Read Online Just J by Colin Frizzell - Free Book Online Page A

sarcasm.
    â€œWhere you from?” he finally says.
    â€œToronto.”
    â€œOh, boy, then you are lucky.” Now I’m not sure, but I think he may be a bit more familiar with sarcasm than I first gave him credit for. “So what crime did you commit to get yourself sentenced here?”
    Yep, he’s familiar.
    â€œMy mom died and my dad didn’t want me around.”
    â€œWhat an idiot…sorry.”
    â€œDon’t be; he is one.”
    â€œI mean about your mom; the sorry part, not the idiot part.”
    â€œOh, thanks,” I say. Maybe he’s not as bad as I first thought.
    We sit there for a minute in silence, but the silence isn’t awkward. We’re just enjoying watching the sky go slowly gray as the world gets older.
    â€œSo are you at the campgrounds?”
    â€œNo, my aunt bought a house just over there.”
    â€œWhich one?”
    â€œThe one that’s crumbling,” I say, pointing it out.
    â€œI thought an albino bought that place. Is that your aunt?”
    â€œThat’s not very nice.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œCalling him an albino.”
    â€œYour aunt’s a he?”
    â€œNo, the al…he’s her friend.”
    â€œOh, isn’t he an albino?”
    â€œHe is, but it’s not nice to say that.”
    â€œWhat’s not nice about it? I can see calling a really pale white guy an albino might be considered an insult—and even that’s questionable—but if you call an albino an albino…I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
    â€œThere is,” I say.
    He stops to ponder.
    Now the silence is awkward.
    â€œDo you know his name?” he asks.
    â€œWhose?”
    â€œThe al…your aunt’s friend?”
    â€œArthur, Art.”
    â€œArthur Art?”
    â€œArthur, but he likes to be called Art.”
    â€œAll right then. I thought Art bought the place.”
    â€œHe bought it for my aunt—I think.”
    â€œNow we’re getting somewhere,” he says. “How long are you down for?”
    â€œThe whole summer,” I say, expressing my excitement about the concept as clearly as I can.
    â€œIt won’t be that bad. There’s a lot of fun to be had in these parts.”
    â€œLike jumping off the top of the dunes?”
    He smiles, more to himself than to me. It’s kind of adorab…annoying. Annoying is what I mean—definitely.
    â€œThere’s a dance hall buried in one of these dunes.”
    â€œNo way!” I say.
    â€œSo way,” he replies. “Moonlight Palace. The dunes shifted and buried it. They couldn’t stop it because the government protects the dunes. They just had to sit back and watch it happen.”
    â€œHow long ago?”
    â€œI don’t know exactly—in the fifties, maybe. Some of the locals say that the sand of the dunes stopped the sands of time, and if you can find the hotel and get inside, you’ll be transported back to when it was still open and thriving.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œReally. Mind you, some of the locals drink a lot.” He glances over at the old house. “It looks like your aunt has a campfire going.”
    On the shore a fire burns brightly, and I can make out Art and Aunt Guin carrying some chairs to set around it.
    â€œI’d better get back,” I inform him.
    â€œYeah, me too,” he replies, but I’m not sure if he really has to or if he’s just saying that because I did. “I work at Vittles and Vitals—that’s my parents’ store—in the afternoon, so if you want to stop by, it’s just a ten-minute bike ride from here.”
    â€œI don’t have a bicycle.”
    â€œI can get you one, as long as you’re not picky.”
    â€œThat’s okay.”
    â€œIt’s no trouble.” He gets up and starts to walk back over the dunes from which he had so dramatically appeared. At the top he stops and turns