We’re sitting on the screen porch in the dark, both of us groaning because our stomachs are so full. Cold beans and franks may not sound appetizing, but it is if you’re starving. And the beans weren’t really cold, not in this heat. Must be ninety degrees with the sun down. To top it off, we each ate a can of brown bread, and even without butter it was delicious.

Delphy, contented, says, “This is the fullest I’ve been since before Camp Fatness, and all those so-called healthy meals. It feels good not to be hungry.”

“I don’t know about the other campers, but you’re not, you know, fat or anything. You’re tall for a girl, that’s all. Tall and big and strong. But definitely not, um, overweight.”

“Ha. Tall and big and strong. Just what every girl wants to hear.”

“I’m serious.”

“Let’s talk about something else.” She leans back in her porch rocker and massages her sore ankle.

It’s so dark the world outside the porch might as well be a pool of black ink. No stars, and the smell of smoke remains faint and distant, which means we don’t have to worry about the fire. Not right this minute, anyhow.

Delphy clears her throat. “Know what I want more than anything? A hot shower to wash my hair. I smell like a dirtball and everything feels gross, like I’ve been dipped in grease, then rolled around in the dirt. Ugh!”

“No plumbing in this cabin, but tomorrow morning, first light, we can wash up in the pond.”

“That would be cool. So what do you want more than anything?”

No need to think about it. “Call my mom.”

Her expression softens. “What would you tell her?”

“That I’m okay and not to worry.”

Delphy nods. “I wish it was true, that there’s nothing to worry about. How far away are we from the fire?”

“Miles. I hope.”

“That DJ on the radio said it was spreading a mile an hour. So every time we stop moving, it might be catching up. Right?”

I shake my head, because I know what’s she’s about to ask. “No way. We can’t drive at night. Not on that trail. We’d wreck the Jeep and then we’d be toast.”

“No, no. Totally. I get it.”

“Unless you think you can drive at night, on a trail we don’t know.”

“Hey, Sam? I can’t drive at all, okay? No clue. I’m not, like, being critical or anything. I’m just worried.” She sighs. “So if the fire does catch up, can’t we just jump in the pond?”

I think about it. “Maybe. If that’s our only option. It’s risky. Our camp counselor told us it’s better to find another way out, if possible. Even in a pond, if you’re not far enough away from the burning shoreline, the smoke from a big fire might make it too hard to breathe. It depends on if we want to burn to death, or die from smoke inhalation.”

“Great choice.”

“Don’t worry, Delphy. The fire can’t catch us, not as long as we have the Jeep.”

“Thanks, Sam. What do we do next?”

“Before the lumber camp burned, I had a plan. I was going to chop down some birch saplings and make a big ‘HELP’ sign that could be seen from the air.”

She perks up. “That’s a great idea. Except I haven’t heard any search planes overhead, have you? Or helicopters?”

“No. But somebody has to be looking for us. Right?”

“Unless they think we’re dead.”

“There are a bunch of camps on Lake Wabanaski. Your camp and my camp, and the YMCA on the far side of the lake. Plus lots of summer cottages. What I mean is, the fire came up so fast we can’t be the only ones missing.”

“True. I’ll help you make the sign if you think it might work.”

“Awesome.”

We sit there in the dark for a while, not saying anything. At first it feels awkward, and then I kind of relax into the silence. People don’t have to talk every second. They can just be quiet together. Not perfectly quiet, though, because my stomach is rumbling, which is embarrassing. Not that Delphy says anything about it.

To cover up the rumble, I ask if she has any brothers or sisters.

She nods. “Angie and Calista. Five years younger. They’re twins. Not identical, but they might as well be. They had their own language until they were like six years old. They still call me the BFG, or Geegee for short.”

“BFG?”

“Big Friendly Giant.” She laughs. “They love that book so much I guess I should be flattered. What about you?”

“It’s just me and Mom.” I leave it at that. “Did your parents make you go to camp? Is that why you wanted to run away?”

She jerks back, offended. “Who says I was running away? I got lost in the woods, that’s all.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

Not something she wants to discuss, obviously.

“It was my dad’s idea, to try a fitness camp,” she continues. “Especially the volleyball program. He wants me to ‘use my tall.’ Turns out I like track better, but volleyball is okay.”

“Use your tall?”

“Like embrace it. Dad is six foot five. He thinks it’s cool, having a tall daughter. Says he wants me to have altitude instead of attitude.”

“Sounds like a cool guy.”

“My dad? He wouldn’t know cool if it bit him on the butt.”

That makes me chuckle. “You’re pretty funny, you know that?”

“So now I’m big and tall and funny. That’s just great.”

I sigh. “I’m never going to beat you, am I?”

“Never, ever, ever. Accept that, little man.”

“Hey!”

“Accept that, average-heighted-boy-for-his-age.”

Even in the dark I can tell she’s grinning. She likes it, us bouncing stuff off each other, making wisecracks. I never had a big sister, but maybe this is what it’s like.

“I’ve got a plan,” she says. “You know what my plan is? My plan is, tomorrow we get rescued.”

“Great. That’s my plan, too.”

And then it happens. Without warning, or any way to stop it, I let one rip. I mean really rip. It sounds like an out-of-control whoopee cushion, venting loud and long. Like a not-so-distant artillery barrage. Like—oh, never mind, you know what it sounds like.

When at long last it’s over, I gasp and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Beans.”

That does it. Delphy goes bonkers, and then I’m laughing, too, and it’s like contagious or something. We can’t stop, we keep laughing and giggling until we’re out of breath. And then Delphy snickers and shouts, “Beans!” and we start laughing all over again. Laughing until my stomach hurts so bad I have to jam my fist in my mouth to stop the giggles.

“Beans, beans, the musical fruit,” she chants.

“Stop!” I beg her. “Don’t.”

“The more you eat, the more you toot!”

I never knew that you can laugh yourself to sleep, but you can, under the right circumstances.