The Names They Gave Us(42)

“I like your orange dog.” Nadia taps her finger near the fox I’m trying to draw.

I lean against my hand to hide my smile. “Thanks.”

Next we draw “Happy”: more pets, birthday parties, and stick figures holding hands. I gnaw on my lip. What makes me happy, really? Swimming makes me feel . . . peaceful. Disciplined. And with piano, I express my emotion. It doesn’t exactly make me happy.

I did feel really happy at prom in April. Before everything fell apart. Though it’s impossible to capture the crystal detailing, I sketch my dress with a beige crayon. I try to remember how much I loved it before it became forever tied to the worst news of my life. I try to capture my elegant red lip, my hair swept to one side.

Is that the last time I was really, truly happy?

Nadia taps her finger near my drawing. “Is that you as a princess?”

“Not quite. Me at prom.”

“Did you go with a boy?” Payton asks.

“Yes,” I admit.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

I swallow. Honesty. Honesty. “He was.”

“Oh.” Payton and Sofia exchange an awkward oops look. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

The next prompt is “Sad.”

Sad: A mammogram marred by cancer, white webbing over healthy tissue. The idea of my dad and me alone at the kitchen table. An empty seat beside my dad as I walk across the stage in my cap and gown.

Most of the campers seem to be drawing faces with tears bursting out. Nadia is working on flowers beneath a gravestone. Thuy drew a door, a long rectangle with a yellow doorknob.

Sad: Playing the piano at my mother’s funeral because it’s what she would want. “It Is Well with My Soul,” her favorite. How it would break me. Walking home afterward to our silent house. No singing in the kitchen.

Sad: never hearing her voice again.

Sad: never.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” I say quietly, stepping back from the bench.

I get to the hallway before Simmons catches up, touching my arm. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I can’t meet her eyes.

“You okay?”

I wipe my cheek. Of course it’d be her to catch me being weak again. “Fine.”

“Why don’t you take a few minutes? Kick back in the Bunker.”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Lucy.” She steps in front of me so I have to look at her. I think it’s the first time she’s said my first name. I wasn’t even sure if she knew it. “We’ve all been there. That’s kind of the point of this camp.”

I push a curl away from my face, unsure of what to say. That I miss my mom. That every muscle in my body is trying to push me to Holyoke, to prove that she’s real and here. That a therapy activity designed for third graders is crushing me, an almost-legal adult.

Simmons glances at her watch, which is sporty and mint green. “We’ve only got a few minutes left here. Just meet us on the Great Lawn in a bit.”

By the look on her face, I can tell Simmons is not going to entertain any more protests. “Okay. I will. Thanks.”

I’m all set to have a little cry, but when I open the Bunker door, it’s already occupied. Jones is on the couch, clutching a bouquet of Red Vines.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He lifts the stalks of candy, looking sheepish. “Caught me red-handed. I needed a sugar rush. And a minute alone.”

“Oh. No prob.” I step back. “I’ll just—”

“No! I meant a minute alone from fourth graders. Ha.”

My sigh of relief is probably audible. I open the fridge just to look busy. And casual. See? I’m just looking for a soda. You can just be cute on the couch; I’m not even noticing. “What do you guys have this hour?”

“Bocce and beanbag toss.”

“That’s where we’re headed next.”

“Rough day?” He motions to the seat beside him on the couch. I wouldn’t have encroached on his space, but now it’d be weird if I sat at the table instead.

So I sit with my back against the couch’s armrest, far away but facing him. “Not really. Just needed a breather.”

“It’s good that you took one. That’s the key to making it here.”

“Breathing?”

“Kind of. You gotta take care of yourself first or you can’t take care of the campers. It’s the whole ‘In the event of an emergency, put on your own air mask before you help others’ thing. What? What’s so funny?”

“That I have asthma. It’s just . . . a good metaphor for my life. And actually, Simmons kind of made me step away.”

“Ha.” He nods knowingly. “She doesn’t back down easy. Best and worst thing about her.”

“You guys go to school together too, right?”

“Yeah. My mom got Keely connected with Daybreak back in the day.”

He offers me a Red Vine, which I accept. It reminds me of the movie theater. A large popcorn and Coke with my mom. No matter how many times we do that, the routine feels decadent.

“All right. Back into the battlefield for me,” he says.

“Yeah, I’d better get back too.”

He holds out a hand to pull me up from the couch. His hand is cool and smooth, and I don’t know why I even register that.