“What are you doing?” Ryan asked as I started to walk away from him.
I shrugged. “It’s part of the Sam/Gary/Tiggy Friendship Pact of Love and Respect. Anytime someone has the balls to ask Gary about his horn directly, we have to perform the story.”
Justin’s face was in his hands and his voice was muffled when he said, “I don’t know why I can’t see these things coming.”
“You remember your lines?” Gary whispered to me as I came to stand beside him. Tiggy was fumbling with a lantern, wrapping a stiff piece of parchment paper he’d snagged from the table around it to make a spotlight.
“Do I remember my lines,” I scoffed.
“It’s a fair question. For all I know, your eyebrows negate your acting abilities, what little there is. You’re a child of the forest now. Maybe you don’t remember how to people.”
“You made us practice this for four weeks straight with only three hours of sleep a night in case this very moment ever happened. I won’t be able to forget it no matter how hard I try.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“You threatened to murder me if I didn’t wake up during the third week.”
“Well, yeah, you were being lazy.”
“I think there’s a difference between passing out due to exhaustion and—”
“Semantics,” he said, flipping his mane prettily. “All that matters is that my story will finally be told, and this is my moment to shine. If you ruin this for me, I will never forgive you until tomorrow.”
“I’ll do my best,” I promised him.
“Good. Now go fold that piece of paper on the table over there into the shape of a horn and attach it to a string around my neck so it sits atop my head.”
“Where the hell am I supposed to get a piece of—”
He turned slowly to look at me.
I gulped and moved as quickly as possible.
“Everyone,” Gary called out while I found a blank scrap of paper and began to fold it. “Yoo-hoo, everyone! Yes, that’s right. Look at me. Look riiiiight at me. Thank you. Now that I have your attention, I would like to say thank you for coming to the Camp HaveHeart debut performance of the tragic story that is my life. I ask that no one speak during the production unless it is to praise me profusely or to cry at the beauty that is myself. If you decide to throw flowers at me at the end, I will allow it. And please remember that while there are others involved in the story, played ably by Tiggy and somewhat less ably by Sam—”
“Hey!”
“—your focus should be on me. But given the gravitas with which I carry myself, I doubt you’ll have much issue with that!” He chuckled heartily. No one else did. “Anyway, hold your rapturous applause until the end, and I will be signing autographs for four minutes afterward. If you come to me at minute five, Tiggy will kill you.”
Tiggy grinned. “Kill you so hard.”
“Now, as soon as Sam finishes the one simple task I gave him at which he seems to be failing spectacularly, we will begin the story known as Gary’s Requiem: A Story of Heartbreak, Redemption, and Being Fabulous. Music and lyrics by Gary. Playbook by Gary. Costume design by Gary.”
Music and lyrics, Ryan mouthed to no one in particular.
“Got it!” I crowed. “One fake horn attached to a string, just like you asked.”
“Hmm,” Gary said, inspecting my work. “And what string is this?”
“It’s my dad’s hair,” I admitted.
“I support the arts,” Dad said.
Gary blushed but tried to act like he wasn’t affected. “Right. Glad you could do the minimal amount of work required. Congratulations, Sam.”
I rolled my eyes as I slid it on his head and tied the hair underneath his chin.
“How do I look?” he whispered.