The Week That Was

Part 7

by D.E. Lewis (Sherlockian221 at aol.com)
2/15/02

I finally got my brain off its lazy butt, and wrote the next part.

River study was uneventful, if you don't count Bradstreet getting thrown into the river eight times for messing up everyone's experiments. Lestrade had found herself slightly disgusted with her friends, Candid and Nicole, for falling all over themselves about the new instructor, a German man named Fritz. The whole walk back, Holmes watched as Lestrade rolled her eyes about the mindless drivel the two women were spouting.

"And his accent! Oh, he is cute."

"I know. I so would date him if I wasn't with Jeremy."

He promptly found himself in a discussion with Lestrade. "Do they do this a lot?"

"Oh, all the time, Holmes. I know, poor choice in the conversation area, but they're great friends most of the time."

"Please tell me that all women in the 22nd Century aren't like that."

"No, just those that never grow up."

They reached the commons. It was 3:30. The group started talking. Hopkins, who was beginning to look like a very good leader, got everyone quiet. "Okay. We have free time, and supper is at 6:00. We need to be back here by ten till, to be on time. Go do whatever until then." He dismissed the group.

Holmes followed Lestrade, trying to find out what you did. She told him she was headed to archery, one of the extras, and to follow her, if he wanted to come. Archery, was a little more challenging than River Study, and Holmes returned with aching muscles.

"How could people do that?" Holmes remarked.

"My cousin does all the time. You just build up the required muscles after a while," she replied.

They sat down in the group "D" area to get ready for supper. Ten minutes later, they were at the mess hall. THe food didn't smell too appealing to Holmes, or anyone else, for that matter. In fact, it was downright disgusting. It appeared to be spaghetti, but no one was quite sure. Lestrade wouldn't touch it, and ate everything else but the unidentifiable object on her tray. Holmes saw Bradstreet empty his into a potted plant, and Hopkins sneak some of his onto Grayson's plate when he wasn't looking.

Grayson was the only one who dared to eat it. Everyone else snickered. Holmes decided he had to at least try it, so he did, and barely managed to swallow it.

He pushed the tray away. "Watson, what is that stuff?"

Watson took the question literally, unfortunately, and scanned it. "Corrugated cardboard, stale buckwheat, water, eggs, semi-rancid milk, pressed cow hooves. They call it Camp Spaghetti here." Holmes looked shocked, and then did a double take as he realized that, while the whole place had heard, no one looked shocked.

"Surprised at our reaction, Holmes?" Hopkins asked.

"Yes."

Lestrade grinned.

"Someone asks that question every year-"

"-and Watson always takes it literally," Lestrade finished.

They tried to finish the so-called food, but some only succeeded in getting indigestion. They went to the dorms for bed.

I actually think that that's what was in our camp's spaghetti.

TO BE CONTINUED

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