16

After that night, I made more of an effort to talk about my (fake) famous life outside of camp. My cabinmates had begun to glance at me when they were talking about magazines that had written mean things about them, or the adults who forced them to attend meetings when they really wanted to stay home and watch YouTube videos.

They seemed to be keeping closer track of when I did, or did not, join the conversation.

I had figured out by then that part of being famous was being the center of attention, and also not having control. So when Cameron Craze complained one day at lunch about a producer who made him miss his best friend’s birthday party because they needed new content for his dance videos, I said the same thing had happened to me when I was behind schedule on a book.

When Hazel shared that she’d once been followed home from school by a fan of her mom’s blog who wanted her to pose for a picture, I told a story about the time a reader threw a book at my face because she hated the sad ending.

The lies burned as they left my mouth. I’d lose track of the rest of the conversation because they swirled in my head like loud angry insects.

But after a few days, the pressure eased. My friends no longer seemed to wait for my contribution to conversations about fame.

I could go back to being a closer version of the real me.

One morning toward the end of the second week of camp, when Bells suggested that our entire cabin sign up for canoeing, I happily agreed.

Canoeing wasn’t very popular. But Shira and Hazel had done it the day before, and they’d seen a family of baby turtles in a patch of water lilies. Shira said one of them had climbed into her palm.

Who wouldn’t want to hold a baby turtle?

My whole cabin raised our hands for canoeing at morning circle. Kai, who was sitting next to me, raised his hand as well, even though he’d said at breakfast that he was probably going to sign up for fire building.

“Did you hear about the baby turtles?” I asked him.

“No. But I’m stuck on this song ending. At first I thought staring into flames might help me figure it out, but maybe being on the lake is a better idea. Or maybe I just stink at writing lyrics and nothing will help.”

Kai hadn’t shared any of his songs with me. I’d noticed him singing yesterday on the way to the dining hall, but he stopped when I got close enough to make out his words. “What’s the song about?” I asked.

“It’s about everything that I don’t know. So it’s pretty long. And pretty pathetic.” Kai fake laughed at his words. So I did as well. He cleared his bangs from his eyes, and I noticed his nails were chewed. The skin around the edges ragged.

I was tempted to tell Kai there was no way his list of unknowns was as long as my list. And also—how much I loved the song idea. Kids who followed his music would be grateful to hear that even Kai Carter didn’t understand a lot about life. Except my friendship with Kai was different from my friendship with Bells and the other girls in my cabin. Kai was fun to joke around with, but I wasn’t sure if it would be weird to get all deep and serious with him. I came up with something in the middle.

“Maybe split your list up into different songs?” I suggested. “Think about the nursery rhymes. They’re short because they’re for little kids, but maybe that’s also why you never forget them. Because they’re simple and easy to understand. You know, like the itsy-bitsy spider reminds you to get back up and try again. No matter what.”

Kai nodded. “That’s actually totally helpful. Keep it simple. Each unknown thing could be its own song. That would definitely fill a whole album. Thanks, Abby.”

Had I just helped Kai Carter figure out his next album?

I sat up a little taller on the wooden bench as sign-ups continued. Cameron Craze also raised his hand for canoeing. Oliver signed up for a nature hike. We were about to break into activity groups when Joe tapped me on the shoulder.

“Abby,” said Joe. “Quick word?”

I’d been purposefully avoiding Joe, limiting our interactions to quick smiles and fast waves. Every time he caught my eye, I tried to make it clear with my expression that I was totally fine, totally okay, totally happy to be at Camp Famous. There was no need to check on me or acknowledge our real-life connection to Ms. McIntyre—my teacher, his sister.

I assumed that Joe knew by then that I was claiming to be a famous writer. And I didn’t want to know what he felt about that.

Now I had no choice. I followed Joe a few steps away from the meeting circle, where he crouched down so his face was level with mine and said, “So so so sorry to tell you this, Abby. But you can’t take out a canoe until you pass the deep-water test.”

“What? Are you sure?”

Shira had gone canoeing the day before, and she hadn’t passed the deep-water test either.

