The campers are recognized one by one, and I realize that most of them are still strangers to me. I wonder about the things they could tell me. What’s it like to spend half your childhood in the hospital? To be a Norm and then not be? And Butner. What’s Butner really like? I am afraid even to ask myself, but at the same time I burn with wanting to know. I wonder about their families, where they live, how they live. In this place, so many little worlds come together, but most have failed to touch me. Maybe I’ve missed something important, and now it’s too late even to find out what. I am wrapped in the soft sadness of an opportunity missed.

Mr. Bob is talking about Margie. “I personally have seen Margie, every meal, clearing the table, and wiping it till it shines. Congratulations, Margie.” Flustered, joyous, Margie takes her certificate: Cleanest Camper.

As they go through the names of my cabinmates, I squirm. My name will be coming up. I hope I won’t get Camp Spirit, but I can’t think of anything I’ve achieved.

Then, it comes. Mr. Bob pats my head and dumps the certificate on my lap. “Best Bean Mosaic.” I want to disappear. I didn’t make the mosaic; Sara and Margie made it for me.

Margie jumps up. “Jean! We won!” She hugs me so hard it almost hurts, but she has shown me how to be proud of the award.

Next is Sara. “Member, Camper Council, 1970.” I guess this is a historic fact, something Mr. Bob can’t take away. All he can do is declare, in black and white, that it’s a council, not a Soviet. Graciously and entirely unlike someone in disgrace, Sara extends her hand to Mr. Bob, “Esteemed comandante, it was my pleasure to serve. Or at least try. Historical conditions were not quite ripe, but we may hope that the struggle—”

“That concludes the presentation of awards. I’d like to applaud all of you who achieved so much. Give yourselves a round of applause!”

Mr. Bob launches into a speech. “The awards represent a key ingredient in Camp Spirit—persistence. The best things don’t come easy. You have to keep at it.”

Willie creeps up behind us. “Sara, how many camp directors have you heard giving this speech?”

“Five, I think. In eight years.”

“And how many times did they skip the awards for Cleanest Cabin and Best Cabin All Around?”

“Never before tonight.”

“Congratulations! Our intelligence was that you had it nailed. That’s why we didn’t exert ourselves on Talent Night. We’re saving it for next year. We’ll grind you into dust.”

“Have a good life, Willie.”

“You too.”