She's said it a thousand times: she doesn't want to go. Camp Nightshade sounds like a particular kind of nightmare. There could be nothing worse than being surrounded by girls who don't like her for the entirety of camp and not even having Darryl there to make it better. It's dumb. To borrow a word from her brother's vernacular, it's bullshit.

It's not like she gets a choice, though. She's eleven. Eleven year olds don't get to choose whether or not to go to camp. They just kind of go.

Also, she's a little grounded for trying to put a dead lizard in Miss Mary's desk drawer. Camp is a bit of a punishment. Foxglove Cabin awaits. She wishes it wouldn't.

Actively avoiding packing her things into the duffel bag on the floor or getting her old sleeping bag from the hall closet, Worm flops back on her bed and stares up at the popcorn ceiling and the gently-turning fan. It shakes like it's going to fall, but it never does. One day, she'll do what her brother did and put up flags and posters up there-- though it probably won't include girls washing motorcycles or guys washing cars, which has always struck her as a weird choice in decoration. Evan says she'll get it when she's older. She doesn't think she will.

Clothes surround her on the unmade bed, unfolded and unpacked. There's a part of her that thinks that, if she doesn't do what she's supposed to, then maybe she just won't have to go.

No such luck. A knock sounds from the bedroom door. It opens a split second later, bringing her father's face with it. "Worm, are you packed yet? We have to get going-- Christ, Annabelle."

She doesn't sit up. "Hey, Dad."

"How come you're not packed? We're going to be late and this has to be done because you're not going to have time tomorrow before you have to get on the bus."

"I don't want to go."

"To camp?"

"Yeah."

"But you love camp."

"Not right now, I don't. Darryl isn't even going."

"Because he's grounded, honey."

"I know, but-- I don't want to go if he isn't going."

"Worm. Honey. We already paid for it, and we agreed: you're going because of what you did to Mary's desk." He sighs like he's thinking. "Come on. What's the worst that could happen?"

Worm shrugs the most that she can while laying flat on her back. "I don't know."

"Then how come you don't want to go?"

"I don't know. Darryl, I guess."

He sighs, runs a hand through his thinning hair, leans back out into the hall. When he pokes his head back in, it's less of a poke and more of a he is now in her room. Worm sits up and acts like she's folding a shirt when they both know she isn't.

"Come on," he says, hands on his hips, stained undershirt folding under his fingertips. "Let's get you packed. Let's run down the list. Everything should be here, right?"

"Should be," she says, even though she hasn't checked.

Of course he has a copy of the list in the back pocket of his jeans, though. He pulls it out, unfolds it, and squints at the tiny black font. "Alright. Seven shirts--"

"I don't need seven shirts," she grumbles.

"You're bringing seven shirts, young lady."

"Fine."

"So fold them and put them in the bag. Seven pants and shorts, too."

"Fine." She does as she's told, and adds the underwear and socks to the duffel without him having to say so.

"Notebook? Flashlight?"

"They're already in my backpack."

"Good." He smiles, reaches out a hand to ruffle her unbrushed hair. "That's my girl. So prepared."

"Well, I am a scout." Worm grins all the same.

He scans the rest of the list, mumbling under his breath as he goes along. "Water bottle, deodorant, toothbrush... We got you extras so you wouldn't forget, so we're good on that... pajamas... bug spray..."

"I have bug spray," she assures him. "I have too much bug spray."

"Good. Good, good. I forgot to get more." He buries his head in the list and goes back to muttering, like she isn't supposed to hear him as he reviews the list. "Bug spray, poncho, pads, notebook..."

"What?"

"Hmm?" He doesn't look up.

"You got what?"

"I went out to the store and got the rest of the stuff you needed for your list. Poncho, bandana, pads, notebook. They're in the living room."

"Okay." Worm doesn't want to think about that.

It probably shows on her face, because her father looks up from the list and sighs. "Come on, kid. It's better to be prepared than not."

"Yeah, I guess," she grumbles. "It's not going to happen, though."

