They went back to the archery range, but found only Frankie. She was putting a padlock on the archery gear shed and looked up when they approached.

“Hey, the others decided to wrap it up for the morning. I’ll open the range again after lunch if you like.” She seemed hopeful and Emilia nodded. Frankie pointed at Eddie. “What’s your name again?”

“Theodore. Or Eddie, rather. I prefer Eddie.” He cleared his throat and blushed.

“You feeling better, Eddie?”

“Yeah.” He blushed harder. “Sorry about, you know, causing a ruckus.”

Frankie laughed. “This is summer camp. We’re all about ruckus. See you two after lunch.”

When Frankie left, Eddie looked at Emilia and shrugged. “That was my only idea. What now?”

“We could go to the gym, or the soccerfields. The forge might be open.”

Eddie shrugged again.

“Let’s start with the gym,” said Emilia. “I’ve always been pretty good at basketball.”

“I’m terrible at it,” said Eddie. “Maybe you can show me how to throw one through the ring?”

“You mean shoot a basket?” said Emilia.

Eddie laughed. “Sure. I’ll never be a jock, but maybe I can get better at sportsball vocabulary.”

Emilia snorted.

Laughing, they made their way to the Gymnasium. Mr. Northam supervised the court from the bleachers against the far wall. The Gymnasium had six basketball hoops, three per side. All three were lowered for use on one end, supporting a half-court game and free use of the third for, what appeared to be, a rousing game of horse. The other end of the court had been set up with crashmats, a vaulting horse, and balance beam. True to stereotype the basketball half of the court was dominated by boys and the gymnastics half by girls.

Emilia’s attention focused on Mr. Northam. He was a tall, broad, dark-skinned man with a bald head and a gentle smile. He was the one who’d introduced Emilia to basketball, taught her the fundamentals of zone versus man-to-man, how to get a rebound, how to pass, to check, to shoot a free throw. He was also one of the most generally athletic people she’d ever seen in real life.

“I have an idea, but you have to tell me if I begin to change.”

Eddie nodded. “All right. But if I say something, won’t that give it away?”

“Fair point.” Emilia bit her lip.

“There could be a signal. I could tug on my earlobe.”

“I’ll never notice that.”

“I could tug on your earlobe.”

Emilia threw him a look. “Just say something. Like… whippoorwill.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a bird. I thought you were a nerd.”

He shrugged. “Wrong kind of nerd.”

Emilia approached Mr. Northam.

“Ms. McIntyre. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Eddie and I were thinking about shooting free throws.”

“Sure. The court’s free,” said Mr. Northam.

“It’s just, I remember how you first taught me, a few years ago, and I’m not sure I could repeat it.” She gestured at the free throw line. “Care to give a quick lesson?”

Mr. Northam grinned. “Happy to oblige, Ms. McIntyre.”

A pair of metal racks on casters stood against one wall, holding a few remaining worn basketballs. Mr. Northam grabbed a couple, bounced one to Emilia, and dribbled the other to the free throw line. He showed them how to hold the ball, his left hand underneath, his right hand guiding on the side. “If you’re right handed, just swap sides.” He crouched at the line and gave the ball a double bounce on the polished, wooden floor. “Free throws are about routine.” Then, in a smooth motion, his body sprang like a graceful coil, his arm extended like a gentle catapult, and he sent the ball in a smooth arc. The ball barely brushed the rim as it went through. The nylon net swished in appreciation.

“The key is practice,” Mr. Northam said. “The distance from this free throw line and that hoop,” he pointed, “is the same as on any regulation court. The masters of the free throw shot are those who’ve made that shot over and over and over again. They can do it on any court in the world, against any distraction, with their eyes closed.”

One of the kids playing horse collected Mr. Northam’s ball and passed it back to him. He caught it with a smile and a nod.

“Use the right form. Develop a routine. And practice, practice, practice.”

