My Life in Smiley (Book 3 in Smiley series) Read online

  Many thanks to Clémentine Sanchez for her invaluable help, Alexandra Bentz for her trust, Samantha Thiery for her support and management, as well as the entire Smiley team.

  For Elisa and Hortense.

  For Lola, who always had a smile on her face.

  The heat here is unbearable. My pen is trembling. I’m writing in the dark, with only the faint glow of a flashlight to guide me. All I’ve got in my backpack are a crushed chocolate bar, salt and vinegar chip crumbs, and two pieces of Atomic candy for my ENTIRE “sentence.” I’m not alone, but—at the time I’m sending out this distress call—I don’t even know if my fellow prisoners are still human. At night, they seem to transform into strange creatures, because I hear horrible snoring and growling all around me. But I can hardly bring myself to describe the worst thing of all. . . . It . . . smells like moldy socks! I can barely breathe—I’m suffocating! To whoever is now reading these desperately scrawled lines: come rescue me! Don’t let me rot here. If I get out of this nightmare alive, I promise to be your eternal servant. Whatever you do, do it fast. I don’t know how long I can hang on!

  at SUMMER CAMP for TWO LOOOONG WEEKS! You heard me! I swear it’s not a joke! I’m sure you’re already wondering how such a thing could happen to me, Maxime Cropin the Great! Well honestly, I’m asking myself the same thing. . . . I guess I’d have to go back to the end of the school year, which was probably the best year of my entire life. Everything was going perfectly, thanks to my innate genius (obviously)—but also thanks to my best friends Tom and Nico, the success of our fundraiser for Welcoming Wheelchairs, and my kiss with ♡Naïs, who’s the prettiest girl in our grade and ended up being CRAZY ABOUT ME. Remember all that from my diary last year?

  Yeah, it’s hardly been more than a week . . . but I have the feeling my best days are already behind me. I was planning to stay on cloud nine for the rest of my life, but things went right down the tubes when my parents decided, on a whim, to send me to . . .

  I almost gagged when I heard the news. Me? At camp? Honestly, do I look like I’m cut out for summer camp?

  Life just isn’t fair, especially after all the work I put into seventh grade (like the Reading Passion club, remember?). I was expecting to just “chillax” with Tom and Nico all July, before joining Naïs in Brittany . . . at Grandpa Joff and Grandma Ragny’s house. This is the biggest disappointment in my nearly thirteen years of existence!

  I should have suspected something fishy was going on. Now I remember hearing my parents whisper, when I was too busy with the It’s All Good stuff, about supposedly giving me more “autonomy,” “responsibility,” “sociability,” “y,” . . . “y,” . . . more “y,” . . . and who knows what other fantasY my parents came up with.

  I think I’m developing a phobia for words that end in “y,” because they NEVER mean anything good. My mom told me again and again that it was an “incredible” opportunity, and you know why? It was all because the Champ Camp brochure said it was a

  I should explain that, for years and years, I’ve listened to my dad’s stories about being in the military. And believe me, all of his anecdotes about impeccably made beds, waking up at five in the morning, peeling potatoes, scrubbing toilets, shaving heads—you know, stuff meant to “toughen you up”—didn’t do a thing to make me want to go to camp. Adults should think more carefully before they speak. Anyway, I tried absolutely everything to talk them out of it.

  But there was no way out of this mess, and before I knew it, it was time for me to leave.

  I don’t know if I’m going to survive. I’ll need to summon SUPERHUMAN courage and patience OF STEEL.

  So that’s how I found myself on a bus this morning, nose pressed up against the window, watching my parents smile and wave at me as they shrunk—a spot, a black smudge, a single point, then nothing. It was clear that I was, beyond any doubt, in deep trouble.

  Then the horrible feeling of being an astronaut floating in empty space came back, times three thousand. Future human, I bet that light years from here, in the distant future, you guys don’t have summer camps anymore. Teenagers are taken care of by super babysitter robots, or better, they have little spacecraft to carry them from one planet to the next whenever they get bored. Boredom probably doesn’t even EXIST in your time. But you can see that during mine, things are far from being that simple.

  I had a lump in my throat, and it took all I had to hold back my tears and keep from looking like a sissy.

  So here I am completely and utterly stuck. BUT I’ve made up my mind to do NOTHING whatsoever to mingle with this group of caged hamsters or to participate in camp “activities.” Maybe you think I’m being tough? Cruel, even? Well I’m only exaggerating my misery a tiny bit!

  By the way, once I finally got on the bus, I went into stealth mode. In other words, I used the hoodie tactic. Heard of it?

  You pull the hood of your sweatshirt or jacket down over your nose, pretend to sleep, and avoid talking to anyone.

  Even better: put your headphones on (even if you’re not listening to anything). And the most drastic method: let your hair grow long enough to cover your eyes. Your pick!

