Jess 
Jess “Her heart gave a big jump up. . . .”
—Understood Betsy
“This is the coolest thing ever!”
Freddie’s face is alight with excitement as she steps inside the Wongs’ new trailer. I’m right behind her. It’s Twin Pines’s turn to take a tour, and Freddie is right, it really is pretty cool. The trailer is shaped like a long, narrow igloo, with an arched ceiling high enough that even Cassidy and her mother can stand up straight. The outside is silver, and the inside is, well, pure Wong.
Which means mostly white, just like their living room.
I’m pretty sure I detect Gigi’s touch, though, in a bunch of red accessories. Gigi loves red (“Where I come from, it’s the color of good luck,” she always tells us), and I suspect she’s the one who added the red throw pillows on the sofas, the red area rugs and dish towels and teakettle on the stove, and the red clock on the wall.
“Jess! Cassidy! Come look!” crows Brooklyn from the far end. “There’s even a bathroom!”
Of course there is. Biffies are not the Wongs’ style.
I head down the hallway behind Cassidy, who’s carrying her little sister, Chloe. It’s hard to believe that Chloe will be starting kindergarten a year from now. I can remember the day she was born like it was yesterday.
We ooh and aah over the tiny bathroom, then head back to the living area. Mrs. Wong is in full Mrs. Wong mode, earnestly explaining to Brooklyn’s mother the trailer’s green features, including a solar panel on the roof and the all-natural, environmentally friendly flooring made of sustainable bamboo. Mr. Wong, meanwhile, proudly shows off the fun stuff—hidden storage drawers, awnings outside that retract at the flip of a switch, and a flat-screen TV and killer sound system.
“How many people can sleep in here?” I ask, looking around.
“Six,” says Mr. Wong, promptly showing us how the dining table folds down to make a double bed, and how two more people can fit end-to-end on the long sofa. “Including the bedroom, of course.”
“It’s a little cozy,” says Gigi. “But we’re having fun, right, Edouard?”
“Mais oui!” he replies, placing a tray of cookies on the table. My campers make a dive for them. “The trailer, she is our little honeymoon cottage on wheels, n’est-ce pas, chérie?”
I love the way Megan’s grandfather talks like he’s still a newlywed, even though he and Gigi have been married for two years already. I hope somebody talks about me that way someday. Maybe even Darcy. I can feel myself blushing at this thought.
“Do you think the Wongs would let our book club borrow this thing sometime?” Cassidy whispers.
“That would be so cool!” I whisper back. “But I don’t want to try to drive it.”
“I can drive it,” Sophie announces smugly. “Megan’s father has given me lessons.”
I look over at her, trying to picture the oh-so-French and oh-so-petite Sophie at the wheel of the giant red truck. It’s a stretch.
“Time’s up!” says Gigi as the buzzer on the stove goes off. Our campers all groan.
“Come on, girls,” I tell them. “We agreed to take turns, and Nest is waiting.”
Edouard hands everyone another cookie on the way out. The last hour has been a busy one. Before the tour, I was stationed at Twin Pines, meeting parents and answering questions about their daughters’ progress and activities.
Now everyone’s milling around, waiting for the bell to ring so they can leave. It finally does, and as Cassidy and I say good-bye to the Simpsons, I notice that Nica seems a little subdued.
“Have fun at lunch!” I tell her, and she nods but she doesn’t look at me.
What’s up with that? I wonder. I say good-bye to the Alvarez family, then turn to Cassidy as they head for the parking lot. “I think that’s everyone.”
“Wait, what about Carter? She’s supposed to tag along with my family for a picnic, since her parents couldn’t come.”
“Didn’t she tell you?” I reply. “She got invited to go with the Friedmans. Grace’s parents know her parents.”
“Really?”
I frown. “I thought that’s what they told me the plan was.”
“We’d better double-check,” says Cassidy.
The two of us head up to the Dining Hall porch, where Sergeant Marge is stationed with her clipboard.
“Yes, Carter went with the Friedmans,” Marge confirms, consulting the list. “All of your campers are checked out, so you’re free until three o’clock.”
Cassidy gives me a fist bump. “Woohoo! Freedom!”
Marge frowns at us. “Make sure you’re back in time for the afternoon program.”
We hurry away before she can think up a reason for us to stay.
