13

Cabin cleanup did seem to restore some of Carly’s pep. She was her normal self when she announced that instead of choosing a morning activity, we would be doing something special as a cabin.

“Inscription,” said Bells, who was sitting cross-legged on her bed. “We do it on the first morning of camp.”

“What’s ‘inscription’?” asked Willa sharply.

Bells was the princess in the cabin, but Willa had enough spirit in her body to command an army. When Willa lifted her chin, I could practically feel the wind blow. It was easy to understand why she’d been chosen to leap across the movie screen as Clara.

“We decorate our cabin plaque and add our names,” explained Hazel. “To make it more, you know, us.”

Us. I was part of an us.

We followed Carly onto the porch where she removed the sign that read “Tranquility” and folded the paper in half.

“This boring sign gets replaced with a wooden plaque,” explained Carly. “The plaque can be decorated however you want. The only requirement is that it has to include our cabin name and each of your names. But it would be great if it also represented our cabin in some way. My advice is to come up with a plan before you start to paint. Just remember that it’s humid out today. The paint is going to take a long time to dry. Try to get it right the first time; otherwise it’s going to be a sloppy mess.”

“My brother’s cabins never planned,” said Bells as we walked to the grass field where Carly was setting down a blank plaque. “Every year they just slapped their names around the edge and left it at that.”

“When did your brother come to camp?”

“His last summer was five years ago, I think. He came for three summers in a row until he aged out. And every single summer, he won his cabin’s plaque. He has one above each of his beds in each of our palaces.” Bells leaned down to pick a blade of grass. “That’s the way it works with Frederick. He wins everything. Always.”

Bells split the blade of grass into two and dropped the shreds to the ground. It was obvious that Bells didn’t like talking about her older brother, but there was one thing I had to know. “How did Frederick get the plaque? Doesn’t it stay on the cabin?”

Bells shook her head. “On the last day of camp, the counselors slip each cabin plaque into one person’s luggage. Like a best camper award. But you only find out if you won it when you get home. Joe doesn’t like anyone talking about it, because Camp Famous is supposed to be a break from all that pressure stuff. But everyone who’s been here before knows.”

A best camper award. Of course. No matter what Joe said, there was no escaping that kids had an order. Most popular to least popular. Smartest to dumbest. Best camper to worst.

As Carly returned carrying a tray of paint and brushes, I imagined what it would feel like to open my duffel bag in three weeks and find the cabin plaque tucked inside.

How would it look hanging above my bed? I desperately wanted to find out.

Carly left to throw the paper away. My cabinmates gathered around the plaque.

The other campers were doing the same in front of their own cabins. Next to us were the girls in Cabin Destiny, all of whom were a year or two older than us. Then came the boys in Cabin Harmony, where Oliver, Cameron Craze, and Kai were staying. Just beyond them were the boys in Cabin Serenity, who were the same age as the girls of Cabin Destiny.

I watched as Oliver dipped his paintbrush into a can of blue paint, examining the bristles before he slowly lowered the brush to his plaque. When Oliver was done, he handed the brush to Kai, who signed his name with just a few strokes, as if he was autographing a large stack of pictures. Cameron Craze shook his head when Kai offered him the brush. He plunged his entire fist into the can of paint, slapping his handprint on the plaque in the place of his name.

Something told me that Cameron Craze would not be finding the Cabin Harmony plaque in his suitcase when he got home.

“Maybe we should measure grid marks before we start to paint,” said Shira, bringing my attention back to our plaque. “That way everything will be perfectly even.”

“This isn’t math class,” said Willa. “Not everything has to involve numbers.”

“Says the girl who’s always counting to herself.” Shira did an imitation of Willa raising her arm above her head to a four-count beat. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

“You guys,” said Hazel. “Don’t fight.”

I thought about Carly saying the plaque should represent our cabin. Maybe it should have something to do with the name Tranquility, which I knew from a Ms. McIntyre vocab quiz meant calm. “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” popped into my head. Didn’t parents sing that when they wanted their kids to fall asleep?

“What if we do a border of stars?” I suggested. “Like a tranquil night sky.”

“That works,” said Shira. “But we really should measure if we want to get the stars even.”

“Okay,” I said. “Shira, you measure. Make dots where we should paint the stars. Then someone could write ‘Cabin Tranquility’ in the middle, and we can each paint our own names after that.”

“Bells has the most beautiful handwriting,” said Hazel. “She can do calligraphy. Remember when you tried to teach us last summer?”

“Sort of,” said Bells, her voice trailing off.

