Black Enough. Группа авторов

music, because Mrs. Thompson says the music we are listening to these days isn’t really music. “Come on now, I’m older than all of you in here. Don’t tell me you can’t keep up. Come on now.” Mrs. Thompson grabs Brooke and tries to dance with her down the Soul Train line. “Come on, now, child,” Mrs. Thompson says.

      Brooke doesn’t move.

      Cat whispers to Mercy, “She don’t look like she dance at all.”

      Mercy laughs and says, “Living all the way out there in Lake Oswego, she probably never even seen a Soul Train line.”

      Mrs. Thompson is so into her dancing, she doesn’t even notice the tension between the Blue and Green Campers. “Natasha? Raven? One of you come help me out.”

      Mrs. Thompson grabs me and we dance together down the aisle doing old-school dances (that I only know because Dad taught them to me). I get to the end of the line and I am out of breath and sweating and laughing. I look back at Brooke, who is standing in the same place, like a stone.

       DAY FIVE: THURSDAY

      The sun has said good night and now we are sitting under an ocean of stars. They shimmer like the glitter I once used on a Father’s Day card. It was after Dad left us. I never sent it.

      If it weren’t for the fire, it would be darker than dark out. The rain starts and stops, but we are not going inside without at least one campfire story. Kyle, one of the other teen counselors, taught everyone the best method for roasting marshmallows. We squish the white sponge between graham crackers and squares of chocolate and feast while she whispers tales of the Oak Creek Monster.

      “The spirit of a little girl who died a long time ago haunts these woods,” Kyle tells them.

      Mercy breaks in, “How did she die?”

      Kyle rolls her eyes—she hates being interrupted and prefers to pace out the story for dramatic effect. “Well, there are many theories. Some say the girl was walking with her friends by the creek and slipped in by accident and drowned. But others say her friends pushed her in. For months, everyone mourned the little girl and shunned the friends accused of murdering her. But one year later, on the anniversary of her death, the little girl was seen walking around the woods. People believe the girl faked her death to escape her evil stepmother and that she lives in the wilderness, surviving off the land. Many visitors have spotted her hiding in the tree house at the end of Willow Road.”

      “There’s no tree house down the road!” Mercy says.

      “There is, too,” Hannah tells her.

      Other campers agree.

      “I saw it when we got dropped off, right at the bottom of the road!” Brooke says.

      Robin agrees. “Me too.” Robin scoots closer to me. Brooke scoots closer to her.

      Kyle looks at all of us teen counselors and asks, “Should I let them know the rest?”

      This hasn’t been rehearsed, so we all give different answers, nodding and shaking our heads, saying yes and no all at once.

      Kyle continues, “Well, be careful, because the Oak Creek Monster gets lonely and likes to take campers to keep her company so she’s not living out here alone.”

      Mercy stuffs the rest of the s’more in her mouth and blurts out, “This is stupid. There’s no such thing.” She stands and motions for Cat to come with her. “Let’s go back to the cabin. These stories are boring and you’re all a bunch of scaredy-cats.”

      “I’m not scared,” Brooke mumbles.

      Mercy says, “Well, you should be. You won’t be able to outrun the Oak Creek Monster. If it runs after us, you’ll be the first to be captured.”

      The girls laugh and laugh. I stand up and Brooke’s eyes turn hopeful, like she thinks I am coming to tell them to stop. I wish our eyes didn’t meet, that I didn’t see how disappointed she looks as I walk past her, into the cabin, to get out of the heavy rain.

      I hear Brooke say, “I’m not afraid.”

      Mercy says, “Prove it.”

       DAY SIX: FRIDAY

      It’s six o’clock in the morning and Natasha is shaking me awake, whisper-yelling, “I can’t find Brooke! I can’t find Brooke! Mercy dared her to find the Oak Creek Monster.”

      I get out of bed, put on my shoes, grab a flashlight and my phone, and throw my arms into my rain jacket. I run outside, heading to the path that winds around the back of the campus.

      I am seventeen and my father’s daughter is out wandering in the rain. I am seventeen and I should have taken responsibility for watching her, should have stood up for her, made her feel like she belonged so she wouldn’t think she had to prove anything by taking a silly dare.

      The path is slick and muddy because of the rain, and I can only see right in front of me because this flashlight isn’t as bright as I thought it would be. I shine the light in all the cabins we use for classrooms, the dining hall, the game room. I can’t find her. I jog down to the bottom of the hill. I flash the light all around, thinking maybe I will see her under a tree, waiting for the storm to pass. I shine the light up, moving it around and around at the sky, and then I see it.

      The tree house.

      The tree house is more like a tree mansion. Not only did Brooke find it, but when I knock and the door opens, she is inside sitting at a small kitchen table drinking hot apple cider with a gray-haired woman. The tree house is a cozy country cottage on the inside and is decorated with photos of smiling children and adults. The woman sees me eyeing them and tells me they are her children and grandchildren. “And you are?” she asks.

      “I’m—I’m her sister,” I say.

      Brooke’s eyes meet mine and she sets her mug on the table and stands up.

      I apologize for the interruption of the woman’s night and explain the myth about who she is and tell her all about the dare. She finishes my sentence, chuckling. “I know, I know. I enjoy playing along,” she says.

      “What do you mean?” I ask.

      “Well, I’m actually the owner of this land. I manage the grounds. But I know what the rumors are and it makes for a good story, so sometimes I give a little wave there, a little howl here. You know, scare a few of the campers who come searching. But tonight, I saw something different in your sister’s eyes. And when I saw her standing outside, I just had to open the door and let her in.” The woman rinses the mugs in the sink and wipes her hands on her apron. She looks at Brooke and says, “You are very brave, facing your fears. I hope you are brave enough to conquer any monsters—literal or figurative—that come into your life.”

      Brooke smiles.

      “And what a thoughtful big sister you have,” the woman continues, “to come looking for you.”

      Brooke blurts out, “She’s my half sister.”

      I am not sure if she meant to hurt me or if she is just telling the truth. Maybe both.

      The old woman says, “There’s no such thing as a half sister.” She walks over to the door, opens it. “Just like the moon,” she says. “There’s no such thing as a half moon either.”

      Brooke looks at me for confirmation and I shrug.

      The woman motions us to the door. “Look at the sky. Sure, there’s a half moon tonight that we can see, but the full moon is always there,” she tells us. “We see the moon because as it revolves around the Earth, only the part facing the sun is visible to us.” The woman stops talking and takes a long look at us. “Most times we only see part of a thing, but there’s always