“Later, gator,” says Cassidy, who’s meeting her family at the top of the hill. She starts to jog up the road, then looks back over her shoulder and gives me a sly smile. “Give, uh, everybody a big kiss for me!” Puckering her lips, she makes a smooching sound.
Cassidy can be such a goofball sometimes. Shaking my head, I turn to go and find the Hawthornes. They invited me to come to lunch with them since my parents weren’t able to make it. Summer is a really busy time on our farm, and there’s no way they could get away. Which is fine; I didn’t expect them to. No big deal.
I spot Emma’s family’s car first, a white minivan parked on the far side of the grove under a pine tree.
Then I stop in my tracks. My heart skips a beat.
“Darcy?” I shout, staring at him in disbelief. So this was what Cassidy was hinting at!
Emma’s brother turns and smiles at me. I break out in a run, then slow to a stop just before I get to him, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
“Hey, Jess,” he says, reaching out to tug my braid.
“Hey,” I reply, my heart doing another somersault. I still get shy around Darcy sometimes, especially when he’s looking at me the way he is now.
I smile back at him, noticing that his curly brown hair is longer than usual. I like the way it looks. Of course, I like the way everything about him looks.
There are too many people around for anything more than a quick hug, but I’ll settle for Darcy Hawthorne tugging my braid any day of the week.
“Jess!” calls Mrs. Hawthorne. I turn to see her coming across the grove from the Biffy. “I see you found the present we brought you.” Laughing, she hugs me too. “Sorry your parents couldn’t come, honey. But I hope that maybe this”—she nods at Darcy—“will help make up for it.”
“Oh yeah,” I assure her, keenly aware of the fact that I’m grinning like an idiot.
“How’s your summer going?” Mr. Hawthorne comes over to join us. Emma and Meri are with him. Meri, the only camper from Nest whose parents didn’t come, is holding tightly to Pip’s leash.
“And who is this?” asks Darcy, crouching down.
“Meriwether Milligan,” Emma tells him. “Otherwise known as Meri.”
“Meri! You’re the really good swimmer with the beautiful blue eyes, right? Emma told me all about you.”
Meri gives him a shy smile.
While Darcy charms his sister’s camper, I turn back to Mr. Hawthorne. “I love it here,” I tell him, and it’s true. I love everything about being a counselor—I love working with the kids all day, and having a cabin of girls all my own to mother hen, and I especially love being by this incredibly beautiful lake.
“I can imagine you girls must be having the time of your lives,” Emma’s mother says. “It’s a gorgeous spot.”
“Anybody hungry?” asks Emma’s father.
“Starving,” Darcy replies, straightening up.
“What are we waiting for?”
I’m the first one in the minivan, and I head for the back row of seats. Darcy is right behind me. Meri and Pip cram into the middle row alongside Emma, who gives me a wan smile as she climbs in.
I lean forward. “Everything okay?” I whisper.
She shrugs, but doesn’t reply. Not a good sign. Emma is hopeless at hiding her feelings.
Meri bounces happily in her seat, her ponytail swinging. “This is Emma’s dog!” she tells me.
“I know,” I reply, reaching over to give Pip a pat. “He was a puppy when my friends and I gave him to Emma for her birthday.”
Meri’s eyes grow round. “I wish I’d get a puppy for a birthday present.”
Darcy takes my hand as the minivan bumps and jolts its way up the gravel road. He gives it a squeeze, and I squeeze back.
“How does Lou’s Diner sound?” asks Mr. Hawthorne. “They’re supposed to have the best burgers in these parts.”
“We’ve had them and they’re great,” I tell him. “Right, Emma?”
No response. I gaze thoughtfully at the back of her head. Something’s definitely bothering her.
By the time we arrive at Lou’s, a bunch of other campers and their families are already crowded into the booths and tables.
“We might as well have stayed at the Dining Hall,” I whisper to Emma, who manages to muster a smile.
After lunch, Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne suggest a trip to the bookstore. Emma’s parents are even bigger bookworms than she is.
“I think Jess and I will take Pip for a walk instead,” says Darcy, reaching for the leash. Meri is reluctant to relinquish it.
“Can I go with you?” she begs him.
I hold my breath. Please say no, I think.
“Not this time,” says Darcy, and Meri’s eyes well up with tears.