Of course Bells would have amazing handwriting. That seemed like something a princess would learn from a fancy royal tutor. I smiled at her. “I’d love to see your calligraphy.”

“Okay,” said Bells. “But only if Shira measures out the letters. She can write them in pencil, and I’ll trace over them in paint.”

Shira shook her head. “I have the worst handwriting ever. Trust me, you do not want to trace my letters.”

“But . . .”

“Come on, Bells,” said Hazel. “It’ll look so good.”

After we all pleaded in unison, even getting down on our knees and clasping our hands in front of us, Bells finally agreed. Shira ran into the cabin to get the ruler that she’d packed along with her protractor and other nonelectronic math supplies. After Shira marked out the stars in pencil, we decided that first Bells should write our cabin name in the center so we could work on the outer rim of the plaque without smudging her letters.

Bells dipped the tip of her brush into the white paint and wiped the bristles until she had a nice point. Her hand shook a bit as she placed the bristles against the wood and began to paint:

Cabin Tra

Bells paused. She refreshed the brush with more paint and continued:

nkwillity

Cabin Trankwillity. Bells looked at our faces and, a few blinks later, realized her mistake. With one quick motion, she swiped her paintbrush through the wet letters and threw it to the ground.

Then she ran off in the direction of the lake.

Shira, Willa, Hazel, and I froze. Our eyes locked on one another, then the plaque, then back to each other.

“Poor Bells,” said Hazel. “She’s probably so embarrassed. We have to go find her.”

“Come on,” said Willa. “Quick.”

“Wait,” I said. “Maybe just one of us is better.”

There was a ton at Camp Famous that I did not understand. But embarrassing mistakes? Those I understood. Bells had run off to avoid all of our pity. The last thing she’d want is to be bombarded.

“Abby’s right,” said Shira.

“I’ll go,” I volunteered before anyone else could jump in. I didn’t know where Bells was, but I wanted to be the one to find her.

I sprinted toward the lake, searching for some trace of the teal T-shirt Bells was wearing. I finally found her a little ways into one of the trails that marked the edge of the forest area. She was hugging her knees to her chest, her back against a tree, as she picked at a mosquito bite on her calf.

I dropped down beside her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m an idiot,” she said. “I never should have tried to spell that word.”

“Everyone makes spelling mistakes.”

“Not like me. I’m lucky if I can spell my own name without messing it up.”

“I probably couldn’t spell your name either. It’s really, really long.”

Bells smiled a little as she wiped away a tear that was winding its way down her flushed cheek. “I just hate being so stupid,” she said. “At school I have all these extra tutors so no one finds out, and I still barely keep up. It’s humiliating. Not that I expect you to understand, since you’re a famous writer and all.”

No! I wanted to say. I’m not a famous writer. I’m a regular girl who knows exactly how it feels to be humiliated at school. Bells would know that she wasn’t alone. That I understood.

But then I remembered the evacuation helicopter—the standard safety precaution to protect the famous kids from anyone who didn’t belong at camp. What if Bells panicked and ran to tell Joe that I had lied my way into camp? What if everything was ruined after only one day?

It was a lot to think through as Bells sat, picking her mosquito bite, waiting for a response. With each passing second, I worried it seemed like I was agreeing that I didn’t understand. When nothing could be further from the truth.

Then I thought of something. “What about my swim test? Talk about embarrassing.” I mimicked myself attempting a freestyle stroke, arms flailing.

Bells laughed. “You weren’t that bad.”

“I was terrible!”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll stay back with you at free swim. The slide gets roasting hot by lunchtime. It’s not that great.”

“And I’ll help you repaint the plaque. Who cares if it’s messy? ‘Tranquility’ is a stupid name anyway.”

“I know,” said Bells, finally smiling for real. “Who wants to be calm and quiet at camp?”

“Not me,” I said.

“Me neither,” said Bells. Then she cupped her hands around her mouth, took a few steps farther into the forest, and screamed as loud as she possibly could.

I did the same. The trees filled with our shouts. Then our laughter. Then a few more shouts.

We kept going until we had nothing left to give.

When everything—our voices, our brains, our hearts—felt clean and empty, we turned back to camp.

We jogged across the grass field, flip-flops smacking. The summer air was warm and heavy against our cheeks, our arms, our legs. As we ran, a thought floated outside of my body like a balloon. It bobbed along in rhythm with our steps, attached to me by a long red string.

I wasn’t ready to pull the thought down. Or write it in my notebook. But I liked knowing that I might be able to when the time was right.

The thought was: Maybe Bells will be my first best friend.