It's the last Sharing Circle of the summer, and my last chance to tell the truth. 

I used to give my secrets away to anyone who would listen. Nobody ever paid attention long enough for it to really matter. Know what you're about, that's what my father used to tell me. I should've taken his words to heart. When I arrived at Lightlake, I felt lost in the world, wandering aimlessly without a purpose, my only desire to fade into the background and stay there. Not so much has changed since then. I still have a tendency to get lost, but at least now I know where I can be found. 

"Jasper, is there something you'd like to share?"

I raise my chin. Owen is waiting patiently for my response, while the rest of the cabin seems vaguely interested in what I have to say— Giselle is smiling encouragingly at me from her perch on her chair, Finn flashes a thumbs-up when our eyes meet, and even Ronan gives me a slight nod. Knowing that my friends are here to support me fills me with a newfound sense of confidence. I've never had friends like this before— ones that make me feel like more of myself, not less. 

"Actually, there is," I say slowly. My thoughts are moving at a tortoise's pace, struggling to comprehend the sticky situation I've landed myself in. Actually, I would like to share. I never thought I'd say those words in a room full of strangers, but here I am. The moment I spoke up, I made my choice— there's no stopping now, only slowing down long enough to catch my breath.

"Spit it out, Sostenuto," Emily says, popping her bubblegum noisily. "We don't have all day."

Owen shushes her. "Take your time, Jasper. There's no rush."

"Thank you." I'd like to say that my voice was steady and calm, but in reality, I'm shaking with stage-fright. Public speaking has never been my strong suit. "There is a story I'd like to share today. One I haven't told many people before."

The counselor grins proudly. After an unproductive session of Sharing Circle, I'm sure he's glad to have one camper willing to participate. (I wonder if he has a quota to fill. There's no way he's this invested in all our boring lives.) "Please, go ahead."

A rush of nerves overcomes my body, rooting me to the spot in my sweaty plastic chair. I can feel my jaw hanging open but I can't find the muscles to shut it. Oh, god. This is what total paralysis must feel like: I'm encased in concrete, lead weights attached to my lungs. I thought I was brave, but Owen's words and the sight of dull-eyed campers has sucked me back into one of my worst memories: my forced confession in front of the school board.

Please, go ahead. I can remember the principal speaking those same words as she clicked a blue ballpoint pen against her desk, her tongue scraping over the lipstick stain on the corner of her mouth. Is there something you'd like to share? The five boys I thought were my friends were there too, but none of them dared to speak. Their faces were dull and impressionless; cardboard cutouts of real people. Go ahead, Jasper. 

In the end, I was the one who took the fall. I confessed to everything: hacking into the school computers, changing the grades of my so-called friends, elevating their GPA high enough to get into a decent college. It was my last-ditch attempt to win their admiration, and it failed. I failed. Those boys never talked to me again, and I returned to eating my lunch in the bathroom stall as if nothing had changed. For a long time, it felt like nothing would change.

Go ahead, Jasper. Is there something you'd like to share? 

One of the campers snickers. Emily pops another bubble.

My stomach churns threateningly, and for a terrible moment, I feel like I'm going to be sick. I force myself to think of hopeful things: Ronan's understanding nod, Finn's kind gestures, Giselle's encouraging smile... And then I think of Giselle, and the hours we spent together by that creek, and her tireless perseverance in the face of a world that despised her, for no other reason than unavoidable circumstance. When I tilt my head away from the floor, she's still smiling at me, her blue eyes gleaming with the intensity of my first sip of whiskey. 

The sight of her smile is grounding. It reminds me of who I am, and who I want to be. I think of all the long conversations I had with Giselle, and what I've learned during my three long months at Lightlake.

"Go ahead," Owen urges.

With a shaky hand, I smooth out the creases in my jeans. It's a cold, rainy day outside— the perfect cover for my long-legged pants and knee-high socks. Nobody ever questioned my conservative clothing at Lightlake. The unforgiving Alaskan climate made the secret so easy to keep.

When I begin speaking, I almost cringe at my own uncertainty. "I grew up in the prairie outside the city of Montreal. In the winter, it snowed a lot. I would make snow angels in the front yard. It was my favorite time of the year." A slightly hysterical laugh bubbles out of my throat. "The snow was like a pillow. You could sink right into it."