At this, Emma finally shows signs of life. “You’ll like Lovejoy’s Books, honey,” she tells Meri, detaching her from the leash and handing it to her brother. “Pippa’s family runs it, remember? They have a dog too—her name is Miss Marple. And yummy pumpkin whoopie pies. Remember we had some at our first book club meeting?”
“Pumpkin whoopie pies!” exclaims Mr. Hawthorne. “I like this shop already.”
“How about we rendezvous at the church in an hour?” Mrs. Hawthorne suggests, giving me a wink. “I hear there’s a tour of the famous steeple.”
“Sounds good.” Darcy is genuinely enthusiastic. Not many people our age would be excited about touring a steeple, but Darcy is a history major and loves old stuff. A historic steeple is right up his alley.
As the others head off down Main Street toward the bookshop, Darcy slips his arm around my waist. “Close call,” he whispers.
“No kidding,” I whisper back. “I thought we were going to have to babysit.”
“Well, we do have Pip,” he reminds me.
“Pip doesn’t count.”
We both laugh, feeling a little giddy now that we’re alone together.
Darcy leads me across the village green toward the Lovejoy College campus. “We’ve played hockey here a few times,” he says. “But we were so busy at the rink that I never really got a chance to look around.”
We wander around for a while, looking at the white clapboard buildings.
“It kind of reminds me of a smaller version of Dartmouth,” I tell Darcy.
“I was just thinking that,” he says, nodding. “Hey, do you want to go see the covered bridge?”
I nod, and we trace our steps back to the village green.
“It’s that way,” I tell him, pointing past the church.
We walk a ways down the road leading out of town until we reach the wooden structure. It’s painted red, like most covered bridges in New England, and it’s very picturesque. The inside is like an echo chamber. I cup my hands around my mouth. “Hellooooooo!” I call, and my voice bounces back to me.
A car passes us, bumpety-bumping over the bridge’s wooden planks. Alarmed, Pip barks. That echoes too. He gets excited, thinking there’s another dog, and nearly jerks the leash from Darcy’s hand.
“Whoa, boy,” Darcy tells him, reeling him back in.
Staying close to the outer wall, we follow the sidewalk toward the middle of the bridge, pausing to lean on the top of the wall and watch the water rush over the falls.
“The famous Pumpkin Falls,” I say. “Pretty, isn’t it?”
“Mmm-hmm,” murmurs Darcy, but he’s not looking at the waterfall. I feel my face grow pink under his gaze, and he grins. “This summer needs to hurry up and be over. You are just too far away.”
I laugh. “It’s not like we’ll be any closer this fall. You’ll be back at Dartmouth, and I’ll be in New York.”
He nods. “True. But still, we’ll have a week together in Concord before I have to leave for sports camp, and visits now and then in Hanover or Manhattan.” We walk a little farther. There’s a lull in the traffic, and Darcy suddenly stops. “This looks like a good spot,” he says.
I glance around, puzzled. “For what?”
Smiling, he points to the rafters, which are covered with graffiti—hearts and entwined initials, mostly.
“Ohhhhh.” I smile back at him, then close my eyes as he leans down toward me.
Darcy’s kisses are the best.
“Much better,” he says after a few minutes. We move apart as we hear another car approaching. “I figured we might not have time later.”
I grin. “Not unless we want an audience.”
Our hour is almost up, so we head back to the rendezvous at the church. The tour of the steeple actually turns out to be really interesting—I had no idea that Paul Revere made church bells, and that so many of them are actually still in use, including the one here in Pumpkin Falls.
“I think I just found my capstone project,” says Darcy when we’re back outside the church again.
“What’s a capstone?” asks Meri.
“A really big paper that I have to write,” he explains. “It’s also called a thesis.” He turns to his father. “Wouldn’t that be cool? Writing about all the Revere bells?”
“I’d love to help you with the research,” says Mr. Hawthorne, sounding excited. He’s as crazy about history as Darcy is. “We could drive all over New England to visit them. Maybe the Wongs would let us borrow their trailer.”
“Family road trip!” cries Mrs. Hawthorne. “Wouldn’t that be fun, Emma?”
Emma bends down to tie her sneaker.
I think I know something that will cheer her up. “Let’s go to the General Store,” I tell everyone. “My treat. They have the best ice cream ever.”
