After we register, the camp leaders divide us into groups. Mine is called the Mustangs. The leaders show us where to store our possessions and give us directions to the outdoor work areas. I figure things can’t get any worse until I see a girl filling out her name tag at the registration table. Just as I’m about to make a run for it, she spots me. “What are you doing here?” Carly asks. “I was about to ask you the same question.” She shrugs. “My mother works, so I go to different camps every summer.” I know it’s only a matter of time before she interrogates me, so I beat her to the punch. “Don’t ask about the summer reading list because I haven’t even started.” “I wasn’t going to ask you anything.” She leaves me by the table and approaches the camp leader. She’s probably going to try and be that teacher’s pet too. For a brief moment on the drive in, I thought maybe I’ll be one of the smartest kids here, maybe I won’t be the one who needs extra help.