"Is there a point to this story?" interrupts one of Clancey's old buddies— Sean, I think. I've held a grudge against him ever since he punched me in the shoulder during Capture the Flag. "Sharing Circle is called Sharing Circle for a reason, you know."

"Be quiet, Sean, and let him speak," Owen says sternly. "You know my policy on interrupting."

"It's okay, Owen. Sean's right— I need to get to the point." I can feel Sean's eyes on me, sullen and suspicious, but instead of ducking away, I let my features harden into a combination of stubbornness and determination stronger than any prosthetic. I am more than a bad memory, more than an irreversible injury. I am worth more than the sum of my parts. And I really don't feel like dealing with Sean's shit right now. 

"The point is that when I was five years old, while my mother was driving me to daycare, our car hit a patch of black ice and skidded off the road," I say. "The point is that the impact broke my leg in so many different places that the doctors didn't know how to put it back together again. The point is they decided the only way to save me was to amputate."

Sean squirms uncomfortably in his seat. "I didn't mean—"

"Please, let me finish." On the other side of the circle, Giselle is grinning like a maniac. She gives me a double thumbs-up. "There's still something I would like to share with you all today. I'm not like the rest of the campers at Lightlake. After my car accident, after I lost my leg, the doctors had to fit me with a prosthetic. So, yeah, my left leg is actually made of titanium." 

Sometimes, change takes a decade to occur. For example, Earth's tectonic plates take millennia to shift into place. But sometimes, change only takes a second, like on that wintry day in the prairie when my life was turned upside down in the twenty seconds it took for the car to fishtail off the road and collide with the guardrail. 

It takes me even less time to pull up the cuff on my jeans. And in less than a second, my life turns upside down again.

The cabin is stunned into silence. Then, Matt Mernan breaks that silence with a beautifully timed wolf-whistle.

"Why stop at the knee?" he crows. "Show us your—"

"That's a mark," Owen snaps, but he's already lost control of the campers— the air bursts open with the sound of laughter, and I'm pleasantly surprised to find myself joining in. It's nice not to be the butt of the joke for once. I could get used to this."

"Anyway, that's my story. I have a metal leg. Now you know." I grin sheepishly at the group, tugging the cuff of my jeans back down. Matt boos. "Sorry, folks. Show's over."

"I'd totally spend all my money on you if you were a stripper, Jasper!" Giselle shouts. 

"That's a mark, Bell—"

"You should paint some ghost flames on that thing," Finn advises, nodding his head appreciatively at my metal leg. "It would look wicked. Like a super-fast race car."

"Murphy, please—"

Emily pops another bubble. "I guess it's kind of cool." Despite her obsession with piercings and all things metal, she doesn't seem terribly impressed by my prosthetic leg. "You're kind of like Luke Skywalker, but with a fake leg instead of a fake hand."

"Ooh, nice reference," Finn says. "Jasper, you should totally have people call you 'Jedi Master' from now on—"

"Murphy!"

"What? I'm just quoting Star Wars. There's nothing illegal about Star Wars."

Owen pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Are any of you still listening to me? Or do we all have to ogle Jasper's prosthetic leg?"

"I'd rather ogle his leg than listen to you," Giselle says sweetly.

The counselor slaps his hands down on his thighs, signaling the end of the discussion. "Alright!  If everyone is too distracted to continue sharing, we might as well end early. Before you all get too excited, I still want written reflections from everybody about someone who changed their perspective this summer. Please turn them in before dinner tomorrow. Sharing Circle is dismissed!"

But not even the promise of an hour's worth of writing is enough to dull the air of enthusiasm in the cabin. A few campers slap me on the back as they leave, exclaiming, "Yo, thanks for the day off, Sostenuto!" and "Finn was right, you really should paint ghost flames on your leg". A buoyant mixture of happiness and pride swells in my chest, and I almost attempt another cartwheel when I finally realize why all the attention feels so good. This is the admiration I've been searching for. This is what I've always wanted. Except for this time, I didn't have to win over the popular kids or risk expulsion to get it— I earned it all by myself. Which, I have to admit, feels pretty damn good.