“Better than Kimball Farm?” asks Mrs. Hawthorne, lifting an eyebrow.
I laugh. “Well, okay, maybe it’s a tie.”
Everyone orders a cone except Emma. For her to pass on ice cream—especially homemade strawberry, which is her favorite—is truly not a good sign.
“So what’s going on?” I ask in a low voice as we’re walking back to the car.
She shrugs.
With a sudden flash of insight, I continue, “It’s Stewart, isn’t it?” I can tell from the expression on her face that I’ve hit the nail on the head. “You were hoping he’d come.”
“I just wish I could hurry up and get over him!” she bursts out. “It’s so stupid to keep feeling this way.”
I put my arm around her shoulders. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Ems. You two were together for a long time. How about you try not to think about it right now, and focus on this beautiful day instead. Focus on being with your family, who loves you; your dog, who loves you; your camper, who thinks you walk on water; and your best friend, who knows you don’t but who still loves you anyway.”
This finally gets a smile.
“I mean it, Emma,” I tell her. “Seriously. Don’t let it sour the rest of your summer, okay?”
Back at camp, we check in with Sergeant Marge and then go to get ready for our afternoon assignments. First up is a brief presentation by Gwen in the Lower Lodge.
“Thank you for sharing your daughters with us this summer,” she says, beaming at the assembled parents. “It’s wonderful to see so many familiar faces here with us today, many of whom were campers themselves—some even when I was a camper many moons ago. The Jurassic era, I think they called it.” Everyone laughs. “I am honored to be able to pass along the cherished traditions of Camp Lovejoy to your girls. As you know, our motto here at Camp Lovejoy is ‘Broadening Horizons for over a Century!’ Your daughters have had an enjoyable and productive summer so far, as I’m sure you’ve witnessed while visiting with them today, and while reading the new issue of the Birch Bark, but they’ve also been working hard on breaking through self-imposed limitations, trying new things, stretching, and growing.”
She outlines the rest of the day’s activities—the mini-sessions they’re invited to watch and participate in, the open swim, and the special Parents’ Weekend dinner, complete with live entertainment.
That’s where I come in, along with the Camp Chorale.
“Let’s get this party started!” Gwen finishes, dismissing us.
I spend the next hour rotating between my station in Lower Lodge with my music counselor hat on and my station down on the Point at the Gazebo with my Junior Naturalists hat on as I answer questions and give the parents a taste of what their daughters are learning. At Lower Lodge, I lead the parents in a quick song, and at the Gazebo, I pass out binoculars and help them look for loons. It’s fun.
Afterward, I head for the boat dock, where I’ve volunteered to show off the bald eagle family that nests on Cherry Island. Darcy and his parents are among my first customers.
“Looks like it’s Parents’ Weekend on the island as well,” I joke as the boat draws close to the island’s shore. I point out the male and female breeding pair hovering by a huge nest high in one of the trees. “And check out that nest! Did you know that a bald eagle’s nest can weigh up to a ton and measure up to eight feet across?”
One of the dads gives a low whistle.
“There’s the baby!” I cry, pointing to the beach below, and everyone grabs their binoculars and cameras.
“He’s a pretty big baby,” says Mrs. Hawthorne.
“Yep,” I reply. “He’s already fledged, and is actually probably about three or four months old, but he’ll stick close-by for a while yet. Here’s a Fun Fact for you—did you know that baby eaglets can gain up to six ounces a day? That’s the fastest growth rate of any North American bird.”
I reel through a few more bald eagle Fun Facts as the boat slowly circles the island, pausing frequently for photo ops.
Darcy gives me a big thumbs-up as we head back to the dock. “Since when did you become such an eagle expert?”
“Since I invited the Lake Lovejoy game warden to come and talk to my Junior Naturalists,” I tell him.
He laughs and reaches down to help me out of the boat. “Great job.”
I smile up at him. “It was fun—I love doing stuff like this.”
“You should join those Central Park birders when you get to New York.”
“Birders?”
“Yeah—there’s a bunch of people who go birding in the park regularly. There’s even a movie about them. I think maybe my dad has the DVD. I’ll try to find it for you.”
“Sweet! Thanks.”
I tell him I’ll see him at dinner, then head off to find Cassidy and round up our campers.
The Dining Hall is looking festive, with the big Parents’ Weekend welcome banner over the fireplace and bright balloon bouquets everywhere.