Emilia found herself mouthing those last words with him. She’d heard him say it before and she’d known he was going to say it now. He stood aside and gestured for Emilia to take the line. She glanced at Eddie, who gave a small nod. She moved to the line and crouched as Mr. Northam had, holding the ball as he had. She took a breath, closed her eyes, and envisioned herself uncoiling as he had to send the ball in a perfect arc. She bounced the ball twice in quick succession. She looked up to the hoop and took her shot.

She felt as though she stretched just a bit: a little taller, a littler broader, a little stronger. The basketball bounced off the backboard, hit the rim and bounced toward her without going in. She caught the ball with ease and dribbled it between her hands before tucking it under her arm. She looked at Mr. Northam and shrugged.

He smiled. “Not bad, Ms. McIntyre. All it takes it practice.”

She rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly bashful, then had a thought and tugged her ear in what she hoped was a questioning manner, looking at Eddie. For a moment he looked confused, then cleared his throat and shook his head.

Mr. Northam took a few steps back. “You kids take a few shots. Let me know if you want help.”

Eddie joined her at the line, did a reasonable job of holding the ball as Mr. Northam had, but his shot was all unbalanced awkwardness and splayed legs and the shot went far wide. Eddie chased down his ball and dribbled it awkwardly back.

“Do you feel anything?” Eddie asked under the cacophony of the gym.

Emilia nodded. “A bit. I think. Did I change?”

Eddie shook his head. “Not that I saw.”

“Mostly I just felt a bit… bigger.”

“And your shot was close.”

“But I missed,” said Emilia.

“Even parahumans have to practice with their powers. Do what you were doing before. Pretending you’re Mr. Northam, right?”

She focused on Mr. Northam, his deep voice, his bald head, his dark skin. She dribbled the ball, crouched, looked at the rim, and took her shot. The ball spun gently as it arced, bounced off the far side of the rim, then the front, then sank through the net.

Eddie smiled at her and she smiled in return.

She hurried to collect her ball while Eddie took his shot, just as awkward as before and as far off the mark.

“You’re not supposed to move your legs that much,” said Emilia.

Eddie laughed. “You will never meet a more clumsy kid in your whole life, Emilia.”

“I thought you wanted to get better at sportsball.”

Eddie snorted. “I suppose. All I can do is practice.” He took another shot, less awkward but still missed.

Emilia kept at it. And with each shot she took, her focus narrowed and her confidence grew. It became a rhythm: hold, dribble, crouch, shoot.

Hold, dribble, crouch, shoot.

Hold

Dribble

Crouch

Shoot

She was so focused it took her a while to realize Eddie had left off his own practice and instead stood under the hoop to send the ball back with what was, to her estimation, a decent bounce pass. She felt Mr. Northam’s confidence in her chest, his strength in her arms, his words in her head: practice, practice, practice. The noise faded. There was only the rhythm of the shot: hold, dribble, crouch, shoot.

Hold, dribble, crouch, shoot...

Hold

Dribble

Crouch

Shoot

She lost count of how many she’d made in a row.

Emilia held her hands up to receive the pass, and when it didn’t come, when the rhythm was broken, she blinked at Eddie who held the ball under one arm and was frantically tugging at his ear with the other.

“Whirlpool,” he whispered.

Startled, Emilia looked down at herself. Her brown skin had darkened. Her hands seemed larger, her legs seemed longer. Panic took her with a hammering of her heart, and she felt like a rubber band snapping back to form. She stumbled, vision blurry, and when she looked again, her skin had returned to its usual shade of brown.

A piercing whistle cut through the gym and Mr. Northam called them to clean up. “All the basketballs are on the racks and the racks against the walls before anybody goes to lunch.”

Emilia took a moment to catch her breath. The pounding of her heart was less fear than elation. It felt good, not being terrified of herself. She helped Eddie collect errant basketballs and put them away before making their way to the Main Hall at the tail of the group, far enough back they could talk without being overheard.

“What happened?” said Emilia.

