The Different Girl

back!”
    The girl sat up at the noise. She looked right at us. We didn’t move, and for a moment neither did she. Then her eyes got wide. Her mouth shot open and she screamed.
    We got out of Robbert’s building as fast as we could, banging open the screen and racing down the steps. I expected more screams behind us, but we only heard Eleanor.
    “What happened? What happened?”
    Before we could answer, she pointed past us to the beach, where Irene’s and Robbert’s heads bobbed above the curve of the path. Then Caroline’s head was visible, too, walking hand in hand with Irene. Robbert had something heavy in his arms.
    I looked back to Robbert’s door, wondering if the girl had climbed out of the bed, if she was there looking out at us. “What happened?” whispered Eleanor, again.
    “She woke up,” I said.
    “Do you think they heard?” asked Isobel.
    “It was loud,” said Eleanor.
    Irene and Caroline waved and we all waved back. By now I could see that Robbert carried a big bundle of white cloth. He got to the middle of the yard and set it down and began to unwrap it, tugging and kicking at the roll. I didn’t see anything inside except sand.
    Caroline came up the steps. Irene called for us to go inside and wait. Then she walked to the classroom. Robbert said something to her as she passed, but we couldn’t hear it.
    “What are you looking at?” asked Caroline, who had opened the door and didn’t know why no one else was coming.
    “The girl,” said Isobel.
    “What about her?”
    “We went inside.”
    “Did they tell you not to?”
    “Irene said stay on the porch,” said Eleanor.
    Irene disappeared into the classroom. Robbert spread the last corner of cloth to dry. It covered half the yard. He saw us watching him.
    “Didn’t Irene send you inside?”
    We all went for the door, bunching up so no one could get through.
    “Wait!”
    We looked back at Robbert. He wiped his hands on his pants.
    “Did Irene send you inside or not?”
    “Yes, Robbert.” We all answered at once.
    “Then why aren’t you?” His voice was tired, but serious. This time no one answered. “Go. Sit on your cots and wait.”
    Isobel and I sat looking at Caroline, wondering what had happened on the beach. She was looking at us because Eleanor looked at us, too, which told Caroline something had happened that Eleanor hadn’t seen. Everyone wanted the others to talk, but we knew that when Irene got there she’d have us talk in just the way she wanted and we were supposed to wait. After not doing what she’d asked so many times, no one wanted to disappoint her. So no one said anything, except finally Isobel.
    “What if she tells Irene?” A clump of her yellow hair was out of place, flipped up, from hurrying across the yard.
    “What she?” asked Caroline.
    Irene came up the steps and in. She went to her table and poured a cup of tea. She sipped, then smiled, as if she’d just realized that she hadn’t been smiling and hoped we hadn’t noticed. Then she asked Caroline to tell everyone what she’d found.
    As Caroline talked, Irene watched the rest of us. I didn’t know if this was because she already knew the story and didn’t care, or something else, so I did my best to listen.
    Caroline hadn’t come back from the beach because she’d found too many new things washed up from the storm. The largest thing, now spread across the yard, was a sail, which Caroline knew could be useful in all kinds of ways and so she’d tried to drag it back. It had been heavier than she’d expected and her feet had become half buried in the sand from pulling. She’d been able to get free of the sand, but by that time she was late. When Robbert had found her she explained and pointed to all the other things still on the beach. Then Irene arrived, and she and Caroline looked at the beach while Robbert pulled the sail free of the sand and folded it up. What they’d found wasn’t so interesting after all—plastic bottles, plastic bags, coconuts, and more Styrofoam.
    Then Irene asked Eleanor about the cliff, Isobel about the dock, and me about the woods. I told her about looking at the circle of palm trees—which I had—but as if I’d done that for the entire time. Was it because I wasn’t finished thinking about what I’d seen? Why did I care if those questions stayed mine?
    “Did you hear anything?” she asked. “Any animals?”
    I shook my head.
    “Not at all?” she asked.
    I shook my head again. “It was too