“We’re over here,” I tell our campers and their families, leading them to a table by the far bank of windows.
Ethel and Thelma have outdone themselves with a surprise midsummer Thanksgiving dinner—“because we’re thankful you’re all here,” as Gwen puts it—complete with homemade pumpkin pies.
“Is the food always this good?” asks Mr. Simpson, helping himself to a second slice.
I nod. “The cooks are really amazing.”
As dessert is being cleared away, I signal to the members of the Camp Chorale and we all file over to the big stone fireplace. I line them up, give them their note, and then we launch into the medley of camp songs that I arranged. It goes over really well, especially at the end when we invite everyone to join in with us on the chorus of “Blue Socks.”
We take our seats again to thunderous applause. A series of brief recitals follows—a team of tap dancers, a piano-and-flute duet by a pair of campers from the Hill, and a violin piece by Amy Osborne, who is surprisingly accomplished for someone so tiny.
Amy bows shyly as everyone claps, then rushes back to sit by her mother, who is resplendent tonight in a deep green sari. As Amy takes her seat, my cousin strides out in one of her many robes. “And now it’s time for Felicia’s Finale,” she announces loudly, striking a dramatic pose.
I cringe. I told Felicia not to call it that, but of course she didn’t listen to me. I focus on keeping my gaze fixed straight ahead, not daring to look at Cassidy, who I’m sure is grinning from ear to ear.
With a flourish of her cape, Felicia lifts her sackbut to her lips and proceeds to deliver her solo. She’s actually pretty good, if you like trombone-type music, but then she has to go and ruin it with one of her little lectures, droning on about the origins of the instrument and its importance in Renaissance- and Baroque-era music. This goes over as expected, which is to say the audience is stunned into silence.
All except for my aunt Bridget and uncle Hans, who managed to slip away from their duties at the Edelweiss Inn in time to catch their daughter’s performance. I watch them beaming proudly and clapping like mad. If they think Felicia’s O-D-D, the certainly don’t let on.
Or at least they should be, I think, glancing over at Mr. and Mrs. Simpson. Emma told me what happened earlier today with Nica.
Finally, the celebration is over and it’s time to say good-bye. As the Dining Hall empties into the grove, Darcy comes over to join me.
“Today wasn’t long enough,” he says, putting his arms around me by the car.
“Not at all,” I agree.
I stand there for a moment, resting my head on his chest and breathing him in. I wish I were bold enough to kiss him in public. I hug him fiercely instead, then step back as he climbs into the minivan with his parents and Pip. The two of us wave to each other until the minivan is out of sight.
Emma bumps her hip against mine. “You okay?”
I laugh. “So now you’re the one worried about me? Yeah, I’m fine.” And we head back to our cabins to help get our campers ready for Council Fire.
“We always schedule a Council Fire at the end of Parents’ Weekend,” Gwen told us at our counselors’ meeting in her cottage a few nights ago. “It gets everyone focused back on camp again, and helps avoid relapses of homesickness.”
It’s a good strategy. Especially since I’m feeling a few pangs myself at the moment. A big piece of my heart just drove away with Darcy Hawthorne.
“Bundle up in hoodies and sweatpants,” I tell my girls briskly, trying to shake off the blues. “It’s cool up there in the woods.”
I duck into my cubie to change, then stop abruptly. A glass jar full of wildflowers is sitting on my dressing table. There’s a card propped up in front of it. Darcy must have managed to slip in when I wasn’t around.
Smiling, I open the envelope. The card is adorable. On the front, two puppies who look just like Pip are curled up together on a sofa, and inside it says “I Ruff You.” He drew a heart underneath and signed it “Love, Darcy.” Feeling much better, I tack it happily to the wall above my mirror.
The evening activity bell rings, and Cassidy and I lead our girls to the grove, where we line up by cabins, youngest to oldest. Nest and Balsam are first, of course, then us, then Bluebird and Shady Grove and Meadow, and finally the three cabins on the Hill: Far, Farther, and Outback.
Marge holds up two fingers, and the excited chatter quickly stills. “We tread in silence to the Council Fire,” she says solemnly, a pronouncement so corny it makes me stifle a giggle, but at the same time gives me a pleasant prickle of anticipation.
