The Different Girl

it out.”
    “They’ll blow us up like the plane,” said Eleanor.
    “We’ll have to hide,” said Caroline.
    “We can’t let May go anywhere,” said Isobel.
    They were right, but I shook my head. “Then why is May hiding? She won’t be sent away. What does she think Robbert and Irene will do?”
    We looked up at the wheeze of the screen. Irene came to the top of the stair. In her hands was a folded bundle of white canvas, cut from May’s sail.
    “It’s time to test another idea,” she called, and lifted the canvas. “Caroline’s.”
    “A rain trap!” said Caroline.
    “And just in time,” said Irene. “Because there’s going to be another storm.”



9.
    There was a time of the year when storms came more often, but two so close together was unusual. Irene called out for Robbert. When he called back, everyone had to search to find where the sound was coming from.
    “Under here!” he called again, and we saw him on his hands and knees behind the classroom steps. He made a big grunting sound and a large blue plastic barrel appeared. Robbert shoved the barrel into the courtyard—yelling for us to get out of the way—and then scrambled up in front of the barrel to stop its roll.
    Everyone spent the rest of the day setting up Caroline’s rain trap. First the barrel was cleaned with an orange powder that Robbert mixed with water, changing it to a bright gel he rubbed over the inside of the barrel. We thought he would then have to waste water to rinse it off, but he said that we could just filter any rainwater that the barrel caught—which we had to do anyway, because of the sky—and it would strain out the orange chemicals. After this everyone helped to hang the canvas on the slanted edge of the kitchen roof, which meant Robbert and Irene getting on the roof and all four of us holding the canvas as best we could down below. The roof made all kinds of creaking noises when they walked and both their faces got red while they worked, from the sun and the effort. Eventually they came down and we attached the ends of the canvas, which had been tied into a tube with nylon rope, to the barrel. Irene cut a new plastic lid for the barrel. It had a hole for the canvas tube but was otherwise tight so the water wouldn’t evaporate (because that was the reason to make a rain trap).
    They went back on the roof to make sure of all the nails and ties. Irene reached toward Robbert and tapped twice with her hammer. He looked up, but she only nodded past him. I thought this was just like Caroline telling me where the plank had been buried, so even when Robbert didn’t turn to look—maybe he didn’t understand her signal—I did. I couldn’t see anything. Then I realized that Irene could see farther from the roof than I could from the ground. And because I was watching I saw that Robbert did look a minute later, even though he still didn’t say anything.
    I looked again and saw a dark shape in the grass that hadn’t been there before and I guessed it was May, the black of her hair just visible as she watched what we were doing. I wanted to wave, but didn’t, because neither Irene nor Robbert had done anything to let May know she’d been seen. Usually we all liked to be seen—because we liked being together—but Robbert and Irene wanted to look at May without her running away, even if she still planned to leave again after her peeking. But seeing May in the grass meant she hadn’t fallen off the cliff or into the ocean, and meant she’d walked by the new tubs of rice—that she’d at least had a cold breakfast instead of nothing at all.
    Worrying about May’s breakfast only made me worry more about the storm, because she didn’t know one was coming. I knew how dangerous it was to be caught outside, and I didn’t understand why Irene and Robbert hadn’t shouted that to her, to let her know. Of course in school they let us discover things for ourselves, so I supposed they were content to wait for the clouds to form, or even for the rain to start falling—so the decision to come back inside was one May made without anyone giving her the answer. But what if, once the rain started, May couldn’t come back even if she wanted? What if the rocks were too slippery? What if she got too wet? What if the wind blew her over? What if she fell and no one heard her call for help?
    I began to walk up the hill.
    “Where are you going?” called Isobel.
    “May doesn’t know about the storm.”
    The others