Thanks to all reviewers, you keep me writing!
Kiana Ravens - I know, I think the entire first page on stories only about the girls; there were two or three other kinds of stories. Kind of sad in a way. I'm glad you liked it! Hehe, yeah, when I finished writing it I was so excited that I diddn't re-read it, and probably missed a few mistakes. Oooh, jog my memory, what does a beta writer do again? I'm sorry, I forgot.
Nosilla – Thanks! I'm glad you like it so far. Oh, that? Well, if I had wanted to tell you in that chapter, I would have just written it in, wouldn't I? ;) I like getting readers curious.
Ashlight – I'm glad you liked it! Yeah, since Jeryl is a spy, you'll probably hear a lot about the other tents, but I don't think D-Tent will be mentioned any more than the other tents until I get to a part in the story that will be crucial to the outcome, but I'm not going to give that away:) I know, I hate to do that too, but I'm trying to be realistic. I don't think the Warden would've considered D-Tent a threat at first. By the way, Jeryl's nickname is Tyrant, that was mentioned in a paragraph right before he introduces C-Tent.
FlaggerDagger – Thanks, glad you think so! I got really tired with seeing the whole first page of Holes fics being girl stories. I really liked the idea of a spy. (Yeah, I'm sure the Warden had secret cameras and microphones hidden all over a juvenile delinquent camp in the middle of the desert, I mean, I'm sure it would have just been impossible for Pendanski or Mr. Sir to just inform her of all the camper's nicknames)
kilver w0lf – Thanks! Hehe…didn't mean to offend anyone. Actually, I like where your story's going!
Well, here's chapter two. Hope you enjoy.
The pain in my back started to go away as I leaned on Tramp's shoulder. How his dark eyes could look so alert at 4 A.M., I'll never know.
"Jeryl," he whispered suddenly. "Get up. It's Wasp."
Tramp quickly freed himself of my arm. I gave a little groan, but stood up straight. Tentacle, Jolt, Sweatsock, Blubbler and Tramp did too; it took a few minutes for Earplug to remember. The last thing that any of us wanted was the cane.
Mr. Wasp is the C-Tent councilor, a short and fat drunk with a pug face and glasses way too small for his eyes. We like to call him Bumble, because of his last name he kind of reminds us of a fat bumble bee. But he's a dangerous guy, too, no matter how arrogant and stupid he is. He always carries around a hooked, wooden cane, that he likes to string our necks through when we get our of line. I know that Wasp wouldn't ever do that to me; my mom gave him orders not to touch me (due to my 'dangerous mental conditions and wealthy, powerful family'. Don't I have such a creative mother?).
Wasp came swaggering over, obviouly drunk. "Wae-ell, lookie wha' we 'ave 'ere," he grated, his fat jiggling a bit as he swayed from side to side. Even the sight of the idiot made me want to hurl.
"Ma favorite taent," Bumble said, slurring his words together. "Wa-ell, c-boys, time to dig! Lahn up, for yer shovels! C'mon!" He took out his cane and gave each of us a good hit on the back in order of how he wanted us to line up. Blubber gave him a glare and Jolt swore under his breath. And me, well I just wanted to knock his beer bottle over his head. Tramp just kept quiet.
Mr. Sir, head councilor of the whole camp, was standing next to a wooden shed, labled "library". His beady eyes focused on each of the campers in turn, but I noticed that when they landed on C-Tent, they looked especially alert. "I think you know the drill boys," he barked when we came to the front of the line. "What the hell are you standing around for?"
We all jumped a bit. I think I saw Sweatsock's eyes bulge out. Our tent just isn't a morning tent. All of us groaning, we passed through the line, each of us grabbing a shovel, starting with Tentacle.
When I grabbed mine, I could feel Mr. Sir's eyes blaring through me with anger. I know he doesn't trust me. The Warden, or my mom, told him to lay off of me too, using the same excuse that she did for Bumble. He probably doesn't believe her, and thinks that she just likes to give me some special treatment. Jealous asshole, he should have at least noticed our hair colors. I mean, it can't be too hard to figure out, can it? Do I look like an insane rich kid? Hell no! Why else would she give me special treatment unless she was related to me? Sometimes I'm not sure who I hate most; Wasp or Sir. Wasp is so stupid, and Mr. Sir is...well, the same, actually.
C-Tent started the walk to the holes, following Mr. Sir as he got in his truck. I ran up next to Tramp in front of me, whose eyes had been blankly staring at the sky ahead. I could tell he was thinking about something, he gets that look whenever his mind's occupied. I stared at him, trying to guess what he was thinking about, knowing better than to ask. As it turned out, I didn't have to.
"Why does he hate you so much?" he asked suddenly.
"Who?" I asked, a bit confused.
"Mr. Sir." He didn't turn to look at me, and I could see in his eyes the boy that was far too young to have toughened and seen as much as he had. Tramp doesn't miss a thing; he just understands me. I've always wondered where he came from, why he got sent to Camp Green Lake, and what he had seen in his life that gave his eyes that haunting look.
"Oh, him. Well, on the first day I came to camp, I kinda sassed him, if you know what I mean. I guess he's hated me ever since," I lied. I'm a good liar cause I can think really quick.
But Tramp wasn't fooled. He turned to me, my really light brown eyes meeting his black ones. "I know you better than that, Jeryl," he said, smiling. His frown's just so different from his smile; that one cornered smile that made me feel so lucky to have a friend. "You wouldn't sass anyone you don't know, especially not a guy who looks like Sir. You would've been to scared."