Daylight is fading as we start up the trail through the woods. Nica slips her hand in mine and I give it a squeeze.
“I’m glad you’re my counselor, Jess,” she whispers.
“Me too.” I smile at her, wondering what I can do to make up for a mother who says hurtful stuff that she shouldn’t. Emma hinted at dinner about an idea she has for something, but she wasn’t sure if she’d have time to pull it off.
Since we’re one of the three youngest cabins, we get front-row seats. The logs stacked in the ring of stones are already ablaze, and I stretch my hands in front of me, enjoying the warmth. It’s amazing how cold it can get at night here, even in July.
After everyone is seated, Gwen stands up. She has a striped wool blanket draped over her shoulders, and on her head is a sort of tiara with seven stars on it. “Council Fire is a time for gratitude and reflection,” she says. “A time to look back at the week behind us and celebrate our accomplishments, and look forward to the week ahead and set new goals.”
I glance over at my campers, their smiling faces shining in the reflected light from the fire. It’s hard to believe that half the summer has slipped by already.
“I know we’re all filled up full of gratitude for wonderful visits with our families today,” Gwen continues. “But I’d like you all to close your eyes for a moment and think of at least one more thing you’re grateful for this week.”
My campers dutifully squeeze their eyes shut. Cassidy and I exchange a smile over the tops of their heads, and then we close our eyes too.
What am I grateful for? What’s not to be grateful for? is the real question. I have a wonderful family, of course. And there’s college to look forward to—and not just any college, but Juilliard. Juilliard! In New York! I still have to pinch myself sometimes when I think about the fact that I’m actually going there.
What else? Emma. I’m grateful for Emma. She’s the best friend anyone could ask for. I don’t know what I’d do without her, and I can’t believe she’s going to be so far away this fall. I am NOT grateful for that. Darcy, of course. I saved the best for last. He’s the cherry on top of my gratitude sundae this evening.
“All right, girls,” says Gwen, and we open our eyes. “The first thing I want to talk about tonight is Firelighters. As you know, the Firelighter is Camp Lovejoy’s highest honor. At our final Council Fire of the summer, two girls—one from Lower Camp and one from the Hill—will be chosen for this award. We have a number of Firelighters from previous summers here with us tonight—girls, would you please stand up?”
About a dozen campers, CITs, counselors, and staff members rise to their feet.
“Whoa, check it out,” whispers Cassidy. “Sergeant Marge was a Firelighter!”
Sure enough, the head counselor is standing proudly with the others.
Gwen talks a little more about the qualifications needed for the award—service to camp, kindness to others, willingness to work hard, a cheerful attitude—and encourages everyone to keep those goals uppermost in thought.
After that, it’s time for the counselors to hand out beads. When it’s my turn, I call out the names of all the girls whose names I painted earlier this week—one each for everyone who sang tonight, plus an extra for the soloists.
Amy’s face lights up when she turns the wooden bead over and sees the tiny violin I painted on it.
Emma is next. She hands out blue beads to the swimmers in her classes who earned them, white ones to some of the campers in her writing workshop, and finally green ones with “BB” on them (for Birch Bark) to all the campers who helped with the newsletter.
“I have one last special bead tonight, for a very special camper,” she announces after distributing the others. “Monica Simpson, would you please come up here?”
Nica looks over at Freddie, who nods and gives her a nudge.
“I’m sure you’ve all read the beautiful poem on the front page of the new Birch Bark,” Emma continues as Nica shyly joins her. “Since I am a poet myself, I know how hard it can be to share one’s work with others. I’m giving this bead to Nica tonight as a thank-you not only for her poem, but also for the courage it took to share it with us all.”
Well done, Emma, I think, looking at Nica’s beaming face.
“Let me see!” Freddie begs when her twin returns to our bench. She turns the bead over. “Oh cool, look, there’s a loon on it!”
I give Emma a big thumbs-up.
Council Fire is winding down when there’s a rustling in the bushes behind us. Everyone turns around to see seven figures gliding down the path. They’re dressed all in white with pale material draped around their shoulders, and they’re wearing beautiful glittery silver eye masks. Each one has a starry crown just like Gwen’s, only theirs have just one star each.
“Rise for the Seven Sisters!” Sergeant Marge intones.
