That’s what I would have done with beads at her age. And now. “What colors did you use?”
I keep asking questions and listening, and I’m relieved when they start taking their plates to the dish drop-off. I made it through.
“G’morning, Hansson,” a voice says. Jones settles onto the bench across from mine, next to Nadia, who beams at him. I might have reacted the same, except the two boys standing behind him distract me. I recognize them from the fight last night—one with a scabbed-over line across his cheek now. They’re staring at the ground.
“Hi,” I say, setting down my juice cup.
“How’d you sleep?”
He plucks a grape from Nadia’s plate. She giggles and says, “Hey!”
“Um, pretty well, thanks.”
Jones gestures at my plate. “That berry topping is so great on waffles, right? I miss it the entire school year.”
“Yeah, it’s good.” I can’t really focus on what he’s saying because of the two solemn boys behind him, waiting.
“Well, anyway, Nolan and JJ have something they want to say to you.”
The redhead I saw crying into Jones’s shirt looks down at me, miserable. JJ, I think. “We feel real bad that we ran into you yesterday.”
“It was an accident. I swear,” Nolan says.
“I know it was. And I’m okay.” I smile in a way that I hope looks reassuring.
“And?” Jones says, his tone hard. He pops another grape into his mouth, expression perfectly relaxed. But the boys can’t see his face.
“We’re sorry,” Nolan says.
“We are,” JJ says. “For real.”
The boys glance inward, not quite making eye contact with each other. When Nolan speaks up, it’s quiet and hurried. “Willyouforgiveus.”
“What was that?” Jones asks.
“Will you forgive us?”
“Yes,” I say quickly, putting them out of their misery. “You’re forgiven. Thank you for apologizing.”
Both boys stay put, clearly waiting for a cue from Jones. He gives them a dismissive wave, and they trudge off together. I can tell they wanted more affirmation—longed for Jones’s respect. It’s clear they’ll have to earn it back.
“They got in trouble,” Nadia says to Jones. “You were mad at them.”
“Not mad. Disappointed.” He gets up, leaning across the table toward me. “Thanks for being a good sport, Hansson.”
On his way back to his table, he leans down to whisper something to Keely. He reaches one arm around her other shoulder, sneakily lifting a piece of bacon from her plate. She shoves at him, grinning, while the girls around her laugh. Jones grins back, crunching on the bacon. Oh. Missing Lukas aches like a splinter, small but piercing.
9:00–9:30 a.m. Pitch-In
Our cabin has cleanup duty. The kitchen isn’t huge, but it’s well organized, every surface portioned for use.
The chef is tall and broad, with ginger stubble like glitter on his jawline. He looks almost as old as my parents, but it’s harder to tell with a bandanna covering his hair. “Okay, I need a leftover scooper and a saran wrapper.”
All nine girls look at Simmons, who says, “Maya and Payton, you’re up.”
I’m tagged to supervise dish patrol—four girls on stepstools in a little line across the industrial sink. Brooklyn and Clara scrape food into a trash can, Emily washes dishes with the sprayer, and Sofia loads them into the massive dishwasher.
Sofia announces, “I like loading dishes because it’s like a puzzle.”
“You’re good at it,” I tell her.
Clara frowns at the piles of dirty plates. “I don’t want to touch this stuff. It’s gross. Can I spray instead?”
Simmons glances at me, a “no” already in her mouth. But I have to prove that an eight-year-old can’t steamroll me. “Nope. You’ll be on a different chore next time.”
“But I don’t like scraping food.”
“Well, I don’t really like cleaning my bathroom at home, but I do it anyway.”
“You do? Why?”
“Well, because it’s my bathroom. It’s my job to clean it up. I don’t want to be a taker.”
“A taker?”
“A person who takes and takes and doesn’t give.”
“I dunno.” She winces as she picks up a plate. “Taking sounds pretty good to me.”
When they have a steady little assembly line, I whisper to Simmons, “What do we normally do during this time? If we don’t have cleanup duty?”
“Other chores around camp. A lot of what we do here is trying to teach life skills.” Her eagle eye catches on something across the kitchen. “Nice mopping, Nadia and Nina! Love that teamwork.”
9:30–10:00 a.m. Cabin time
My body is begging me to crawl back into bed; my eyelids sag as I clean up my bunk. But the girls are fully energized, nearly bouncing as they brush their teeth. There are three shower stalls, but all of them are taken. I settle for washing my face and redoing my ponytail, pausing to praise Thuy for how neatly she’s made her bed.
“Where’d Simmons go?” I ask Garcia.
“She ducks out to teach astronomy class to the older campers.”
“Oh. Cool.” I drop my voice to add, “Um, is there tea in the kitchen? Like, caffeinated?”
Garcia laughs a little, like she truly understands. “Yeah. But I’d go straight for the coffee.”
10:00–11:00 a.m. Learning
Our class is in the rec room, and nine girls pile onto the brown leather couches. We’re about to get started—or so I think—when the third-grade boys clamber in. Of course it would be a combined class by age group. Jones gives me a wave and a friendly smile, which I manage to return before glancing down at my feet. I seem to have caught shyness from Nadia this morning. As the boys settle in, I sit down on the piano bench, which is nearby for extra seating.
“Owen,” Tambe says to a kid who’s still talking. “Snap it shut or else.”
“Or else what?” he replies.
Tambe lowers his brows and tilts his head down just a little.
Owen snaps it shut.
Satisfied, Tambe plops down beside me and twists so he can whisper in my ear. “They driving you nuts yet?”
“Nah. They’re sweet.”
His smile is smug as he crosses his arms. “Good. Remember that during the first hissy fit. It will sustain you.”
After everyone is settled, a college counselor named Flores guides the third graders through a hands-on activity. They do a multiplication worksheet using stacks of Legos. 3 x 1 = a stack of 1 green, 1 blue, and 1 yellow Lego. 3 x 2 = a stack of 2 greens, 2 blues, and 2 yellows.
“It’s two, three times,” Brooklyn whispers to herself as she presses the plastic blocks together.
Next, Flores talks to them about telling time, why it’s important, and what about it seems hard. For the rest of the session, they practice with a big replica clock; each kid gets to spin the hour and minute hands.
When the clock truly does hit 10:55, we round up the girls for their next activity. I’m about to walk out the door, when a warm hand touches my arm and I’m looking up at Jones. I can see my own surprised expression reflected in his glasses.