“So, then, there’s a third possibility. Maybe—they like it. Maybe these Norm kids get their kicks from rubbing up against cripples, epileptics, MRs, aussies, and every kind of freak. They know they’re in control; each contact reinforces their dominance, their perfect able-bodied superiority. It’s the special thrill of laying hands on lepers. It’s how they know they’re divine. Teasing freaks might just be a turn-on they don’t get anywhere else.”

I can’t make up my mind either. That MR guy is standing like a folded-up ironing board with that girl counselor all over him. He is being so good, so passive, that she wraps her arms around his neck and presses her breasts against his chest. She pushes her hips, hard, against his groin. My experience is very limited, but I can tell the MR man is getting pretty hot. I’m not sure about the girl counselor.

Some of the campers, the ones with their heads screwed on right, pull back. It kills me. They’re trying to be polite. Some counselors take a hint; others don’t. I see campers cringe beneath kisses they’re powerless to resist. A few counselors act right. That surfer guy, for one, seems to know how to have fun without going over the line. But no one, not even the surfer guy, seems to disapprove of those who go too far. It is clearly acceptable at Camp Courage to tease Freaks.

Sara speaks again, so softly I can barely hear her over the music. “You know, the crazy thing is not just that I can’t figure out why they do it, but I can’t even decide what’s worse. To be so misunderstood that they don’t know we’re sexual? To be thought so pitiful as to need this kind of therapy? Or to be exploited for their kicks? Can you tell me what’s worse?”

I shrug. How can I know, when Sara, who has an answer, an analysis, for everything, doesn’t know? I stare at Sara’s feet dangling in dusty sandals.

The music stops, and the ceiling lights flash off and on. I look up to see Sue at the light switch, holding the door open. “Look out, everyone! She’s here, all dolled up.” Through the door comes Dolly, with Carole behind her pushing. I had forgotten all about them, but now I’m almost ill.

“WHO’S GONNA DANCE WITH ME FIRST?” Dolly squeals at the rafters. They’ve dressed her in a maxi skirt, slit up to the hip. Her drawn-up legs stick out of the slit entirely, leaving the skirt flapping limp behind them. High-heeled shoes are taped to her feet. I can smell perfume across the room.

“There, you see?” Sara says icily, “The impossible dreamer. That’s what they really want from us.”

Boy counselors crowd around her.

Hello, Dolly.