I went back to my table. I needed to get to work if I was going to finish my picture frame. Lot of times I think an art project I’m working on is going all right, but when I take another look at it, I realize it's horrendous. That didn't happen this time when I looked at my popsicle sticks. They had turned out pretty good. The glitter was an especially nice touch.

            Finally a craft project I had done all by myself that was going to end up great. All I had to do was glue it together.

            “Where’d you go?” Carin asked when I sat back down next to her.

            “To look at the new grassheads.”

            “New grassheads? Where?”

            I pointed at Kate and Julie, and Carin took off. I looked over at her pile of arts and crafts materials. She had finished her popsicle stick picture frame and had tilted it against one of the supporting beams the table leaned against so it could dry. It said “Dane and Carin’s Wedding” across the top and had little hearts and a ton of purple glitter all over the rest of it.

            I hope Carin never finds out about Billy or she will get on an airplane to France.

            I opened the glue bottle and put little dabs of white on both ends of my top popsicle stick (the one that said “Sisters”). Then I placed the popsicle stick over one of the side ones and squeezed it together hard. When it seemed like it had stuck, I tried to glue the other side onto it, but the glue must have dried enough so that it wasn't sticky anymore because when I squeezed, instead of smashing together like the other side had, the popsicle sticks slid from between my fingers and onto the table.

            I put more glue on the top popsicle stick and tried to stick the second side onto it again. This time they seared together fine. I waved the picture frame around in the air to help it dry faster, and the first side I had glued fell onto the table.

            Stifling a, “Grr,” I picked up the popsicle stick and tried to stick it back to the top one before the glue dried. It didn't work, so I put more glue onto it and pinched it together even harder than I had before. I held my almost finished picture frame with both thumbs and index fingers pinching a side to the top and watched the second hand on the clock go around three full times.

            That should be enough drying time. I got the bottom popsicle stick and quickly put two dabs of glue on it and stuck it on the side popsicle sticks. I held the bottom just as I had held the top and looked at my completed project. Awesome! That was the only word for it. Angela would love it.

            I set it down on the table, and one of the sides broke off. Why was I so lousy at arts and crafts? Carin had had no trouble at all getting her popsicle sticks glued together. I bet when Lindsay had arts and crafts that afternoon, she would make an amazing picture frame with twenty popsicle sticks or something.

            I wished Scott was there. He could have helped me with my popsicle stick picture frame just like he had helped me with my Noah's Ark last year.

            I put more dabs of glue on the popsicle stick that had fallen off and stuck it back on. I must've put too much glue on because a big glob of it oozed through and covered the last “s” of “Sisters.” I got a piece of paper towel from Cammie’s counter and wiped the glue glob off. Some of the glitter came off the numbers.

            The top popsicle stick inched upward on the right as I wiped, and the whole thing ended up crooked. Where was Scott?

            I tried to push the popsicle stick down on one side so it would be straight again. I needed my crafty counselor for this project.

            The left side came unglued as I pressed the right side down. This was getting annoying. I put more glue on the top popsicle stick and stuck it where it belonged.

            I looked around the craft cabin, as if Scott would magically appear out of thin air.

My hands were all gluey now, and I had glitter all over them and smudges that weren’t supposed to be on the picture frame. Scott was dead just like my crummy picture frame.

I had that feeling in my nose and behind my eyes that I get whenever I'm about to cry. Stupid project. Stupid me. I was probably the only camper who couldn't glue four popsicle sticks together.

Maybe one of the counselors could help. I looked at Kate and Julie. Kate held the bottom of a grasshead while Julie fussed with pulling seeds out of its head with a pair of tweezers, I guess to make the Mohawk instead of leaving seeds to make grass all over its head.

I tried wiping my fingers off with the paper towel, but that just spread the glue thinner all over my hands. I looked over campers’ heads and found Dane writing something on the wall at the other end of the craft cabin. He snickered, looked around, and started writing again. I bet he was writing bad words or something that would make somebody mad.

I tried yet again to glue the top popsicle stick to the sides. I squeezed one side together. Not wanting to bump the bottom off, I held the side popsicle stick in the middle instead of the bottom. I twisted it in my hands just a little to see if the glue had finally done its job, and the side popsicle stick snapped apart in the middle, making my beautiful glittered numbers jagged.

I looked around for somebody to ask for help one more time and saw Steve sitting a couple tables over, staring up at a plaque on the wall that had his brother's name on it. He was not laughing about underwear anymore or even smiling. He looked like he had that crying feeling in his nose, too.

Why do people die? Especially, why do people who are needed so much die?

The crying wasn't just in my nose and behind my eyes anymore. A bunch of tears dripped onto my popsicle stick mess and sticky hands.

Why did I always have to act like such a baby and cry about things? It was just a dumb camp arts and crafts project. All I had to do was glue it back together.

I wiped my eyes with my arm because my hands were still gluey. That sounds like something I'd do. Get glue in my eye. Lindsay wouldn't because she's perfect at crafts. Rachel wouldn't because she seems older than the rest of us somehow. Carin wouldn't because clumsy stuff never seems to happen to her. Only dummies who cry about stuff would be dumb enough to get glue in their eye.

I grabbed the uncooperative glue bottle, turned it upside down, and squeezed hard, hard, hard right over the middle of my broken popsicle stick. A big blob of glue squirted out, but it landed on the table instead of the popsicle stick, so I slammed the bottle on the table. It flew between the two by fours separating work stations, bounced off the table in front of me, and soared across the room, jumping on the floor a couple of times before rolling to Kate and Julie's feet.

Kate gave the grasshead to Julie, bent down, and picked the glue bottle up. She brought it back to me, her face filled with concern.

“Are you okay, Abby?”

“Yes,” I said, even though I felt like I was going to cry again.

“Do you need help with anything?”

“No, thank you,” I said quietly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I started wiping up the glue with my battered paper towel and tried to act like everything was fine so she would go away. She couldn't help me anyway. Kate could probably fix my picture frame and maybe even get it to look decent, but she couldn't bring people back from the dead, and that's what I wanted.