Something Old

O
uch! Stop it!” Ten-year-old Katy Yoder howled, her head pinned to the back of the car seat until she could uncoil Jake Byler’s fingers from her ponytail. She glared at the unrepentant boy—though she secretly relished the attention—and flipped her hair to the front of her buttoned blouse. In return, he flashed her a lopsided grin.

With Plain City, Ohio, one hundred miles behind them, the van continued to eat up the asphalt and soon veered off the interstate onto a dusty road that could churn soda pop into butter. The boys whooped, but Katy’s stomach did a little somersault. Under normal circumstances, curvy roads turned her green, but she was also fretting over the unknowns of her first camp experience.

The driver shut off the ignition in front of a rectangular, log building. With ambivalence, Katy scrutinized the green-lettered sign identifying Camp Victoria. The side door slid open, startling her as the boys scrambled over her, all elbows and knees, to exit the van. She squealed a protest and piled out after them. Then the children jostled into the parking lot and remained in a cluster like a group of balloons, where they drew attention, not for their festive splash but for their plainness.

Jake, who had pulled Katy’s ponytail twice on the road trip, curled his lip and elbowed Chad Penner. Katy turned to see what tickled them. Her cheeks flamed to watch the boys act like first graders over some girls in shorts and brightly colored Ts.

She tossed her black ponytail and nudged Megan Weaver. “Stupid boys. Act like they never saw shorts before.”

“Probably not on church girls,” Megan replied. “Those girls are looking this way. Should we go talk to them?”

Lillian Mae Landis, the third friend in their tight trio, frowned at her navy culottes. “I wish my mom would let me wear shorts.”

For Katy, her homemade culottes afforded more freedom than her normal below-the-calf skirts, and she would die before she showed her legs. She smoothed the cotton folds that clung to her legs and studied the other girls. “I hope they’re nice.” She gently bit her lip, wondering if they knew how to play Red Rover. Or would they take greater pleasure in calling her ugly names like “Plain Jane"? One of the shorts-clad girls waved. “Let’s go,” Lil urged.

To Katy’s relief, it turned out that a girl in green shorts had a cousin who lived in Plain City. The common acquaintance gapped the bridge between the Mennonite girls in shorts and the more conservative ones wearing culottes, which was fortunate since their sleeping bags and duffels all landed in the same cabin.

After participating in a long morning of organized activities, the Plain City girls took advantage of a few minutes of relaxation. Katy squinted up through glistening leaves, trying to locate an angry, chattering squirrel.

Lil propped an elbow on a bare, chubby knee. “Let’s name ourselves after something that comes in threes.” Their counselor had just divided their cabin in teams of three and given them fifteen minutes to name their group.

Katy gave up on the squirrel and tried to ignore the tight-fitting shorts Lil had already borrowed from a cabin mate.
Things that come in threes.
She twirled her long, black ponytail and thought about the picture books she’d read to entertain her younger siblings while her mother shelled peas. “There’s the three bears, three Billy goats, three little pigs—”

“Nah.” Lil tilted her leg this way and that. “Everybody’ll think of those.”

“How about the Trinity?”

“Yeah, I like it,” Megan’s face glowed. Katy wasn’t sure if Megan was excited about her suggestion, or if she sported a sunburn. She was the only person Katy knew whose skin was as pale as white chinaware with hair as light as yellow thread. Lil was light-complected, too, but her freckles camouflaged it.

With a scowl, Lil said, “No way. Too holy.”

“She’s right.” Megan reconsidered, nibbling at the tip of one of her blond braids.

Lil’s blue eyes lit with cunning, and Katy inwardly cringed. “Three Bean Salad! Nobody else will pick that name.”

“Huh?” The other two scowled.
Leave it to Lil to think of food,
Katy thought.

“Don’t you see? It’s perfect. Megan is the green bean since her parents are always talking about stewardship and recycling. I’m the garbanzo.” Lil shimmied her shoulders and singsonged, “Gar—ban—zo.” She pointed at Katy. “And you can be the kidney bean.”

“What? I hate it. Do you even know what a kidney does?”

“You’re just a kid with a knee. Get it?”

Katy watched Lil pat her bare knee again. “That’s stupid. My knees never show.” She hoped Lil got the point that at least
she
was a modest person.

“Sometimes they do in your culottes,” Megan remarked. Katy’s ears turned pink. “What?”

“I only saw them once in the morning relay.” Megan sighed. “Never mind. Would you rather be the green bean?”

“Red’s
her
favorite color,” Katy tossed her head toward Lil and pulled her culottes down below the middle of her shins. “If Lil’s so set on it, let her be the kidney bean.”

Megan turned up her palms. “Will you two stop arguing? We’ll be three peas in a pod; then we can all be the same.”

Lil rolled her gaze heavenward. “It’s two peas in a pod, and we’re not the same at all.”

“Got that right,” Katy grumbled, thinking about the giant dishpan full of green pellets her mother had shelled. She didn’t want to be a pea, either. She’d rather be a bear or a musketeer or even a stooge. What were her friends thinking?

All ten years of their lives, the girls had done things together. They sat in pews at the same Conservative Mennonite church, learned their multiplication tables at the same blackboard, and played tag with the same ornery boys. But their personalities were as far apart as the tips of a triangle. They went to all the same potlucks, but their plates never looked identical. And although Lil and Katy hardly ever agreed on anything, they loved each other something fierce. When they didn’t remember that, Megan reminded them.

“Why not three strands to a rope? That’s cool.” Megan fingered her braid. “Like this.”

Lil crossed her arms and wouldn’t budge. “Three Bean Salad.”

Katy glared. She could blackmail her, threaten to tell Mrs. Landis about Lil’s shorts, but Megan would never permit it. So because their leader chose that moment to blow her pink whistle, Three Bean Salad it remained for the rest of the week.

The campfire events
rocked.
A new word Katy had learned. As the highlight of each day, it opened Katy’s eyes to a world that existed beyond her sheltered home life. She didn’t miss how Megan leaned forward with starry eyes during the mission stories. When they lay in their bunks at night, while Lil and their leader, Mary, did sit-ups on the cabin floor, Megan chatted about Djibouti and Tanzania.

For Katy, the singing rocked most, even though she knew she sang off-key. The words expressed her heart, and she felt like she might burst with love for Jesus. She wished the world could share her happiness. It saddened her to watch Lil mimic the other girls from their cabin.

She glanced sideways now. Lil’s freckles practically glowed in the firelight. She was happy, but Katy wished she could hug her friend to her senses. Lil pulled her blue sweater tight around her shoulders, her gaze wistfully trailing the kids now breaking the circle, some heading toward the cabins. “I never want this week to end,” she murmured.

“Me either,” Katy whispered.

Lil glanced into the shadows where their leader stood talking to another camp counselor. “She’s so beautiful.”