Sue comes over. “Are y’all playing?”

“Not yet,” Sara says.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“We’ve decided to play the first game someone loses, because we’ll know that game isn’t rigged.”

Mr. Bob overhears. “Hey, now, everyone is a winner at Camp Courage!” He gives Sue an obvious wink. “What makes you think the games are rigged?”

Sara makes an exaggerated show of patience, “Oh, it’s hard to say. I just have a nagging feeling. Maybe it’s completely unjustified, so I promise I’ll play as soon as someone proves me wrong by losing.”

“Sara,” Sue says, “I’m tired of your inappropriate behavior. It’s bad enough when you continually refuse to participate, but now you’re spoiling the fun for others. I want you to stop this. Right now.”

“Sue, the ‘others’ can do whatever they want. But I’m not playing until someone loses. I’m just watching. I’m not making a scene. Now, if you want a scene, by all means, carry on.”

Mr. Bob leans down to talk to Margie, which is unnecessary because she’s nearly as tall as he is. “Wouldn’t you like to play?” he asks. “I bet you’d like to win a prize.”

Margie grins stupidly at her sneakers. “No thanks, Mr. Bob. I likes to pull the wheelchairs around. It’s fun.”

“Jean, what about you?”

“Not now.”

Mr. Bob turns away for a quiet discussion with Sue. It is quickly concluded. “I can’t force you to play,” Sue tells Sara, “but be sure you don’t interfere with anyone else.” It sounds like a threat, but from the way she and Mr. Bob hurry away, it’s clear they’re surrendering.

Dolly is at the circus game, howling and drooling. Her proxy, that marvelous softball pitcher, easily topples a clown. We go on to the safari game. A guy is very close to the lion—close enough to touch it, if he only had sense enough to reach out—but he can’t manage to bag it. “Try again,” they tell him. Someone shakes the table until the lion falls down.

It’s that surfer guy, shaking the table. I want to vanish; I don’t want him to notice me and remember how hard I kicked him. Why doesn’t Margie pull us away? We stay right there, right in front of the surfer guy. Since I can’t vanish, I look right at him. I brave a smile. I say, “Hel-lo.”

“Hello,” he says. I see no sign of recognition. Then it occurs to me: This morning, as he grappled with me, as he squeezed my legs hard enough to hurt, as I kicked him, he never looked at my face. Maybe he doesn’t know me from any other wheelchair girl in this place.