Commute - Camp NaNoWriMo April 2015

Chapter Thirty-Eight - Haribo Is Plastic

Someone is shaking me... I open my eyes and find Fat Kid's face inches from mine. I jolt backwards.

"WAKE UP, newspaper lady!" he yells at me. "I'm hungry, and you're in charge! So GET ME SOME FOOD!"

"Whoa!" I say blearily, rubbing my eyes and sitting up. "Slow down! First of all, it's-" I check my watch, "half past six in the morning. When do you have breakfast usually?"

"Half past six in the morning," he tells me, crossing his arms. "So get me some food!"

"Why don't you go and ask your mummy for food?" I suggest, lying back down. The grass feels uncomfortable against my back now, and I sigh and sit up. Great. Now I'm awake for the day.

"Mum doesn't have any food," he says. "And you're in charge. You need to have food!"

"Haven't you got Haribo in your bag?"

"Yes. But I was taking it to share it with my best mate. And anyway, I can't eat Haribo for breakfast."

"Well, there isn't anything else, is there?" I snap, and he takes a step back.

"Fine. I'll go and have my Haribo," he huffs, and stomps off.

He seems to have woken up all of us with his yelling. The twins are sitting up, Doritos Guy, Batman and Grandpa Cookie are already standing, and only Homer Simpson and Tired Mum are still lying down.

They sit up too, and I address the first, most important matter. "Everyone? I think we should all go to our bags and get all the food we have, then put it in the middle and split it up between us.

Fat Kid, who is ransacking his bag nearby, protests. "It's my Haribo! I'm not sharing it with stinky grown-ups!"

"We don't want your Haribo," Tired Mum says. "We want real food, not plastic."

"IT IS NOT PLASTIC!" he yells, and turns his back on us.

"Come on, then." Grandpa Cookie stands up and goes to his own bag. We follow suit.

Ten minutes later, we have a pile in the middle. Cookies (Grandpa Cookie), two multipacks of Doritos (Doritos Guy), two apples and a (slightly mouldy) banana (Batman), three cheeseburgers and two bags of chips (Homer Simpson), a Twix and a ham sandwich (Tired Mum), two packed lunches complete with cheese sandwiches, salami, satsumas and bags of crisps (Thing One and Thing Two), a handful of Haribo (reluctantly given by Fat Kid), two jam sandwiches, a banana and a cupcake (me).

We split up the fruit, Twix bar, Haribo and crisps between the three kids, and then we adults devour the sandwiches. We all share the Doritos and have a few crumbs of cupcake. We save the burgers, chips and salami for lunchtime.

By this time, it's about seven a.m. "The train should be passing by soon," remarks Batman. "It's strange that they haven't come to look for us yet." 

"They probably will this afternoon," I say. "They wouldn't have been able to see in the dark." 

"I guess..." says Thing Two. "We'd better stay back from the track, anyway. The train will probably be quite loud, and fast." 

She's right. We've set up camp - can I call it camp? - right next to the tracks. If a train comes by while we're sitting here, our ears will blow off (not literally. But we'll probably hear a ringing sound in them for days to come). 

"There's only one train from Coxbury to London every day, right? I mean, that's why we use the bus to get back." 

"One train per day," I confirm, "and it's the seven a.m. one." 

We all start shifting our bags further away from the tracks. It's a good thing we thought to, because the moment we've settled down again, the tracks start thundering. We all stand up in anticipation and watch as the train - our train - comes whizzing by. 

"It's a different train," Doritos Guy notes. "There's a Carriage C on it." 

"Well, they wouldn't send out a damaged train, would they?" says Homer Simpson. "In fact, it's probably a different train every day."

When the train is well and truly in the distance, we slump back down onto the pile of bags again. "We'd better start walking in a minute," I say. 

"I'm bored!" yells Fat Kid from where he's playing Grandma's Footsteps with the twins, about ten metres away. "I wanna go home!" 

"We can't go home just yet," says Tired Mum. "Soon, though." 

"How soon?" 

"Now," I say, jumping up and grabbing my bag. "Come on, everyone. Let's start walking."