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groups. Tisdale was watching them and calling out reminders to follow through on their strokes. Now what was I supposed to do?
    I turned to Maggie. “She doesn’t have anyone else to play with, so let’s just rally with her for a while. Then we’ll finish our match.”
    As I walked over to Devon’s side of the court, she glanced at me. “I thought we were going to play each other and let Beefaroni sit out for a while.”
    I hated this! Whatever I did to make Maggie happy annoyed Devon and vice versa. I felt like I should be sliced right down the middle.
    â€œDevon, Maggie wants to play too. Look, three is an odd number in tennis. We don’t have a fourth to play doubles. Want me to sit down and you can rally with Maggie?”
    â€œNo, let’s just do it the way you said—us two against what’s-her-name over there.”
    â€œServe!” I yelled to Maggie on the other side of the net.
    Maggie served, all right. She hit every serve right to me instead of Devon, so I had no choice but to hit it back to her, and she kept the balls coming to me and me alone. It didn’t take Devon long to catch on, and when she got bored and inspected her nails for asecond, that was when Maggie decided to hit the ball right to her.
    â€œWake up, Palechild! I
thought
you wanted to play!”
    â€œNot bad for a primate,” Devon called across the net. “Does
National Geographic
know about the amazing tennis-playing gorilla? They could do a photo spread of you in the next issue.”
    This torture lasted for another twenty minutes until the bell rang. I’ve never been so relieved to have activities come to an end.
    I had a slight break during lunch and rest hour, but then it was Maggie’s turn to pick the afternoon activities, like I’d promised.
    â€œCanoeing. I’ve been waiting all day for this. Let’s go!” Maggie yelled. Betsy waved good-bye to us and left with Shelby.
    Devon hadn’t moved from where she lay on her bottom bunk, a copy of
Vogue
in front of her face. Most of our friends read
Seventeen
. I think Devon probably read that in preschool.
    â€œ
Vamos
,
chica
. Rest hour’s over. Time for activities,” I told her.
    â€œYou and King Kong go without me. I’m going to stay in the cabin and read.”
    Wayward was just waking up from her hour-longnap, so I turned to her for support. “We have to go to activities, right, Wayward?”
    Wayward smiled. “Whatever. Go to activities if you feel like it, Devon. Or you can chill in the cabin. Be Zen.” She put on her sunglasses and plaid hat and walked out.
    As cool as Wayward was, in some ways it might’ve been nice right at this moment to have a counselor who was a little more into the rules.
    â€œCome on, Devon. You have to come with us.”
    Devon wouldn’t even lower her magazine to look at me. “Right. Or I’ll get thrown into a cage full of rabid chipmunks. Actually, I’d rather be eaten by chipmunks than spend the afternoon in a leaky canoe.”
    â€œOkay! See ya later,” said Maggie cheerfully.
    â€œDevon, Maggie went to all the activities you picked this morning. The least you can do is go to canoeing.” I stood planted beside the bunk beds, determined not to move until she did.
    â€œFine, whatever. I’ll go. But I’m not going to like it.”
    We were out the door and halfway to the lake when I noticed she had her magazine tucked under her arm. “Are you kidding me? You brought your copy of
Vogue
along?”
    â€œOf course. I need
something
to entertain myself.”
    â€œYou do realize we’ll be in canoes, right, and not on a cruise ship?” I asked her.
    â€œDon’t remind me.”
    At the lake, all the canoes were lined up by the edge of the water. Michelle Burns, the perky canoeing counselor with curly blond hair, was going over terminology with a group of girls.
    â€œPort is the left