Www.Chokecherry.Us: The Adventures of Oliver Starr

By Oma Lidy

Oliver is raised in day care and by after-school sitters because both his parents work long hours to make sure they give him everything he needs. A big house, nice clothes, expensive toys...

Everything he doesn't want.

What he wants is for his parents to spend time with him, for his mother to stay home, for his father to watch him play ball, for them to be a family...

When he is old enough, he rebels in the only way he knows how. At home he becomes resentful and obstinate. In school he is disobedient, uncooperative and disruptive, making sure he flunks all his classes.

At their wits end, his parents send him away to a Camp for difficult children and there he learns to deal with his problems in a very special way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 14, 2010
• ISBN: 9781449086381

Oma Lidy

She is a grandmother with a little wisdom to share.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Teacher

Oliver Starr stood in front of the teacher with his mother seated at his side. Parent-teacher conferences at the special education school for problem students usually lasted less than half an hour, but to Oliver it seemed like an eternity.

His teacher, Lona Pearl Primpropper, had just finished reading the report she had prepared for the meeting. So you see Mrs. Starr, she said to his mother. We have not made much progress even though Oliver has been here for almost two months. We tried all the programs we have, the special attention, the award system, the positive feedback, the individual tutoring, but nothing seems to work. He is always late, he often disrupts class with his practical jokes, he refuses to do his homework and he doesn’t get along with the other students.

Gerritdina Starr stared at her hands in her lap. The teacher’s account of her son did not surprise her. Ever since third grade, Oliver had turned from an obedient little boy into a stubborn, obstinate and willful child. Suddenly he refused to listen, argued over the smallest things, acted short-tempered and withdrawn.

The unexpected change had been hard to deal with, especially since she knew him to be a sensitive and helpful child. Of course, there were still times when he was affectionate and kind, but only on those rare weekends when both she and her husband were home.

About two months before, after the Principal of yet another school expelled Oliver for yelling at his teacher and making rude comments, they had been at their wits end. They no longer knew what to do and influenced by self-serving television ads, friends’ unqualified advice and well-meaning family pressure, they even considered medicating their son. But his pediatrician persuaded them otherwise. She told them what Oliver needed was firm guidance and loving support, not pills.

They had agreed with her, but that didn’t take care of the problem. Searching the Web, they found this special-education program and noted its apparent unrivaled success in dealing with problem students. They checked it out, asked a lot of questions and stayed up late at night reading about the school’s educational methods, behavioral tactics and disciplinary techniques. It sounded just like the program Oliver needed and they really hoped that this school’s intervention would bring out that side in Oliver they knew was there. The smart, caring, responsible side.

Gerritdina sighed heavily. The teacher’s report had put a definite end to that hope.

Lona Pearl put down the folder she was holding. Her black eyes turned to Oliver, who was leaning bored and indifferent against his mother’s chair. Slowly, her gaze moved from his hair to his face and lingered on his eyes. She was aware that she was staring. But even after almost two months, she still found herself captivated by his odd physical appearance.

His looks were strange enough to cause some of the other students to tease him relentlessly. They mocked him on the playground, taunted him in the school bus and tormented him on the way home. Their teasing would have reduced most children to tears. But Oliver not only laughed it off, he even seemed to thrive on the attention.

She had to admit, the kid had grit. He also had another thing. Although he often acted silly, stubborn and difficult, she had glimpsed an unusual intelligence and determination beneath his devil-may-care attitude.

Lona Pearl looked back at Oliver’s mother, still staring at her hands. You know Mrs. Starr, she said. Your son is a very bright boy. He really has a lot of potential but I don’t think we can help him any further, here at this school.

Yesss, Oliver hissed through his teeth as he pumped his fist in the air in a display of victory. He had won. Mrs. Primpropper was kicking him out. Finally!

For the past two months, he had done his best to be expelled. He was always late to class, played hooky as often as he could, talked back to the teachers, disrupted lessons by throwing spitballs and tripped kids on their way to the blackboard.

Even on the playground, he looked for trouble. He interfered with children playing on the swings and slides, stole the ball when the basketball team played a game and singled out the school bullies, often ending up in the Principal’s office for fighting… and in the nurse’s office for cuts, scrapes and bruises.

But Mrs. Primpropper had proven to be a tough nut to crack. She did not give up easily and had a special way of dealing with her problem students. She helped them handle their frustrations by letting them blow off steam, gave them every opportunity to express themselves and in some cases allowed them to determine their own punishment for wrongdoing.

She also worked hard to make school fun. She told jokes, brought homemade cookies to celebrate birthdays and decorated the room with the children’s artwork. Blue paper dragons hung from the ceiling, stuffed brown goblins guarded the door and colorful drawings covered the walls.

Yes, she was a good teacher, understanding, determined, fair and patient. So patient that Oliver had almost given up a few times. But now his perseverance had paid off. He pumped his fist again. He had won!