A ripple of excitement flows through the gathered campers. The Sisters only appear once each summer, and nobody knows ahead of time when that will be, or who will be chosen to play the roles.
As we stand up, the masked figures form a semicircle around Gwen. One of them hands her a birch-bark scroll. She unfurls it and begins to read:
We are the Pleiades—
We sail the dark skies.
We come to earth each summer
To remind you who you are.
Not born of dust but of starlight—
And, like stars, shining, ever shining.
When she finishes, the figures step forward one by one.
“I am joy,” says the first. “I embrace each day with enthusiasm.”
“I am integrity,” says the second, whose voice sounds familiar. “I always speak and act honorably.”
Cassidy leans over toward me. “I think that’s Melissa Yee,” she whispers, and I nod.
As they continue around the semicircle, the skin on the back of my neck prickles. Even though I know that these are my fellow staffers in disguise, there’s something both eerie and regal about the way they stand by Gwen, their masks glittering in the reflected light of the bonfire.
“I am honesty,” says another. “I always tell the truth.”
One by one the seven of them step forward, on through humility, wisdom, and purity. Some of the voices I recognize—including Thelma’s, from the kitchen—and some I don’t.
The final figure steps forward. “I am courage,” she says. “I am never afraid to stand for what is right.”
They end by speaking a single sentence in unison. “We come to earth each summer to remind you who you are.” And then, just as silently as they came, the seven figures file out, vanishing into the darkness. Without a word, we all reach out and clasp hands, and sing the traditional closing for Council Fire:
Peace I ask of thee O river,
Peace, peace, peace.
Ere I learn to live serenely,
Cares will cease.
From the hills I gather courage,
Visions of the day to be.
Strength to lead and strength to follow,
All are given unto me.
Peace I ask of thee O river,
Peace, peace, peace.
As the last notes fade away, the campers start to file out of the circle, oldest to youngest, walking in silence back to camp.
I’m passing Gwen when I’m suddenly struck by an idea. I pause for a moment and whisper something in her ear. She nods.
Back at Cubbyhole, our campers change into their pajamas and head over to Twin Pines. Before they can climb into bed, I clap my hands quietly. “Put a sweatshirt or fleece on, girls,” I instruct them. “Right over your pajamas is fine. Then come with me.”
“What’s going on?” asks Cassidy.
I smile at her. “You’ll see.”
We pad down the path to the water ski beach, where I spread a big blanket on the sand. I lie down and motion to everyone to join me. “There’s room for all of us,” I tell them, then wait for everyone to get comfortable. “Look up, girls,” I tell them, pointing to the sky. “Remember the Pleiades, the Seven Sisters who just visited our campfire? Well, the Pleiades are a star cluster, located in the Taurus constellation. You can’t quite see it this time of year, but what you can see is the Delta Aquarids meteor shower.”
“What’s a meteor shower?” asks Freddie.
“Shooting stars.”
A chorus of oohs and aahs goes up at that.
“The Delta isn’t as intense as next month’s Perseid meteor shower, but it’s still worth staying up late for.” I look over at Cassidy and smile. “Gwen thought so too.”
“Look!” cries Nica. “I see one!”
“Jess knows what she’s talking about,” Cassidy says. “If you’re all quiet and still, I’ll bet you see a lot of them tonight.”
“When you wish upon a star,” I sing softly, thinking back to that night in England a few years ago when Darcy Hawthorne first held my hand.
“Who’s got a wish to share?” asks Cassidy. “I’ll go first. I wish for the BU hockey team to have its best season ever.”
We go around the blanket, each girl sharing her wish. For Freddie, it’s to get to be a Shark this summer in swimming. Brooklyn wants a bull’s-eye in archery; Carter a baby sister. “One as good as Chloe,” she says, and we all laugh.
Finally it’s Nica’s turn. “I wish I could write better poems,” she says wistfully.
I know she’s thinking about her mother’s curt words earlier today. I reach for her hand and give it a squeeze. “Your poems are brilliant, Nica, and you should never stop writing them.”
“She’s right,” says Cassidy. “Gotta follow your dreams, no matter what anybody says.”
“How about you, Jess?” asks Brooklyn, propping herself up on one elbow and looking over at me. “What do you wish for?”
I gaze up at the sky, smiling. I already have everything my heart could possibly desire.
For my girls, though—for my girls I wish the moon and stars.