God alert! Blackjack yelled. It’s the wine dude! Mr. D sighed in exasperation. “The next person, or horse, who calls me the ‘wine dude’ will end up in a bottle of Merlot!” “Mr. D.” I tried to keep my voice calm as the grape vines continued to wrap around my legs. “What do you want?” “Oh, what do I want? You thought, perhaps, that the immortal, all-powerful director of camp would not notice you leaving without permission?” “Well…maybe.”
