A/N: "Squeeb" is Gill's word for "squeamish dweeb". I didn't think he'd explain it to his own diary.

August 19

What am I gonna do??? I've been left!

All day I watched from out in the lake, as the others got picked up. Car after car pulled into the lot by the shore, kids hurled themselves into backseats as if their butts were on fire. The Squeeb was sobbing in his mommy's arms—I bet he'd really be upset if he had to spend the session as I did! My heart jumped with every car's entrance, and sank when somebody else's parents got out. I was getting more and more nervous, but I didn't want to come out in front of the campers. Immediately after the last happy family drove off, all the counselors piled into a van and sped out of here.

What the heck?! It's like everyone forgot I existed! Well, maybe the camp people did; even as a human, I wasn't the type to advertise my presence. It wouldn't be the first time my family had overlooked me, either; there was that road trip when…but anyway, you'd think somebody would wonder where I'd gone!! I was almost getting to like this place, but I sure don't want to stay here forever!

Well at least I still have feet, even if they're webbed, and I'll just walk home.

August 21

When I set off down the road yesterday, I didn't take long to start having trouble. The asphalt hurt my feet, and my legs felt weak, as though they were unused to supporting my weight after all this time in the water. But that was just the beginning. The heat was terrible. My mouth dried out; my gills burned. Thickening slime clogged my throat and still I walked on. Sunbeams piercing the treetops danced in my eyes; I could hardly see. Then I heard the sweet sound of a stream, off to the side. Desperately thirsty, I lurched off the road into the woods, stumbled, and blacked out before hitting the ground.

Rain woke me, soaking into my body like the warmth of a radiator after a winter day outside. If that glorious liquid hadn't decided to start falling right then, I'd probably be dead now. As it was, I was too weak to do anything but lie there, drinking it in. By the time I felt strong enough to stand, it had stopped.

I didn't know how far I'd gone, and couldn't risk trying to continue. All I could do was turn back, and hope for a long downpour to come soon. I went out to the road again, and walked back—dragged myself back, really. Luckily, night had come, so it wasn't too hot. I got to Camp Wannaweep still conscious, and dove immediately into the lake's filthy, blessed embrace.

So for now I'm stuck here, in water that made me unable to live without it. How did I ever like this lake?

August 23

The longer I lay in the lake, reviving, the more I realized how pointless it would be to go home. Even if I could survive for hours without water—as I clearly can't—life would be hell. I wouldn't be able to do homework without sliming it. The kids who teased me for being scrawny and weird wouldn't give me a moment's peace. And I've got no chance of ever getting a job, or a girlfriend, or anything else adults are supposed to have. Simply put, I can't function in the human world anymore.

The worst part is, I'm not the real freak here. That distinction goes to the twisted scientists who did this to me. I'd like to teach them to throw their messes in other people's water! Of course, it's not just their fault. Let's not forget the Ron the Squeeb, who gave me the fatal double dose of lake. If I could get my claws on him…

I was mad enough to spit. So I spat. And out came the biggest, grossest wad of gunk I have ever seen. ICK!! I'm never doing that again!

Here I'll stay, then. I wonder if I'll become a legend, like Nessie the Loch Ness Monster. Only I'll be the Loch Wannaweep Monster, Wanny. No wait. That sounds too much like Ronnie, and I don't want anything reminding me of the Squeeb. And Weepy just sounds sissy. I could be Gil with Gills. Or combine the two by adding an L to Gil. Yeah, that sounds right. I'm Gill.

A few weeks later

Goldenrod is blooming along the road.

Chattering flocks of starlings fill the trees.

When it rains, the surface of the lake is covered in endlessly moving patterns of tiny dimples and rings that are fun to watch from below.

I pay attention to things like this now; they help to keep me sane.

Being a boy-fish feels almost normal now: the big feet, the poison constantly dripping off of me. I can catch fish without thinking about it and eat without noticing the taste. But then I'll scratch an itch, forgetting about my claws, and the pain will remind me how little I belong in this body.

To distract myself, I've thoroughly explored the area. I identify plants and birds using field guides from the lodge. Some camper left behind a box of pencils and a sharpener, so I can keep writing in this diary. I've walked around the lake many times. There's a band camp and a clown camp on the far side, near the science camp. So many kids must have swum in the lake over time, and I was the only one to get stuck here. Lucky me. Not!