  My tactic proved effective for the first three minutes . . . until the seat next to me lurched as if a mammoth had just sat down in it. Then I heard a voice with a strange accent say: “Hey-a! My-a name ees Aldo, but my-a friends call me the prankmaster!”

  From the very first second, I didn’t like this “Aldo” kid one bit. He seemed just as dumb as Raoul Kador, if you know what I mean.

  For the first part of the trip, he claimed to be the only person IN THE WORLD to have “glow-in-the-dark boogers.” Then he started sticking them all over the seat in front of him.

  But at one point, we went through a really dark tunnel and I saw that his boogers weren’t glowing at all. So when the bus made a pit stop, I changed places and sat down next to Valentin, a really skinny pale dude. During the ride, the counselors introduced themselves: their names are

  That’s how I learned there were twenty-five of us “kiddos” in this same predicament, heading toward Montlardons. Mom must’ve already told me a dozen times, but I was so shocked by the “leaving immediately” part that I guess I didn’t pay attention. At first glance, there seemed to be more boys than girls on the bus—which made me even LESS excited.

  Gerald, the camp director, was also on board. To be honest, he didn’t exactly seem easy-going. After counting and recounting us about twenty times, he reminded us that we weren’t allowed to have phones, video games, or anything else that resembled twenty-first century technology.

  And he said if he caught anyone with them, there would be “serious consequences.” TWO WEEKS without screens to look at or buttons to click. . . . This is going to be terrrrrible!

  But you know what? The one bit of good news is that the packing list for camp said we were allowed to bring an “observation notebook.”

  That’s absolutely perfect, because I know a thing or two about notebooks! But I know what you’re thinking: what if someone stumbles upon the masterpiece that you alone, dear future human, hold in your hands???

  That’s why, before leaving, I dipped into my savings and spent some of the money Grandma had given me for Christmas to buy a . . . secret pillow! I bet you’re wondering what that is. It’s a pillow—but not really a pillow. It actually has a hidden zipper that you can open to stash things inside. You remember Lisa, my little sister? She’s the one who gave me the idea. She’s had one for a year: a Smiley face
pillow, her favorite! By the way, it looks a little like the fluffy heart pillow that I gave ♡Naïs at her party last year. . . .

  Anyway, mine is even cooler. I hid my journal inside, locked it, and poof—out of sight, out of mind.

  The bus ride felt endless, and we arrived just before dinner. Before we could even catch our breath, Gerald called everyone into the activity room to remind us AGAIN about inside rules . . . and even outside rules.

  Then he made an announcement that totally freaked me out.

  There’s no way they’re going to brand me like a cow or give me some Champ Camp tattoo for the rest of my life!

  Actually I think I panicked a little too soon, because they just passed out camp “swag.”

  Then he gave us our bunk assignments and showed us around the property. He asked us to unpack our stuff and then regroup in the “mess hall.” We had exactly twelve minutes to put away our “gear,” as my dad would say.

  We went to our cabins, and as soon as we took off our socks, the room instantly smelled like moldy cheese!

  But THE WORST thing was that when I opened my bag, I realized all my clothes were covered in GLITTER. My mom had come up with the brilliant idea to wash Lisa’s princess costume with MY camp stuff, and all of the glitter had stuck to my clothes!

  Just one more thing that’s going to keep me from being incognito here . . . I guess the camp swag came along at just the right time.

  Then we heard a jarring whistle blow, practically loud enough to burst your eardrums. It was Anthony, the group leader for the boys, calling us to dinner.

  The smell in the dining hall wasn’t much better than the cabin. I still can’t decide whether it was spoiled fish or more of a fermented kidney. And for that matter, do I really have to describe the thing that ended up on my plate? Actually, I can’t do it. Thankfully, I remembered I had a couple of chocolate bars in my backpack . . . at least, that’s what I thought until I checked.

  I ended up at a table with Dylan, a super strong and athletic guy who seemed happy to be there. There was a kid named Samuel too. He’s the oldest—seventeen—and you’re not going to believe it. . . . He’s been coming here for ten years! A serious feat, if you ask me.

  All of the girls had gathered together except one, Salomé, who joined our table. I was terrified Aldo was going to sit down next to us, but luckily he took a spot somewhere else. Later, I saw him empty his plate into his table’s water pitcher. So that meant no one sitting with him could drink a single drop. As for me, I didn’t open my mouth during the entire meal.

  Afterward it was time for “newbie night,” something else I frankly could’ve done without. They packed all of us strangers into a small room like sardines. We made a circle, and Caroline and Anthony sat down in the middle. Anthony was holding some kind of stick. At first I was scared to death—I thought we’d done something wrong and were about to get punished.

  For a second, I was wondering if my parents might’ve made some mistake and signed me up for a boot camp for juvenile delinquents. But I calmed down a bit when he explained it was the “talking stick.” The idea was to simply introduce yourself and then pass the stick to your neighbor.

  There you have it, something that could prove pretty useful at home when Marion hogs all of the attention at dinner. She’s so annoyyyying! I can’t believe neither of my sisters had to go to camp!

