“How was the first night?” Janelle asked.

“Do you see the kid with the red hair?” he replied. “Blue shirt? His name is Lucas. He is my nemesis.”

“You can’t have an eight-year-old nemesis,” Janelle said, picking the grapes out of her fruit cup.

“Don’t tell me how to live my life. He’s . . . oh god. He’s coming over here.”

Lucas, the nemesis, had noticed Nate and was indeed walking toward them, eating a sausage link with his fingers as he did so. He sat down at the table with them without asking permission and looked at Janelle and Stevie.

“Are you his friends?” he asked.

Lucas was direct.

“Yes,” Janelle said sweetly. “We go to school together.”

“I’ve read his book seven times,” he said.

“Wow,” Janelle replied. “That’s a lot!”

Because it was a lot, and this kid was eight years old.

“Yeah,” Lucas replied. “I’m still waiting for the next one. He says he’s not done.”

Nate’s head shrank a bit into his shoulders, like a slowly descending elevator.

“Can you get him to finish it?” Lucas asked.

“I don’t think so,” Janelle replied. “But he will.”

“I have ideas,” Lucas went on.

“I wrote it,” Nate said as Lucas wandered back to his bunk’s table. “I don’t need ideas.”

“You kind of do,” Janelle said under her breath.

“I’m in hell.”

“He’s eight,” Janelle pointed out again. “And he read your book. That’s nice.”

Nate physically recoiled.

“You’ll have more time soon,” Janelle went on. “It’s just another day or so until the other counselor gets here.”

If Stevie thought that the morning had been an abrupt swing into action, she had no idea what the day had in store. The minute that the trays were cleared from the picnic tables, the entire camp moved over to the green, where they assembled in a ring around the flagpole, said the Pledge of Allegiance, and listened to some announcements. Then all the groups split off and activities began.

It was a good thing that Janelle was the way she was. The art pavilion was ready. In fact, it was likely that in the entire history of the camp, the art pavilion had never been as ready as it was on that morning. Janelle had waited her whole life for this moment, and now it was upon her. These children had no idea what they were in for. They would craft like they had never crafted in their lives.

For a few hours, there was no case, there was no David. There were pipe cleaners and markers and rounded scissors. Stevie had glue stuck on her fingertips and paint on her arms and had helped make half a dozen flapping owls out of paper plates, several beaded necklaces, some kind of thing with paint and feet. During the short periods that the pavilion was free of kids, Janelle was sweeping around, an ecstatic glow on her face, as she was combining her loves of crafting, organizing, and cleaning into one geode of pleasure. Lunch came and went, then the entire afternoon. Soon there was dinner, during which Nate hid behind one of the dining pavilion pillars before vanishing entirely, and then the first day was over.