They start swapping stories about fellow campers and beloved counselors and even subject the entire neighborhood to a quick rendition of some Color War-winning cheer, until eventually, they run out of good times to relive and notice I am still standing there, speechless. “So, wait, what are you doing here?” Declan finally says to Maeve, who looks over at me. She shakes her head delightedly at me, as if this is all some happy coincidence. “I can’t believe your Declan from Worcester is Dec O’Keefe from Chicawawa!” “Her Declan?” Declan repeats uncertainly, still looking at Maeve for answers, as I realize I’d never told her Declan’s last name. I kind of clear my throat until I have his attention, although I don’t understand what is happening. Why did Declan recognize Maeve—but not me? Do I look that different in real life? “It’s me, Annalise,” I say, lamely, trying to jar his recognition. “I’m sorry,” he says, peering at me more carefully now, but still with a look of polite confusion.
