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119 pages

English

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I hate camp. I just hate it. I wish I didn't. But I do. Being here is worse than bug juice on a burger. Or homework on Thanksgiving. Or water seeping into my shoes. In this sequel to Like Pickle Juice on a Cookie, Eleanor is off to summer camp. At first she's excited, but when she gets there she finds bugs, no electricity, and terrible food. And worst of all: swim class, where she just can't seem to keep up with the other campers. But as the days go by, Eleanor realizes that life is full of special surpriseseven after some belly flops.Praise for Like Bug Juice on a Burger Eleanor doesn't just survive, she growsReaders will celebrate and look forward to more. Kirkus Reviews Sternberg gets all of the details exactly right, from the ';orange, oozing sloppy joes' to the frustrations of trying to swim in a life jacket. susan dove lempke. The HornBook This is a really sweet novel in verse and a good sequel to Like Pickle Juice on a Cookie (Abrams, 2011), though it works fine as a stand-alone. School Library Journal Eleanor's tentative yet heartfelt voice comes through as clearly as in the first volume, with the short, ragged-right-margin lines as approachable as her personality. Sternberg is particularly deft at leaving young-reader-sized room for interpretation and extrapolation. The Bulletin of the Center for Childrens Books This sequel to Like Pickle Juice on a Cookie (2011) is just as endearing and wise, illustrating how small triumphs can help children survive what, at the time, seems an insurmountable trial. Booklist Award Bulletin of the Center for Childrens Books Blue Ribbons List 2013 Honor list - 2014 Gryphon Award

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Children's

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Publié par	ABRAMS BOOKS
Date de parution	02 avril 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781613124796
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0289€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

I hate camp.
I just hate it.
I wish I didn t.
But I do.
Being here is worse than bug juice on a burger.
Or homework on Thanksgiving.
Or water seeping into my shoes.
ELEANOR IS OFF TO SUMMER CAMP.
At first she s excited about carrying on the family tradition at Camp Wallumwahpuck, but when she gets there, she finds icky bugs, terrible food, and, worst of all . . . swim class, where she just can t seem to keep her head above water. But as the days go by, Eleanor realizes that life offers happy surprises even when it feels full of belly flops.
In this sequel to the bestselling Like Pickle Juice on a Cookie , Julie Sternberg again teams up with Matthew Cordell to tell a tender and humorous story about the bittersweet process of growing up.

PUBLISHER S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Sternberg, Julie. Like bug juice on a burger / by Julie Sternberg; illustrations by Matthew Cordell. pages cm Sequel to: Like pickle juice on a cookie. Summary: As the days go on, nine-year-old Eleanor realizes that maybe being at summer camp isn t so bad after all, and is full of special surprises - Provided by publisher. ISBN 978-1-4197-0190-0 [1. Novels in verse. 2. Camps-Fiction.] I. Cordell, Matthew, 1975- illustrator. II. Title. PZ7.5.S74Lf 2013 [Fic]-dc23 2012033169
Text copyright 2013 Julie Sternberg Illustrations copyright 2013 Matthew Cordell Book design by Melissa Arnst and Robyn Ng
Published in 2013 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.
115 West 18th Street New York, NY 10011 www.abramsbooks.com
FOR ISABEL.
WHO HAS HAD HER OWN CAMP STRUGGLES.
AND FOR EMILY.
WHO WILL RUN THROUGH MUD
WEARING ONLY ONE BOOT
TO HELP ISABEL
-J. S.

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
About the Author
This all began one day
when Grandma Sadie called me up on the phone.
I have a wonderful surprise!
she said.
Right away,
the best possible surprise popped into my mind.
You re giving us a dog? I said.
Grandma Sadie was quiet.
Then she said,
Eleanor, honey.
Your parents don t want a dog.
I knew that.
But I didn t understand it.
We d be so happy with a dog,
I told Grandma Sadie.

And I m old enough to take care of it.
I m nine.
I know, she said.
We could name it Antoine, I said.
I love the name Antoine.
Then I love it, too, she said.
But
should we talk about your actual surprise?

Oh! I said.
I d almost forgotten about that.
Sure.
Well, Grandma Sadie said,
I was just remembering
how much your mother enjoyed
sleepaway camp,
when she was a girl.
I think you d also enjoy it.
So I d like to treat you to sleepaway camp
this summer.