“You were awesome,” said Eddie. “After a while, you just kept making shot after shot, like you were in a trance. The change was gradual. I didn’t notice at first. You got a little taller, your arms got more muscly. I noticed when your shorts seemed a little, um…” he cleared his throat and blushed, “…too short?”

Emilia blushed too.

“It never looked weird or wrong. You didn’t look like silly putty or anything. Just slightly different, more and more. I could still tell it was you though.”

“So not like that superhero, Johnny Something.”

“J. Smith. And I stopped you. Maybe if I hadn’t, you’d have looked just like Mr. Northam eventually.”

They were the last through the lunch line. Emilia got a hamburger in a foil wrapper, a paper basket of curly fries, a large plastic cup of iced tea, and two mustard packets. Eddie got the same.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Would it be okay if I sat with you?” Eddie asked.

“Of course. Why not?”

Eddie shrugged. “Cayden wants us to sit together at every meal and do all the same activities and stuff. He already told me he thinks I’m going to let the team down.”

“Who’s Cayden? What team?”

“The junior councilor of boy’s cabin 4.”

“I thought you didn’t like them.”

“It’s more that they don’t like me. They’re all kind of… macho.”

“Well, you don’t have to sit with them if you don’t want to.”

“What if Cayden gets mad at me?”

“So what if he does? It’s your summer break too.”

Eddie grinned. “Yeah. Good point.”

They found an empty end of a table. Emilia ripped open her mustard packages, pulled the bun off her hamburger, and squeezed the mustard onto the bun. She took a big drink of her iced tea. The sweat of free throw practice cooled on her brow. A thought occurred to her, one she didn’t like. She took another big drink, considering.

“Do you think I’m a cheater?”

Eddie gave her a perplexed look, chewing on a fry.

“I’ve always been good at voices and body language, but if you’re right, it’s only if I’m around that person. Or know them really well. I’ve always been good at sports, but only around others who are also good. Archery came easier with Frankie there. Free throws with Mr. Northam. What if every skill I have is borrowed? That makes me a cheater, doesn’t it?”

Eddie frowned in thought but didn’t immediately deny her assertion. They ate in silence for a while. Eventually, Eddie took a big drink of iced tea.

“There’s a reason they don’t let parahumans play professional sports. It’s considered an unfair advantage. Rion Stoutarm, the Athlete would dominate every game he played in. In fact, he did until they realized he was superpowered. But some people without the Achebe Gene just grow bigger and stronger than others. That’s regular human variation. Which, to be clear, some might consider an unfair advantage. Every parahuman I’ve ever read about had to train to get good at what they do. The ability to control ice or run super-fast or read people’s minds might be a result of a natural process, but the skill to do it well requires,” he cleared his throat and did his best to lower his voice, “practice, practice, practice.”

Emilia giggled and Eddie grinned.

“So, you’re saying no pro sports career for me.”

He shrugged. “I won’t tell on you. So long as you can learn to keep your shape consistent and you’re only as good as the best players on the court, I don’t think anyone would be the wiser.”

Emilia had never actually considered a career in professional sports. The idea had its appeal. And Eddie was right, it wasn’t like she wouldn’t have to train to get good. She hadn’t made her first free throw today, after all. Maybe she’d increased her skill in tandem with her power, not just because of it.

“I’ve refined my theory,” Eddie said. “And, to be clear, I’m not certain I’m right. But, based upon my observations and your explanations, I think your parahuman power is copying skills. You have to observe someone with those skills to learn them. You have to practice with those skills if you want to keep them.”

Emilia held up a hand. “Keep them?”

“I think that’s how you’ve got your great-grandfather’s voice and mannerisms.”

Emilia considered.

“You told me you knew things about parahumans you didn’t remember knowing,” Eddie continued. “I think you have a kind of passive telepathy to pick up on knowledge and voices, mannerisms and skills. And then your shapechange lets you get closer to the body type suited to those skills. Maybe they’re not tied to each other. Maybe you could change shape without acquiring skills, or acquire skills without changing shape. But both of them together let you copy…” he shrugged. “Perhaps anything.”

“Anything is a lot,” Emilia said.

