Verwandte Artikel zu Camp Mah Tovu #4 (American Horse Tales, Band 4)

Camp Mah Tovu #4 (American Horse Tales, Band 4) - Softcover

Buch 4 von 6: American Horse Tales

Mermelstein, Yael

 
9780593225332: Camp Mah Tovu #4 (American Horse Tales, Band 4)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0593225333 ISBN 13: 9780593225332
Verlag: Penguin Young Readers Group, 2021

Inhaltsangabe

At Jewish summer camp, Lila struggles to make friends until she meets a mysterious horse in the nearby woods who helps her develop confidence in this fourth story in the American Horse Tales series.

Lila is a young girl attending Jewish summer camp. She doesn't initially connect with the other campers and finds herself alone in the forest, where she encounters Lonny, a beautiful brown horse with white spots on his face. In Lonny, Lila finds a friend who will listen to her problems as she develops the confidence she needs to befriend the other campers. Camp Mah Tovu is part of a series of books written by several authors highlighting the unique relationships between young girls and their horses.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Yael Mermelstein has written several middle grade novels and pictures books about Jewish culture, heritage and history. Her writing has been celebrated in Jewish Woman, Hadassah Magazine, Publishers Weekly and the Jewish Journal. Born in Brussels, she nows lives in Jerusalem with her husband and seven children.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1: Welcome to Camp

 
Some kids said Camp Mah Tovu was haunted by the ghosts of wild horses that used to live there. But I wasn’t afraid of horses, supernatural or otherwise. Actually, riding a ghost horse sounded fun.
 
“Ouch,” I said as I smacked myself in the face with my sleeping bag, which I’d unrolled in the wrong direction. I tend to do things backward.
 
“I heard there are real wild horses here, but they only come out at night,” said my new bunkmate, Becky, plopping her sleeping bag on the bed in the corner, the one I’d wanted to claim. I knew her name because our counselor, Shimona, was making us wear dumb clown name tags.
 
“I heard the horses have horse bodies and lion heads,” said Esmé, a girl as tall as a tree and as thin as a sheet of paper made from that tree. She was dressed in brand names from head to toe, the kind of outfit Mom and Dad would have said “cost an arm and a leg,” an expression I always found gross.
 
Esmé looked at a girl named Sarah like she wanted to get her opinion. According to the bunk list I’d gotten a month ago, they were the only two North Carolina locals attending Mah Tovu. Everyone else came from the New York tri-­state area. Sarah looked away, stuffing her pillow into a pillowcase decorated with purple unicorns.
 
“Yeah,” she finally said.
 
Esmé turned her attention to me. “What do you think, uh . . . Lila?”
 
“Lion heads would be too heavy for horse bodies to hold up,” I said as I claimed the last and worst bed, right in the middle of the bunk. If I snored or drooled, everyone would see. “They’d be bobblehead horses!” The thought made me laugh. And I snort when I laugh. Just add that to the snoring and drooling. Lila Grossberg: Queen of gross bodily things!
 
My mouth raced ahead of my brain.
 
“I’m an expert horse rider,” I said. “By the way.”
 
That was a fat, wriggling lie. By the way.
 
“You mean equestrian?” Esmé said, looking skeptical.
 
“Yup,” I said. “That. So, here’s hoping we find real live horses. With regular-­size heads.”
 
Esmé and Sarah exchanged glances. I tried covering my name tag with my right hand so maybe they’d soon forget who I was. But I was only covering the last two letters in my name, so you could still see the Li—­reminding me of what I was, a liar.
 
I stuffed my canteen money under my bed, between my lucky stuffed toucan and my lucky water bottle. Mom had told me not to pack the “kitchen sink,” but I figured I could use every bit of luck this summer.
 
“Girls, how’s the unpacking going?” Shimona said, entering the room with a bright smile.
 
“They’re talking about the horses,” a girl named Jilly said. She had straight brown hair scooped into a ponytail reaching past her waist.
 
Shimona shook her head, sending her blond curls bobbing.
 
