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about Yoel? Or do you want me to take care of that?”
    I stopped walking and closed my eyes.
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    By the time I found a stick, sharpened it, skewered the tattered chicken limb I’d hacked off, and actually started roasting it, it was nearly dark. Lisa came out and stood a few feet away from me, watching in silence and eating an ice cream cone.
    â€œCan I have some of that?” I asked.
    â€œJosh told me not to give you any. He says you can’t have any sugar.”
    I slapped at a mosquito and did some muttering.
    Lisa turned her attention to the half-blackened, half-raw chicken at the end of the stick.
    â€œAre you really going to eat that?”
    â€œYep. Want some?”
    I extended the stick toward her and she shied away, making a face.
    â€œGross! Josh!” she squealed, and ran back to the house. I slapped at a few more mosquitoes and continued my low-volume carping.
    Mr. Olsen came out as well, a can of beer in hand, watching me from his yard.
    â€œDoing a little camping, Isaac?” he asked.
    â€œIt’s for my bar mitzvah,” I said.
    â€œHuh,” he said, nodding, looking somewhat perplexed.
    â€œIt’s a Jewish thing.”
    â€œRight,” he said, nodding some more. “Huh.” He took a sip of beer. I could see him filing this all away along with the other highly unusual things about the Kaplan family, like us being the only ones on the block with the Obama sign on the lawn. “Huh,” he repeated. He watched for a little while longer and went inside.
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    It’s now 12:07 A.M., meaning it’s Monday.
    Here are some of the diseases you can get from mosquitoes in Minnesota:
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La Crosse encephalitis
Equine encephalitis, both eastern and western
West Nile virus
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    My father had an otherwise healthy fourteen-year-old patient who contracted encephalitis, probably during a camping trip. He presented with a headache and high fever, and then the delirium started and he was dead in a few hours. Those sorts of stories tend to stick in my mind.
    I will admit that I’ve been crying.
    Next time my parents call I could tell them. I could tell them, confess everything, and that way Josh wouldn’t have anything over me. Except if I did, they’d know I had been lying—one of the most egregious, stupid lies I’d ever told, and they’d be furious and know they’d wasted all that money. Plus, Josh would be right—I’d just be running to them.
    There’s another noise outside, something rustling around. My heart starts pounding like it does with each new noise, which happens every few minutes. This is my first time sleeping in a tent, and I’m desperately wishing that I wasn’t, and that I’d never watched
Blair Witch
on cable.
    I’ve done some research on the web and diagnosed myself with an anxiety disorder. When I announced this to my parents they just laughed. No, said my mother, you’re just Jewish.
    More rustling. I hold my breath.
    No, said my father, you’re just a person who sees consequences. That’s not a bad thing.
    No, says Josh, you’re just a pussy.
    He’s right. I’m a pussy. I’m afraid of everything. I’m afraid of noises outside in the night, and I’m afraid of my bar mitzvah, and I’m afraid of Kevin Nordquist and Tim Phillips, and I’m afraid of Patty Morrison, and I’m afraid of getting a hard-on in the shower during gym, and I’m afraid I’ll never touch a girl, and I’m afraid if I do, I’ll throw up or something, and I’m afraid of getting older and of getting sick and dying and of my parents getting sick and dying and of being left alone and of global warming and epidemics, and I’m afraid I’m as weak and useless as Josh says I am and that everyone knows it.
    I unzip the tent and crawl out. The grass is damp under my hands, the air cooler than I expected. I half run up the slope of the lawn, afraid to