Stop that Oliver. Embarrassed, his mother reached up and pushed his arm down. Please don’t do that. She looked apologetically at the teacher, but Lona Pearl did not pay any attention to her student. Oliver’s problems have nothing to do with his ability to learn, she continued. It has to do with his attitude and motivation, negatively influenced by… She stopped short. She had almost said ‘by the way he is being raised’. But she knew from experience that those words tended to produce strong defensive reactions in the parents and usually blocked their receptiveness to any of her professional opinions and suggestions. A lack of self-discipline," she finished prudently.

Oh boy, Oliver mumbled disgusted as he turned his head sideways and rolled his eyes. He had heard that before. All the psychologists and counselors he’d been to in the last year said the same thing.

That’s enough Oliver, his mother warned. Really Mrs. Primpropper, I don’t know what has gotten into him lately.

Alright Oliver. Lona Pearl pointed at the floor next to her chair. Please stand over here and listen to what I have to say.

Slowly, he walked over to the spot she had indicated and for the first time in two months, he was able to see inside her old-fashioned desk. To prevent the kids from stealing pencils, destroying papers and copying answers to tests, she always kept the wooden roll-top down and locked when she wasn’t in the room. It was a big desk and Oliver had never seen one with more stuff in it. A long row of little drawers and cubbyholes, filled with erasers, pencil sharpeners and paperclips, lined the wide rim around the front and side of the desk. Stacks of papers, waiting to be graded and discussed, teetered on the edge. Cartoon shaped cups held an array of colored markers and several important looking documents littered the leather-bound writing surface of the desk.

Lona Pearl puckered her red lipstick covered mouth. The problem is, she said. That motivation and self-discipline are some of the hardest things to learn and changing someone’s attitude is even harder.

Gerritdina Starr looked down at her hands. So, you are saying that it is hopeless.

No, that is not what I mean Mrs. Starr. What I mean is that Oliver requires a different kind of program, one specifically designed for his needs. As a matter of fact, I have some information here about a really special school.

As Oliver watched, Lona Pearl moved her left hand and pointed her index finger at a short stack of files and folders. To his surprise, he saw a thin yellow beam of light shoot from the tip of her finger. As it touched the bottom of the stack, it flattened out and moved underneath the papers. Then, like a magnet attracting a metal object, a black and white printed pamphlet slid out from the bottom of the pile and followed the beam of light back to her hand.

Oliver blinked. Leaning a little closer to the desk, he stared at Lona Pearl’s finger. But except for a long red fingernail decorated with a tiny gold apple, he did not see anything unusual. Scanning the classroom he looked up at the high ceiling and saw one of the many gas filled fluorescent lights flicker intermittently, obviously playing a trick on him as it neared the end of its two-thousand hour guarantee.

Lona Pearl picked up the pamphlet and handed it to Oliver’s mother. You see Mrs. Starr; the school I am talking about is tailored to the individual student. It identifies each child’s problems and deals with them in a very unique way.

Oliver grimaced. It was the same old story. Whenever a teacher decided that he or she could no longer manage him, they just sent him to another school with yet another special program. But nothing helped because nothing changed, except the teachers.

Nobody seemed to know what was wrong. Nobody seemed to know what the problem was.

But Oliver knew.

It was simple. It did not take a rocket scientist to figure it out, although he had learned that a simple thing could be very complicated indeed.

Both of his parents worked long hours. His father was in advertising and traveled for weeks at a time. His mother worked in Real Estate. She had many clients who could and would call her any time of the day or night, seven days a week. But even if she wasn’t busy with clients, she had to attend so many seminars and office meetings that it seemed like she was never home.

Ever since Oliver could remember, his parents had dropped him off at daycare facilities or placed him with babysitters. Often up to twelve hours a day, five to six days a week. Of course, there had been times when his parents would take a few days off from work. But then they still left him with a sitter because they needed to get away by themselves to unwind from their hectic daily schedules.

When he was little, he had accepted that way of life. He spent long institutionalized days in sterile daycare centers managed by business-oriented people. When he was older and started first grade, his parents arranged for after school sitters. A different one nearly every other week. One day a skinny rule driven woman called Harriet Upp would take care of him and the next day a plump jolly one called Lettice Bea. Some of the sitters were nice, some not so nice… but all were indifferent to his needs.

It was in third grade when he began to wonder why his mother couldn’t stay home more instead of going to work all the time. So one evening, after another late dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches and potato chips, he asked her why she and his father had to work so much.

Oh honey, his mother had said, looking tired and worn after a long difficult day. You know we have to work hard so we can give you everything you want.

Oliver remembered staring at his mother, feeling guilty and confused.

Everything he wanted? Sitting alone in their big fancy house day after day sure didn’t feel like he had everything he wanted. What he wanted was for his mother to be there when he came home from school so he could talk to her about his day. He wanted his father to watch him play basketball and softball. He wanted both of them to come and see him perform in a school play.

He wanted to go camping.

He wanted to go fishing.

He wanted friends.

