Honestly, I felt the world had enough color in it, and didn’t need me messing up its palette

From somewhere in the house, the phone rang.

Mommy entered the room, sounding bored. “Perel, it’s for you.”

Of course. The phone always rang for Perel. I gripped the paintbrush in my hand and dared it to snap in half. I focused on blending colors on my newest creation as Perel rushed out of the room, squealing on the phone.

But Mommy wasn’t finished. “The camp called me back.”

I waited.

“You’re accepted, and you’re going.”

This time, the paintbrush did snap.

After that, the world wouldn’t let me forget what was looming. Mommy ordered shirt labels and towels. Perel belted out old camp songs and washed her organizers. Even the stores outside blared their camp sales in flashy neon signs.

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I wrapped my paints and brushes carefully and stuck them inside the new duffel bag that lay on the floor like a dead body. But Mommy was at the door, and she snatched them away.

“You are not taking them along,” she said. Seeing my distress, she lifted my chin with a finger. “Oh, honey, you’ll have an awesome time without painting. I want you to experience real life. I want you to put color into the world in your own way.”