Who Are You Calling Little Shrimpy?

By Susan Troutt

Get ready for some wacky fun with Jake, the shortest kid at Camp Wildwood. Stretching like a human rubber band or dangling from trees might make him taller, but if his arms stretch, hell look like a chimpanzee. In the meantime, a kid twice his size nicknames him Little Shrimpy. Thats not a name; thats a shellfish. But the name sticks.

Jake gets in the camp spirit by soaping cook pots inside and out, making paper fire houses to start campfires, and whomping crickets with cricket bats. But theres no escaping those campfire ghost stories and the on-the-loose camp ghost. Floorboards creak, beds bump, the big kid goes missing, and Jake, in all his innocence, becomes the prime suspect.

You wont believe how things turn out in the very uproarious Who Are You Calling Little Shrimpy?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524627034

Susan Troutt

As a child, Susan Troutt was blessed with good teachers who introduced her to writing. She wrote and, in return, they displayed her stories in the hallway, entered her essays in contests, praised her pieces, and encouraged her to continue writing. When she grew up, she became a teacher, guiding fourth graders to love the written word and helping them to find their own true joy in writing. Now retired form teaching, Susan Troutt lives in Northern Kentucky with her husband James. She loves reading, Jazzercising, hiking, cooking, quilting, and visiting schools to talk about writing.

Book preview

Who Are You Calling Little Shrimpy?

Susan Troutt

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2016 Susan Troutt. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/30/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-2704-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-2703-4 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

I'm Not a Shellfish

Ninety-eight, Ninety-nine, One-hundred

Grubs

The Crow Caws

Little Old Granny

Jake's Story

The Faaaarman

Fairy Godmother

Water, Water Everywhere

Cricket Bats

One Dose

Headless John

A Spiritual Visit

Missing The Farman

Swimming Lessons

Up in Smoke

Campfire Dinner Surprise

Pitted Olives and Sticks

The Perfect Friend

Pink Hot Dogs or Yellow Bananas

Rock-a My Leg

Still Stretching

Cat in the Woods

The Ghost Returns

Lost and Found

Okay, Okay, Okay

Old MacMoo

Life Jacket Shuffle

The Rafting Trip

The Talent Show

Rodeo Surprise

The Great Shrimpdeenie

Goodbye

I'm Not a Shellfish

Jake Carter had three problems. The first was his hair. It grew straight up. Even when he tried to smooth it down, it stuck up. He’d gotten so used to it that he guessed straight-up hair was okay. It made him look taller, and he needed all the tall he could get.

That was his second problem. He was always the shortest kid around. Sometimes girls treated him as if he were a baby. They bossed him around and acted as if being short meant he didn’t know anything. Jake had always been short and had always had straight-up hair. Standing next to babies made him look taller, and wearing a hat hid his straight-up hair.

But the third thing—his wandering mind—needed attention. Someone would be saying something, and all of a sudden, his mind would sail away like a helium balloon in the wind. Off it would go, wandering the world, thinking about new ideas.

Jake’s wandering mind took over when his parents loaded him into the car with his things for camp.

Mom, Dad, what will camp be like? Where will I sleep? What will I eat? What if I have to find my own food? What if all I can find is worms? What if I don’t like worms?

Everything will be fine, Jake, said his father. You won’t have to eat worms.

You’re going to have a great time, assured his mother.

Before he knew it, they were at Camp Wildwood. Jake looked up at the huge pine trees and blue sky and felt smaller than ever. All of a sudden, his wandering mind had an idea. Camp, with its fresh air, was a good place to grow taller. Surely if he filled his lungs with fresh camp air, he’d inflate into a taller version of himself.

He waved goodbye to Mom and Dad and ran off to join the other ten-year-olds.

His camp counselor, a college-aged boy with close cropped hair, a white-toothed smile, and a great tan, said, I’m Tanner. Jake noticed that Tanner was indeed tanner than everyone there. Tanner pointed to a circle of four benches. Leave your gear here, and go over to those benches.

As Jake walked to the benches, an idea popped into his head. If he stretched his toes, it might make him taller. He sat down, ripped off his blue-laced sneakers, and began pulling.

What are you doing? asked a red-headed kid with freckles.

Making my toes grow.

Why?

To make myself taller.

But if you stretch your toes, you’ll just have longer toes.

If my toes are longer and I walk on tip toes, I’ll be taller.

The red-headed kid shook his head. You can’t walk like that all day.

Jake just kept pulling his toes.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over him. He looked up—he looked way up. A kid twice Jake’s size stood over him. He had shaggy hair and wore orange shorts and bright blue sneakers. The kid stared down at Jake and held his nose. Pew-eee. Your feet stink.

Was the kid talking to him?

Put your shoes on, growled the big kid.

Jake didn’t want to offend anyone. He grabbed his sneakers and shoved them on his feet. The older unit’s over that way. He pointed off in the distance. This camp unit is for ten-year-olds.

"I am ten years old!" huffed the big kid.

You’re older than that.

The big kid laughed real hard. Me? Older? Waving his arms to get the other campers’ attention, he called, Hey, everybody! This little shrimp thinks I’m older than you guys!

Jake looked up at the big kid. You’re not older?

Naw! I’m ten just like you. Now move over, and let me sit down, Little Shrimpy.

Who are you calling Little Shrimpy? Jake asked in a small voice. He looked around and noticed he was the smallest kid there. Oh. It must be me. He stood up.

The big kid settled in his place.

"Now where am I supposed to sit?" moaned Jake.

The big kid made room for him. He patted the spot with his big hand. Sit here, Little Shrimpy.

Jake sat down—right on the big kid’s hand.

The big kid screamed. Ow! Ow! Owww!

Jake jumped up.

The big kid dangled his hand in Jake’s face. You broke my hand! Look! My hand is broken! The big kid’s hand just swung there.

Oh, no! said Jake. We should have one of the camp counselors look at it!

The big kid looked around. He lowered his voice to be sure no one else heard. That won’t be necessary. Hand’s broken, but I’m a fast healer. It’ll be well in no time.

Okay, said Jake skeptically.

Just kidding, announced the big kid. It’s already healed. Ha! I was pulling your leg.

Pulling my leg? asked Jake. He looked down to see if one of his legs had been pulled longer than the other.

The campers romped here and there, noisy and restless to get started. When Tanner stood in front of the group, they settled down. Welcome to Camp Wildwood. Our unit is called the Pines. Tanner nodded to the person beside him. This is Matt, your other camp counselor, and for those of you who don’t know, I’m Tanner, said Tanner, smiling a white-toothed smile.

Jake chuckled to himself. He keeps talking about how tan he is.

The big kid looked down at Jake. Geez, Little Shrimpy! Tanner is his name, not his skin tone.

Jake wanted to tell the big kid that his name wasn’t Little Shrimpy, but his mind wandered away. It was hilarious that Tanner’s name and his skin tone were the same. It was like a woman named Miss Short being short or a man named Mr. Cross being angry.

Matt interrupted Jake’s thinking. Let’s go around the circle and introduce ourselves. If you have a nickname you’d like to be called, let us know.

The big kid said, My name is The Farman. He said it like it had sparkles around it. And this is my little buddy, Little Shrimpy.

The red-headed kid said, Your name is The Farman?

Jake said, No, wait. My name is J—

The big kid threw his large, flabby arm around Jake’s bony little shoulder, almost pushing Jake through the bench itself. Naw. Your name’s Little Shrimpy.

Jake tried to squirm free.

Say hello to The Farman and Little Shrimpy, prompted Matt.

Hello, Farman. Hello, Little Shrimpy, mumbled the campers.

The boys went around the circle giving their names. The red-headed