Stanley Yelnats' Survival Guide to Camp Green Lake (Holes 1.50)

You should never do anything fast at Camp Green Lake. Walk, don’t run. Even if a sidewinder is coming after you, you just walk quickly out of the way. Always look where you’re going. The last thing you want to do is run away from a rattlesnake and into a yellow-spotted lizard.

Twitch did everything way too fast. He moved in quick, jerky steps and was always looking from side to side, never in front of him. He even talked fast.

“What’s your deal, Zigzag? Anyone ever tell you, you look kind of weird? You should do something with your hair, man, if you know what I mean. So, what’s the worst crime anyone did here? Any murderers?”

“Quit bumping your gums,” X-Ray said, which was his way of telling Twitch to shut up.

“Bumping my gums, that’s a good one. I’ll have to remember that. So what happened to Zero?”

“You ask too many questions,” I told him.

“I just want to know what happened. Why are you so touchy?”

I didn’t feel like talking about it. Zero had become my best friend, and what happened to him had been my fault.

Twitch ate fast, too. You should always eat slowly. It’s not about having good manners. You don’t know what you’re eating, and you may have to suddenly spit something out.

He talked while he ate. “Five-foot holes. That’s a lotta dirt. Whew! I bet you get tired. How long does that take? About an hour?”

“About,” I said.

I could have told him the truth, but it didn’t matter. Twitch asked lots of questions but never stopped to listen to an answer.

He tossed and turned all night in bed. I know. I was up all night worrying about Zero. But when the horn blew the next morning, Twitch jumped out of bed, ready to go.

“Man, look at all the stars. That’s the Big Dipper. I never saw this many stars in Plano.”

I tried to tell him he was better off keeping his eyes on the ground, but he didn’t listen.

“That’s the Little Dipper. Hey, Armpit, what sign are you?”

“This is my sign,” Armpit said, and gave him the finger.

“Don’t talk so much,” Magnet said. “You got to save your strength.”

“I never get tired,” said Twitch.

“Well, you’re making me tired just listening to you,” said X-Ray.

Out at the digging area, Mr. Sir gave Twitch the usual instructions. “You’re not finished until your hole is as deep and as wide as your shovel. If you dig up anything unusual, you’re to report it to me or Mr. Pendanski. The water truck will—”

Twitch didn’t have the patience to listen. “Quit bumping your gums,” he said, “and show me where I’m supposed to dig.”

We all stopped and stared. I don’t think I have to tell you that you don’t talk to Mr. Sir that way.

But Mr. Sir just smiled, then made an X in the dirt with the heel of his boot. “Right here,” he said.

I guess he knew he didn’t have to do anything to Twitch. Twitch would soon be suffering enough.

As soon as Mr. Sir stepped away, Twitch’s shovel cut through the X and the dirt was flying. I’d never seen anyone dig so fast. Zero had been a fast digger, but it was never about speed. It was his steadiness that made him fast. His movements were smooth. He kept his rhythm and never wavered.

Twitch dug in short, quick strokes. He was all arms and back. He’d stop and take long gulps of water, and even pour some water on his head.

I tried to tell him he had to save his water,

but he wouldn’t listen. “Talk to me when your hole is as deep as mine!”

He was right about that. His hole was twice as deep as mine was. He scooped up another shovelful of dirt and tossed it right where Armpit was digging.