20

The walk to Joe’s office was a blur. My body was flooded with energy, but I couldn’t channel any of it to run. My legs were too shaky. My lungs too tight.

I somehow managed to walk up the four steps to Joe’s office and knock on the wooden doorframe.

“Hello, Abby,” said Joe, propping the door open with his hip. “What a nice surprise. Everything good, good, good?”

I shook my head. No, no, no.

“You want to come in and talk? Maybe tell me why you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Joe sat down at his desk and motioned for me to sit in the chair on the other side. He folded his hands in his lap, just like he’d done when teaching meditation in the Zendom.

I gripped my notebook, the green fuzz flat under my sweaty palms. “The girls in my cabin think I’m a spy.”

“A spy?”

I nodded as tears began to stream from my eyes. “They think I’m going to write about them in a magazine. Or maybe a newspaper. I don’t really know. I don’t even know how any of that even works.”

“I know you don’t. Of course you don’t.”

“I tried to tell them that I’m not famous, but they don’t believe me. They hate me.”

“Oh man. I’m sure that’s not true, Abby. We’ll work through this together. I’ll help you talk to them. Okay?”

The girls in my cabin would believe Joe, especially if he explained that my teacher was his sister. But I shook my head.

Because then what? I’d still be a liar. Only admitting the truth to protect myself. They’d never believe that I had been planning to tell them all on my own. They’d never trust anything I said ever again.

Joe brought his index finger to his mouth, his thumb wrapped around his chin. “When my sister first called me about the idea of you coming to Camp Famous, I was apprehensive. We’ve never had a non-famous camper here before. But you fit right in, Abby. From day one. You might think the other kids like you because you told them you’re famous, but that’s not what I see. And let me tell you, we’ve had a lot of famous kids here over the years who the other kids did not like. Being famous doesn’t guarantee friendship.”

Deep inside I knew Joe was telling the truth. My friends didn’t like me because I was famous in the same way I didn’t like them because they were famous. I liked Hazel because she was warm and kind. I liked Willa because she was strong and mighty. I liked Shira because she was funny and smart. I liked Bells because she was joyful and silly.

Maybe . . .

“You know,” continued Joe, “my sister said she thought that you needed a special boost. But I never saw that in you, Abby. And I mean that in the best, best, best possible way.”

“A boost?”

“A pick-me-up. A little help. She’s always been like that, going out of her way to help people who need her. This one time when we were growing up . . .”

Joe continued on with some story about a neighbor who’d lost a cat. But I was distracted thinking about needing a boost. At first the explanation sounded nice. Like someone lifting me on their shoulders and cheering my name.

But then I realized what it actually meant: Ms. McIntyre had felt sorry for me. I’d ended up at Camp Famous out of pity.

My favorite teacher, the one who left pencil hearts in the margins of my weekly reflections and always seemed to know what was happening, thought I stood no chance at making friends on my own. In her opinion, my only shot at making friends would be somewhere where the other kids, who were not exactly normal kids, were forced to spend time with me.

The realization was like sliding down a set of stairs. Each bump hurt, but not knowing when my body would stop falling was the scariest part of all. I couldn’t handle any more bruises. I was already in too much pain.

“I want to go home.”

“Abby, no, no, no. The other kids love you. And you love them. You’ve always got a smile on your face. You’re part of this place. We’ll sort out this silly spy thing. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. It matters to me. All of it matters.”

Joe kneeled by my side. “I can’t force you to stay, Abby. But why don’t you call home before you make your decision.” He moved a phone across the desk. “I’ll be waiting right outside the door when you’re done.”