A rapid-fire list of power suites flickered through her brain, and she shook her head to dispel it.

Emilia was contemplating the virtues of finishing her curly fries one at a time or stuffing them all in her mouth at once, when a hand reached over her shoulder, grabbed the remainder of her curly fries in a long-fingered fist and pulled back before she could resist.

“Hey!” shouted Eddie as his food was similarly pilfered.

Emilia looked over her shoulder to find the four fiends. For a moment, she was cowed. They would all be seniors next year, verging on societal adulthood. They were tall and smug and imposing. They munched on their stolen food with confident impunity.

“Wondering where you’ve been, Teddybear,” Keegan said.

Keegan Brand didn’t look much like his littler cousin. He had bright auburn hair, pale skin, and a scraggly scruff across his chin. He was built like a quarterback with classic good looks, including a square jaw. He was the leader of the group, both on the field of play and, apparently, in stealing food. Emilia supposed he was handsome in his way, charismatic to some, but when he sneered down at Eddie, all Emilia could see was a villain. Eddie kept his eyes steadfastly on his tray. His face was flush, eyes red, jaw clenched.

The boys laughed. Keegan casually walked off, headed for the doors of the Main Hall and his buddies followed.

Emilia had experienced a wide range of bullying at school: sneering questions and sing-song taunts; theft of supplies and clandestine shoves; disdain and exclusion. But never had she experienced someone grabbing her curly fries from under her nose, and never had she had someone else to stick up for before.

She stood before the boys were more than half a dozen steps away.

“Hey! I’m not finished with you, assholes.”

Keegan kept walking like he hadn’t heard her. The other three paused, but only one turned around.

Aaron Drake was thinner than the rest and just a bit taller. His pale blond hair fell below his shoulders. His thin features might have been feminine if someone dared say so. His eyes were pale brown, and when he turned to face her, they flashed with a pale yellow light—no sclera, no iris: solid yellow. His hair and clothes fluttered in an invisible breeze and Emilia swore she could smell cloves and apples and autumn, could hear the skitter of dry leaves across stone.

Aaron approached with his quiet smirk. “Did you say something to me?”

“Get your own food,” Emilia said.

His smile widened. “I suppose you have a plan to stop us, should our theft continue?” Emilia didn’t know Aaron well, but she was certain he didn’t normally speak with such formality. “Perhaps you would stand against us, a knight defending his maiden’s honor?” He stepped up to her, so close she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye, she could feel the chill autumn breeze, smell the cloves upon his breath. “Perhaps you suggest a duel?”

Emilia wanted to back up, to look away, to give up the fight and hide from the bully. But she felt the faintest of pressure in her back left pocket where Zenith Niall’s guitar pick rested, and decided not to back down from a villain.

“A duel? No, you idiot. But Mrs. Fir is quite fond of me, and I will happily report on your behavior. She sends bullies home. Problem solved.”

Aaron’s eyes flickered uncertainly, and Emilia was certain she saw the pale yellow flash. His smirk faltered. He grunted. “Whatever.” He turned to follow the others.

As she sat, Emilia felt the energy of confrontation coursing through her. Her mouth was dry. She drained the rest of her iced tea. Eddie watched the boys leave, fists clenched.

“You all right?” Emilia asked.

Eddie shook his head. “I couldn’t say anything. I had to let a girl stand up for me.”

Emilia bit her tongue and set her cup down carefully.

Eddie looked at her and blushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“Yes you did.”

Eddie cleared his throat and nodded. “Sorry. I should know better.”

Emilia wanted to be furious. She wanted to punch his little nose. Instead she made herself take a deep breath and forgive him. He’d apologized right away, without prompting, and that had to count for something.

“Fine. Apology accepted. Want to go shoot a foam block full of holes?”

Eddie nodded.

They took their trays to the kitchen.