He wanted a dog…

What he did not want was the house key his mother gave him when his unruly behavior had prevented her from finding another sitter.

Oliver, she had said. You are a big boy now and we think that you are old enough to go home alone after school. Then she warned him not to open the door for anyone and, except for his fenced-in backyard, he was not allowed to go outside.

So now, most of his mornings started with a lonely bowl of cereal in the kitchen and ended with his footsteps echoing through the empty house after he came home from school.

He not only hated coming home alone, but he dreaded the daily notes on the kitchen table.

‘Oliver your dinner is in the refrigerator.’

‘Oliver take out the trash.’

‘Oliver clean your room.’

‘Oliver do this, Oliver do that.’

And that was not all. His mother complained about the way he did his chores, his father nagged him if he didn’t get straight A’s and his teachers always seemed to find fault with his homework.

One day he’d simply had enough. Oh yes, he still worked hard, but now only to get in trouble.

So, not knowing what else to do, his parents began to send him to a bunch of psychologists, therapists and counselors. He had to answer a thousand questions, draw silly pictures, play with stupid dolls and look at hundreds of ink spots. Their conclusions? He was lazy, spoiled and had a bad attitude.

Oliver sighed. No, he had no control over what happened in his life. But he had learned one thing; the only way to get his parents’ attention was by acting out and creating problems. Especially in school. He saw his parents a lot more when he was in trouble. Just like today. His mother had taken time out of her busy work schedule to take him to this emergency parent-teacher conference.

Gerritdina looked from her hands to the teacher. This really was my last hope, she said. But it looks like this school has been a waste of time as well. She glanced at her watch. Well, it seems like there is nothing more to say and since I am late for a meeting, I guess we had better go.

Now, just a minute Mrs. Starr…

Gerritdina shook her head. We have tried just about everything, Mrs. Primpropper. I don’t think that this other school you are talking about will make a difference either. Looking tired and defeated, she picked up her purse.

Lona Pearl closed Oliver’s folder and put it on top of a stack of papers. She was a heavyset woman without any notion or concern for fashion or style. She wore a floor length crushed-dark blue velvet skirt and a matching velvet blouse. Her wavy salt and pepper colored hair, pinned back behind her ears, just reached her shoulders. Her thick lips, painted bright red, covered white even teeth and her mile-long false eyelashes almost touched her penciled-in eyebrows. She had a deep voice and her alert black eyes did not miss a thing.

Ignoring Gerritdina’s remarks, she leaned back in her chair and said, The program I am talking about is the William Wysman Van Waymore’s Syllabus. The school’s founder, Mr. Van Waymore, developed it specifically for students like Oliver. He calls it the Actual Reality Video Instruction Syllabus or ARVIS for short.

Oliver cringed. He really did not want to listen to another long account of another stupid school. Slowly, he moved away from the desk and walked over to one of the large classroom windows.

Lona Pearl’s black eyes followed him for just a moment, then she turned back to his mother. ARVIS is a very special program, she continued. It is different from other programs in that it focuses on each student’s particular needs, challenges and shortcomings. It helps develop positive character traits and teaches the kids to cope with their problems in a more positive and socially acceptable way. Of course the Van Waymore school does not take just any child, only the ones with certain problems and then only when recommended by a select group of teachers. The school has a small student population and it is expensive, but the success rate is excellent. I know because my husband, Herman Delbert Primpropper, is a member of the faculty. She paused to pull a tissue from a rose-colored box and dabbed at her eyes, taking care not to smear the heavy mascara.

The school is called Camp Chokecherry. It is located in the forest just north of Allen Town on Chokecherry Hill, she said. The kids have to live on campus and each semester is four months long. While they are at the Camp, there is no contact allowed with anyone outside the school except for one monitored daily email and one monitored phone call every Sunday evening. The Camp’s board of education feels that old influences get in the way of the children’s progress.

As Lona Pearl turned her head to drop the tissue in a wastepaper basket, she noticed Oliver’s reflection in the classroom window. He was keeping himself amused by crossing his eyes and making monster faces in the glass. Gesturing a warning at Oliver’s mother, she picked up a long thick wooden ruler, raised it high up in the air and…

Blammm!

The flat side of the ruler hit the top of her desk and the sound exploded through the room like a gunshot.

Oliver jumped a mile high.

Lona Pearl pointed the ruler at him and said severely, We are discussing your next school, now sit down and pay attention.

Oliver sank into the nearest chair next to the wall behind the teacher’s desk. Swallowing hard, he threw Lona Pearl a reproachful look. Boy, she had really scared him. In the two months he had known her, he had always thought that there was something strange about her. But today she was acting even stranger than usual.

Lona Pearl put the ruler down and shuffled some papers on her desk. I have an application here for Camp Chokecherry, she said to Gerritdina. I suggest that you fill it out now so you can reserve a place for him.

Oliver watched closely as Lona Pearl pointed her left hand at a stack of papers. He held his breath.

