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Girls’ Side held separate services on Friday nights. Ours were in my favorite building, The Point, and the waitresses dressed it up for the occasion, draping bed sheets over the tables to simulate tablecloths. By each place setting sat an overripe piece of cantaloupe and a Xeroxed booklet containing the evening’s prayers. Because there was no rabbi, head counselor Wendy Katz was in charge. She asked us to turn to page one. Then she asked us to stand and then be seated. And then we turned to page twelve. The service was short and sweet and to the point. And best of all, there was no sermon.
    We concluded the service by singing the blessing over the candles, which were already lit, and the blessing over the wine, which was really grape bug juice. And then came the blessing over the bread. Based on my Kin-A-Hurra experience so far, my expectations were nil when this first sliver was handed to me, which made it all the more spectacular when I bit in. On Friday nights it is a Jewish tradition to eat
challah
, braided egg bread, and this was the real thing, made fresh by Walter Henderson, the chef across the lake who’d been employed by the New York State prison system for over thirty years. After three decades of serving up bread and water, he’d certainly mastered the bread part. It was soft and sweet, manna from Boys’ Side that wouldarrive once a week, and nothing like the loaf my mother picked up each Friday at ShopRite.
    After the dishes were cleared away, old mimeographed songbooks were passed out. While it was nice to have the faded purple ink words in front of us, most of us already knew these songs, some of which were in Hebrew and others in English. Though the camper population was quite diverse, coming from twenty-three different states and five foreign countries (apparently Saul duped Jewish families ‘round the globe), our religion, our shared ancestry, bound us together. Well, that and the fact that we were all stranded in this dump for the summer. I mouthed the words silently, so as not to ruin things, and enjoyed the concert.
    The next morning, Saturday, services would be co-ed and held over on Boys’ Side. I expected this to be my next chance to see Kenny—but to my delight, he showed up in our bunk that night, at three AM.
    The creaky screen door woke me as he entered.
    â€œKenny?”
    I thought I was dreaming.
    â€œHi,” he grunted, peering around in the dim light. “Which bed is Dana’s?”
    â€œDana? Why would you want to see her?”
    â€œNever mind. I found her.”
    Kenny kicked the foot of her bed, “accidentally” waking her up.
    â€œOh, hi,” she yawned in his face.
    â€œNice pajamas,” he whispered.
    â€œShut up,” Dana laughed as she sat up, pulled out her ponytail holder and fluffed her hair. “Hey,” she suggested in a sudden burst of genius, “wanna walk me back to Boys’ Side so I can go see Aaron?”

    â€œAaron?” Kenny gulped.
    â€œYeah, c’mon, it’ll be nice. We’ll walk around the lake.”
    Kenny was looking at the floor. “I guess,” he said quietly.
    â€œHey, I’m awake, too,” I whispered.
    They turned to me.
    â€œYou want to come with us?” Dana asked.
    â€œSure!”
    I grabbed some clothes and raced to the bathroom to throw them on, unable to make out the muffled exchange between Dana and Kenny. When I returned a minute later, the three of us slipped out of the bunk.
    Except for the fact that he was standing next to the woman he loved, I had Kenny all to myself.
    He turned to Dana. “You know, if Aaron’s asleep-”
    â€œOf course he’ll be asleep,” I interrupted. “It’s the middle of the night.”
    â€œIf Aaron’s asleep,” Kenny continued, ignoring me, “you can hang out with me,
Dana
.”
    â€œOh, thanks,” she said. “But I don’t think he’d mind if I woke him