“Sara, you’re awful. Be on your guard, Jean. She gets the greatest joy from making people spaz out.” He drags a chair to Sara’s other side and leans on her armrests in a familiar kind of way. I’d say he’s getting comfortable, but how could someone like him get comfortable? “So what’s the plan this year?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act innocent. I’ve been around too long. If the plan’s a secret, just say so. At least tell me who you’ve got.”

“It so happens, I do have Margie again.”

“Useful. Very useful. I’ve got the quad.”

“Well, well. Good work. The only real talent in the whole camp.”

“C’mon, give me a hint. I don’t see how you’re going to top the pie in the face.”

“I didn’t do that.”

Willie turns to me, but I know he’s doing it for effect, for Sara. “She never does anything. She has henchmen.”

“No I don’t.”

“Like people with IQs under forty-five. If someone leads them astray, they don’t get punished. They’re incompetent. Untouchable.”

“Now, I’m not admitting anything, you understand, but I have heard that if you take time to prepare an Untouchable, and prepare her well, she’ll accomplish the mission to perfection and will never rat on whoever put her up to—whatever it was.”

I still can’t get my words together. Even my thoughts are stuttering.

He touches a gnarled hand to her skinny shoulder. “I’ll see you later. Time to sneak off to my cabin.”

*   *   *

“How about handing me that stuff from the middle of the table?”

“All that?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I figure I’ll try. I reach out and rake over a tangle of Magic Markers, plastic string, and wood pieces. Sara extracts a marker and a sawed-wood disk. With her teeth she uncaps the marker and then sets to work on the wood with small, precise movements.

“Camp’s pretty weird. The teenage session isn’t really set up for non-MR people, but I keep coming for some reason.” I look around again. MR must mean mentally retarded. There are lots of them around.

She concentrates on threading string through holes drilled in the wood. Her long dark hair is crimped in waves like it’s just been unbraided. She’s wearing big round glasses, a baggy dress, and sandals. Her legs aren’t shaved. What? A crippled hippie? The crippled people I’ve seen have been at the telethon. There we all wear our Sunday best.

Not far away, a black MR girl is peering at us sideways, over her shoulder. Sara notices her just when I do. “Margie! Hey! Guess what? I got you switched to my cabin. We’re going to be cabinmates again!” The girl just stares at her feet. “Listen, Margie, do me a little favor. You see that knife up there on top of the trophy case? Can you get it for me?” She points with one thin finger. “You see? Up on top.”

“Should we mess with the knife?” Margie asks.