The same thin yellow beam of light flowed from the tip of her left index finger straight to a form stuck halfway between several folders. As before, when the beam touched the paper, the light flattened out and the application moved silently over to her hand.

This time Oliver was sure. There really was a light coming from her finger. Shielding his eyes from the overhead fluorescent lamps, Oliver leaned forward to get a better look.

The teacher’s desk chair squeaked as she suddenly turned toward him, a mysterious smile on her face. Oliver felt a shiver of anticipation as her gaze caught his and held it captive. Then she raised her eyebrows, her pupils dilated rapidly and like the brief intense strobe of a lighthouse beacon in the night, a sharp burst of light brightened her eyes.

To Oliver’s astonishment the flash not only blinded him, it also pushed him back in his chair. Shocked, he looked over at his mother who was busy reading the pamphlet the teacher had given her. But the brilliant light had distorted his vision and for several seconds he saw nothing but exploding yellow rockets behind his eyelids.

Acting as if nothing had happened, Lona Pearl opened one of the many little drawers in her desk, pulled out a pair of Mother of Pearl rimmed glasses and slid them behind her ears. Some of the most frequently asked questions are in this booklet, she said to Gerritdina as she unfolded another pamphlet. The Camp lets the children enroll only one semester at a time. If they haven’t made enough progress in their studies, their behavior and their attitude at the end of each semester, they cannot re-register and they have to leave the program. It is a testament to the Camp’s success rate that, outside of students graduating, there are usually very few openings.

The look on her face turned serious. I really urge you to check out the Camp. As I said, this application only reserves a place for Oliver. You don’t have to enroll him and if you decide you do not like the Camp or the program after you have seen it, you can cancel without any obligation.

Lona Pearl’s intense black eyes held Gerritdina’s uncertain blue ones. I know you have heard this before Mrs. Starr, but I really believe that this program is the best solution for your son. Maybe the only one.

Gerritdina, made uncomfortable by the teacher’s stare, still looked doubtful. I don’t know, Mrs. Primpropper, she said hesitantly. We have tried just about everything and nothing has worked. A couple of months ago one of the psychologists Oliver has been seeing recommended a military school and we have been thinking about giving that a try. She sighed heavily. It sure hasn’t been easy. We really want to help Oliver, but my husband and I don’t have a lot of time. I work long hours, my husband travels a lot and with the household and all… Her voice trailed off.

Lona Pearl took a deep breath, looking for the right words to persuade Oliver’s mother to take her advice. I think that a military school would be a bad mistake Mrs. Starr. Oliver does not need military discipline. In fact, I believe that his problems would multiply in such an environment. She leaned across her desk. All I am asking is for you and your husband to check out the Camp. I assure you that you won’t be disappointed. Of course it will take a while to make an appointment, but in the mean time Oliver can keep attending classes here.

Well, I guess it won’t hurt to do that, Gerritdina said as she accepted the form and the pen Mrs. Primpropper held out to her. And I would like to take a look at this Camp before I make up my mind about sending Oliver to a military school.

Lona Pearl watched Gerritdina sign her name. It seemed to take her longer than most people. When she was done, she handed the application back to the teacher.

Curious, Lona Pearl looked at her signature and read it out loud. Gerritdina Wilhelmina Johanna Starr? That sure is a long name, she chuckled. You must have been your parents’ first child and they gave you all the names they could think of.

Well yes, in a way, Oliver’s mother admitted a little embarrassed. I am the oldest of seven children and my parents named me ‘Gerritdina Wilhelmina’ after my Mom’s mother and ‘Johanna’ after my Dad’s mother. I guess they did not want to play favorites between grandmothers. In those days, it was customary to name children after family members, particularly grandparents. But everyone just calls me Dinie.

As the teacher and his mother were talking, Oliver had kept a close watch on Lona Pearl. He wanted to see that light again, but when nothing happened he grew tired of listening to them chitchat about his mother’s names. Bored, he walked to one of the classroom windows to see if the parking lot offered something more interesting when a slight movement drew his attention. He looked up and his eyes focused on a light brown spider with long moss-green colored legs slowly making its way up the wall. He had seen a picture of that same arachnid in his well-read insect book. It was exotic looking, but harmless.

Forgetting all about his mother and his teacher, he watched the spider intently. If he was able to catch it, he could put it in a paper cup and take it home to the insect and reptile aquariums he kept in his room.

The aquariums were a compromise between him and his mother. He had been begging her for a dog. But his mother said that a dog would take too much time out of her already busy schedule. He had argued that he could take care of it after he came home from school. That he would feed it, groom it, play with it and clean up after it.

You don’t do your chores now, she had countered. The trash is always full, your room is a mess and you don’t even put your dishes in the dishwasher after you eat. No, if we get a dog, I know I will end up doing it all.

Then Oliver’s aunt gave him a reptile and insect book for his birthday and he read that their care was not nearly as time consuming as taking care of a dog. It had taken a while for his mother to let him keep a couple of turtles, a gopher snake and a few interesting looking insects, but she had finally agreed… as long as he kept the lids of the glass aquariums locked.