“Completely sure,” said Joe. “Camp rules. No messing around with water safety. I apologize if I didn’t make that clear from the get-go.”

I thought back to the swim test on the first day of camp. Shira and I had been talking. Then we’d stepped back to be last in line. I must have missed Joe explaining about the canoes. After all, the test was called the deep-water test, not the slide test.

“But . . . Shira.”

I didn’t want to tell on Shira, but I also didn’t know how Joe had let her go out in a canoe. He was at almost every morning and afternoon circle, watching to see who signed up for what, encouraging kids to try new activities. How had Shira slipped by?

“Shira passed her deep-water test two days ago,” said Joe. “And you’re welcome to try again, anytime. Just let me know and I’ll definitely, definitely, definitely make it happen.”

I looked over Joe’s shoulder to where Shira stood next to Bells. Shira was trying to get Bells’s attention, probably telling her that they needed to go back to the cabin to change into bathing suits. Bells motioned that she was waiting for me.

How could I tell them that I was the only one who wasn’t allowed to go?

Joe read my mind. “Your friends don’t care about a swim test, Abby. They like you because of who you are on the inside. That’s all that matters.”

If that was true, then why didn’t Shira tell me she was retaking the deep-water test? Why keep it a secret?

Joe reminded me of Mom. He spoke with confidence, but something didn’t connect. This was about more than a swim test. It was about once again being on the outside.

Shira placed her hand on Bells’s arm and leaned over to whisper in her ear. Shira’s cupped hand reminded me of Quinn whispering to Marin. My body was standing beside the meeting circle at Camp Famous, but my heart felt like it was back at school.

It ached in a very familiar way.

Except this time, Bells listened to what Shira had to say and then came right over to me.

“Abby,” she said. “I just heard about the swim test. Do you want me to pick a different activity with you? I don’t care about baby turtles. They’re slow. And smelly. I mean, they’re probably smelly, right?”

I smiled. Bells was trying. But I shook my head. “No. You should go.”

“I don’t want to go without you. Should we switch to yoga? My mother loves yoga.”

“That’s because all old people love yoga.”

I tried to keep my voice light. Bells had passed the swim test easily. I didn’t want to say out loud how embarrassing it was to now be the only kid in the entire camp who hadn’t passed.

“Seriously,” I said. “It’s just morning activity. I’ll go on the nature hike with Oliver and meet you at the lake for free swim. Majestica and Bob can reunite in true love.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I’m sure.”

I tried to appear brave. To smile like I had wanted to go on a nature hike all along. When Shira waved an apologetic wave, seeming to mouth sorry, I shrugged like it was no big deal.

Oliver appeared beside me. “Did you say you’re joining the nature hike, Abby? You’re going to love it. I’ll show you the best lookout spot in all of camp. It’s this enormous rock with slits on the side that look just like real stairs. We’ll probably be able to see all our friends canoeing in the lake. Maybe we can yell super loud and pretend to be forest ghosts.” Oliver made a ghostly sound. “Oooh—I see you down there.”

As Oliver skipped over to Ravi, the counselor who was leading the nature hike, I thought about his words—“all our friends.”

Oliver was friends with everyone at Camp Famous. I’d seen him sprint across the field to the tetherball court with a rock climber named Charlie. They played round after round of the game during free time. He sat next to Kai at most meeting circles, where they would crack up over whispered jokes. Last night after dinner, Cameron Craze and Oliver led the whole camp in learning a new dance that Cameron said was inspired by “my bud Oliver.” The dance was called the clunky robot. Cameron was sure it would be his next viral hit.

And yet, Oliver was the same boy as at school. He had the same habit of raising his pointer finger before he spoke, as if a lightbulb had just gone off in his brain. He had the same rushed way of talking, his words pouring out of his mouth like shaken soda exploding from a can.

How did he do it? How did Oliver not care that he was the only one who had signed up for the nature hike while I was on the verge of tears watching Bells and Shira walk away without me? How did Oliver maintain the peppy cheerfulness of Carly and the steady determination of Joe?

How was he so himself all the time?

