Emily smiled back, taking it.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I assured her, needlessly pulling at my own curls. “And if it’s not,” I said, “I’ll take the blame.” I put on a voice. “Emily tried to hold me back! She pinned my arms to my sides with her exceptional strength, but she was no match for me . . . The Incredible Hulk of Unpacking!”
They laughed. Sirena nodded a thank-you at me. I smiled and retrieved my luggage from near the screen door. After throwing my backpack on top of the bunk by the window, near Emily and Sirena’s, I unzipped my duffle and pulled out my sleeping bag and pillow.
“So,” Emily said, picking up her stuffed owl and tucking it into her lap. “Are you the only girl on your team back home?”
“What?” I released my bright turquoise sleeping bag from its compression sack and arranged it and my pillow on the mattress. “No. There’s like . . . I don’t know. Half my team is girls, I think. My coach is a woman, too.”
“Lucky,” Sirena said, shaking her head.
“Yeah, I don’t really have a problem with our guys,” I said, trying to decide what to do with the stuff in my suitcase. “We actually do a lot of sketches, and I write most of those . . . I don’t know. Maybe with our coach being a woman and all those girls on the team . . .” I decided everything else could stay in my suitcase under the bed since I was probably moving tomorrow anyway. “Maybe she just shuts that sexist stuff down without us realizing it.”
“You are super lucky,” Emily said. “Our team needs some serious help. Like from Oprah.”
I grinned. “Oprah?”
Sirena raised an eyebrow. “Emily thinks Oprah can solve anything.”
I squinted. “You could do worse than to love Oprah, I guess. What—she built a school, created a publishing boom, launched a media empire—”
Emily interrupted me. “She’s smart. And brave.”
“Too bad she isn’t here,” I said, sitting on the bed across from them.
Emily and Sirena offered me identical quizzical looks.
I smiled. “Cuz I bet she could find your CD.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“I can’t believe I left the schedule at home!” Emily moaned on our trek to the Main Lodge. I had assumed there would be cell reception, so I’d left my paper copy at home, too. We had been walking three wide, but the dirt path narrowed, so I dropped back.
Sirena put her arm around Emily’s shoulders, and Emily peered up at her like a flower seeking the sun. Sirena’s voice was so gentle, I almost missed it. “All you need to know is the next thing on the schedule, right?”
Emily bit her lip a little and nodded.
Sirena hip-checked her. “Well, then, I’m sure we can beg someone to tell us when it’s time for dinner.”
I took two quick steps to catch up to Emily’s other side as the path widened again.
“And short of that,” I assured her, “I’m really good at sneaking food out of kitchens.”
Emily flashed me a small smile and nodded. “I just don’t want to be late. Or get into trouble.”
Sirena gently tugged on Emily’s braid. “We’re not going to get into—”
But Sirena was interrupted by a voice that sounded like a DJ announcing the bridal party at a wedding reception. “Paloma! Do you hear that? Real. Live. Actual. GIRLS!”
All three of us jerked our heads to the right where two girls were dragging their luggage down the intersecting path toward us.
Sirena and Emily and I waved and walked over to meet them halfway. As we drew nearer, I couldn’t help but stare at Announcer Girl. Her skin was white. But not white-person-white. Not pink-ish or olive-ish or even just super pale. Actual White. At first, I didn’t notice her hair because she was wearing a baseball cap, but when I looked more closely, I realized her ponytail was white, too. She wore dark sunglasses, jeans, and a light gray long-sleeve button-up shirt layered over a striped tank top.
I felt like I was staring at this shockingly white girl forever, which felt rude, so I smiled. “I’m Zelda.”
“Zelda!” she spluttered. “Is that seriously your name? Holy god, I thought I was going to be the one to stand out, but you? You’re named after a video game about an elf!” She took a step closer to me. “And that hair! It’s so curly! Geez. I bet people want to pull it and watch it spring back all the time. That would annoy me.” Before I could respond, she turned her attention to Sirena and Emily. “Are you two named after video games, too?”
Her friend, shorter and olive-skinned with bangs and long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, put a hand on her arm. “Hanna,” she warned, “we want them to like us.”
Hanna waved her away. “They’ll like you, Paloma. You’re going to take care of us all. And they’ll like me, too. I can tell. We’ve been talking for two whole minutes, and no one has called me an albino yet.”
I choked on the words in my throat.
Hanna’s friend rolled her eyes. “Hi. I’m Paloma. Please excuse Hanna. She’s actually very nice once—”
“Actually?” Hanna protested, dropping her backpack on the ground and putting her hands on her hips. “I’m actually very nice? I’m already being extremely nice.”
Paloma grabbed Hanna’s arm and marched her a few steps away from us, her voice low and full of reprimand.
I turned to Emily and Sirena, who were both staring at Hanna with their mouths open a fraction of an inch. It looked like they were trying to translate what she was saying from another language.
“She’s a little intense, huh?” I muttered.
That snapped them both out of their staring. Emily crossed her arms over her chest and Sirena exhaled sharply, tucking her hands in her pockets. “A little,” Sirena admitted.
Before we had a chance to regroup further, however, Hanna sighed. “Okay!” she huffed at Paloma, putting her hands up defensively.
I tried to exchange a look with Emily and Sirena, but they were already having their own wordless conversation.
Paloma walked briskly back over to us, Hanna dragging her feet a little behind her.
“Can we start over?” Paloma asked.
We all nodded.
“This,” Paloma said, gesturing at Hanna, “is Hanna. She is funny and fun and deeply loyal. She often speaks before she thinks, but you can’t help but forgive her over and over because at her core, she is the best of humankind.”
Hanna actually looked a little embarrassed.
Paloma bumped her shoulder into Hanna’s. “She also has oculocutaneous albinism, Type 1. That means her body doesn’t produce melanin, which gives our skin and hair color.”
While this information sunk in, Hanna said, “Is it my turn now?”
Paloma nodded.
“This,” Hanna sighed, gesturing at her friend, “is Paloma. She’s fifty feet tall and only eats purple food. She’s from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. She can milk an elephant.”
Shaking her head, Paloma said, “One of those things is true.”
“Ah, but which one?” Hanna said in a spooky voice. Then she mouthed “elephant” and pointed at Paloma.