Denise noticed.
“So,” she said carefully, “could I speak with you for a minute?”
I looked at my daughter.
“Mia?”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
That answer came much too quickly.
Something about her tone wiped the smile off my face.
I turned back to Denise. “Did something happen?”
“Not exactly.”
She led me several yards away, close enough that I could still see Mia standing beside the car.
Then she folded her arms.
“I’ve been running this camp for 17 years,” she said. “And I’ve never had this happen before.”
“And I’ve never had this happen before.”
“What did Mia do?”
Denise looked past me toward my daughter.
Then she said, “She isn’t welcome back.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“After what your daughter did here, I don’t want kids like her coming to this camp for that kind of money ever again.”
“After what your daughter did here, I don’t want kids like her coming to this camp.”
