She nods. “’Kay. Zeesy and I are going to get ice cream, you coming?”

I jump up, feeling a little unsteady after baking in the sun like that. “Totally. Bye, Shan.”

“Yeah, bye, Shan,” Debbi says.

Why do I feel like a little kid who got in trouble for running away and is following his angry mother back home?

I look at Debbi’s profile, lips pressed together, and impulsively, I turn back. “Shan, you wanna join?”

She sits up. “I can do ice cream. Totes.”

I don’t look at Debbi.

I’m not trying to annoy anyone. Like really not. I just feel like my rhythm with Debbi and Zeesy is off somehow, like they learned a new dance and no one taught me the steps. Then there’s Shan, so willing to be friends, to connect, to be there. So why shouldn’t I let her? Since when is Debbi the jealous type? Me, I’m always jealous, let’s just be honest. But Debbi and Zeesy are way too confident for that.

Unless they’re not…?

I lick my cone, trying to imagine how many calories are in there and actually not caring.

It’s summer! We’re in camp! The sun is shining and the birds are chirping and there’s a two-night overnight coming up and all thoughts of 11th grade and Ma and Chumash class are far, far away.

We watch a group of lifeguards race each other to the lake, and then we spy some freshies trying to sneak into a golf cart. Considering that as TCs we’re separate from the rest of the camp, it’s refreshing to see other people now and then.

“Watch this,” I say.

I pull myself up to my full five foot five inches and place my hands on my hips like a cartoon mama bear.

“That is very dangerous. And absolutely not allowed!” I say in a deeper, louder voice. They look at me like I’m insane.

“Are you even staff?” one of them asks, a cute blonde with freckles splattered across her face.

“Absolutely not!” I thunder, and we all lose it. The freshies are crying from laughter, and I know they must feel so cool to be partying with us. I like that I could give them that, just because I’m older.

I turn around and find Debbi deep in conversation with Shan. Well then. That’s new. I walk over to stand next to Zeesy.

“How’s your orangesicle?” I ask, wrinkling my nose. “You know that’s the weirdest order, right?”

Zeesy sticks out a cream-covered tongue. “Says you! I like it.”

I shrug. “Some people…”

She pokes me and we laugh but I still feel unsteady; our dynamic is off, and I’m not loving it.

I duck behind a dumpster, my blood pumping. They’re going to get me. That’s it, it’s over. I’m not going to make it. I close my eyes; their voices are drawing closer.

I can hear my pulse in my ears, a strange hollow thudding.

This is it. I take a deep breath and step out, hands raised.

“I come in peace.”

“There she is!”

Blam! Blam! Blam!

My vision is suddenly orange and green. Oh no. Oh, man!

“You guys got paint in my hair,” I say, whipping off my helmet. “I think three shots was a bit excessive, don’t you?”

My captors are shrieking and high-fiving so I guess not.

I love this! Paintball is fun! At least the low-key version the camp rented.

Debbi dances over to me.

“You got cauuught, you got caught,” she singsongs.

Classy.

This calls for one thing only. I casually dip my hand into a glob of paint on my shirt and then smear it all over Debbi’s perfect eyebrows.

“Oh, this means war,” she growls. I’d be scared but she looks too comical.

“Let the games, uh, continue!”

We enter the bunkhouse, dripping and sweating and delirious with laughter. “Camp-o-gram for Debbi, Ricky, Baila, Naomi!” Zeesy calls out. “Oh, and moi!”

I reach for the note laughing.

See you visiting day, Nomes!

Love, Ma, Ta, Sima, Libby, and Miri.

Yocheved’s name is not on the list.

Blam! Blam! Blam!

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 957)