A pair of arms wrap around my shoulders, and before I can fully process what's happening, Giselle is hugging me tightly and bouncing up and down like a little kid at the circus, the scent of her cherry perfume gathering around me in a comforting cloud. "You did it, you did it! I told you that you didn't need to keep your leg a secret anymore!"

"And you didn't even have to beat someone up."

"Oh, trust me, I was this close to kicking the crap out of Sean's ugly face." Giselle pinches her thumb and index finger together, laughing gleefully at my alarmed expression. "Don't give me that look, I know you wanted to! All the kitchen duty would've been worth it."

"You're crazy."

"No, you're crazy." She pokes me teasingly in the chest. "I'd give you a bear-hug right now if half the camp wasn't watching."

Matt sidles up to her side, flashing us a glimpse of his braces as he drawls, "Everything's better with an audience, sweetheart."

Lightning quick, Giselle responds, "I heard the counselors are doing cabin searches today." She flashes Matt a wicked grin as his amused expression rapidly turns to one of horror. 

"Shit!" Mernan takes off down the trail like an Olympic sprinter. "Don't do anything freaky without me!"

Giselle flips him off, quite cheerfully. Then, when he's out of sight, she fishes a small plastic baggie out of her pocket and tosses it in the air. Sunlight catches in the emerald green flakes-- and this time, I'm quick enough to know it's not dried lettuce. "Poor bastard was probably too stoned to realize his stash was on him the entire time." I must look confused, because she wiggles her eyebrows playfully, adding, "Fastest fingers south of the Mississippi."

"You pick-pocketed him?"

"Only because he ruined our moment." She offers the baggie to me. "Want it? You could probably get a few bucks from the lunch lady."

"Nah, I'm good. I draw the line at drinking whiskey."

She shrugs, pocketing her stolen goods. "That's fine. I could use some extra cash."

We slow to a halt at the sound of raised voices drawing closer on the trail. "I'm telling you, he's got the information we need! All you have to do is—"

"No. No way. That guy skeeves me out. I'm not meeting with him, and that's final."

"Oh, c'mon. Why are you so afraid of him? This could be our last chance to figure out what's going on at this camp!"

"I'm not afraid of him, I'm just being reasonably cautious—"

A tree branch cracks and Finn and Ronan pop out in front of us. Finn stumbles and nearly trips over his own feet, but Ronan just raises an eyebrow at us."Okay, how much of that did you hear?"

"Everything," Giselle says smoothly.

I shoot her a look, but she waves me away. "Just play along," she whispers. "I want to know what they're up to."

"Jasper, help me out with this," Finn pleads. "After Sharing Circle, Owen asked me to meet him by the lake during dinner tonight. Ronan wants me to go, but I think he's crazy. The counselor must have lost his mind. Why else would he want a one on one conversation?"

"Uh, Owen seems pretty sane to me. He assigned us a reflection paper less than ten minutes ago."

"And? I bet it's all a facade. He's too friendly. Like, way too friendly. I don't trust him."

"You just don't like him because he gave you kitchen duty," Ronan points out.

"Yeah, because we were asking too many questions about Clancey! Which is super fucking suspicious! I'm telling you, the counselor is up to something no good."

"Owen is completely harmless. I mean, he hasn't even figured out he lost his knife during the Hike. You could probably shiv him with it and he still wouldn't realize."

"He lost a knife?" I demand. 

"It's not important," answers Ronan.

Finn scowls. "Not important? Clancey almost killed me with that knife!"

"Clancey tried to kill you?"

"It's not important! Right now, the only thing that's important is getting Finn to talk to Owen. I'm sure he has information about the summer of '69. You know, the whole reason we risked our lives breaking into the Director's cabin. I can't imagine why else he would want to meet up."

"Maybe he wants to finish what Clancey started," Finn mutters. 

"Are you kidding me? Owen is a counselor. He'd never think of hurting a camper." Ronan turns his gaze on Giselle, and it strikes me how much he talks like a politician-- we all must look like walking bargaining chips to him. "C'mon, people. This summer is nearly over. We need to figure out what's going on at Lightlake before we leave forever."

Giselle looks absolutely puzzled. (I doubt this is the juicy information she was hoping for.) "There's something going on at Lightlake? What the hell are you talking about?"

