“She’ll be the very best. You know how aussies copycat. We’ll put her off to the side, with a big roll of toilet paper. Someone will have to get her started, but all the way through the skit she’ll be breaking off the squares, one by one, saying ‘He loves me, he loves me not.’ Before long there’ll be this big pile of toilet paper squares on the floor, and the counselors’ brooms will send them flying. It’ll get funnier and funnier.”

“I don’t know,” Carole says. “Don’t you think maybe—”

“Carole’s absolutely right,” Sue says. “It’s not appropriate to make fun of Mary and encourage her autistic tendencies. I think you’ll need to change Dolly’s part too.”

“Okay then,” Sara challenges them. “You think up something, something appropriate, for both of them, for all of us if you don’t like this skit. But I tell you, this skit will be funny. And it will score the points we need. Remember Commissar Bob’s Rule Number One!”

“Everyone participates!” we yell.

We’re sure to have the best skit. My competitive blood is up, and the first rehearsal is underway.

*   *   *

“What do you want to do?” Sara asks. For the evening, the lodge has been transformed into a carnival crowded with booths.

I shrug.

“Well, if you don’t have any special preferences, I have an idea. Let’s just reconnoiter for a while and agree to play the first game somebody loses.”

I’m puzzled but nod agreement. Whatever.

Margie walks between Sara and me and pulls us by our armrests through the crowd. Without getting in line to play, we get close enough to see the action at the first booth. The front of the booth is a cross-section of the sea on brown paper. Behind the blue waves are big steel basins from the kitchen. In the basins float yellow plastic fish, each with a ring on its back. The objective is to hook a fish with a weighted fishing hook.

There is no limit on how many times a camper can try. When necessary, the counselor grabs the fish and holds it still. Dead on the water. The camper swings the hook. Nowhere near. The counselor tries holding the line a few inches from the hook and dangles it toward the ring. “This is really pretty hard,” she says. To get it over with, she holds the fish and hooks it. All the camper has to do is bring it in. The plastic fish doesn’t put up much of a struggle.

“Not exactly The Old Man and the Sea is it?” Sara says.

Willie comes up from behind and leans on my push handles. “What are y’all doing?”

Margie answers. “Reconnoitering. What about you?”

“I’m on a mission. The guys in my cabin sent me to find out what y’all are doing for Talent Night.”

“Oh, really?” Sara says.