The Names They Gave Us(21)

At the lake’s edge, I pull my swim cap over my head and position my goggles. The sun is stretching its arms up slowly on the horizon line, and I stretch mine out as I dive. Dear God, my brain begins, thank you for—no. No thank-you. I reach my arm out, a sleek stroke against the water. Make her better. I kick my legs evenly, with extra force to propel me. You owe me that. Don’t you?

I swim out and back, until I hear . . . a bugle? From somewhere. How retro. It blasts out the cheerful tune used in place of alarm clocks for the military. I wrap my towel around me and hurry back, hoping my absence hasn’t been noticed. The girls are just getting out of bed, and I tug my swim cap off to untie my hair.

“You were swimming, Hansson?” asks the girl named Payton. “It’s early!”

“Well, I’m on a swim team, so I have to practice.”

“You wear a swim cap?” Nadia asks.

“Yep.”

“I do too! To keep my hair nice.”

“Hey,” Simmons says, as she dismounts from the top bunk. Her eyes flick across my face, hunting for clues about my apparent insanity. “You’re still here.”

Well, I was going to apologize. But I truly don’t appreciate the surprise in her voice. “I’m here.”

She studies me for a second, then smiles. I hope this means she heard the determination in my voice. “Well, then. We have optional yoga on the Great Lawn, breakfast, then showers for those who want them. We also have rest time after lunch if you want to shower then.”

“Okay.” I straighten up. “And look, I—”

“It’s fine. Maya! Out of bed. I mean it.”

“Ugh,” Maya says, face pressed into her pillow.

I really relate to Maya.

8:00–9:00 a.m. Breakfast

Simmons sits toward the end of the table, already surrounded by our cabin girls. I sit next to a girl with two shiny black braids, and a few others fill in around me.

“You eat a lot,” a girl comments, staring at my pile of food. Her name is Clara, I think.

“Swimming makes me really hungry.”

“Me too.”

The girls sitting nearest me are just kind of watching me. And I have no idea what to talk to them about. At Holyoke, I’d ask about their churches: What are you learning in Sunday school? Do you sing in choir? Are you doing Vacation Bible School this year? Without that shared language, I don’t know what to talk to third graders about. It’s summer, so they don’t want to talk about what they’re learning in school, right?

One girl stares at me as she shovels oatmeal into her mouth. “You’re pretty.”

“Thank you. So are you.”

“Yeah.” She keeps studying me. “You have a lot of freckles. Like, a lot. Have you ever tried to count them?”

“No, but how many do you think?”

She squints. “Probably a bamillion.”

I only barely stifle my laugh. “How many is that?”

“It’s like a bajillion but less.”

“So. What’s your favorite activity that you’ve done so far at camp?”

“We got to do beads,” Clara says. “Everyone else made bracelets and stuff, but I made a key chain for my mom.”

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.”