He looked at the spider. It was a perfect specimen, its body just fat enough and its legs just long enough to enhance his arachnid collection. He glanced at his mother and his teacher, but neither seemed to pay any attention to him.

Careful not to make any noise, he got up from his chair and moved it closer to the wall. Climbing on the armrests to gain more height he made a grab for the eight-legged insect, but the change in airflow warned the spider of danger. It quickly changed directions and scrambled for the safety of a crack on top of the window.

Oliver’s fingers closed around a handful of air.

Not wanting the spider to escape, he grabbed for it again. Higher this time. But in his haste to catch it, he overextended his reach. He felt his foot slip off the chair and as his body twisted sideways, he extended an arm toward the wall to keep from falling.

His hand hit a red button.

Ring, ring, ring, the earsplitting sound of an alarm bell exploded through the building. To his horror, Oliver realized that he had accidentally activated the school’s fire alarm. Now he was really in trouble!

He quickly climbed down from the chair to tell the teacher what had happened, but she didn’t give him a chance. The minute the alarm echoed through the building, Mrs. Primpropper jumped up and immediately went into a well-rehearsed evacuation mode. She ran over to Oliver, grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him forcefully toward the classroom door.

Wait, Oliver exclaimed, struggling in the teacher’s grip. There isn’t… I just…

Lona Pearl did not stop to listen. Follow me Mrs. Starr, she cried. This is not a fire drill. This is a real alarm. We must leave the building immediately.

Keeping a firm grip on the struggling Oliver with one hand, she briefly touched the classroom door with the other to see if it was hot before opening it. They entered the hallway already full of people.

Don’t use the elevators, a campus security guard called as he made his way through the hall against the flow of people. Stay calm and please don’t run. Just walk quickly down the stairs to the exits.

Without giving Oliver a chance to explain what happened, Mrs. Primpropper dragged him through the hall, down the stairs and out the school’s big double front doors. Within a few minutes, everyone had been evacuated.

Outside, Lona Pearl finally let go of Oliver’s wrist. Stay with your mother, she warned. Fires create a lot of chaos and people can get lost. I will try to find out what is going on.

Mrs. Primpropper, I want to… Oliver began, but before he could finish his sentence three bright red fire trucks, sirens screaming, rolled into the parking lot.

Oliver’s heart dropped. Oh boy, he mumbled. This is not good.

The huge trucks came to an abrupt halt right in front of the school and twelve firefighters, wearing long yellow jackets and steel helmets, jumped down from the trucks. Some of them began to unroll the water hoses while others, carrying breathing equipment and long-handled axes, rushed through the front doors into the building.

Does anybody here know where the fire is? one of the firemen yelled at the crowd on the sidewalk. But only Oliver knew there was no fire and he was too scared to say anything. The rest of the people all kept looking at the school, watching and waiting for smoke to reveal the fire’s location.

Lona Pearl left Oliver with his mother and walked over to a group of teachers standing a short distance away. Do you know what is going on? she asked Mr. Haruspex, the school’s history teacher.

No, I don’t. But I’ll bet it is just another false alarm, he answered, a little annoyed. We’ve had several in the past few months. Nowadays, kids think it is fun to activate the smoke alarm.

Let’s just hope it’s a false alarm, Mr. Al Gebrah, the math teacher said. Better a false one than a real one.

Mr. Haruspex pulled his shirt down over his protruding belly. I have better things to do than to stand out here in the cold because of false alarms, he grumbled.

Well, we will find out soon enough, Mrs. Primpropper said. They are checking the building now.

Oliver watched several firefighters walk in and out of the front door. Their two-way radios crackled continuously with messages and instructions, but now they no longer seemed to be in a hurry.

Gerritdina pushed a couple of dark blond curls from her forehead as she looked down on her silent son. Are you alright honey? she asked concerned.

Yes Mom, Oliver mumbled. He felt just terrible. He really wanted to tell her what happened. But he couldn’t, not with all those people standing around.

Time crawled. Everyone waited anxiously, no one more so than Oliver did.

Finally, the front door opened and several firemen filed out. Good news, one of them yelled. There is no fire. Someone has accidentally triggered the alarm in one of the rooms. Everything is alright. You can all go back inside now.

A murmur of frustrated relief rose up from the crowd.

You see, Mr. Haruspex said smugly. I knew there was no fire.

Well, I’m glad, Mrs. Primpropper said. I’m with Mr. Al Gebrah, better a false alarm than a real one. Come with me Mrs. Starr. We are almost finished with our meeting. I just want to give you some more information about that Camp I mentioned.

As the firefighters rolled up their hoses and packed the rest of their gear into the trucks, Oliver followed Mrs. Primpropper and his mother back to the classroom. He could not believe that no one had found out he had tripped the alarm. Of course, now it seemed futile to confess. After all, it had just been an accident.