As we followed Ravi toward a narrow dirt path that ran into the woods, Oliver skipping a few steps ahead of me, I realized that ever since we’d arrived at Camp Famous, I’d been treating Oliver like a truth bomb in boy form. As if one wrong word from him would blow my entire camp experience into flames. I scooted away from him at meals. I gave him nervous glances whenever he told stories about home. Or school. Our school.

Now that we were alone, my body relaxed a bit with relief. Not just because I didn’t have to worry about whether Oliver would blow my cover, but because I could talk to Oliver as real Abby, not famous Abby. I waited until we entered an area thick with evergreen trees. Ravi walked a few steps ahead, searching the growth around the edge of the path for four-leaf clovers.

“Oliver,” I said. “Thanks for not telling anyone about me.”

“Of course, Abby. I’m a secret-keeping expert.” He ran his fingers along his lips, as if he was zipping them shut. “You can trust me,” he mumbled with his mouth shut tight. “I’ll never tell anyone.”

We talked about camp as we walked deeper into the woods: how good the food was, how fun the activities were. When I mentioned how much better the air smelled at camp than at home, it opened the door to talking about school.

Oliver did an amazing impersonation of the way Quinn would react if she knew I had become friends with Kai Carter. He let his jaw drop and extended his hands to his side, his fingers splayed. He looked left, then right, then left again. It reminded me of Cameron Craze’s clunky robot dance.

Who knew Oliver Frank was so funny?

When I finally stopped laughing I asked, “Is it hard to lie about Camp Famous at school?”

“I never lie,” said Oliver. “I’ve told people at school that I know Kai and Bells and Cameron Craze. It’s not my fault that no one cares.”

“You never told me—” I paused. A memory of the school hallway popped into my head. The day of my parents’ mysterious meeting with Ms. McIntyre. Marin and Quinn were talking about Kai Carter and Oliver had said, loud and clear, that he knew Kai Carter.

And no one thought for a single second that Oliver actually knew Kai Carter.

“So why do you write your articles under the name Francis Oliver? Why can’t you use your real name and just be one person? Then maybe kids at school would, you know, care more.” I paused. “Maybe they’d like you more.”

“My parents insisted that I write under a different name to protect my privacy. At least until I’m eighteen. And I don’t want kids to like me because I’m famous, Abby. I want them to like me just the way I am.”

That was it. The reason Oliver was himself all the time was because he didn’t want to be anyone else. He was proud to be Oliver Frank.

I wondered if I could ever feel that way, too.

“Oliver, do you think I’m different here than at school?”

Oliver stopped walking. He turned to face me. There was a Grandma-ish look in his eyes, as if he was looking deep into me. Ravi was a few feet behind us, still lost in his search for good-luck clovers. I was tempted to run over and join him. Anything to take Oliver’s eyes off me.

Then Oliver shook his head. “No, Abby,” he said. “I think you’re pretty much exactly the same.”

We continued on in silence, Oliver’s answer echoing in my ears. Was I pretty much the same? If so, was that a good thing?

Part of the reason I’d wanted to go to Camp Longatocket was to figure out if I had trouble making friends at school because of bad luck or because something was wrong with me. I wanted to start fresh with a whole new group of kids who knew nothing about me and see what happened.

In the swirl of winding up at Camp Famous, I’d thought lying about my true self was my best option. But if that lie hadn’t changed how I acted, did it matter? Would Bells and Kai and everyone else like the regular me?

I wished there was a way to know for sure.

Then maybe I’d also figure out why Shira hadn’t told me about the swim test. Because as Oliver and I climbed onto his favorite rock, we could see Shira and Bells laughing together as they paddled a canoe. They were splashing Kai and Cameron with the flat part of their oars.

The questions that arose inside me as I watched—about what Shira thought about me, what I might have done wrong to make her feel that way—were the exact same ones that haunted me in my regular life. Oliver had said we could sit on the rock and pretend to be forest ghosts. I hadn’t realized that my real-life worries would be the scariest of all.

They were deep inside me. Trapped. And I had no idea how to make them go away.