You Look Different in Real Life

her camera and is shooting us from a different angle. Pam is arranging the chairs, taking away all but six of them, moving them closer together so they’re clustered around one side of the ring.
    “Lighter?” asks Felix proudly. We’ve made a pile of wood that seems intricate yet haphazard. Pam hands him a box of matches and he snickers. “Of course. This is not a Cortez family bonfire.”
    “Just be glad we don’t have to rub two sticks together,” I say.
    Pretty soon, the fire is going. Pam has grabbed the middle chair and I score the one next to her. Felix sits next to me and I feel padded. And now, the heat from the flames drifts toward me, the smell that is family camping trips from before my parents split up, and Girl Scouts from when I was enthusiastic about things. Through the flames, I see Nate’s face on the other side of our C of canvas chairs, deep orange reflected on his cheeks and hair.
    We all stare at the fire for a while. It’s hypnotic and, again, keeps us from making eye contact.
    “What is it about a campfire?” asks Pam, and I recognize that teachery way of asking a question that’s crafted to sound like she’s just wondering. But she’s not wondering. She knows exactly what she wants to hear.
    “Warm,” says Felix at the same time that Keira says,“Beautiful,” and they exchange a quick, embarrassed glance.
    Leslie moves around the circle with her camera, while Lance and Kenny stay put behind Pam.
    “Universal,” says Pam. “I like to think a fire connects us to our history as humans. Our ancestors needed it so they wouldn’t die of cold, so they could cook their meat. We don’t need it for that anymore, but we’re still drawn. So I’d like to ask you each to share a memory of fire. It can be anything.”
    There’s a pause, and then Rory says, her voice clear and even, “When I was eight, my next-door neighbor’s house burned down.”
    Nate turns to her. “I remember that. The Schneiders, right?”
    “They were so mean to me. I was glad they had to move.”
    Now it’s Nate’s turn to talk about when they burn brush at the farm, and then Keira mentions reading in front of the fireplace. Felix recalls the fire-eaters at the circus, which seems a little forced, like he’s trying to come up with something different from the others. When everyone’s spoken but me, I’ve had enough time to decide on the most interesting fire memory I’ve got: the time Olivia taught me how to put out a match with my fingers, but purposely left out the part where you lick them, so when I tried it, I got burned.
    “Literally and figuratively,” I say, and everyone laughs, and this makes me happier than I care to show.
    “Okay,” says Pam after we all settle again. “I’ve got an activity I want us to do together. It’s one of my favorites. I’d like each of you to think of one true fact about yourself, and then one lie. The rest of us will try to guess which is which.” She pauses dramatically, as if we’re supposed to react, but nobody does. “Don’t be obvious.”
    “So we’re trying to trick one another?” asks Keira.
    “Not trick. Just . . . challenge. Maybe surprise.” Pam looks at Nate. “Even if someone knows you very well, try to come up with something they won’t figure out easily.”
    I’ve got a question: “Does it have to be something profound, or really any kind of information, like I’m wearing day-of-the-week underwear ? ”
    Pam laughs, but it sounds more charitable than genuine. “I suppose the fact could be as big or as small as you’re comfortable with. But that’s not necessarily the idea.”
    The fire crackles. No one volunteers to go first.
    “I don’t call on people,” says Pam, “unless I absolutely have to.”
    I’m kind of curious to see what absolutely have to looks like, but Felix pipes up. “I’ve got one.” He pauses. “I hate Milk Duds. I think they’re slimy and disgusting. And, um . . . I personally wrote a bunch of online user encyclopedia entries for the Six and Eleven movies.
    Rory, fascinated, asks, “Is that true?”
    “You tell me,” replies Felix, lifting his eyebrows.
    “Oh . . .” she says. “Hmmm.”
    “I can’t believe anyone hates Milk Duds,” says Nate. “If you could chew happiness and get it stuck in your teeth, it would taste like that.”
    I happen to know Felix loves Milk Duds, and if Nate remembers too, he doesn’t let on. Rory and Keira vote that the truth is the Milk Duds thing, and