  And to think people are always going on and on about gender equality! That’s nothing but mumbo jumbo.

  LIFE ISN’T FAIR!

  Anyway, Anthony spun the talking stick around on the floor, and it stopped on me! I was forced to introduce myself, breaking my promise not to participate in any camp activities. I should also say that my mouth was totally sore from gritting my teeth for so long. But apparently everyone here is deaf . . . or else I wasn’t trying very hard to be heard.

  Next it was everyone else’s turn. Jules, the cranky kid, wouldn’t stop scratching his shoulder blade. Coline, the chatty girl, took at least ten minutes more than everyone else. Valentin explained that he’s afraid of spiders. Romain, the foodie, was nibbling on a piece of bread as he spoke, so we didn’t understand a thing. I noticed that Clara was looking at me. Clara, she’s pretty—but not as pretty as Naïs.

  Finally, Aldo introduced himself: he’s a fifteen-year-old Italian kid. He couldn’t stop himself from adding that he was born with a distinctive characteristic: “an-a eextra bicep,” the “aldocep,” and that’s why he was stronger than everyone else. Show-off!

  At 9:30 it was time for curfew. Phew! I was happy to go back to my cabin and have some breathing room, well . . . so to speak. All I can do now is count the days.

  Last night was horrible: I couldn’t get a wink of sleep! When I’m not at MY HOUSE in MY BED, I have a hard time adapting. You know what I mean, dear future human? And ever since I found that furry blanket in the basement last Christmas, it’s even worse. I’ve become totally addicted to that thing. WITHOUT IT? I can’t sleep anymore.

  It’s also partly because of Yanis. He’s in the bunk above me, and the whole night he kept tossing and turning every which way, mumbling in his sleep. The metal bedframe was so squeaky!!

  Ah! I forgot to tell you about my roommates. So there’s Mehdi, Maxence, and Yanis. We haven’t had the chance to talk much yet.

  There are four of us in a five-person room. In other words, we’re enjoying a little luxury: an extra empty bed.

  First, I was thinking it’s pretty chill to just have four people.

  Second, Aldo is in the cabin’s OTHER room, and I’m not going to complain!

  On the other hand, I just learned something that didn’t exactly cheer me up: more hamsters like us are thrown into this cage every week! Some go, others come. I realized that in a week, I’ll have to “make friends” with twice as many kids. And that doesn’t sound like good news to me. Anyway, I’m trying not to think too much about it for the moment.

  Thankfully, Anthony explained that there’s not a set time for everyone to wake up, since Champ Camp lets everyone “sleep at their own pace.”

  Result: I woke up at ten o’clock, and when I got to the dining hall everything was already cleared away! Since lunch yesterday, my stomach’s been PRACTICALLY EMPTY except for a few pieces of chocolate and some salt and vinegar chip crumbs at the bottom of my backpack.

  The kitchen was empty. I had absolutely NO idea where the leaders and the other campers were. Yes, counselors are sometimes called “leaders,” in case you were wondering, future cyber-noob.

  That floating astronaut fear almost came back, but in the end I just went back to my cabin for a little nap. Before hitting the hay, I took advantage of being alone to shake out my glitter-covered clothes over the empty bed. Then as I was falling asleep, after about five minutes, I heard a weird noise in the hallway. So I went out to take a look, but there was nothing. I thought I’d had an auditory hallucination like at Conrad’s house, when his sister was talking on her cell phone. I went back to my room, and the sound started again! So I went back out and heard it coming from the bathroom. You wouldn’t believe it, but just as I got closer to the door, I noticed the handle moving all on its own! I knocked on the door and asked if anyone was inside. A quiet voice answered.

  It was Valentin, the guy I sat next to on the bus. I had to go around to all of the buildings to find Gerald’s office. I explained the situation to him. He didn’t look too surprised—he just walked right out with his toolbox. It must not have been the first time something like this had happened, which I think is totally outrageous. In any case, we went to go rescue Valentin.

  It turns out he was trapped in the bathroom for over an hour, and since he was embarrassed, he didn’t want to call for help. Everyone else had gone to archery, so he’d decided to take care of things himself by tryin
g to break the lock with the toilet brush. . . .

  Epic fail! Long story short: ever since this little episode, Valentin thinks I’m his savior and won’t let me out of his sight.

  Later that morning, a new guy arrived. And I thought everyone was already here! Guess what—he missed the bus yesterday, so his parents had to drive him all the way here. . . . Mom and Dad? PARENTS??? PARENTS!!! To tell you the truth, we were all super jealous that this kid got to have another twelve hours with his family (which means twelve fewer hours in this rat hole). It made the whole camp depressed when we saw his parents leave. I think it’s going to be especially hard for Valentin to get over it.

  In less than a minute, there was practically a riot, and Anthony, our counselor, was totally overwhelmed by the situation. . . . It was at that moment I realized I had absolutely no idea how many miles away from home I was.