“Already did,” she said over her shoulder, walking away. “I like the dragon scales and the picture of Colette. It’s the best thing you’ve ever drawn.”

“Wow . . . thank you,” I said softly, my hand on my full heart, but she was already too far away to hear me.

The next half hour happened just like Frankie had said, with nice parents and older people asking me how I created my collage, or what inspired me to make my mixed media piece, the teenagers who’d been forced to attend lurking in the middle of the room. Kennedy was there, chatting with a group I didn’t know. It was hard not to notice that Seb was moving through the stations, talking to campers about their art. Doing what he was supposed to be doing.

Why couldn’t she?

Frankie appeared next to me, a half-eaten donut in one hand. “That kid is weird.”

“What kid?” I asked. “Do you mean Kane?”

She shook her head, pointing at Jake. “That kid,” she said. “We talked for like an hour about space and tornadoes.” It’d been nowhere near an hour. “He smells like cheese.”

“He’s nice,” I said defensively.

“I didn’t say he wasn’t,” she said. “I said he’s weird. I’m weird. You’re weird. We’re all weird.” She took a bite of donut and gestured toward Jackie. “Except that girl: she sucks. She ignored my questions about her splatter painting. Also, I know her.”

“What do you mean, you know her?” I asked, wanting to tell Frankie that Jackie was the mean girl I’d told her about, but not wanting her to say anything about it loudly for others to hear and embarrass me.

Frankie shrugged. “I just do. I’ve seen her.”

“Where?” I asked in disbelief. “On the camp blog?” Sometimes Karly put pictures of us there.

My sister shrugged again, her eyes narrowed, staring. I was glad Jackie didn’t look over, or she’d know we were talking about her.

Jackie hadn’t looked at me all night, at least not that I’d noticed. Maybe she was over her jealousy, but it seemed like she’d been avoiding me.

“I don’t think so,” Frankie said about the blog, before stuffing the rest of the donut in her mouth. Mumbling, she added, “I’ll remember eventually.”

Frankie stayed at my station when it was my turn to go around and see everyone’s work. Girl Sam had made a super-realistic sculpture apple, Jake’s picture of the night sky was impressive, and though I didn’t stop to get a close look, I thought Jackie’s abstract painting seemed interesting and complex.

I did stop in front of Izzy’s work when, thankfully, he was alone, because his special project was extra special—but embarrassing, too.