They laugh. They all laugh. Denise, Peggy Jo, Yvonne, even Dolly. Margie most of all.

A sob rises in my throat; pressure builds inside my head. I won’t cry. I won’t give her the satisfaction. I turn my head and study the rippling shades of green outside the screens. I listen, hard, to a squirrel running on the roof.

*   *   *

Sara raises her eyebrows and cuts a little look around the cabin. I wish Becky from arts and crafts weren’t taking herself quite so seriously. She’s trying so hard to be stern, but it’s hard to be stern while cutting crepe paper, wrapping it around cut coat hangers, and gathering it with string. Even harder to be grim while fluffing bright red flower petals.

“Now, be real careful how you wrap the tape. It should overlap, but just barely, and do a triple layer when you get to the base of the flower. Be sure it’s tight enough to hold.” With clenched teeth and furrowed brow and ponytails bouncing on both sides of her head, she peels green floral tape off the roll.

“Now I’ll show you the leis.” She opens a box of rainbow Kleenex and starts pulling. Pink. Blue. Yellow. White. She scowls her worst scowl yet; maybe the Kleenex pop out too cheerfully. She rips the box in half. From the lifeless heap she takes a limp tissue and gathers it with sewing thread.

“Those look great, Becky,” Sara says, apparently untouched by all that sternness. “Can I see up close how you connect them?”

Becky passes the flowers to her. “Now, we expect you to make centerpieces for all eight tables for the Hawaiian luau tonight. And make as many leis as you can. Mr. Bob will let you come to the banquet and closing ceremonies—if you put in a good day’s work.”

“We will, definitely.” Sara turns to Yvonne. “This camp really does need new decorations. You remember how tawdry the old ones looked last year; I bet by now they’re absolutely shot.”

I’m exasperated. Doesn’t Mr. Bob know Sara is just delighted to stay indoors all day and make flowers? He’s thrown Br’er Rabbit right into the briar patch.

“Peggy Jo, let’s figure out how much stuff we have.” Sara isn’t letting herself be punished; she’s taking charge.

“Six big packages of crepe paper. Let’s see … fifteen coat hangers. Lots of Kleenex!”

“How many stems can we get from one coat hanger?”

“Three probably,” Yvonne says.

“Okay, Jean. You’re the math whiz. How many flowers per table?”