"It might, though, and it's perfectly natural--"

She groans.

"Come on," he insists. "Your mom isn't here, so we're going to have to figure it out together anyway."

"Do we have to?"

"Not yet. But someday."

"Hopefully never." She refolds a shirt that was already folded well. "Can we move on now?"

"We're going to have to, because it's almost time to go."

Right. She had almost forgotten. The entire point of today is that her father is taking Worm and her brother out to meet his girlfriend's family. Worm is supposed to be "on her best behavior." (Evan is supposed to "not talk about communism.") Between thinking about puberty and meeting Mary Collins, there is no good option; Worm just wants to go out into the woods, climb a rock, and live on it.

Her father sighs, refolds the list, and puts it in his back pocket. He nods definitively. "Alright, kiddo. Get dressed."

"I am dressed."

"A t-shirt and shorts don't count as dressed, especially not a shirt that says Save a horse, ride a--" His eyes go wide. "God above, Worm, is that your brother's shirt?"

She looks down at her chest just to make sure. "Yes."

"Just-- God, we should have gotten you a new skirt or something. Just wear your scout uniform without the sash." He clocks the look in her eye, then clarifies, "The khaki skirt, Worm. Not the cargo shorts you took from Evan's old clothes."

She sighs. "Fine."

She doesn't get why she has to go with him to meet his new girlfriend. Worm has seen more than enough of Mary Collins from her window-- more than enough of that woman kissing her father on the front porch. Gross.

Everyone says that it's lovely that her father is getting back in the game after the divorce. Worm doesn't think so; her family is fine as it is, she already has a mom, and kissing is gross anyway. Everyone's always talking about it and she just doesn't get it. There's a reason she's never invited to sleepovers, and it isn't just because she keeps lighting things on fire.

Her father leaves her alone in her room, closing the door behind him. On some level, Worm is tempted to just lay back down and not get dressed for this either. She can be responsible, though. She can be nice to her father. He's trying his best. Plus, not getting dressed isn't going to get her out of it.

Groaning, she crosses the room to her closet. There isn't much hanging up in there that isn't jackets, sweaters, and her scout uniform, so it's easy to get the white shirt and khaki skirt out without having to think about it. They don't go to church anymore, so she got rid of most of her dresses in secret by putting them in that box they have at the edge of the school's parking lot. Her dad was none the wiser. Girl Scouts is forever, though, so the khaki skirt has had to remain.

She doesn't like pleats. She doesn't like light colors. They stain too easily; ash falls on them too well. She gets dressed anyway.

Too much is changing. She catches her reflection in the mirror over her desk, and it's all she can think-- too much is changing. She doesn't want a period, but apparently it's going to happen anyway. She doesn't want boobs, but they're already starting to show up. She doesn't want any of it. It's gross. It hasn't happened yet, but it's going to. Everything is inevitable. The future is coming and she has no idea how to stop it in its tracks. Can't things just stay the same?

Worm swallows the lump in her throat. This is fine. This is going to be fine. She thinks of what that lady in the woods said, after Worm lit her on fire: it's her life, and she can do what she wants with it.

She runs a brush through her hair. One of these days, she'll cut it all off instead of braiding it. Maybe she'll do it at camp. That would definitely show Dad, right? That would teach him to send her to summer camp.

She tries to put it in a single braid on her own but, like always, she can't quite manage it. "Dang it," she mutters, and uses her fingers to undo her mistakes. It's not like she can have it down. That would be stupid.

Trying not to frown, she charges to her brother's room down the hall, knocks on the door, and enters before he answers. "Evan, can you help me, please?"

"Jesus, Worm!" He yanks a shirt down over his head. "Wait until I say to come in, you know that!"

She doesn't acknowledge it. She just gestures to her head with the old wooden hairbrush in her hand. "Can you please help me?"

After a second of consideration, he sighs and beckons her into the room. "Alright, nerd. Come here."