“There’s no such thing as a camp without a legend,” she said. “I spent the last five years at Camp Shalom, and they were convinced that there was a real bigfoot lumbering around. Some of the counselors got us good when they made huge footprints in the mud after a rainstorm, using an old tire. Trust me, the biggest feet in that camp belonged to Jakey Strauss, and he only wore a size-­thirteen shoe.”
 
“So, uh, you don’t think we need to worry about them?” Jilly asked, gnawing on her pinkie.
 
“Not the ittiest bit,” Shimona said. “Now finish unpacking, because we’re having our first girls’ campus kibbutz in an hour.”
 
My heart did a backward flip. Kibbutz was no big deal—­just a gathering where the head counselors tried to get us into the camp spirit. But it reminded me of last summer at Camp Reyut. Not that anything bad had happened specifically on that day. But it had been the beginning of a bad summer. Mom said bad days were like peanuts—­they didn’t taste especially good, but they were small, and before you knew it, they were finished. But Camp Reyut had been like eating a bag of peanut shells. That’s why I’d traveled all the way from New Jersey to North Carolina this year. The farther away from Camp Reyut, the better. This summer would be better. I’d only been nine years old last summer. I was much more mature now.
 
“What time is the kibbutz?” I asked as I chewed on a Shugabird, my favorite treat. They were sugar-­covered jelly birds, and my mother had sent me with a monthlong stash. It would probably last me three days.
 
“No worries, I’ll get you guys,” Shimona said.
 
“But, uh, what if you get distracted and forget to call us?” I asked.
 
“Chill like a cucumber,” said Esmé.
 
When I get nervous, I do the opposite of that.
 
“Why cucumber?” I asked. “Why not carrot? Or cabbage. Chill like a cabbage.”
 
Shimona’s smile faded.
 
“Or what about fruit, huh?” I asked. “They also live in the refrigerator. Chill like a peach. Or a container of milk, for that matter. But not curdled milk. Ew.”
 
Esmé jabbed Sarah’s shoulder with her own. “And she thought lion-­headed horses were weird,” she whispered, loud enough that I could hear.
 
I needed to stop talking, but my brain is like a can of soda, and when it gets shaken up, words fizz over without stopping. Before school each morning, I take one tiny pill that keeps my brain from somersaulting all day. But it also makes me feel like a zombie propped on a hanger. This summer, Dr. Donut (that’s really his name) decided I didn’t have to take my pills to sleepaway camp, and now my brain was doing fully trained cartwheels.
 
“Or chill like a polar bear,” I blurted.
 
“Good one,” Sarah said. “Because they live in Antarctica, where it’s freezing, right?”
 
I appreciated her sticking up for me.
 
I twisted my lips so no sound would come out but—­whoa! Out popped more.
 
“Polar bears don’t live in Antarctica,” I said. “They live in the Arctic, on the opposite side of the planet.”
 
Everyone was staring at me. Nobody looked friendly. Not even Shimona.
 
I bent down and tucked my hand under my bed, finding my lucky toucan.
 
“Some luck you’re bringing me,” I whispered as I squeezed her beak a little too hard.
 
Mom was right. I shouldn’t have bothered bringing along all this stuff. It wasn’t going to help. This summer was going to be a repeat of last summer—­another bag of shells for the trash.
 

Chapter 2: Lila Grossberg Is a Fake
 

Both of our bunkhouse mirrors had a line three girls deep as the loudspeaker blared pre-­Shabbat music.
 
“I love your skirt!” Becky said to Esmé as she spun, her green skirt rising and twirling.
 
“Thanks. My dad bought it for me.”
 
I love my dad as much as a beaver likes to munch on wood, but he’s an accountant who keeps track of numbers all day. I imagined if he’d walk into a...

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Verlag
Penguin Young Readers Group
Erscheinungsdatum
2021
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593225333
ISBN 13 
9780593225332
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
160
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Penguin Random House Verlagsgruppe GmbH
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