“Exactly. It wouldn’t.”

She turns back to the badminton game. “Who’s playing for who, anyway?”

“I’ve got De-nise.”

“Naturally—she’s ahead. I shouldn’t have asked!”

I raise my left eyebrow. I have good control of that eyebrow. The sun has moved so high that the shadows of two pines over our heads shrink to mere polka dots. Poor Denise and Peggy Jo are soaked with sweat.

“You know,” Sara says, “there are a lot of telethon stories around here. I’ve been collecting them. People do telethons, year after year. And each year it seems they get more uncomfortable.”

I nod.

“There are exceptions. Impossible dreamers like Dolly and maybe the aussies—who can tell?—some people love the telethon, genuinely. But most of us are just pretending. We keep our feelings hidden, even from ourselves. Underground. Under cover. And it’s our silence, our cooperation, that keeps the whole structure in place. Withdraw that support and it all falls down.”

She pauses. There’s nothing to say, but I feel my head nod.

“So,” she says with dancing eyes, “I’ve been working on a little scheme. A small conspiracy.”

What now?

“I’ve been thinking we should make a real statement at Talent Night. Bag ‘Morning at Camp Courage.’ Do something meaningful. Guerrilla theater. A reverse telethon.”

“A what?”

“It’s a futuristic fantasy. A world where cripples are in control. Nothing like it has ever been done here. Nothing at all like it. Amazing, huh? It’ll blow the lid off.”

“Ta-lent Night is to-night. We have a skit prepared. It’s funny.”

“Yeah, but switching will be no problem. I’ve got it all figured out. Mary and Dolly can do the same stuff we’ve been rehearsing. Everyone else is adaptable. I’ll be the MC. I’ve told everyone their parts and cues. I wasn’t sure of your part, till just now. Now I’ve got it. You’ll be cohost. You just nod, nod at everything, nod, nod, nod, until I say, ‘What do you think of that, Jean?’ That’s your cue. ‘What do you think of that, Jean?’ When you hear that, you say, ‘That girl needs speech therapy.’ It’ll be hilarious. Believe me!”

“The o-thers know a-bout this?”

“Yes. I’ve been talking it around since I got here.”

I think about the serious-looking discussions she’s been having with Peggy Jo, Denise, Yvonne, even Margie—always out of my earshot. “Why did-n’t you tell me?”

“I had to be sure I could trust you.”

“TRUST me?”

“I saw those telethon souvenirs you brought, and I figured you’d be hard to recruit.” It’s like she’s talking about someone else, someone who doesn’t matter much. “But after last night, I decided you’d be ready.”

Last night? How can she possibly know?