locates the pink and black tube. As she pulls it out, a delicate gold chain comes unloosed and clinks to the floor. She stoops to pick it up. Itâs the necklace her dad gave her for her tenth birthday, a tiny Taurus symbol. He always called her his stubborn Taurus. She hasnât seen it in years; she lost it here at camp that last summer, doing something or otherâmaybe she took it off to swim or it came off in the sand or broke during a run or who knows what. Maybe itjust got lost at the very back of her cubby and she forgot to look for it.
As she clasps it around her neck, the phone conversation she had with her mother right before heading to reunion floods back to her, filling her chest with anxiety all over again. Her dad. Fraud. Investigation. Their assets frozen, at least for the moment. None of it made any sense at all. Taliâs dad is one of the best people she knowsâhe always talks about how important it is to treat everyone equally, and he shows kindness in small ways that others would never think of, whether itâs bringing home surprise gifts or remembering details of a story you told him years before, or just going out of his way to make you comfortable. No matter how bad things got at school, during her gawky, ugly, miserable phase, she always felt safe at home. Her dad believed in her, said she could do anything she put her mind toâanything she put that bullheaded spirit into, more like it. She even used to joke sometimes that his unconditional love and support was going to make her soft. But she meant itânot everyone sees her the way her parents do. In the real world, sheâs had to work for it.
For the first time, she wonders if her dad ever had to work for it, for the way people just gravitated toward his big, warm smile and generous spirit. She canât believe heâd ever lie about anything. Sure, he traveled a lot for business and would sometimes tell her that things were rocky or that his company was taking big risks . . . most of it would fly over her head. But anyway, she trusted him implicitly. It simply never occurred to her that he could ever do anything wrong.
Thinking about it now sends her spinning. She
canât
think about it. Because the only word she can come up with to describe how she feels is cold, harsh, and definite:
betrayed
âa word that lands hard as a rock at the pit of her stomach.
When she arrives at the big barn-style dining hall entryway, sheâs struck by the familiarity of the scene: the clatter, the crowdedness, the unmistakable scent of aging wood, and the rubbery tang of lumpy food kept warm in metal chafing dishes. Tali navigates the circus of pre-sixth-grade boys jockeying for the attention of their female counterparts (the Bunk Fox girls), the chatter of pre-third-graders (the Chipmunks) writing messages in washable marker on one anotherâs arms, all the way through to the circling Hawks, prowling Wolves, and, finally, the Blue Herons.
Joy and Zoe are bent toward each other in a distinctly intense-looking huddle over table 17, Joyâs long, brown hair and Zoeâs matching blondâboth of which Tali always enviedâtucked behind their respective ears.
Tali plops down next to Zoe; Joy smiles and nods at her tray. âI see youâve found the Camp OK dinner just as theyâve left it for us,â she says, not feeling particularly hungry.
âThe only question is whether the foodâs from two days ago or two years ago, right? Not sure Iâd be able to tell,â Zoe adds, poking at her noodles, then giving up and going for her slice of pizza instead.
âI vote two years ago,â Joy says with a slight smirk.
âWhatever,â Tali says, forking a bit of salad. âItâs a far cryfrom fantastic, but itâs edible.â
âI wonder if this pasta would stick to the walls if we threw it,â Zoe says.
âI bet I could find out,â Joy says, and reaches
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