Back in the classroom, Lona Pearl walked over to her desk and sat down. As I was saying Mrs. Starr, I think that this Camp would be the best program for Oliver. I really hope you and your husband will check it out. Now, the only way to contact the Camp is to make an appointment through the Internet. You will need their email address and a password in order to access their website. If you give me one more minute, I’ll write that down for you.

Oliver saw her move her hand and not wanting to miss a chance to see the light again, he quickly took a few steps toward her desk. He was just in time to see her point her left index finger at a small scratchpad. Again, a thin yellow beam of light flowed from the tip of her finger and the pad slid over to her hand.

Lona Pearl tore off a piece of paper and wrote the information down. She handed the note to Gerritdina. "As you can see, the email address is ‘www.chokecherry.us’ and the password is ‘waymore’. Make sure you type my name in the referral box on the home page. Without my name and the correct password, you won’t be able to log onto the Camp’s website."

Gerritdina accepted the slip of paper. Thank you, Mrs. Primpropper. I appreciate all your help. I will discuss everything you have told me with my husband.

The meeting was over. Gerritdina took Oliver by the hand. Come honey, we have to go, she said as she steered him toward the door. Say goodbye to Mrs. Primpropper.

Bye, Oliver said sullenly.

Goodbye Oliver. I’ll see you tomorrow, Lona Pearl answered, a barely contained laugh in her voice. You be good now.

A little mystified, Oliver looked back at his teacher. Something seemed to amuse her, but he had no idea what it was. Then, just before the door closed behind him, he heard her whisper loud enough for him to hear, And try not to catch anymore spiders on your way out…

A few minutes later, Oliver stood next to his mother by the car. Mom, he said hesitantly. Did you see a light coming from Mrs. Primpropper’s finger?

His mother unlocked the car. A light from her finger? she asked puzzled. No of course not, how can a light come from her finger?

I don’t know Mom. But it moved that paper she gave to you and it also kind of pushed me.

What are you talking about, Oliver? His mother opened the car door. You are not making any sense.

Really, I saw a light.

Don’t be silly Oliver. People do not have lights coming from their fingers. Now get in the car, we have to go.

Oliver opened his door. But before he sat down, he looked back up at the school building and noticed Mrs. Primpropper standing motionless by one of her classroom windows. Her black unblinking eyes locked onto Oliver’s and her brightly painted red lips began to move as if she was trying to tell him something.

Oliver, his mother said for the second time, Get in the car please. You know I’m late. Come on, we have to hurry.

Slowly, Oliver slipped into the front passenger seat, keeping his eyes on his teacher through the side window.

Her lips were moving more rapid now.

His mother put the car in gear and pressed on the gas pedal. As the automobile began to move, the reflection of the sun’s rays obscured the figure behind the glass and Oliver could no longer see her. Then the rays shifted and to his surprise, he saw Lona Pearl’s face pressed firmly against the windowpane.

Slowly, the car turned toward the exit and as it moved farther away from the school building, Oliver had to lean over the back of his seat to keep her in sight.

Now the teacher put both hands on the glass and smashed her face even tighter against the window. Her lipstick covered mouth created a long red streak, her nose spread wide like a pig’s snout and her chubby cheeks seemed to melt into the windowpane.

Oliver, what are you doing? his mother said irritated. Turn around and sit down. You need to put on your belt.

But Oliver, fascinated by the strange behavior of his teacher, ignored his mother and leaned even farther over the back of his seat. In disbelief, he watched Lona Pearl open and close her mouth like a fish out of water. Then the scarlet stain of her lipstick, mixed with her breath and saliva, began to run down the windowpane. The red splotch kept getting larger and larger, until her head looked like a giant squashed tomato with two black eyes crying bloody tears.

Without missing a beat, she smeared her hands in the red slime. Pressing them on the glass, she patted the window next to her head forming two semi-circles of ghoulish red handprints around her monstrous looking face. Suddenly a flash of white broke through the bloody mess.

Lona Pearl was grinning!

Oliver was now almost hanging upside down. His hands, holding onto the edge of his seat to support his weight, were growing numb. The blood pounded in his temples and his head was beginning to ache.

Oliver, his mother warned again. Sit down now. She had reached the end of the parking lot and turned onto the busy street. But Oliver wanted to take one last look at his teacher’s crazy window-squashed face and just as he leaned all the way over the back of his chair, a brilliant flash of light shot straight from Lona Pearl Primpropper’s red-stained eyes right through the car’s rear window.

Shocked and blinded by the lightning strike for the second time, Oliver lost his grip and tumbled head over heels into the back seat.

Chapter 2

The Camp

Oliver and his parents drove over a narrow dirt road lined with tall pungent smelling cedar trees, beautiful blue spruces and an occasional majestic ponderosa pine.

Oliver’s father, Joop, sat annoyed behind the wheel. He was not happy. As far as he was concerned, checking out this Camp was a real waste of time. The whole thing sounded like another wild goose chase, just like all the other special schools and programs with their empty promises of success.

