“What can I say? I’m a natural leader,” I joke. “Remember songfest that year?”
“We cried for days,” Imogen says.
“Literal days,” Ava says.
“Well, wedidwrite the best alma mater of all time.” Imogen sits up on her elbows and clears her throat. “Shall I?”
“No!” Ava and I nearly scream in unison, forcing us all to laugh.
Imo rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she says. “Still can’t believe they let us be on the same team that year.” Imogen looks at Ava. “A Cantor phone call did the trick, I assume?”
Ava smiles but her lips are thin and there’s no joy there. None of the brashness from earlier in the summer when she joked about us being in the same group, thanks to some Cantor magic. It’s like all the boldness has drained from her and all we’re left with is Ava’s shell.
Imogen winces. “Sorry, Ave,” she says quietly.
Ava straightens her shoulders. Her collarbones are sharp like knives. “Don’t feel sorry for me,” she says. “Feel sorry for whoever he fucked over.” We’re all quiet for a sec, listening to the sounds of camp—the laughing, the wind, the high-pitched children’s voices floating from the fields.
“Have you heard from him?” Imo asks. “Or your mom?”
Ava presses her lips together and shakes her head.
The bell rings, summoning us into the dining hall. We followall the kids wearing their teams’ colors, singing their teams’ songs.
“Beeline for the sandwich bar,” Ava calls, and waves over her shoulder.
Imogen and I are left in the hot line, waiting for Christina to serve us tuna melts. But behind us, a loud clanking comes from the dining room. The sounds of plates falling over, silverware crashing against tables, metal chair legs scraping against the floor. Then I hear Ava’s voice loud above all the ruckus.
“What did you say to them?” she shrieks.
Imogen inhales sharply and we both bolt toward her voice. When we get there, I see Ava, her stance wide, Jordie and Bianca cowering behind her back. She’s leaning down, her pointer finger extended toward some twerpy little kid who can’t be more than twelve years old. Her eyes are on fire and her mouth is stretched into an oval, like she could eat him if she wanted to. The room is still waiting to see what she’ll say next.
“Isaidyour dad’s a criminal,” he says, his voice indignant, almost gleeful. “My mom told me he’s going to jail for a long, long time and no one should talk to Jordie or Bianca for the rest of camp.”
Oh no.
Jordie and Bianca whimper behind Ava, but Ava takes another step toward the kid.
“If you talk to them like that one more time, you’re going to wish your parents never sent you here,” she says through gritted teeth. She straightens her shoulders and looks up, at all the other kids staring at her, waiting to see what Ava Cantor will do next. She spreads her arms out wide and raises her voice. “That goes for everyone here,” she says. “If you have something to say about my dad, or to Jordie or Bianca, you come tomefirst.”
The room is silent, so quiet you can hear one of the zoned-out Ramblers chewing on the other side of the room. It only takes another second for Mellie to rush toward Ava and the twins, her eyes full of concern.
“Ava,” she says. “Let’s...”
But Ava raises her hands before Mellie gets close. “I’m going,” she says. “I’m going.” Instead of walking out of the dining room alone, she puts one arm around each twin and brings them with her, outside, away from this mess.
Mellie blinks once, twice, and then clears her throat, summoning her wholeeverything’s finevibe. She smiles wide. “Well, that was fun. Back to lunch, everyone,” she says, clapping her hands together. “We’ll be updating color war scores any moment now so you’ll want to be ready.”
The room slowly returns to normal, the comforting sounds of forks click-clacking and kids grabbing at cookies on the buffet, but Imogen and I are both stuck in place.
She starts walking toward the door, but I rest a hand on her arm. “Let me,” I say. “The twins.”
Imogen nods curtly, but looks shaken. “Hug her, okay?”
“I will.”
I follow Ava’s path out the side door, ignoring Meg’s calls for me to come to the table. When I get outside, I scan the lawn, looking for Ava and the twins. It takes a second but there they are, under a weeping willow a little ways away, off toward the tennis courts. I pick up my pace and hustle over to them.
But when I get close, something stops me. The muffled sounds of sobs coming from both Jordie and Bianca, sniffles escaping their noses. Ava’s making shushing sounds, rocking them both againsther. She’s whispering to them, her voice sweet and low, protective and familiar.
