“I want to be a firefighter just like my dad. He’s the best firefighter in the world.”

“Is your dad your favorite person in the world?”

“Yes! And then it’s you. You’re my favorite volunteer ever.”

Caleb wraps his small, dark arms around my waist, and I smile. The camp counselor calls everyone to the back of the squalid church on Eighth and Butler Street, Philadelphia. Erupting into one of its coughing fits, the air conditioner hacks up brown liquid that falls dutifully into the waiting pail below. The wall sheds flakes of blue paint as we brush by it and the floor is littered with mysterious, small plastic bags and cigarette butts.

Caleb and I fight through the mass of people, all wearing faded orange shirts that are dirtied by time and pieces of lunch that didn’t quite make it into their mouths. The camp counselor blows his whistle.

“Okay, in about ten minutes, we are going to walk over to Hunting Park for swimming from 9:00 to 11:00.” Mr. Mario says, his whistle still dangling from his chapped lips.

“Yes! Swimming! I can wear the goggles my dad got me.”

“Shut up, Caleb,” a camper from the back shouts.

“You shut up, Quadair,” Caleb says, his hands balled into fists.

I put my hands on Caleb’s shoulders to calm him but he says “don’t touch me” and sulks in the corner of the room. After Mr. Mario finishes the day’s announcements, I find Caleb with his arms still crossed in the back.

“C’mon Lily,” Caleb says, reaching for my hand. “I don’t like no one here.”

“Don’t say that,” I say. “That’s not nice.”

“Fine, then I don’t like you either. I only like my dad.” Caleb turns away from me to face the wall.

At the pool, I see Caleb splashing with the other kids in the water, a mysterious shade of blue that reeks of bleach. After fifteen minutes, he comes out and bounds across the hot concrete to where I am sitting in the shade.

“Caleb, do you want your towel?”

“Yes please. The towel has the Eagles on it. Do you see? That’s my dad’s favorite team.”

“Me too! That’s awesome. Are you hungry?”

“Mmhm, let’s go sit at the picnic benches. Can you hold my goggles for me? You have to keep them safe; my dad gave them to me and told me to never lose them.”

“Of course.”

Holding hands, Caleb and I walk over to the benches with our boxed lunches, courteously provided by the government. He reaches over and takes the bag of apples from my box.

“My dad says that I have to eat two bags of apples a day if I want to be healthy.”

The sun warms our backs and flies, fat with leftover scraps from the garbage, drone lazily around the table. Caleb, with a sandwich in one hand and chocolate milk in the other, runs barefoot across the gravel and steals bags of apples from the other kids.

“Hey! Caleb, give that back!”

Caleb giggles and bounces back to me.

“Lily, Lily! They’re coming! Protect me!” he says gleefully, hiding behind my back.

An angry Keenan reaches behind me to slap Caleb hard on the back of his head. Caleb’s laughing fades into a growl of outrage, a splinter that pierces our ears. In the blink of an eye, Caleb has Keenan pinned to the ground and is blindly punching his face over and over again. 

“Caleb! Get off right now,” I say with all the authority I can muster.

“Go away Lily. I hate you! I wish you never came here.” Caleb pushes me away with his shoulder. 

“Caleb, get off of Keenan or else I’m calling Mr. Mario.”

Fear flits across his eyes like a phantom passing through a troubled soul. He gets up and brushes away the gravel that clings to his shirt. 

“I hate everyone. I’m leaving and going to my dad. Bye.”

As he runs away, I know that I should be running after him, but bitterness chains my feet to the ground. My mind is torn between anger and shame. Caleb’s words bounce in my head: “I hate you. I wish you never came here.” Caleb runs back towards me and in a display of utmost immaturity, I turn away from him. I hate him.

“I need my goggles,” he says, his voice hoarse. He looks down at the ground and holds out his hand.

Without a word, I rummage through my bag, pushing aside towels, broken pencils, and gum wrappers, but I cannot find Caleb’s goggles. Those dark blue Speedo goggles...where did they go? Panic colors my face a deep shade of red.

“Caleb, I’m sorry. I can’t find them.”

“No, no, no no. My dad gave them to me. No, no.” Caleb is more afraid than angry as he rips the bag from my hands and dumps everything on the ground.

“Lily! You said you would keep them for me!” Hot tears drip from his eyes. “My dad gave them to me. I need to find them. I need to.” His voice is a frenzied, desperate whisper.

Mr. Mario blows his whistle, signaling everyone to start the two-block walk back to the church.

“Caleb, let’s go back. We can ask your dad to buy you new ones.”

“Nuh-uh, he can’t. Please, Lily, help me find them.” Caleb begins to walk back to the pool, but is blocked by Mr. Mario, who has his two feet planted firmly on the ground with the whistle wedged between his teeth.

“What are you doing, boy? Go back to Lily.”

Hesitantly, Caleb drags his feet back to me. He does not hold my hand; he does not look into my eyes. As we walk down the street, permeated by the stench of spilled trash bags, I remember a time from last year when during our walks, Caleb would lick the sides of buildings and say that gave him good luck.

Now, he walks with his head down. There are no buildings to lick, no words to exchange. Back at the church, Mr. Mario says the closing prayer and dismisses the campers.

That afternoon, the rain pours down and leaves trails across the dirt-streaked window. While the volunteers and I clean up the room, I cannot stop thinking of Caleb’s reaction: how sadness dissipated all anger after I had lost his goggles. Mr. Mario walks over to me and pulls up a chair.

“How was Caleb today? I could see him giving you a hard time.”

“Caleb was…” I avoid Mr. Mario’s eyes. Tears of confusion, frustration, and guilt from the day collect at the corners of my eyes.

“You have to understand, Lily. He is acting up because his father passed away three months ago.”

“What?”

“He was shot in Hunting Park.”

Guilt, shame, and genuine concern for Caleb chase away all the hatred I had felt earlier in the day. They boil at the base of my neck, threatening to explode in a cry of anguish.

The next morning, Caleb walks in with the usual black, plastic bag from the corner store. I walk over to him. He hugs me before saying,“I forgive you, Lily. My dad was really mad at me when I told him I lost the goggles so I blamed it on you. But he said it’s okay and he wanted me to forgive you.”

“Well, Caleb, remind me to thank your dad later.”

“I will. I’ll tell him tonight.”