After his wife told him that Oliver’s last school had proven to be a failure, he had believed that the next school was already decided on. As far as he was concerned, their only option now was one of those strict military schools.

Joop gripped the steering wheel hard. The decision to send Oliver to a military school had not been an easy one. He loved his son and he did not want to send him away, but he felt that he had no choice. If he was to have a good education, they had to do something drastic about his failing grades and bad behavior.

He really believed that Oliver needed an environment with plenty of discipline. One where the kids would be monitored twenty-four hours a day and where teasing and bullying would not be tolerated, giving kids like Oliver a chance to get an education and maybe make some friends.

Joop glanced at his son in the rear view mirror and as usual, he felt a stab of guilt. Oliver looked very different from other kids. Although the doctors had assured him and his wife that their son was not an albino, his skin was almost colorless. His bright red hair, cut in a Dutch-boy style, covered his head like a stocking cap. An odd thick lock of white hair grew from the crown of his head and curled toward his forehead in the shape of a loose question mark. A liberal sprinkle of yellow freckles dotted the pale skin of his chubby cheeks and small pudgy nose. His ears, too big for his head, looked like two crumpled sails trying to catch the wind. His eyebrows and lashes were so light they were almost invisible and his skinny neck was just a shade too long for his short stocky body.

Joop’s gaze settled on his son’s somber face and sighed. If all that wasn’t strange enough, the strangest things about him were his eyes. Not only large and round enough to lock his expression in a permanent state of surprise, but his right eye was sky blue and his left one sea green. They gave him an almost mystical appearance. He had heard it say more than once that when Oliver looked at people, they felt as if he was able to see into the darkest regions of their souls.

That was ridiculous of course. He looked the way he did because Mother Nature had mixed and matched their families’ physical characteristics in a genetic milkshake and combined it all, adversely, in his only child. He could easily pinpoint the sources of Oliver’s looks. Both he and his wife had light blue eyes. Oliver’s paternal grandfather had bright red hair and green eyes. His paternal grandmother was short and stocky. A cousin had hair so blond it looked almost white, one of his uncles had large protruding ears and his maternal grandfather’s neck was a little too long even for his tall gangly body.

Joop knew that a lot of kids at school teased Oliver. They called him carrot top, sailboat and freak among other things. When Oliver first started school, his wife had tried to minimize the teasing by dyeing Oliver’s hair dark-blond and letting it grow long to hide his ears. She had also taken him to an ophthalmologist to have him fitted with colored Contac lenses.

In the beginning, all went well. But after Oliver developed an allergy to the hair dye and began to suffer from several eye infections, he had stubbornly refused to do either.

It was funny, but Oliver never complained about the teasing. He just said that he ignored the name-calling and that after a while, robbed of their fun, most kids left him alone.

Still, there were times when he did get into a fight and he’d come home with torn clothes, scratches and bruises. But he would always refuse to identify any of the bullies. His usual comment was, I took care of it Dad. I may have a black eye, but you should have seen the other guy.

Joop smiled. One thing Oliver was not and that was a coward. Actually, as he looked back, things had not been too bad in first and second grade. It was at the end of third grade that the real trouble started. He began to refuse to do his chores at home, his babysitters complained about his aggressive behavior, he stopped doing his homework and the teachers said that he was often disruptive in class. Finally, it got so bad that no matter what school or program they enrolled him in he managed to get himself expelled. That was when they started to take him to counselors and psychologists, hired tutors to help him with his homework and enrolled him in special education programs for troubled children. But nothing seemed to work. In fact, Oliver was becoming more and more difficult as he got older. Yes, he was sure that a military school with its strict and structured environment was the answer.

But now? Here they were, again chasing after another useless and expensive program. One that wasn’t going to help either. He had tried to talk his wife out of it, but after that last parent-teacher conference, she had insisted that they check out this camp the teacher with the weird name of ‘Primpropper’ had recommended.

I want to make sure that we have tried all the programs that are available, his wife had said. Mrs. Primpropper is really opposed to sending Oliver to a military school and she is absolutely certain that this is the best one for Oliver.

That’s what all the other teachers said about all those other programs, he had countered.

I know. But it won’t hurt to take a look and if we don’t think that the Camp is good for him, we don’t have to send him there, his wife had argued. Mrs. Primpropper assured me that we can cancel the reservation at any time and then we can always send him to a military school. So what is the harm?

Reluctantly, Joop had agreed. But one thing was for sure, he was going to be as critical of this Camp and its program as he could be.

Joop, his wife said, interrupting his thoughts. What are you thinking about? She touched his arm. You are driving pretty fast and you are not paying attention to the road.

I know how to drive Dinie, Joop said even more annoyed now. I just think that this is a long way to go for another program that is not going to do any good anyway.

I think it is worth a try.

I don’t. None of the other schools has helped. Why do you think this one is any different?

The teacher seemed so sure.

So were the others.

I still want to check it out.

Joop gritted his teeth as the car lurched over a rut in the road. This is a waste of time and I’m sure it will be a waste of money as well, he grumbled as he wrestled the steering wheel back in position.

