“Yeah, ’cause it’s funny,” said Abby. “And because I thought maybe you’d be into it, with your games and all, and maybe not be grumpy about me being gone. I didn’t actually believe the ghost story part of it. Obviously.”
“And even now there’s an actual ghost moose standing over us”—I waved a hand at it—“an actual ghost moose as large as life, you still don’t believe that it’s real?”
Abby pulled her hat down over her eyebrows. “Mags, that doesn’t even make sense,” she said. “It’s just a wild animal.”
I looked around for support. Was I the only one who thought this moose might actually be a good thing? My mom was shaking her head. Mark wouldn’t meet my eye. Matt quirked his mouth to one side and shrugged.
“Is it a friendly ghost moose?” asked a tiny voice from inside Kelly’s cocoon.
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you, Kelly, it’s very friendly. That’s how the story goes, anyway.” I shot Abby a look. “It saves campers when they’re lost in the woods.”
Kelly peered out, her face just visible. “We’re lost,” she said.
She looked so small and hopeful in that moment that I couldn’t stand it, and a hot spark of anger burned to life inside me. Who cared if it was just a story? Who cared if believing it didn’t make any sense? This was what was happening. If I’d had my way, we’d have been rescued by a helicopter full of secret-agent librarians headed for their base in a nearby volcano. But the ghost moose of Camp Cantaloupe was what we got, and I’d eat a whole pan of cucumber casserole before I let this chance pass us by.
I smiled at Kelly, my heart fluttering a little at what I was about to do. “That’s right,” I said, putting my shoulders back. “We are. But not for long.” The music started. I pushed my nest of blankets aside.
I stood up.
Everyone gasped.
The mist parted, billowing around me as I planted my feet, my head held high. I stood taller than the others, taller than the cab of the truck, taller than the hills around us, taller than the sky. The reflected headlights burned in the air like moonlight, and the vast arctic night stretched away on all sides. I raised my chin. The fog blew through my hair.
“Wow,” someone breathed behind me.
I looked up at the moose. It gazed down, a puzzled sort of interest on its face.
For a ghost moose it sure did smell.
“Hello, hi,” I said to it. What was the proper way to address a ghost moose? “If you’re who I think you are and you’re here from Camp Cantaloupe, will you please show us the way to town? We’re lost, and Uncle Joe is hurt, and Kelly and my mom have to get back to the hospital, and Samson is probably hungry. And we could really use your help.”
The moose stayed perfectly still, watching me, mist rolling down its antlers.
“So . . . please?” I said, my voice shaking slightly. “Will you help us?” I was starting to shiver. I’d been hoping for a grand, dramatic moment. This wasn’t exactly going to plan.
The moose flicked one ear, then the other.
“Sweetie, I don’t think . . . ,” began my mom.
“Shh,” I said. I was thinking hard. The moose wasn’t leaping to our aid, but it wasn’t leaving, either. Maybe I wasn’t doing enough on my own. Maybe the moose needed more. It was a pity we didn’t have any cantaloupe lying around.
But Abby had said the moose helped lost campers. That was the story. And I was a camper, sort of. Except . . . no, not really. I’d actually been fighting hard against the whole idea of summer camp since the day Abby left, and even more since she’d tried to bring it back with her. I was a pillow forter, a builder of caves and doer of missions with the wind blowing through my hair. Abby was the one with the super-social summer camp skills, and meeting new people powers, and oh my moose nostrils, that was it.
Abby was the Camp. And I was the Pillow Fort. And we could only do this by our powers combined.
I turned my head. “Abby, get up here. I need you.”
Abby looked surprised and more than a little wary, but she clambered to her feet and maneuvered her way beside me. “What are you doing?” she murmured, eyeing the sharp points of the antlers less than a foot above our heads.
“I think I figured it out,” I said. “The moose helps campers, but I’m too much of a pillow forter to count. It should recognize you, though. What can you do that’s Cantaloupey?”
“Huh? Cantaloupey?”
“You know, something from camp. Is there a song or— Hey! The camp dance!”
“What about it?” said Abby.
“It’s perfect,” I said. “Do it.”
“Now?”
“Of course now! You were all about it the other day. And we need to do something to convince the moose we’re campers worth saving. You do it once to show me, then I’ll join in. I think we’re supposed to do this thing together.”
The moose was watching our discussion with interest.
Abby paused, and I bit my lip. I could almost hear Old Abby and New Abby fighting it out.
The thing was, I needed help from both.
“Oh-kay,” she said at last. “Fine.” I moved back, relieved, as she put her hands on her hips and stepped into a deep lunge. “But this had better work, or I’m gonna feel really silly. And one, two, three: da-da, da-da-da, da, DA . . .”
It wasn’t a complicated dance, and Abby gave it her all even while wobbling on blankets and trying not to step on Uncle Joe. She kicked, lunged, swayed, and clapped, da-da-ing along the whole time.
“Okay,” she said, coming to a halt. “That’s the Camp Cantaloupe dance. Here, Mags.” She held out a hand. “Let’s try it with both of us.”
Space was tight, so we wrapped our arms around each other’s shoulders. It
