“I was busy while y’all were napping.” She turns to address the whole room. “You know, the scuttlebutt is that we’re way ahead on Cabin Cleanup; the Yellows won softball, but Margie and Denise have racked up some points for us in sports. We’re clearly ahead overall. On Talent Night, we’ll cinch Best Cabin All Around. I have here the winning skit.”

“Oh, yeah?” Although I’m teasing her a little, I’m more than ready to forget about what happened this morning and hear about the skit.

“It’s called ‘Morning at Camp Courage.’ Y’all get the idea? Denise and Peggy Jo can play the counselors.”

“I’ve got to have your T-shirt, Sue,” Denise says, “and that whistle!”

“You were going to be Carole, but if you want to be Sue, that could work.” She flips through the script and jots notes.

Peggy Jo gets a dreamy look in her eyes and wrestles with a hunk of hair. “I can be Carole, if y’all want me to, not that I have to, or anything.”

“I’m not that bad, y’all. Am I?” Carole says. I’ve never noticed her soft country accent, but Peggy Jo has captured it just right.

Sara gets down to business. “Basically, the situation is, heroic counselors struggle through the morning routine and have a series of humorous encounters with sleepyheads, grumps, layabouts, and bubble-brains.”

“Can I be a layabout?” Margie asks.

“A layabout? You? I was thinking more like a would-be cosmetologist. You’ll be doing Jean’s hair and makeup. Does anyone know how to build one of those awful beehives?”

My aunt has one of those beehives. It would take a whole can of hairspray to get my fine hair to do that, but it could be funny.

“What about Dolly? What will she be doing, do you think?” Carole asks.

“She’ll be herself, talking about her novella.”

Carole looks at Sue with an unspoken question on her face. Sue frowns but doesn’t say anything.

“And Yvonne will be forging fraudulent BM charts. We need a good joke about BM charts. Or about forgery. I haven’t got it yet.” I squeal at the idea. Pretty risqué, Dolly would say.

“And, Sara,” Denise asks, “exactly what will you be doing all this time?”

“I’ll be trying to convince everyone to strike. I’ll give a Marxist analysis of cabin cleanup as a form of labor exploitation. My rousing oratory will be unheeded because of your false consciousness, of course.”

I laugh. Isaac. We laugh. Even at our own favorite theories.

“What a-bout Ma-ry?” I ask.