He looked at Jasmine and held up a finger. “I love Fire Hot Cheese Crisps.” He held up another finger. “My mom set our kitchen on fire last summer.” He held up a third. “Firestorm is an underrated character.”

“Wrong,” another boy said flatly.

“That’s not about you, Izzy,” Jasmine said. “It’s about . . .” She looked around the group for help.

“A comic book character,” Girl Sam said, rolling her eyes. “A DC one.”

“DC sucks,” said a tall, dark, and wiry boy standing closer to Jasmine than Izzy.

Boy Sam gasped, eyes wide like the kid had offended him. “Harley Quinn is the reason I get out of bed in the morning.”

Girl Sam lost it. “But Aquaman?”

“Every franchise has its faults,” Boy Sam admitted sheepishly.

“People, can we like reel it in here?” Jasmine asked. Then, to Izzy, “Say something about you, not a comic book character.”

“Fine,” Izzy said. “I once ate a ghost pepper.”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” Girl Sam muttered. “Everything’s about fire. Are you saying you’re hot or something, because you’re not all that.”

“No, Samantha, I’m sharing three things related to hotness so you guys can easily remember them if there’s a quiz or something.”

“There aren’t quizzes at art camp,” Jasmine said, looking concerned. “Are there?”

“I’m Jake,” said the kid who’d told Izzy he was wrong about Firestorm—loudly. He was looking at me as his black-framed glasses slipped down his nose; he didn’t push them back up. His messy hair was greasy, and his cargo shorts and maroon polo looked like he’d worn them yesterday and slept in them last night, too. “I’m neighbors with Izzy, I’m very good at photography, and Jackson Hole is correct.” His sleepy eyes fell back to his super-scuffed sneakers. “Oh, and I take German.”

The way he talked immediately reminded me of my sister, especially when she was younger. I wondered if Jake was on the autism spectrum.

“Nice,” Izzy said to Jake. Then, to me, “We all go to school together. Well, except Sam. But I guess we will, too?”

Boy Sam said, “Looks that way.”

I felt like such an outcast.

Why did you come here? Mean Me asked. What, did you think you were just going to do some art and be over what happened? How stupid are you?

“Tess?” Izzy asked.

I stared at him blankly. “Huh?” I realized he had nice eyes. They looked like caramel sunbursts in front of a chocolate background.

“We were asking about what you like to do?”

“I don’t really . . .” I said, my voice trailing off. “I mean, I draw.”

“That’s cool,” Izzy said quietly, smiling.