Ronan's eye gives a small twitch. "Forget I said anything. Finn, let's go. I still have some convincing to do."

He grabs his roommate's sleeve and propels him down the trail. Help me, Finn mouths as he passes by. I offer him my most sympathetic grimace. When Ronan sets his mind to something, there's no point in arguing. You might as well kindly ask a loaded gun not to shoot you.

"--and that's why I'm right, and you're wrong!" shouts Ronan in the distance. "But you're just too stubborn--"

"Stubborn? I'm the stubborn one?"

"Yes, Mr. I-Need-To-Save-The-Frogs, you're the stubborn one. I thought I made that pretty clear."

"Oh, go to hell..."

Giselle links her arm through mine, tugging me in the opposite direction of the bickering roommates. "Well, that was definitely an interesting experience. Is it just me, or does Ronan give you a bit of a gay vibe?"

"Uh... I think that's just you."

"Hmm. Maybe you're right. Do you want to go hang out by the creek? We have some extra time to hang out before dinner starts, thanks to your metal leg. It'll be just like old times."

"Sure. And the metal leg says you're welcome."

Giselle lets out a peal of laughter, and then we're stumbling off the trail, arm-in-arm, tearing through the trees like a pair of foals testing out their legs for the first time. I'm laughing so hard that there are real tears in my eyes, and for the first time, my prosthetic doesn't seem like such a burden. 

We come upon the creek so quickly that we nearly tumble into it, and then we collapse on the prickly carpet of pine needles, panting and grinning as if we've already smoked through Matt's stolen stash. I can feel my heart thumping in my chest. We're alarming close together. If I scooted over an inch, I'd be bumping up against her chest.

Giselle brushes a pine needle off my shirt. "What are you thinking about? You've got that far-away look on your face."

"Nothing, really."

"Don't lie to me, Jasper."

"I'm not!"

"Then why are you blushing?"

"Well, we did just sprint half a mile through the woods--"

She flicks the tip of my nose. "You're a terrible liar, Sostenuto."

"If you know me so well, then why don't you tell me what I'm thinking?"

"Oh, so now we're playing guessing games?" Giselle grins devilishly at me. "That's not a wise move. You should know I never lose."

"You've also never played against me before."

"Are you sure about that?"

I let out a nervous laugh. I'm beginning to feel more off-kilter than I did after drinking all that whiskey.

"I think that we're thinking the same thing," she says. "Am I correct?"

"Maybe. I don't know what you're thinking."

Something cold and wet hits my face. A raindrop. It's followed by another, then another.

The trees murmur gently above us. Giselle holds up her hand. "Damn. It's raining. Do you want to head back?"

"No. I like the rain. It feels good on my skin."

She rises to her feet and twirls in a circle, her feet kicking up miniature dust devils. The rain splashes against her face, catching in her eyelashes and the strands of brown hair framing her cheeks. "Doesn't it feel good, Jasper?" She closes her eyes and throws her head back, laughing in the downpour. When she stretches her hands up to the heavens, I can imagine her seashell-pink fingernails brushing the clouds. "It feels like life!" 

Then she's pulling me up next to her, and suddenly we're spinning wildly through the rain like dancers moving to a beat nobody else can hear. I'm drenched and freezing in a matter of seconds, but it's a liberating kind of freezing. It makes me feel clean. I'm free in the forest, and I'm free in the rain. My legs are lighter than air. I'm sure that if I focused hard enough, I could soar above the Alaskan treeline.

This is one of those changes that happen faster than you can blink; the ones that if you don't catch, you'll miss. Everything is centered around Giselle, and her curls sticking against my cheeks, and the sound of her hoarse laughter filling my ears, and the overwhelming smell of cherry mingling with the breeze.

I think we've both found our happiness with each other.

The rain slows to a trickle, and our burst of energy dissipates as quickly as it took hold. We're left facing each other, hand in hand, the forest silent except for the gurgling of the creek and the dripping of water on leaves.

She leans into me, resting her forehead against my own. "I think you're one of my best friends in the entire world," she says, the sensation of her breath raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

"I think you're my best friend, too."

"Also, you mean a lot to me, and... I don't want to mess this up."

I squeeze her hand once, twice. "I don't think this is