Somewhere in all of that, there’s an ending to this crazy story. There’s some middle in there too. And yeah, okay, some of it didn’t exactly happen like that. What can I say? I like to keep things interesting.

But don’t worry. I’ll always steer you straight… eventually.

The point is, my summer at Camp Wannamorra basically went the same way a lot of my life goes. There were some ups, some downs, some good luck, and a whole lot of bad luck before it all came crashing down around me in a giant ball of flame. (Not a real one—that was my last book.)

But that’s as much as I’m going to tell you for now. If you want all the gory details, you’re just going to have to read this whole thing.

Because, as the Booger-Eater always said, getting there is half the fun.

WeLCOMe TO CAMP WANNAMORRA

You know those regular camps, where kids spend the summer running around in the fresh air, and roasting marshmallows, and swimming in the lake all day? Maybe you’ve even been to one of those places.

Well, hold that thought. Here’s another question:

Have you ever read the book holes? If you haven’t, you should, because it’s an awesome book. But there was a camp in that story too—Camp Green Lake, which was actually a prison for kids.

Let’s say that the place I went, Camp Wannamorra, was somewhere right in the middle of all that. Half camp and half prison. And by prison, I mean school.

That’s right. Me. Summer school. Again.

If you read my last two books, then you know that school isn’t exactly my best subject. In fact, I’ve already done time at Hills Village Middle School, Cathedral School of the Arts, and Airbrook Arts. (I’m kind of, sort of, an artist, but more about that later.) Crazy, right? Let’s just say I move around a lot.

The bottom line: If I wanted to keep going to Airbrook, I was going to have to “do some work” over the summer. And we all know what that means.

So when Mom told me and my sister, Georgia, that she’d found the “perfect” camp for us, I was suspicious right away.

Every morning from eight to twelve at Camp Wannamorra, we would be in classes. I was going to take the kind for kids who needed a little extra help. And brainiac Georgia, who couldn’t even wait to start middle school in the fall, was going to take the “Challenge Program,” for kids who had nothing better to do during school vacation than get smarter than they already were.

The more Mom talked about it, the more excited Georgia became, which made me even more suspicious. She kept calling it “summer camp,” but I was pretty sure it was going to look something like this:

Well, guess what? It turned out I was half-right about Camp Wannamorra. Some of it was exactly as terrible as I’d expected it to be.