by Jess Howe

Created on: July 12, 2009

The magical, the mystical, fried egg wonder of it all, was Piranha's Special Summer Camp for Special Children. There, among the frozen statues of another age before lace and fine silks, you could be anything you wanted - the trick was just to be it. That was where I learned to make slivers in time with a bit of fried egg and to feel the chimes in Mama Johnson's windpipe, without even touching them. I felt enraptured by the world, if only for one summer.

I was a street kid back then, so I wasn't supposed to go to the Camp at all. But I had a friend who lived near the corner I hustled playing my sappy tunes on my harmonica for pittance, and Liza - that was her name - wouldn't have it any other way. Spoiled rich kid to the T, and she'd made me her project that year, the old story "let's make the poor kid cultured" or something like that. Pygmalion, she called it. She got me playing chess in the park, just so I'd fit in. But who'd have figured on it, Miss Taffeta 2009 and Miss Blue Jeans? My means of fun before Liza was climbing trees in the park and dropping down on unsuspecting joggers - not to rob 'em, but for a laugh, you understand.

"You're going," she said, arms crossed, and I knew that was that. Oh, Liza could be tough as anyone from the South Bronx, when she wanted to be. I guess that's why I admired her, got along.

But, this thing wasn't like any other camp I'd heard of. Us street kids knew about the fat camps, the AA clinics, the mediocre summer camps all the baby-boomer babies' babies went to, the better summer camps they attended if they had a little more money, the exclusive camps that only rich kids went to, the soccer camps, baseball camps, summer stock, riding camps, and so on. I'd never heard of a camp that happened right in the middle of the park!

I was hanging around nervously in my best - and only - jeans and shirt, with Liza, by the wall to the Econ building at Waxer University, when she got a text message and poked me. "It's here."

I looked around. This part of the park was pretty and shady, with a huge wild rosebush and a stretch of lawn where I liked to snooze on warm days. Stuck in the middle of that copse was now a red door. "I'm seeing things."

She snorted, most unladylike. "If you mean that you see a red door, you should be seeing it because it is there," she said in her very pointed Liza way. "Now, did you remember to bring string?" I nodded. "Okay, then; let's go!"

With that, Liza took my hand and dragged me up to the

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