23

Mom and Dad’s arrival was way less dramatic. They pulled up early the next morning in a red rental car. I raced across the parking lot and leaped into Dad’s arms. With my legs wrapped around Dad’s waist, I leaned over to pull Mom in as well.

Our hug didn’t pulse with joy like the hug from my friends. But as my parents held me tight, something inside me broke open. Quiet tears grew to gulping sobs. By the time I lifted my cheek from Mom’s shoulder, her shirt was soaked.

“Abby, we missed you so much,” said Mom.

“More than you can ever know,” said Dad.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Mom’s eyes moved double time across my face. I couldn’t tell if she was looking for signs of change, or maybe seeking forgiveness.

“You should have told me the truth about camp,” I said. “I would have been prepared.”

“Abby,” said Dad. “We didn’t want you to prepare.”

“We wanted you to be yourself,” said Mom. “We didn’t expect you to lie.”

“You can’t have it both ways. You can’t lie and expect me to tell the truth. It’s not fair.”

Dad paused, his lips pressed tight. “You’re right,” he said. “From now on it’s honesty first, deal?” Dad set me down and winced. “Oh, my back. I cannot wait to sleep in a real bed tonight.”

“How was your trip?” I asked. I wasn’t the only one who’d had an unusual three weeks.

“Fantastic,” said Dad. “Except your mom tossed and turned all night, and not just because we were sleeping on the ground. She was so worried about you. If it wasn’t for Oliver, she probably would have cut our trip short just in case you needed to reach us.”

There was something strangely comforting about the idea of my brave, strong mom tossing and turning with worry. Our worries were different, but we both had them.

Except . . . “What does Oliver have to do with it?”

“I gave Oliver my cell phone number at the airport,” said Mom. “Our flight left a few hours after yours, so Oliver called me as soon as you landed at camp. He said you’d already made a friend on the plane and that you were fitting right in.”

Oliver’s one phone call. He’d used it to call my parents.

I remembered his pinched finger on the plane. His confusion later at lunch when I asked about his injury. Oliver hadn’t been in Joe’s office getting an ice pack or a Band-Aid. He hadn’t hurt his finger at all. Oliver had been faking so he could call Mom without me knowing.

We stayed with Grandma for a few more days. By the time we returned home, I’d stopped replaying my days at Camp Famous over and over in my mind. I still wished I’d done so many things differently. But like knowing about Mom’s worries, the fact that I wasn’t alone in making mistakes made them easier to bear.

Eventually the fun memories began to replace the hard ones. Especially when group texts from my friends starting pouring into my computer. We communicated half in words, half in emojis. If important things happened—like when we needed to hear about Willa’s first day of movie rehearsals or see the packaging for Shira’s burping slime—we’d switch to video. Mom or Dad would appear in my doorway and tell me to keep it down. But then they’d lean against my doorframe and smile, trying to listen in. I’d have to shoo them away for some privacy.

I had a separate text chain with Kai. Sometimes he sent me audio clips of his new songs. The lyrics were so catchy. I listened to them over and over.

The only person I couldn’t get in touch with was Oliver. I didn’t have his number, and every time I went by his house the lights were off and no one answered the door. I even slipped a note through the mail slot asking him to get in touch.

So when my doorbell rang two days before the start of school, I thought maybe it was Oliver and went running to the door.

It was not Oliver. It was Quinn. She stood on my porch, tan and glowing. At first I thought she must have found some new glossy makeup. Then I realized her light sheen was actually sweat.

“Abby,” she said. “Tell me this isn’t you.” Quinn held out her phone, but the screen was locked.

“Um,” I said, confused. “What?”

Quinn looked at her phone, realized it was locked, and pressed play on a video. I watched as the screen filled with the sloping green grass of a familiar golf course. My mouth dropped open.

“Hey, sweeties,” said a voice from the phone. “It’s Candy Queen here to sprinkle some sweetness on your day. This video came from the best grandpa in the whole wide world, my Papa Roger. I’m sure you’ll recognize some of these famous faces. They came to surprise a good friend who was having a rough day. Look at this love, guys. Life doesn’t get any sweeter than this. I hope it inspires you to spread some good vibes today.”

The voice was replaced with music as Bells, Kai, and everyone else from the helicopter came sprinting across the grass. It showed me standing, stunned. The video blurred a little as we hugged, as if the person recording had lowered his or her hand. It cut out entirely after Kai and I started talking.

Papa Roger. Grandma’s friend Roger. Whose granddaughter was a popular candy expert. “How did you find this?” I asked.

“Everyone watches Candy Queen. She’s the best. She mostly posts about candy, but sometimes she does these ‘spread the sweetness’ videos where she shows happy things and whatever. But that’s not the point, Abby. The point is . . .” Quinn raised her open hands toward me. “Kai Carter hugged you. And so did Princess Isabella Victoria.”

I had imagined what kids at school would say if they knew that I’d been to Camp Famous. But I didn’t think that they’d actually find out. The photographers at the airport only printed pictures of the most famous kids, like Bells and Kai and Cameron. They never bothered with U.F.C.’s like Shira or Oliver. And since there was no technology allowed at camp, pictures never leaked.

Part of me wanted to brag about all my new friends. Okay, more than brag. I wanted to stand in the school hallway and shout about it as loudly as I could.

But I worried about what would follow: The eye rolls. The doubt. The rumors that I was a show-off liar.

Here was actual proof of my new friendships in the hands of one of the most popular girls in my grade. So why did part of me want to delete the video from Quinn’s phone?

“I met them this summer,” I said.

“Where? Where did you go to meet Kai Carter? TELL ME NOW!”

As Quinn leaned toward me, hunger for information in her bulging eyes, I thought about that testimonial on the Camp Longatocket website.

My camp friends are with me no matter where I go.

I squared my shoulders like Willa.

I thought fast like Shira.

I called up my inner confidence like Bells.

I smiled like Hazel.

But I spoke in my own words: “Sorry, Quinn. Kai’s busy rehearsing for his tour, but I’ll tell him you’re a big fan.”

Then I slammed the door shut.