His wife sighed. We have been through all that Joop, she said a little disheartened, wishing her husband was as hopeful about the Camp as she was.

Well, I just wanted to say it again, Joop said in a clipped tone of voice, doing his best not to lose his temper. I am telling you that we are chasing rainbows and there is no pot of gold at the end of any of them.

Dinie closed her mouth and sat back in her chair. She knew from experience that to say anything more would just start an argument and if her husband got upset enough, he might just turn the car around and go back home.

She picked up a paper sack and pulled out a bag of chips and a can of coke. Oliver, she said as she turned toward the backseat. Would you like a snack?

Oliver shook his head. No, I’m not hungry, he mumbled. For the past hour, he had been staring out of the window. His parents had practically forced him to get into the car this morning. He had argued and cried, but his mother was determined and he finally had to give in. He pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to go to this stupid Camp and he wasn’t going to like it, no matter what they said or did.

At the end of the long winding dirt road, Oliver noticed a white sign. In small red letters it read:

The Waymore Camp

ARVIS Program

Founder: William Wysman Van Waymore

Oliver stuck his tongue out at the billboard. He had already made up his mind. If by chance his parents decided to enroll him, he was going to make sure that they expelled him in the first few days. He’d be back home before anyone knew what happened.

As soon as they passed the sign, the forest stopped abruptly and the dirt road curved gently through lush green meadows and over rolling hills of amber colored fields of grain.

Oliver knew they were getting close when he saw a tall green country-style barn with a small observation deck on top of the roof, a long rectangular red building covered with berry bushes and several wooden sheds scattered around the perimeter of a large oval-shaped wheat field.

Do you see that Joop? Oliver’s mother asked, pointing at several round, square and triangular lines breaking up the smooth even surface of the field’s golden blanket of grain.

Yes I do, her husband answered, glancing at the random cuts and slashes marring the delicate fabric of the wheat-stalks’ frilly seeded tips. What about it?

Oh, nothing. Dinie hesitated. I just wondered what those marks were.

Still annoyed, Joop shrugged his shoulders. I have no idea and I really don’t care. Now please let me drive Dinie.

Oliver’s mother gave up. Her husband was in a bad mood and nothing she said was going to make it better. Quietly, she put away the paper sack and settled back in her seat to watch a small herd of cows, a few llamas, some sheep, several horses and two white goats graze lazily in their individual fenced-in areas.

At the end of the road, surrounded by huge old-growth trees, Oliver saw an enormous three-story lodge surrounded by luxurious green grass. Wild flowers, fruit trees and berry bushes bordered the carefully manicured lawns and a white picket fence enclosed a large herb garden.

Mourning doves, hummingbirds and sparrows filled the air. Bunny rabbits scurried away from the car’s tires, large bushy-tailed grey squirrels darted across the limbs of tall pine trees and a herd of small brown deer foraged peacefully between thickets of Manzanita growing along the side of the road. Chickens, ducks and geese roamed freely through the grass, a flock of mountain quail, startled by the sound of the approaching car, took to the sky and a couple of colorful peacocks greeted them with loud welcoming calls.

Well, this certainly looks very nice, Gerritdina said pleased.

Yes, it does, Joop reluctantly agreed. And it also looks expensive.

It would be worth it if it helps Oliver.

Yes it would, but I don’t think it will.

Joop, we are here to try and help Oliver. Please give it a chance.

Oliver’s father mumbled something neither Gerritdina nor Oliver could understand, but it sounded bad enough not to ask him to repeat it.

The road led to a separate parking area away from the Camp’s main building and after parking the car, Oliver and his parents walked up to the massive front door. Go on Oliver, his father said. Pull on that cord.

Oliver looked up. A braided rope tied to the feet of a carved red and black painted woodpecker hung straight down the middle of the door. He tugged on it and the beak of the woodpecker made a loud hollow tapping sound on the door panel.

A few moments later, a tall man dressed in Native American clothes answered the woodpecker’s knock. He looked like he had just stepped out of a Western magazine. A long ponytail reached his waist, colorful fringes lined his beaded leather jacket and knee length moccasins covered his lower legs. Two coal black eyes sparkled above high cheekbones and a thin razor-sharp hooked nose slashed through the middle of his face like a vulture’s beak.

He held up his hand in an ancient Indian greeting. Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Starr. I have been expecting you. I am pleased to meet you. My name is Eagle Longsky. I received Lona Primpropper’s recommendation and I have been looking forward to meeting you. I am Camp Chokecherry’s director and coordinator. I take care of the Camp’s tours, arrange the enrollments and plan all the physical activities for the kids.

As he spoke, the tall Indian moved his hands in rapid sign language, drawing the meaning of his words in the air in front of him. Oliver had never seen anybody use sign language, but Eagle Longsky’s movements were so precise that Oliver felt he would have been able to tell what he was saying even if the Indian had not uttered a single syllable.

Longsky stepped away