The Miseducation of Cameron Post

by Emily M. Danforth

at the side of the bed to look at it all there, my plunder. It didn’t add up to much, just small things: an authentic Nixon campaign button from Mr. Hutton’s bulletin board; a thermometer magnet of praying Jesus from the fridge in the kitchen at GOP; a tiny glass frog from counselor Nancy Huntley’s desk; an aluminum ashtray from the bowling alley, the disposable kind, with bowl-n-fun on it in red; a Swiss Army knife keychain a kid in my World History class had hanging from his backpack; a beautiful all-color origami flower one of the Japanese exchange students had made; one of those cut-apart school portraits of a kid I had babysat for once or twice; and also that picture of Champagne Margot I’d grabbed while she was in das Bad; an airplane-size bottle of vodka that I’d found during Mom’s office cleanout; and finally, a pack of Bubblicious that I’d taken from Kip’s Minute Mart just because I was thinking of Irene.