and went to bed— if you could call his smelly and scratchy cot a bed.
Because of the scarcity of water, each camper was only allowed a four-minute shower.
It took Stanley nearly that long to get used to the cold water. There was no knob for hot water.
He kept stepping into, then jumping back from, the spray, until the water shut off automatically.
He never managed to use his bar of soap, which was just as well, because he wouldn’t have had time to rinse off the suds.
Dinner was some kind of stewed meat and vegetables. The meat was brown and the vegetables had once been green.
Everything tasted pretty much the same. He ate it all, and used his slice of white bread to mop up the juice.
Stanley had never been one to leave food on his plate, no matter how it tasted.
“What’d you do?” one of the campers asked him. At first Stanley didn’t know what he meant.
“They sent you here for a reason.” “Oh,” he realized. “I stole a pair of sneakers.”
The other boys thought that was funny. Stanley wasn’t sure why. Maybe because their crimes were a lot worse than stealing shoes.
“From a store, or-were they on someone’s feet?” asked Squid. “Uh, neither,” Stanley answered. “They belonged to Clyde Livingston.”
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