“Taking pictures of the shoppers?” some kid asked me, his hair looking like he used a clam shell to comb it.
“No.”
He looked to the market, then to me. “Then why are you sitting over here?”
Thinking of Pep and his feet-sky pictures, I took a snap of the sky. “Better view of the clouds over here.”
The kid pulled himself up on the hood of the car like it was nothing more than a neighborhood fence, then said, “The townies treat me like I’ve got cooties.” He hung his head, then sat up real quick, shouting,
“But I don’t!”
Hey, he didn’t have to tell me about feeling like an outsider. The kids in my class think I’m a total camera geek. Not to mention my whole water problem.
He nodded to the camera and pulled me out of my little self-pity party. “You pretty good with that thing?”
“Good enough.” I shrugged. Call me kooky, but I get all nervous around other kids in the summer. They always want to go swimming and stuff. If they ask me to go, then they find out I’m nothing but a big sissy. It’s like being the only kid at a slumber party who’s still afraid of the monsters under the bed.
“Can you take pictures at night with it?” He leaned in to have a look, like he could see if the camera might be able to do such a thing.
“Maybe. But it takes special film.” I didn’t like the can-I-borrow-that? look on his face. Nobody used my camera. It’s as important to me as swimming is to Mem and Pep. Like breathing.
I pulled my camera away, but he just leaned back on the hood and changed the subject. “Yeah, I was all excited about having a lake house until I got a load of the beaches here—more rocks than sand. Going barefoot’s out. You’ve got to wear boat shoes. Or should I say, ‘rock shoes’?”
He smiled at me to wait for a laugh. When none came, he said, “Was it a long drive for you? We live near Pittsburgh, so it takes a day to get here.”
He had that fishing-for-a-friend kind of stubbornness. Maybe if he didn’t like the beaches, he wouldn’t ask me to go swimming. I decided to see what he had in mind. “We live in a small town called Perryville, near Scranton.”
“My grandparents live here. Our lake house is on their land.”
I imagined that the boy and his family lived in a cozy cabin by the water and his grandparents lived in a nice big place on the hill among the trees, where they just had to look at the water. They’d have warm log walls and a big fireplace. They’d cuddle together on the couches at night with afghans the grandmother knitted and they’d tell stories by the fire. I’d like to do that myself if we could leave out anything that can fly, guide ships, or grant wishes.
“Can I meet your grandparents?”
“Sure.” The boy nodded, his cowlick waving at me. “They’re over there picking out veggies for a stew.” He pointed to the other end of the market, just feet from the water.
Just the idea of being that close to the lake chilled my bones. I turned away. “Maybe later.”
“We’re neighbors, you know.”
“Really?” Might not be a bad thing, especially if he was keen on hanging out in the woods around our place. I might be able to get some good shots of forest critters, especially if I got some night film—raccoons, possums, maybe even a fox. Or better yet, an owl in flight. We could build a camera post in the trees and I could get an owl spread-wing with its great yellow eyes all aglow. Beat that, Gaylen Parker.
“My grandparents know the owners of your house, the Kenricks. They can’t come up to the lake this year because Mrs. Kenrick broke her leg.”
That’s what I should’ve done. Jumped from my tree fort and broken my leg. You can’t go in the water with a cast. Why didn’t I think of that?
“Anyway, they said they rented it to a family with a kid my age.” If the town kids wouldn’t play with him, he probably figured he could make friends with another kid on vacation.
We sat there a second, waiting for one of us to say something cool. I thought of asking him what he thought of a nighttime photo shoot, but he said, “Name’s Tylo Bishop. When we go back home, I’ll be in fourth grade.”
“I’ll be in fifth. I’m Kyna.” Fifth grade meant a trip to the Bighorn Water Park. My school went every year. Maybe just a sprained ankle would get me out of that. I hear there’s lots of stairs to climb at those water parks.
“Tylo!” called a woman carrying a watermelon to her car. A trio of boys swarmed her, one of them dive-bombing her with corncob airplanes, another zipping in and out using a plastic wrapped plate of sweets as a steering wheel, and the last one walking kind of crossways, trying to look aloof and cool as he carried a bright pink bag bulging with fruit.
“My brothers,” Tylo rolled his eyes. “It’s like living in one of those stupid movies where guys do one dumb trick after another, and I’ve got all the bumps and bruises to prove they’re idiots.” He rubbed a cut on his forehead. “Got this when Trevor tried to prove a scrap of metal could work as a Frisbee.”
“Ouch.”
“Tylo!” His mom called, sounding desperate. Who wouldn’t, traveling with that crew?
“Gotta go,” he shouted, at a run toward his family.
“Later!” I yelled after him.
Just then Mem came back, asking, “Brussels sprouts for lunch?”
I snarled at her. She knew I hated those things, almost as much as I hated spinach, and she cooked that, too.
“All right, how about prunes? They had nice home-dried fruit.” Pep shook the bag as we got into the car.
Dried fruit is like dead fruit. It should never be eaten. “Did you at least get some cherries?”
“No cherries, no watermelon.”
“No apples, no bananas.”
“No fruit a certain girl likes.”
“Why not? ” I popped up against the back of their seat.
“You can buy any fruit you want, dear.” Mem held up her money pouch. “But you have to buy it.”
Dropping back into my seat, I said, “Never mind.” No fruit, and water everywhere I went. The only good thing about this place had to be that kid Tylo and the promise of a nighttime photo expedition. Hey, we might even get a few shots of bats. And Mem hates bats. Maybe I’ll leave pictures of them on her pillow one night. Then we’ll see how she feels about facing something she fears.
TREES
Once we carried the groceries inside, I turned to head out for another mountain trek, but Mem said, “Don’t you go rock climbing again. I’ve seen your knees there, lass. Or what’s left to the knees in your new jeans. No more climbing alone.”
So I had a few scrapes. Big deal.
Like he read my mind, Pep said, “Yesterday it was just a couple of nicks, but today or tomorrow it could be broken bones. You might fall up there and we wouldn’t find you till the vultures started circling.”
“Ronan!” Mem dropped her shopping bag onto the counter and covered her heart. “How could you say such a thing?”
“Scare tactic, sweet.” He kissed her cheek.
“Well, it scared me more than Kyna. So stop it.” She gave his arm a twisting pinch.
“Ow.” He rubbed the spot. “Right-oh. Vultures aside, you get my meaning,