They do this all the time. When they used to go to church before the divorce, he was the one who did her hair every Sunday. She can do two braids just fine, but just one evades her. It's one of those things she just can't get right when everyone else can, like shrieking at spiders and being normal about clowns.

She sits on the edge of her brother's bed while he sits sideways behind her. "I should just cut it off," she grumbles. "That would be easier."

"You know what I always say," he reminds her; she completes the sentence with him. "Do whatever you want as long as it isn't hurting anyone."

"Yeah, I know," she says, coming out of the recitation. "But I can't. Dad would..."

"Dad wouldn't care. You know that. I mean, look at what he lets me do."

Worm knows that he's saying that because of the general way that his room is, and that he is: long hair, all the posters, clothes that aren't exactly professional, but are cool. She knows what he means; she shakes her head. "That's because he can't control you."

"He can't control you, either, Wormface. Not if you don't let him."

"I guess not."

"And aren't you and Darryl always collecting frogs lighting things on fire and sh-- stuff?"

"What does that have to do with this?"

"You're already a force of nature," he clarifies. "You're already uncontrollable. You don't have to worry about it."

"Me trying to light 99 Harmony Drive on fire isn't the same as being uncontrollable."

"Hmm." He pauses in braiding her hair. She can feel it by the way the tension slacks. "You're not usually like this. What's gotten into you?"

She flops back onto the bed, despite his protests. "Everything."

"Come on, Worm, I was almost done. Stop being so dramatic-- no, shit, I mean--" He sighs and mutters a reminder under his breath. "I'm nice. I'm a good brother. I'm a nice and good older brother." After a second, he amends, "What is it, this time?"

"Everything!" she blurts, like there was nothing holding it back at all. "Camp and the future and-- Miss Mary. It's mostly Miss Mary. I just don't want to meet her for lunch!"

"And you think I do? Sit up, let me rebraid what you just ruined."

She obeys. She locks eyes with the meninge monster on the Galaxy Brain poster across the room. It has always enamored her, especially since she knows Galaxy Brain went missing right here in Purgatory. They're the entire reason she isn't allowed to go near the cemetery on her own.

Sitting still is hard; not talking is harder. Evan is the one to break the silence. "I'm not sure how to help, Wormface. I'm not sure what to say. Just-- Well, we have to be there for Dad, right? He took everything with Mom really hard, and... Heaven knows I don't like it, but maybe Miss Mary will be good for him, even if she's a total b-- bad person."

She turns her head slightly to look him in the eye. "You can say bitch around me. I know what it is."

"Well, don't you start swearing."

"Darryl swears all the time."

"But you're not Darryl Marsh, are you? You're not a Galloway, you're a Morgenstern. We don't curse until we're twelve, goosehead." That's a lie and they both know it, but he has to say it because he's her older brother. Evan pats her shoulder. "Alright, I'm all done. Now, scoot, I've got to change my shirt."

*****

Worm figures they all look nice enough to go to I Reckon It's Tuesday's. Her father is wearing a button-up and dress pants (fancy), and even Evan put on a shirt with a collar and buttoned it up.

Miss Mary is a beautiful woman. Worm has to give her that. She has long, dirty-blonde hair pulled back in a neat, sleek ponytail that bobs when her head does; her cheeks are naturally rosy; she doesn't even need glasses. In a different world, Worm would be enamored by her schoolteacher charm and the way sunshine always seems to find her.

She isn't, though. Some part of her believes Mary Collins to be her mortal enemy. That's why she put that dead lizard in Miss Mary's desk. Warfare is not pretty. Worm read all about it at the library. Threats must be made toward your opponent, and what better than a lizard you found out in the woods when you were supposed to be gathering wood for a Girl Scouts campout?

Conversation at the table tends toward pleasant things. Evan keeps his promise about politics, at least. Worm barely speaks. She just sips at her water.

Bethany Phillips thought it was weird, but at least she didn't tell on Worm when she put a dead lizard at the bottom of her sleeping bag. It was the least she could do, after she got Darryl in all that trouble concerning a living lizard months ago (and after what happened at her sleepover in the time between).