Would you like to go?
Yes! I said. I would!
I really meant it, too.
My friend Katie went last summer, I said.
Every single day she ate M M s.
And rode horses.
And jumped on a floating trampoline.
How marvelous! Grandma Sadie said.
She got great at diving, too, I said.
They gave her trophies.

Let s get you started winning trophies,
Grandma Sadie said.
I ll call your mom s camp right away.
Camp Wallumwahpuck.
She did, too.
She called that camp with the crazy name
right away.
She also sent me a photograph, in the mail.
An old camp picture of my mom
when she was a girl.
She s standing outside a small white cabin,
wearing a backpack
and hugging a rolled-up, puffy sleeping bag.
She looks so happy.
I taped that picture to the wall by my bed
and looked at it night after night
before the start of summer.

All those nights,
I believed I d be happy at Wallumwahpuck, too.
I really did.
The day before camp began,
my mom and I packed up together.
I read aloud from the camp list.
Two flashlights, I read, with batteries.
One moment, my mom said.
She searched through shopping bags
and pulled out two flashlights
and two packs of batteries.
Marker, please, she said.
I handed her a permanent marker,

and she started writing my name on a flashlight.
Because the camp list said to label everything.
Next? she said.
One sleeping bag, I read.
My mom pulled my sleeping bag into her lap.
It was so much thinner than hers had been.
I saw that without checking the photo
on the wall by my bed.
Because I already knew that picture by heart.
Your sleeping bag must ve been so much softer,
I said to my mom.
This one s plenty soft, she said,
writing my name on my bag.
And remember what Natalie told us?
She has practically the same one!
Natalie is my nice babysitter,
who has beautiful hair.
I know, I said.

But I still like yours better.
Mmm, my mom said.
She d gotten distracted.
She sat very quietly for a second
with the bag in her lap,
thinking.
What is it? I asked her.
She smiled.

I was just remembering how beautiful
Wallumwahpuck is, she said.
You re going to have such a nice time.
Then she set my sleeping bag aside and said,
What s next?
Seven pairs of underwear, I read from the list.
Get them, please, my mom said.
So I opened a dresser drawer
and started counting out underwear.
I gave my mom the stack,

and she uncapped her marker.
Wait! I cried.
She looked up, surprised.

I don t want my name in my underwear! I said.
But what if you lose it? my mom said.
What if you drop it somewhere?
Like on your way back to your cabin,
after taking a shower.
Then I really don t want my name in it! I cried.
I don t want everyone knowing
it s my dirty underwear!
Please, Eleanor, my mom said.
Don t forget-
your laundry gets done after the first five days.
If you don t have your name in your underwear,
you won t get them back for the last five days.
Oh, I said.
I tried to decide which was worse.
Everyone seeing my dirty underwear.
Or wearing no underwear for the last half of camp.
I couldn t decide.
Finally, my mom said,
How about just your initials?
Fine, I said.
But I m leaving the oldest ones at home.
As she handed me back my most
worn-out underwear,
I realized
she wasn t going to be at camp with me at all.
Not even to help me put my things away.
Or make sure my flashlights worked.
Or tuck me in, under my thin sleeping bag.
My heart started to hurt.
What if I miss you and Dad too much?
I asked her.
Will you come get me?
You won t miss us that much, she said.
I can t even call you, can I? I said.
I was starting to feel sweaty.
Only in an emergency, my mom said.
But what if they keep me from calling?
I said.
What if they re evil ?
I thought for another second.
And what if they read my letters before
mailing them? To make sure
I m not telling you their evil deeds?
I promise you, they re not evil, my mom said.
The director was a counselor back in my day.
She s always been lovely.
I ignored that.
Then I had a brilliant idea.
We ll have a code! I said.
I came up with one, real quick.
If I write in one of my letters,
I just met Esmeralda,
then you must rescue me.
Got it?
If you meet Esmeralda, my mom said,
then I rescue you.
Can we finish packing now?
Yes, I said,
feeling much better.
We can.
The next morning,
I stood with my parents
in a Brooklyn parking lot,
waiting for the bus to camp.