In the courtyard, a man in beige coveralls and a red stitched nametag pulled the cord on a blocky, bright orange generator. It caught on the third pull and rumbled loudly, a sound foreign to Camp Arrowhead. It was so startling, Emilia stopped to watch. The generator, she realized, was attached to a power washer. The man pulled the tarp off the stone box, revealing the crude phallus painted with dark green spray paint. He took up the nozzle, pointed it at the stone, and let loose a powerful spray. For a moment, Emilia thought she saw a flash of blue light when the water struck the stone, but it was gone in a blink. She lingered a moment, but Eddie was headed for the archery range and she was eager to have a bow in hand.

Emilia and Eddie made their way to the archery range. They were early and waited for Frankie in silence. When she showed up, only Nadia and Maria accompanied her.

Frankie smiled when she saw them. “Dedicated. I like it.” She undid the padlock, opened the shed, and passed out the gear. She gave a brief version of her safety lecture, then left them to it.

“I’m gonna try it on my own first,” Emilia said quietly.

“I’ll keep an eye on you,” Eddie said.

Bows thrummed and arrows thunked as the five of them loosed at the foam blocks. Emilia made a decent accounting of herself, hitting the foam block with seven of her fifteen arrows, all without imagining she was Frankie. Because they’d skipped out on fetching arrows by virtue of Eddie’s fake stomachache that morning, Frankie assigned the two of them to help her with the task while Maria and Nadia waited.

“Looked good to me,” said Eddie. “How did it feel?”

Emilia shrugged. “Normal I guess? Did I change?”

“Not that I saw.”

When they returned with the arrows, Frankie approached Eddie. “Mind if I make some adjustments to your stance?”

Eddie blushed and ducked his head. “Uh, okay.”

Frankie stood between Emilia and Eddie, and with Frankie so close, Emilia wasn’t sure she wanted to try anything that might make her change. She scooched away to give them some room, selected an arrow and fired. It went wide of the cube, but not terribly. She selected another. As she drew back, Maria came to stand next to her, arrow nocked. The other girl fired, missing the cube.

“You know, I don’t get you,” Maria said.

Emilia flinched and released her arrow. It missed high by quite a bit.

Emilia looked at Maria who selected another arrow, fired, and nicked the cube at the edge, tearing a gouge in the foam.

“You mean me?” Emilia demanded. She was feeling pugnacious after her confrontation with Aaron and the other fiends.

Maria picked up an arrow, tapped it against her thigh, then turned to look at her.

“You come to school in ratty jeans and a t-shirt. You play soccer with the boys. You take archery at summer camp.”

Emilia chose her own arrow, took a breath, and tried to focus. She tried to hold on to her patience. She fired her arrow and struck the target just below center. “You’re also doing archery at summer camp,” she said.

Maria fired and missed her target low. “But then other days you come to school in a pretty little sundress with lipstick and eyeshadow and all the rest of it. You walk around all prim and proper and... coquettish. I think that’s the word.”

Emilia didn’t respond. Instead, she fired another arrow and hit so close to her previous she thought she might have damaged the arrow.

“You remember that time, in fifth grade?” Maria continued. “What’s-his-name was teasing you about something. Mrs. Leacock had left the room and... Seth was his name. He wouldn’t let up. I remember he went on and on about how sometimes you were a boy and sometimes you were a girl and you should just pick one so the rest of us wouldn’t be confused.”

Emilia took another shot, striking just above the last.

“And I remember he asked you...”

Emilia selected another arrow.

“...are you a boy, or are you a girl?”

Emilia fired and missed so badly her arrow disappeared into the baled straw near the top of the stack. She dropped her bow arm to her side and turned to face Maria. Maria looked down the range at the targets, nocked her arrow, and drew.

“I just don’t get it,” said Maria. “Do you really think you can be a tomboy one day and a girly girl the next?”

Emilia pulled off her forearm guard and went to the storage shed, putting away her gear and leaving. She didn’t run, but she hurried into the thin forest about Camp Arrowhead. There were plenty of things she might have said in response. She could have made fun of Maria’s recently purple hair. She could have pointed out she was a better archer. She could have asked what stupid thing her brother had done to get sent to prison. But none of that seemed helpful, only hurtful, and Maria wasn’t like the four fiends, she’d never been a bully. Lashing out, Emilia told herself, would be wrong. Walking away was better.

