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Roslyn’s shroud? What do you think she does with it?”
“Late at night, she lies on the sofa and presses it against her face.”
Ethan said, “She probably just keeps it to ward off Satan. That’s what I’d do. She must be really panicking without it.”
“She’ll just have to pray harder,” Richard concluded.
I could feel Sarita’s eyes boring through the boards. I lowered my tome. “Do you have to watch me eat?”
“Sorry.” She smiled and pushed her plate across. “Do you want this?”
I considered the slice of cloudy cheesecake. “Okay.” I ate a forkful of the sugary mess. Then another, and another. I ate without tasting. At one point I looked up and saw that Richard and Ethan were both staring at me like I was an outrage.
Richard smirked. “Comfort eating?”
Ethan snickered. I decided I hated them. They were like Roslyn’s children—bad-weird and Jesus-freaky. Sarita put her hand on mine and pressed it lightly, then took it away. “How is it that you came to be here?” she asked in her funny, lilting voice.
“I got sent down for bad behavior.”
Sarita waited.
“My dad’s girlfriend, Norma,” I told her. “She’s on her stepmother learner’s permit. She thinks she knows what’s good for me.”
“They don’t often take new people. Most of us have been coming here since we were Mallees.” Sarita paused. “What kind of bad behavior?”
I waved my fork around. “You know, sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll.”
She let out a nervous laugh. I looked at her. “You do know?”
“Of course!” Her face had gone beet red.
“Sure you do,” I muttered, letting my fork clang down. “Look at you. You’re so fresh, you’ve still got the tag on.”
Sarita flinched, and I felt a little mean.
“So you know everyone here, then?” I asked.
Sarita nodded. She looked across at the twins. “They’re new.”
We both watched Craig lope past. He sat down with the counselors.
“What’s his story?” I asked Sarita. “He’s a Honey-eater, isn’t he? Why isn’t he sitting with us?”
Sarita looked cagey. “Youth Leader privilege.” She lowered her voice. “He gets his own cabin, too.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Interesting. Tell me more.”
Sarita opened her mouth. It was like someone had taken the cork out. She didn’t talk about Craig specifically, she talked camp—the positives (good to be away from family life, great to have like-minded people to play and pray with); the negatives (some people—and she didn’t want to name names—thought they were a bit too good for us); and a whole lot of guff in the middle: (best games, worst dinners). Regarding the counselors, Neville was a known softie. “He believes in hug therapy.” She pointed to the meathead counselor. “But Anton—he believes in punishing the body with extreme sports.”
“So they’re like good cop/bad cop,” I surmised. “What about Roslyn?”
Sarita smiled. “Roslyn has the Holy Spirit running through her like a river.”
“Ah, yes. I was admiring her jumpsuit earlier.”
Sarita looked at me and nodded. Sarcasm was lost on her.
“Why are there so few Honeyeaters?”
Sarita looked blank.
“You think it’s something to do with the fact that most sixteen-year-olds are out in the world, fulfilling the real requirements of their legal age?”
Sarita shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll draw you a picture.”
Sarita’s eyes went wide and she blushed again and gave me a sissy slap. I laughed. I wasn’t used to shocking people. Chloe was shockproof.
I watched Craig cruise the desserts. He arrived at our table, squeezed into the seat near Fleur, and attempted to spoon-feed her his cheesecake. She shook her head and patted her nonexistent stomach. “Give it to the new girl.”
Craig’s smile was leery. “You’re Riley, right? Weird name.”
“Not really. My mother wanted me to have fun, the life of Riley …”
“And are you … having fun?”
His voice dropped. Our eyes locked. I felt like a contract