CHAPTER 4

It seems appropriate to mention one good thing about bad days.

Which is that, even though they can get worse, they also MUST, absolutely, end.

No matter what missteps or misadventures take place in any given day, at the end of that day, no matter what, the sun will tuck itself below the horizon and send up some version of the moon into the sky.

That’s not exactly how it works, of course.

But you get the idea.

Mal was relieved that this very weird, not-at-all-amusing day was about to end as she flopped down on her bed and waited for Molly to get changed out of her mud-soaked clothes.

“Hey, you know what?” she said, flipping through the comic on her bed. “Tomorrow is another day.”

“Yes,” Molly said, pulling on a clean sweater and crawling down from her bunk. “That is true.”

Molly sat down on Mal’s bunk. “Do you ever think about that?”

“About what?” Mal asked.

“Nothing,” Molly said. “Never mind.”

In this case, both “Never mind” and “Nothing” were actually referring to the thought Molly often had that every end of a day was a day at camp she wouldn’t get back. The thought that there were only so many days of summer left, even though it seemed like this summer was way longer than any summer Molly could remember. But all summers end, all of them, and every day that went by was a day closer to going . . . home.

Home, where homework and her mother’s Post-it notes were a huge part of every day, instead of just a small package stashed under the bed.

Mal took Molly’s hand in hers. Mal knew Molly well enough that she could tell when Molly was thinking about going home, something that Mal knew made Molly scared and a little sad. When Molly was thinking about home, she looked smaller. Like she was trying to take up less space.

When you care about someone, you don’t want them to feel small. You want them to feel like a big sparkling star. You want them to feel like a giant colorful hot-air balloon of a person.

“Hey.” Mal stood up. “What do you say we go and roast marshmallows by a giant, but carefully constructed by Barney, campfire?”

The campfire was Mal’s last hope for the day. She was really really hoping that a toasted marshmallow would act like some sort of magic spell.

This is asking a lot of a marshmallow. But it is possible. Depending on the marshmallow and how you toast it.

While Molly sat on a log with April and Jo and Ripley, Mal picked what looked like the best marshmallow from the bag and went to find the perfect stick to toast the perfect marshmallow. Fortunately, Mal knew the perfect stick finder.

“I bequeath you this stick,” Jo said, handing over the perfect long, thin, and sturdy oak twig she kept for just such an occasion, “to combat Molly’s unfortunate day.”

The key to good marshmallow roasting is, first, location. You find your coal and that’s your coal. It should be a little glowing red and a little white. You want it to be in an uncrowded area.

Then it’s all patience.

As the skin of Molly’s marshmallow, toasted by Mal, reached the perfect brown, the brown all marshmallow toasters strive for that is somewhere between mocha and caramel, Zodiac stepped up to the fire and, in unison, held out their flashlights.

GHOST STORY TIME!

“OKAY, SCOUTS,” sneered “Skulls” Mackenzie of Zodiac cabin, twisting her cap backward, “LET’S GET SCARED!”

“Mal!” Molly cried out, pointing.

Mal turned just in time to see Molly’s marshmallow burst into flames.