by EM Schmidt

Created on: October 30, 2009

The road leading to Camp Why-a-Who-a seemed miles from civilization and Ned Butterbalm was fretting and hesitating about the two weeks he'd have to spend out in the middle of nowhere. The old, rickety bus he was assigned to ride wasn't having a lick of hesitation though. Shortly, it would deliver him to this so called wonderful opportunity as his parents had put it, and Ned was beginning to realize the uneasy feeling he had in the pit of his stomach wasn't from the bumpy bus ride. He had only been away from home for three hours and he was already homesick.

"So, what you in for?" asked the small, red headed, freckled faced boy sitting next to him. "Huh?" Ned asked. "What ya do? My mom says camp better straighten me out, or the next trip I'll be taking is to the probation department." "Oh" said Ned.

What had he done so terrible that his parents would send him to this God forsaken place? He had gotten in trouble a couple times in school. Nothing major. He'd skipped gym class a couple times when they were going to play battle ball. He hated gym, but worse, he hated battle ball. Being a big boy made him a good target, and he always got hit with the ball the hardest.

He thought it probably hadn't helped matters either when he told his 6th grade teacher his dad died. He told her that when she had asked why his final science project wasn't finished. He hated science too. His mom always told him hate was a strong word.

"I don't know." Ned shrugged. "My folks said summer camp is something every child should experience." "Just wanted to get rid of you for a couple weeks, huh? I'm Benjamin O'Leary, my friends call me Benj." " Hi." was all Ned could muster.

As the bus approached it's final destination, dark, black clouds rolled in over head and rain started to fall in buckets. A tall, skinny man who had less hair than Ned's father stood to face the kids. His shirt said Camp Director Marshall. "Welcome to Camp Why-a-Who-a kids. We're here!"

"Wonderful." Ned mumbled under his breath. The camp didn't look in much better shape than the old bus that delivered them. He decided this was probably one of the worst days his life. He hadn't asked to go to camp. In fact, he had strongly opposed his parents decision to send him to camp. He'd made it through all eleven years of his life without going to camp, he didn't see why he needed to go now. But regardless of all the arguments he'd had with his parents he hadn't been able to convince them of that.

The registration process had

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