My freckles flared; I really have no idea how to blush. Tramp laughed. "God, Jeryl, you have no idea what kind of giveaway your freckles are."
I laughed with him, dragging my shovel behind me. Jolt turned back just to glare at us, but we both ignored him. I didn't want to let Jolt get in the way of one of my day's happy moments.
Tramp really does understand me. He's right; I wouldn't sass anyone I don't know and, sure as hell, I was dead scared of Mr. Sir when I first met him. The only people I can ever sass are my friends; like Tramp, and Dad, and Emily...
I felt an immediate pang of pain in my head. Oh, god damnit, Jeryl, why'd you go and think that? I thought, mentally kicking myself. There's nothing you can do about it, just get them out of your head...
I felt Tramp's eyes on me, and I was thankful when he didn't say anything. Dust from Mr. Sir's tires blew in my face as his truck came to a stop, indicating where he wanted us to dig.
"Well," Sweatsock sighed. "At least the sun's not out."
Earplug glanced back at him, blank confusion in his eyes. "Why don't you like the sun?" he questioned. "The sun helps the flowers grow."
"Not here, it don't," Blubber muttered under his breath. Fortunately for him (but to my displeasure), Earplug didn't hear him.
Jolt jammed his shovel into the ground. "Well," he said decisively. "Let's start diggin'."
By the time the sun came up, I already had about a forth of my hole done. I'm the fastest digger in the tent; with Earplug right behind me. I've always been proud of it; especially because I'm the smallest guy in the tent next to Sweatsock.
I glanced over at Tramp, whose digging was slow-going. I'm pretty sure he could be a lot faster if he wanted to, but I always see him stopping to think. He likes to take his time.
It was almost lunchtime, and I could feel my freckles multiplying in the beating sun. I don't get sunburned, or tanned; just freckled. I looked up from my hole and searched the horizon for the sight of Mr. Sir's truck, holding the lid of my orange cap. Oh, there his is, he looked like he was stopping at A-Tent's digging site. I realized, with relief, that I still had a few drops of water in my canteen left, just in case Mr. Sir decided that he didn't want me to have any more water. He had done that once, but I think my mom punished him, claiming that the 'campers couldn't dig without water, and might not keep their eyes open for it'.
An image of my mother waving a sharp nailed finger at Sir came floating into my mind, and I wondered again why I listened to her. Why did I agree to come out here in the blazing hot sun, digging a five foot hole every damn day? And how could I call her my mother; when in the two years I had lived with her, she barely showed that she even cared?
But I knew the answer to that question. I had always known it.
It was because she was all that I had left.
The thoughts about my mother kept my mind occupied while Mr. Sir's truck came up to C-Tent's dig site. But it was Mr. Wasp who stepped out the door, and to my relief, he looked reasonably sober. I hurriedly jumped out of my hole and ran for the first place in line that I could get.
"He doesn't look too bad today, does he?" I asked Tramp in front of me, referring to Wasp's soberness in a whisper.
Tramp shook his head. "No," he replied quietly. "I guess he got a nap."
Blubber, who had been eavesdropping on our conversation behind me, snorted. "Huh, I wouldn't be surprised if Bumble don't do nothin' but lie around and drink all day, he's got the body to prove it."
I couldn't help but laugh at the joke, but I felt Tramp tense and keep quiet. He can get a bit touchy on these subjects, I don't know why. But then again, I get touchy on the subjects about my mom, and even I have no idea why. She deserves every word the campers say about her.
"But yeah," Blubber continued in a whisper as the line moved up. "Wasp does look better. Ya think he'll go easy on us today?"
"Doubt it," I whispered back; the line was now up to Tramp and I didn't need Bumble listening in on this convo.
I got a closer look at Wasp, and he looked pretty normal. Usually when he's sober he's still arrogant, stupid, and commanding, but he keeps his voice level to a minimum, and his southern drawl is much more tolerable. I never got the Texan accent myself; living in Montana as long as I had.
The line eventually came to me and Wasp reached for my canteen. As I handed it to him, he surprised me by not filling it. Instead, he just smirked at me, enjoying watching me pant for water.
"Ya know, Tyran', I coun't never see why these kids called you Tyran'." I was Sahara desert thirsty, but all he did was hold my canteen in his hand, a smirk on his face. Leaving me a bit dumbstruck, he continued. "It ain' like yer the most bossy kid in the camp."
I felt my throat becoming dryer by the second as he delayed filling my canteen even longer. I heard Blubber and Sweatsock groan behind me, and felt Tramp's eyes watching the scene intently, but all I could do was stare at Bumble, who was still talking.
"But then again, mayhap they call ya Tyrant 'cause yer the king of crime." he said, his smirk now filled with triumph.
For a second I forgot my thirst as the meaning of these words hit me. The king of crime? Moi? Damn, what kind of excuse did my mom make up this time?
Before I could think about the question any further, Wasp grabbed my shoulder with a pudgy hand and barked at me. "Come on boy, the Warden wants ta have a word wit ya." He dragged me by the shoulder into his truck, slamming me head-first into the passenger's seat. "Let's go!"
I sat up disgustedly as Wasp put a foot on the gas pedal, and I saw all of C-Tent staring at me in shock through the window. Tramp, however, didn't look surprised at all.