At the end of the hour, Mr. Phillips calls out, "Good work, Muskrats!" and starts herding them safely toward the edge of the range so that they can put their equipment away.
This is your chance to talk to Zoe about the past few years at Camp Cedarcrest—specifically, what all of that stuff about the bonfire means. You head over to where she's supervising the line of kids waiting to deposit their bows and arrows, and say, "Hey. Can I talk to you?"
"Sure." Zoe leans over to straighten out one of the bows on the rack, then turns to give you her full attention. "What is it?"
"You've been going to Camp Cedarcrest for a long time, right?"
"That's right. Ever since I was eight." She smiles at the memories. "I was an Otter, then a Raccoon, then—"
"So," you interrupt her litany of animals to ask. "That big bonfire at the end of the summer. What do you actually do there? Ms. Martin said something about sharing your memories with the bonfire? What does that mean?"
Zoe nods quickly. "Oh, yes. You write down your memories, fold them into little paper boats, and burn them in the bonfire."
"You burn your memories?"
"Okay, yeah, I guess it sounds weird, when you put it like that," she admits, wrinkling her nose slightly. "But it doesn't feel that way when you're doing it. It feels…important." Her voice softens from its usual precise tone, and a sincere note begins to ring in it. "Like you're part of something really big."
"So what kinds of memories do you write down?"
"Oh, you know." Zoe waves a hand vaguely. "Important ones."
Wait, what?
Okay, that doesn't sound like Zoe at all. This is the person who can remember the name of every trail and where each one goes. She can't remember the biggest moments from past summers at the camp she loves so much that she came back to be a counselor? Is she lying to you?