Michael’s whole face seems to glow like a Christmas bulb.

She steps forward. “Do you mean to tell me that you have never done an unkind thing? Have never thought a bad thing? Have never said something that hurt someone else?”

“No, I have, I guess.”

“To act, you must become someone else. Use the tiny parts of yourself that can relate to your character and make him believable. Adopt his personalities. Adopt his thoughts and feelings and opinions, even if they are not your own. If you can’t do that, Mr. Poole, well, you should be scooping ice cream this summer instead of acting.”

Michael is silent.

She steps forward and bends down to meet his eyes. “Are you angry at me, Mr. Poole? Wouldn’t you like to say something unkind?”

He nods.

“Good,” she says, spinning away. “Use those feelings.”

Chapter 11

SHUDDER AT THE THOUGHT

On Sunday morning I check my sunburnt back. BORING is still there but not as noticeable as it was last night. Still, I can’t wear a bathing suit without a shirt for several more days.

I don’t tell Grammy because she would go into orbit. She hates it when people are mean to each other.

I call Aimee. “What are the chances that you and Michael would want to go tag-saling with me? I have to find something.”

“Sure! Why not. When are you going?”

“As soon as you can get here. Do you think Michael will want to go?”

“Are you kidding? Michael will do anything to get out of the campground he has to live in. His family had to leave their house for the summer again so the landlord can rent it out to tourists for more money. Just like last year. He’s pretty miserable.”

“Okay. Well, call him and tell him we’ll cheer him up, and to get over here as quick as possible.”

“Your grammy would be proud of you getting all worked up over tag sales.”

• • •

I smell Michael before I see him.

“Well, there are worse things than smelling like s’mores,” I joke.

“Maybe. At least the smoke from the campfire keeps mosquitoes away, so I stayed in front of it all night. The tent is crowded, too, so outside is the better of the terrible choices.”

“I thought boys liked camping.”

His face is stone. “I thought girls liked shoes.”

I look down at my feet. “Okay. You got me there.”

Aimee arrives in time to hear this exchange. “Touché,” she says.

“C’mon, you guys,” I say, leading the way. “Time to find some treasures.”

“What are you looking for, anyway?” Aimee asks.

I hesitate. “A new frame for . . . a picture.”

“A picture of what?” Michael asks.

I swallow. “My mother.”

“I thought you didn’t know your mother,” he says.

When I don’t reply, Aimee turns and taps him on the arm. “Hey, maybe she doesn’t want to talk about it.”