The Different Girl

saw what they do. You have a spot—do you know that?”
    I nodded.
    “When they—when they push down—do you feel it?”
    “It’s the way we sleep, May. Just like you.”
    “I don’t have a—a button .”
    “Everyone’s different. But if you want to know what Caroline knows, why didn’t you wake her?”
    “She doesn’t like me.”
    “Of course she likes you, May.”
    “I see her looking.”
    I couldn’t say anything to that, because Caroline did look at May, but we looked at everything, which May didn’t seem to understand. May was wearing her black shirt with little sleeves and her bare arms were covered with tiny bumps, because of the wind. She tucked her hands between her knees.
    “I like being your friend, May. But you should be friends with everyone.”
    “This is stupid,” May said. “You didn’t tell on me, so that’s why. What did she say?”
    That was when I had to decide. I pointed into the grass. “There’s something to look at.”
    “What is it?”
    May pushed past me on her hands and knees, quick as a rat through a heap of palm fronds. I came more carefully because the dunes were sloped and it was hard to see. I reached Caroline’s spot. May had gone past, rooting impatiently through the grass.
    “Back here,” I called, trying to whisper.
    “There’s isn’t anything.”
    “Then it must be buried.”
    “Bloody hell,” May muttered.
    “What does that mean?”
    May snorted. “It means bloody hell. It means we’re stupid.”
    “But we aren’t stupid. We’re finding out.”
    May didn’t answer. There was only one spot not covered by grass, so that’s where she started digging, scooping handfuls of sand between her legs. The hole got bigger and May spread her legs to straddle it. The deeper ground was moist and stiff. May’s fingers knocked against something hard. She pulled back a hand, wiped the dirt on her shorts, and stuck it in her mouth.
    “Bloody hell,” she said again, like she was angry.
    Something lay stretched across the bottom of the hole, disappearing into the dirt on either side. May scooped more sand until we could see it all.
    It was a wooden plank, covered with slick white paint, hard and shiny like the lacquered box for Irene’s hairpins. Straight through its middle were three round holes—like a nail had been punched again and again. I’d never seen a nail that thick, and I didn’t know why anyone would put a nail through a plank like that after it had been painted.
    May stared down.
    “It’s a wooden plank,” I said. “Painted white.”
    All at once May began to refill the hole, shoving dirt back with both arms, then scooping clean sand on top. She pushed past me back to the courtyard.
    “Let’s go.”
    “What was it, May? May!”
    “Keep your voice down!”
    “You have to tell me. I’m your friend.”
    May spun round. “It was on purpose.” Her cheeks were wet and her voice was thick. “Someone did it. And I’ll do them .”
    She started off without another word, keeping quiet all the way to the steps. May brushed the sand off my legs and we crept inside. There wasn’t a sound from Irene, or anyone. I lay down and saw May’s face above me.
    “Don’t be afraid,” I whispered.
    May opened her mouth to say that she wasn’t afraid, but then just nodded. She groped behind my ear but couldn’t find the spot. I turned my head to make things easier, and she finally got it right.
    When I woke it was Robbert’s face above me, with Irene past his shoulder.
    “Thank goodness,” she said, and sighed.
    Robbert leaned back and patted my leg. The other cots were empty. “Do you know what time it is, Veronika?”
    I did know. “It’s four o’clock in the afternoon.”
    “Can you tell us where you’ve been?”
    I hesitated and Irene spoke more gently. “You wouldn’t wake up, Veronika. We’ve been working very hard all day to help you.”
    “Why not?” I asked.
    “That’s the question,” said Robbert. “Do you remember anything, from when you were asleep,”
    “Like a dream?”
    “Just like a dream,” said Irene. “Did you have one?”
    The last thing I remembered was May’s fumbling hand. I wondered where the others were, and if May was with them, and if she had told them what we’d found.
    But then I began to blink.
    Irene gently turned my head so she could see my eyes. “Veronika?”
    “I don’t know when it was,” I said, “or even if it happened, but I can think of it. Is that a dream?”
    “Why