know how you’re feeling about camp, but I sure hope things start to improve around here,” I whisper to Punkin. He stays quiet, but at least I know he’s there.

  chapter 9

  FF Freakout

  “Okay, Explorers! Get ready for some crafting fun. Our next activity is making miniature boats,” says Paloma.

  I perk up. I am very good at tiny things. I’ve watched hours of TeenyTinyCrafts channel, so I know what I’m doing. We head to the cafeteria, where kids from other sections join up with us. I wave to Nicholas, but he’s with Frieda plus another kid who looks big and tough.

  First Nicholas steals Frieda, then he decides to be friends with the toughest-looking kid at Young Explorers? Have alien Zernoks secretly attacked Nicholas and taken over his identity?

  Spread out on the lunch tables are the materials for boat building: aluminum pans, foam board, foil, egg cartons, CDs, Popsicle sticks, and milk and orange juice containers, plus all kinds of paints and markers and stickers for decorating. They’ve even put out google eyes. I stick a tiny google eye on each of my eyelids and some kids laugh, but Cadie screams, and Pete tells me to take them off. “Not the right kind of attention, Becket,” he says in a friendly voice.

  “Okay, sorry!” I call out to show no hard feelings.

  Maybe if I build the perfect boat just right for Punkin, then I’ll get the right kind of attention. I study the table a long time, finding my inspiration. Then my great idea comes, POW! I rubber-band three corks for the boat bottom, and I use two toothpicks to rig the sails, which I’ve cut from shiny pea-green paper.

  When I’m done with building, I paint “SS Punkinlunkin” on the side.

  Hello, Boat!

  Thankfully lunch is right after. Making such a darling, perfect craft wipes me out. I keep my sad-puppy-clown-seal lunchbox hidden deep in my backpack while I pull out my sandwich, grapes, and granola bar all individually. Like they were just hanging around loose in there.

  Nicholas’s group is lounged out under a tree. I try to catch my brother’s eye again—but nope. He’s busy talking with kids. I feel so upside-down I’m dizzy. How did Nicholas get to be the center of everything? I haven’t made one single friend in 3B.

  The counselors have brought out some paper so that after lunch, we can stay outside to talk to people or do leaf rubbings, or both. I’d rather talk to new friends, but since none have shown up, I’m glad that leaf rubbings are a total Beautiful Alert of art and nature. I love how you can feel and see a leaf’s veins in the paper bumps.

  When everyone has finished cleaning up after lunch hour, we drop off our art at sections 3A and 3B. Then we watch a short video called Love Those Bugs, about how insects help the ecosystem. Nicholas keeps his hands over his eyes the whole time, but nobody tells him he is acting like a baby.

  It’s like everyone at Young Explorers totally gets my brother, even though they don’t really know him yet.

  After the video, we collect our boats before heading back outside. I join Nicholas and his new friends to walk down to the stream.

  “Oh, hey, Becket. Are you going to hang out with us?” asks Nicholas.

  “Only because I want to see how you’re doing,” I answer. “I’d be totally fine to hang out in my own section, too, because it’s fantastic.”

  “Meet Zane,” says Nicholas, as Zane grunts. “He’s my new friend. And you already know Frieda.”

  “Yeah, sure! How’s Oro, Frieda? How are your alpacas? Did you get any postcards from Peru, where your grandparents live?” I want to show Nicholas that I know plenty of things about Frieda.

  Frieda shrugs. “They usually just write me emails.”

  Zane is two heads taller than Nicholas. He is a size XXL kid from head to toe. “Who wants to bet a dollar my boat will win?” he asks me.

  Finally, a chance to win the day! “Me me me,” I say. “My boat’s built for speed.”

  “I’m not the betting type,” says Nicholas.

  “I’m not, either,” says Frieda.

  “I am,” says Zane.

  “I am times two,” I tell him. “Back where I’m from, kids called me Bet-it Branch.”

  Nicholas rolls his eyes but he doesn’t tell everybody I just made that up.

  At the lake, we put our boats on the water. Frieda has created an incredibly beautiful boat. It’s an all-bark raft with three leaf sails that she decorated with silver glitter dots. How did she do that? It’s so delicate and pretty. She launches it with a gentle drop into the current.

  “Go FF Freedom!” she calls.

  “You mean SS Freedom,” says Zane. “SS stands for steamship.”

  “I like FF better!” Frieda smiles. “It’s my initials.”

  “I got that as soon as you said it,” I tell her. “FF is way smarter than SS.” Frieda smiles even wider. She is so friendly with everyone. It makes me itchy trying to figure out what I can do to be special for Frieda Franca.

  Zane made a sponge boat called the SS $, and Nicholas made a half-tennis-ball boat that he didn’t even bother to name. It’s like Nicholas already knows his boat will get caught on rocks and be the first one out of the race.

  “SS Punkinlunkin picked up a breeze!” I yell. I follow my boat and poke it with a long stick whenever it spins around. “Forecast predicts a win for Punkinlunkin!”

  We all run shouting after our boats as they wobble and spin down the stream. Then Frieda’s boat catches a downriver current and starts heading for the rapids.

  “Don’t worry!” I tell her. “I’ll help!” But when I give her boat a nice strong push, it capsizes and one of the leaf sails falls off in a sad spin of green and glitter.

  “Ohhh, noooo!” yells Cadie. “Becket just destroyed Frieda’s boat!”

  Other kids are saying “nooo!” and “uh-ohhh!” and one kid mutters, “Klutz.”

  “Oh my gosh, Frieda, I’m so sorry!” My cheeks are bright and hot. How did I let that happen?

  “Don’t worry about it,” says Frieda in her same sweet voice.

  Now it’s down to the SS $ and the SS Punkinlunkin, but it’s hard for me to stay excited. When a sudden puff of breeze almost flips Zane’s boat, I’m sure victory is mine—but then his boat rights itself and whirls ahead, gliding far ahead of the SS Punkinlunkin for the win.

  “Holla for a dolla!” yells Zane, shoving out his hand.