But it didn’t feel better.

Emilia set out around the south side of the lake. She tried not to think about Maria Jordan and her rude questions, her nosing into a matter none of her business. She tried to let her thoughts calm. Instead, she couldn’t help but hear the question over and over again. Maria represented the worst sliver of home, following Emilia to what had been her sanctuary. It wouldn’t matter that Eddie was going to help her learn how her powers worked if Maria told everyone she was neither a boy nor a girl. That kind of rumor would be around camp within moments and then, Emilia knew, would come the bullying.

On the other hand, if Eddie was right and she really could change her face like J. Smith, then perhaps she could just become someone else and no one would know who she was. She could drift from life to life, being whoever she wanted to be and...

Emilia shook her head. That was a terrible idea. She wanted to be herself. She wasn’t going to let a mean girl change that.

Her thoughts and doubts, fears and concerns tumbled about her head as she walked around the lake. By the time she was half way around, Emilia regretted not stopping at cabin 12 for her hiking boots, but neither was she ready to head back to camp. She found a flat rock near the lake edge that jutted over the surface. She was familiar with the rock, often sitting upon it to fish. She stared across the placid water toward camp, hidden by the trees, and found her mind still at last. None of her concerns were resolved, but at least they’d run their course.

Out in the lake a ways, Emilia noticed something sticking up through the water. After several moments focusing, she realized it was a moss-covered antler. Emilia observed a moment of silence for the stag that must have wandered onto the ice this past winter and fallen in.

Eventually, Emilia stood again, brushed dirt from her backside, and continued around the north side of the lake. Rather than go straight back to camp, she took one of the lesser-known trails through the trees until she made her way to the edges of Camp Arrowhead’s amphitheater.

Nestled in a tiny valley between small hills, the amphitheater was a set of rude wooden benches arranged up the side of the hill, making for stadium seating. At the bottom of the hill was a wooden stage and backing the stage was, what looked like from the front, the entrance to a wooden house with a pair of short wings to cradle the stage. Emilia knew the house was little more than a crude shed serving the purpose of backstage. Windows and doors allowed the backstage shed to be used for a variety of purposes during a show.

Filling the stage and blocking the first few rows of benches was a copse of knocked-down trees. The biggest of them was a decent sized fir, its nettles brown and drooping. The rest were a bunch of spindly aspens with no leaves to speak of. They looked like they’d been plucked from the woods nearby and tossed at the stage by a giant having a tantrum. Part of the backstage roof had been damaged.

The main door of the backstage shed opened and Mrs. Fir came through, iron hair in a loose tail and expression firm as usual. She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the trees on her stage.

“Mrs. Fir.” Emilia walked down the hill between benches, looking at her across the downed trees. “When did this happen?”

Mrs. Fir gave her a nod of acknowledgement. “Last autumn. There was a big windstorm. I’ve been trying to get someone up here to remove them ever since. But the downed powerlines in town took precedence, and there were a lot of downed trees elsewhere to take care of, and now, because it’s difficult to get vehicles up here, they’re not sure they can do it at all.”

“But you’re still doing the talent show, right?”

Mrs. Fir gave her a firm look. “Of course. I might have to break out the chainsaw and remove them myself. Are you performing this year?”

Emilia demurred. She liked the idea of being in a skit or learning to play an instrument, but the idea of being on stage, being the center of attention, made her stomach knot.

Mrs. Fir smiled gently. “No pressure, Ms. McIntyre. You might want to head for the Main Hall. Dinner will be soon. Ms. Amy said she was making enchiladas.”

Emilia’s stomach growled. She found she was delighted to be hungry, a happy thrill spread from her stomach. She was hungry and she had a big meal to look forward to and who cared if Maria gave her a hard time or if she told everyone at camp that she was neither a girl nor a boy.