tell we were opposite in personality, too. She couldn’t keep still all night, full of laughter and words, waving to friends, singing along with the music at halftime. So much energy she had. Such joy spread across her face.
Not like today.
Today, she is not with her mom or my dad. Today, when she gets off the bus she is walking alone and her head is hung low and she looks completely out of her comfort zone. Maybe she is only joyful when she’s with her family. Maybe she wasn’t prepared to be on a camping trip with girls from North Portland. She lives in Lake Oswego. I doubt she’s ever been around this many Black girls at once. I step back a bit, hide behind Natasha, the only other teen counselor I like in real life, outside of camp. We’ve worked together every year. Natasha’s family is the kind you see in the frames at stores, the kind on greeting cards, so I don’t tell her my father’s daughter is on that bus. Natasha doesn’t know anything about dads leaving their children.
Mrs. Thompson, the only person I know who can make a T-shirt and jeans look classy, stands at the bus waiting for the door to open. Usually as campers get off the bus, we clap and cheer and usher them into the main lodge for the welcome and cabin assignments. But I keep hiding behind Natasha, who turns and asks, “You all right?” as she claps and yells, “Welcome, welcome.”
Brooke doesn’t notice me. She is occupied with pulling her designer suitcase with one hand and holding her sleeping bag with the other. She looks like she is prepared to go to a fancy resort, not a muddy campground. I think about all the money Dad must spend on her name-brand clothes and shoes, her hair and manicures. This camp. She is probably one of the few girls here who paid full tuition.
Once we are all in the main hall, Mrs. Thompson gives a welcome, reviews the rules, and then tells us what our room assignments will be. Each teen counselor is responsible for four campers. She explains, “You will all have a teen counselor, or what I like to call a big sister, to look up to while you are here. If you need anything, please reach out to her.”
I see Mrs. Thompson pick up her folder. She reads the master roster and begins to call out the cabin assignments. All the groups are named after a color. After she calls the Red, Yellow, and Gray groups, she says, “Raven, come on down!” like she’s on The Price Is Right.
I walk to the front and stand next to Mrs. Thompson. Brooke is sitting right in the first row. She finally sees me. At first there is shock on her face but then her expression softens and she smiles and waves.
I look away.
Mrs. Thompson says, “Raven is responsible for the Green Campers. If you have a green folder, please come forward. That’s Mercy, Cat, Hannah, and Robin. You will be in Cabin Three with Natasha and the Blue Campers.”
The girls rush over to me, green folders in hand and smiling those shy first-day-of-camp smiles. I don’t look at Brooke when the girls crowd around me, giving me hugs like they already know me.
DAY TWO: MONDAY
It looks like it snowed last night. The black cottonwood trees are fragrant and sweet smelling and the wind has blown their fluff across the campgrounds. The snow-like flowers stand out bright against the darkness of the fallen brown branches. I am sitting on the porch in a rocking chair across from Mercy, Cat, and Hannah, who are sitting on the steps.
We are waiting for Robin to come down so we can head over to the dining hall for breakfast. Natasha’s group got to the showers first, so my girls had to wait. Natasha and I were smart enough to take our showers last night, because we know how these things go.
“I’ll see you all over there,” Natasha says to me as she leads the Blue Campers out the door, Brooke dragging behind them like the caboose of a train. I was relieved that she wasn’t in my group, but having her this close to me, in the same cabin, is just as awkward.
We still haven’t spoken to each other. What is there to say?
I watch Brooke as she walks to the dining hall and wonder what she is thinking, wonder what she knows about me, my mom. The other Blue Campers are walking side by side up the pathway, close to Natasha, who is leading the way up the steep hill. I watch Brooke trying to keep up, her plump legs climbing as fast as they can. I don’t think Natasha or the other girls realize how far behind she is.
The food at Oak Creek is some of the best eating I’ve ever had. The head cook is from New Orleans, and everything about her meals reminds us of where she is from. The dining hall is a symphony of mouths chewing, mouths talking, mouths laughing, mouths yelling across the room. Mrs. Thompson makes an announcement that it is the last call for the kitchen and if anyone wants more, they should go up now.
The symphony continues. More mouths chewing, mouths talking, mouths laughing, mouths yelling across the room. And then Mercy’s voice cuts through all the noise, like a siren. “You’re too fat to be getting seconds!”
I turn to see who Mercy is yelling at, getting ready to give my lecture about kindness and respect, because I am seventeen and that is what I am supposed to do, be an example. When I turn around, I see Brooke standing there with her tray, head down.
“Yeah,” one of the Blue Campers says, “you think just because you got long hair and expensive things you’re all that. But you’re not. You could barely walk up the hill this morning. You need to go on a diet.”
I don’t know what Brooke’s hair and belongings have to do with her weight. Sometimes, it’s easier to be mean to a person than to admit that you wish you were that person.
All the girls except Robin laugh. I think maybe I should say something since I am a fake big sister to Mercy and a real big (half) sister to Brooke. If Mrs. Thompson was standing here, she’d be disappointed and tell me that she expects more from me. If Mom was standing here, she’d be disappointed and tell me it’s not Brooke’s fault my dad left. She’d tell me I can’t go giving Brooke these feelings that really belong to Dad. But neither of them is standing here, so I don’t have to do what I know they’d want me to do. Besides, before I can even open my mouth, Natasha is already handling it. “It’s none of your business what she eats,” Natasha says. She puts her arm around Brooke, like a big sister would.
I find the words I know I should say and reprimand Mercy and the girl from the Blue group, but something in their eyes tells me they don’t believe I am as upset as I am pretending to be. Once I threaten to tell Mrs. Thompson, they agree to apologize. Brooke doesn’t even acknowledge them when they say, “Sorry.” She just keeps her eyes straight ahead, not looking at me either.
The Green Campers and the Blue Campers walk over to the cabin where workshops are held. Robin walks close enough to Mercy and her clique to be one of them but also close enough to Brooke to say, I see you, I know. I notice Brooke struggling again to get up the hill. She is breathing hard and sweating.
I could walk slower, let the others go ahead and stay behind with Brooke, but instead, I walk with my Green Campers. They are my responsibility; they are the reason I am here.
Natasha and I are outside on the back porch waiting for the botany class to end. The black cottonwood trees are still shedding. It looks like someone made a wish and blew a million dandelions into the sky. I am imagining a million of my wishes coming true, wondering what it would be like to want nothing, when I hear the botany teacher say, “Black cottonwoods are also known as healing trees, as they are good for healing all types of pains and inflammations. Some say this tree possesses the balm of Gilead because of the nutrients that hide in