I practice spitting at targets. Yeah, I said I wouldn't do it again. But there are three reasons: I'm bored, it would be a good weapon if a bear attacked or something, and if I go without doing it for a while, I get to feeling sort of stuffed-up, like a nose that needs blowing. The amount of crud I can produce is amazing; I don't know (or want to know) where it all comes from. A secret pouch or something.

I talk to myself, just to hear a human voice. Yeah, that sounds crazy. But I'm sure I haven't been the only one to do it.

I sleep in the lake. It didn't kill me when I fainted there after my escape attempt, so I don't think it will. It seems to insulate me too. On cold nights, which come sometimes, I go sort of logy, like being stuck in slow motion, unless I'm underwater. Guess I'm cold-blooded. Oh well, it's better than shivering. Chattering fangs would probably hurt.

Right now I'm lying on a hillside above the lake. A squirrel darts around under a nearby oak tree, stopping between sharp little leaps to chew on an acorn. I envy that squirrel, so completely used to its home in nature and comfortable in its animal body.

Mid-fall

I think it's sometime around Halloween but I'm not sure; I've lost track of time. Not that it matters; my life is like Halloween, with bats, owls, cobwebs and dark, windy cold nights. Did I mention cold? Frost glitters on grass and leaves. Worse, there's a thin sheet of ice on the lake. What am I gonna do if it freezes solid? I need that lake, for food, for shelter, for life.

Sheesh, and I thought summer was bad.

Late fall

I'm going to hibernate. To try to, anyway. It's so cold I can hardly move. Snow covers the ground. The ice on the lake is thick; I broke a hole in it but the hole keeps closing. I can't go on like this.

I've been eating all the fish I can find, storing them up. Now I'm about to go in and try to zone out for the winter. It may kill me, but it's my only chance at survival.

Early spring

Finally, I'm out! All winter, I lay in the frigid muck at the bottom of the lake, almost asleep but not dreaming, as fish glided softly across me and wind howled far away. When the first rays of light fell on me through newly liquid water, I swam to the surface weak and stiff, but somehow, miraculously, alive.

It feels so good to run over solid ground and let the sun shine on my skin. This place doesn't look so bad when all I've seen for months is mud and murk. The noise of birds sounds like music, and the blue sky—wow.

I don't want to go through that again. When the camp people return here, I'm going back with them somehow.

Early summer

Camp has not started

Mid-summer

Camp still has not started.

Late summer

Leaves are starting to turn color. I think camp is officially off for the year. Maybe forever. No one is coming to get me.

I'm tempted to jump out of a tree and end it all. Or make a collect call to a freak show and beg them to take me in. Anything to avoid another winter. But it's been such a nice summer of swimming around in the lake, eating berries and sleeping surrounded by fireflies and chirping crickets. I don't want to risk never seeing the sun and moon again, or spend my days getting gawked at by humans. So when it gets cold again, I'll take my chance and hope I live to see another summer.

Several years later

I looked at my reflection in the lake this morning, for the first time in ages. I think I've grown taller, though it's hard to tell. I'm definitely much thinner, with hollow cheeks and very visible ribs. My hair falls to my knees, a heavy black mass that helps keep my gills moist out of the water. My eyes are so bloodshot from being open underwater that they look solid red. I still have fangs, claws, gills, webs and slimy green skin. And underneath it all, a human body.

This is me. And this is what I could turn anyone else into by spitting on them. I discovered that last fall, when I shot down a wild turkey, which careened off into the woods. When I found the bird, its feet were growing webs before my eyes. (It still tasted good, though.) When I think about humans out there going through their comfortable, normal lives, I wish I could do that to some of them. Show them what it's like to be a monster. Share the pain.

There's another reason: I'm lonely. I never though I'd say that; never much liked being around people. But now, imagining people with parents and friends and even siblings to share their lives, I actually cry sometimes.

That world is lost. I'm a wild creature now, like it or not. It's not really so bad. This place is peaceful, anyway, and beautiful in ways I never noticed as a normal kid. No camper ever knew it as well as me. I've seen all of its moods: dew and hail, wind and sun, frost and flowers, thunderstorms and red-gold sunsets. The woods, the animals, they're mine. I'm part of the lake and it is part of me.