Miss Mary deserved it, she tells herself, raising a bite of ravioli to her mouth. Every time she's over to see Worm's dad, she inevitably tries to get Worm to dress a little less like Evan and a little more like Bethany. It's like she thinks that's bonding. It isn't. It's just stupid. Worm hates it. She usually just goes out to the woods or bikes over to Darryl's when Miss Mary comes over.

The bombshell comes between Worm's third and fourth bites of ravioli. Her father sets his fork to the side of his plate and puts the hand that held it on top of Miss Mary's. He clears his throat, looks nervously from Mary to the kids, and nods. (Worm doesn't get it. It isn't weird to hold hands in public. People do it all the time.)

"Kids," he says. "Evan, Worm. I know this is sudden, but Mary and I have been seeing each other these past few months, and things are getting serious enough that... Well, there's no other way to say it. I have asked Mary to marry me."

Miss Mary nods, ponytail bobbing. "And I said yes."

Worm stops chewing. She can't think of anything to say.

Evan clearly can, but he opts to dig his nails into his leg instead. Tersely, he nods. "Wonderful. When's the wedding?"

*****

The afternoon goes horribly. Evan would call it a shitshow; Worm's sure that Darryl would say the same.

She's glad he isn't here. This is embarrassing. Being forced to sit on the sidelines while everyone else gets to play soccer is so stupid. The rule must be that girls in khaki skirts simply aren't allowed to roughhouse, since grass-stained knees and mud-soaked white socks are unbecoming of proper young ladies. Miss Mary said so-- and Dad didn't disagree.

She can't even put her knees under her chin while she's sitting here in this stupid camp chair. Miss Mary gave her that look when she tried.

Evan takes a seat next to her in an abandoned camp chair someone else brought. With a sigh, he asks, "What's wrong, Wormface?"

"I don't know," she sighs back.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I don't know! I just don't want things to go wrong, I guess."

He makes a humming sound deep in his throat. "Well... I'm not sure what that means."

"I'm not sure I know, either."

"It's going to be fine," he says, after a second. "I think you're overthinking it."

"I'm not. They just don't like me."

"They like you."

"They don't."

"Hey." His voice takes a turn for the stern; Evan turns his head to look her in the eye. "People like you."

"Nobody likes us. The Morgensterns are a..." She thinks about it; she searches for the word. "We're a freaking curse. Everyone knows it, and it's fine that nobody likes me in particular because... Because I don't fit anywhere, anyway, I don't think. Everyone wants me to be... I don't know. Someone I'm not. Bethany and Miss Mary and Mom. All of them."

"Fitting in is overrated." Evan leans back in his camp chair, slouching down deep until his head is at nearly the same level as his knees. "That's a part of growing up. You realize that-- well, if someone doesn't want to be around you, then fuck them, right?"

"What?"

"Sorry. Sorry, I meant forget them," he amends. "It's complicated, Wormie. It's only human to want to have a place. You don't have to force it, though."

She can't think of anything to say. She pulls her knees up in her chair, tucks them under her chin. "This is stupid."

"I'll drink to that." He downs the rest of his soda from the disposable cup. He crushes it, shoves it back into the cupholder, and stands. "Alright, Wormface. Let's go kick around that soccer ball."

"I'm not allowed," she reminds him. "Miss Mary said I shouldn't."

He looks back at her, cocks his head to the side. "Fuck her."

Worm's eyes go wide. She can't think of anything to say.

Evan shakes his head. "No, I'm serious. You've been in your head all day because of her. Where's the Worm who put a lizard in her desk, huh?"

Worm considers it for half a second. "Yeah! You're right! F-- forget Miss Mary! She's not my mom!"

And it's the truth, at least. Worm's mom is in Heaven's Hollow. She isn't here to care about the mess.

Worm pushes herself up from the ground. Tomorrow, she's going to camp. Tonight, she's playing some freaking soccer.