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ask you anything.” She leaves me by the table and approaches the camp leader. She’s probably going to try and be that teacher’s pet too.
    For a brief moment on the drive in, I thought maybe I’ll be one of the smartest kids here, maybe I won’t be the one who needs extra help. I’m sick of feeling like an old broken-down horse on a racetrack that everybody has to encourage from the sidelines. I hoped Learning Camp could be different. Seeing Carly guarantees it won’t be.
    Our leader’s name is Margot, and she reminds me of the actress I saw on the horror set last week. Imagining her with blood gushing from her nostrils and ears makes the first session go by much faster.

    â€œFirst item on the schedule—geography!” Margot has so much enthusiasm that I wonder if she’ll pop an artery for real.
    She gives us maps and asks us to plan trips to various cities around the country. Here’s where I want to travel to: ANYWHERE BUT HERE.

    An hour later, Margot hands out Popsicles and tells us to take a break. I check to see if everyone got a Popsicle before I pretend I didn’t and take another. I pull my markers and pad from my pack for a minute of peace.
    No such luck.
    â€œCan I see?”
    I look up to find Margot eating potato chips and pointing to my sketchbook. I shrug and show her my drawings.
    â€œThat’s how you do your vocabulary words? Cool.”
    I get back to my illustration.
    â€œDoes your school have summer reading? God, I used to despise those lists.” She holds out the potato chip bag, and I take a handful.
    â€œImagine telling people what to read,” she continues. “It’s criminal!”

    â€œExactly!” I agree.
    â€œWhen I was your age, all I wanted to read was Garfield.”
    â€œI love him, but for me, it’s Calvin and Hobbes.”
    She nods, as if remembering her own favorite comic strip. “Books aren’t as fun without the pictures.”
    â€œI know exactly what you mean.” I want Margot to move in with us and talk some sense into my parents.
    Margot tosses the chips bag in the trash and wipes her hands on her denim shorts. “You want to know a secret?”
    I nod furiously, like one of the bobbleheads in Matt’s collection.

    â€œYou seem like you have a good imagination—you have to use it when you read. Reading became fun again when I taught myself to visualize the story like a movie. You like movies?”

    â€œOf course I do.” I tell her my father is a storyboard artist for films.
    â€œThat’s perfect. Just picture every paragraph like a scene in a movie. Close your eyes and see the character act out the story in your mind.” Margot rummages through her backpack and pulls out a novel.
    â€œI can’t read that,” I say. “It’s too hard.”
    â€œYou could if you took your time. But it doesn’t matter because I’m going to read it to you.”
    I look up to see Carly staring at Margot and me. She grins and mouths the words teacher’s pet .
    I move away from Margot as if I’m not interested in what she’s saying. But she sees Carly and waves her over. Great.
    â€œYour friend can do this too,” Margot says.
    â€œWe’re not friends!” Carly and I say in unison.

    â€œClose your eyes, both of you.”
    Carly and I follow Margot’s directions, and she reads us part of her book, a scene about a family walking on the beach.
    â€œPicture the ocean,” Margot tells us. “Feel how the waves touch your feet. The text said it was a cloudy day—can you picture the clouds?”
    I take a peek to see if Carly’s eyes are closed; they are. I close mine again and follow the story as Margot describes the main character throwing rocks into the water.
    Part of me wonders what the other kids are doing, but most of me watches the story unfold in my mind. And at the end of the page, when Margot asks us