about?" I said, trying to keep my face from going red.
"The rocks below the railroad tracks. When you run, you stop and look around."
"Are you spying on me?"
"No," she said.
"How do you know what I do or don't do, then?" I said.
"Chance, I do my homework in our solarium, which looks out over the beach. I've seen you a couple of times now, poking around in the rocks. That's all. If I'd known you were going to get all paranoid, I wouldn't have mentioned it. I was just curious."
"I'm not paranoid, Melissa. I just don't like being spied on."
She stared at me for a long moment. "Forget I mentioned it," she said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I'd been an idiot to snarl at Melissa like that. All I'd done was make her more suspicious. If the fat guy knew someone was watching me, he'd get rid of me. I couldn't have that, not when things had fallen into place. Creager wouldn't take me back at Ray's.
When I reached the maple tree that day, I looked up at the homes along the bluff. Back in middle school, someone had pointed out Melissa's house to me from the road, but I couldn't pick it out from the beach. Was she in her solariumâwhatever that wasâright now? Was she watching me?
There was nothing hidden in the rocks that day, so I turned and headed back. When I reached Pier B, I spotted a huge water rat cleaning itself on the rocks. The rat looked at me, and then went right back to cleaning itself. That rat gave me an idea.
Tuesday before school I tracked down Melissa. "I'm sorry about yesterday," I said.
"Forget it," she said, her voice icy.
"It's a rat's nest," I said.
"What?"
"In the rocks. There's a bunch of paper and wrappers all in a mound. I think a momma rat and her babies live in there. Sometimes I can see little pink eyes looking back at me."
Her eyes brightened. "That's cool. Why didn't you just say so?"
"I don't know. I guess I thought you'd think it was stupid."
"Well, I don't. I think it's nice."
For a moment we both stood there. "See you around," I said at last, and started off.
"Chance, wait a second," she said. I stopped. "What?"
"That's the kind of thing you could write about."
"What?"
"For the newspaper. You could write about stuff that goes on along Golden Gardens and on the beach. The rats, or something else if you want." She paused. "The newspaper staff still meets at the Blue Note Café at eight o'clock every other Friday. Our next meeting is this Friday. Why don't you come?"
I started to say no automatically, but then I stopped myself. For the first time in my life, I had money in my pocket. Not a lot, but enough so that I could buy a mocha and a piece of cake and not worry about it. I liked Melissa, and she liked me. She was just asking me to meet her at a café. How could going to the Blue Note hurt?
"OK," I said.
She smiled. "OK."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The first few years we lived on the boat, my dad would heat up some sort of turkey loaf and deli mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving. Some years, he even bought a pumpkin pie. He was trying, but all he did was to make me feel mom's absence even more.
Now we basically treat Thanksgiving and Christmas and birthdays as if they are any other day of the week. Since there's no buildup, there's no letdown. Thanksgiving came and went.
The morning after Thanksgiving, my dad gave me a hundred and thirty dollars. "To help with the moorage fee," he said. "I've had a few jobs lately. Mainly helping guys get their boats ready for winter."
I was about to tell him I didn't need it, but I stopped myself in time. "Thanks," I said. "This will help a lot."
That evening, after he'd taken off for wherever it was he
was going, I grabbed a jacket and walked the length of the marina to the long stairway leading up to Thirty-second Avenue and the Blue Note Café. It's about one hundred steps, straight up, so I was breathing hard when I finally reached the top.
I caught my breath, then crossed the street and entered the café. Melissa, her brown, shoulder-length
"The rocks below the railroad tracks. When you run, you stop and look around."
"Are you spying on me?"
"No," she said.
"How do you know what I do or don't do, then?" I said.
"Chance, I do my homework in our solarium, which looks out over the beach. I've seen you a couple of times now, poking around in the rocks. That's all. If I'd known you were going to get all paranoid, I wouldn't have mentioned it. I was just curious."
"I'm not paranoid, Melissa. I just don't like being spied on."
She stared at me for a long moment. "Forget I mentioned it," she said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I'd been an idiot to snarl at Melissa like that. All I'd done was make her more suspicious. If the fat guy knew someone was watching me, he'd get rid of me. I couldn't have that, not when things had fallen into place. Creager wouldn't take me back at Ray's.
When I reached the maple tree that day, I looked up at the homes along the bluff. Back in middle school, someone had pointed out Melissa's house to me from the road, but I couldn't pick it out from the beach. Was she in her solariumâwhatever that wasâright now? Was she watching me?
There was nothing hidden in the rocks that day, so I turned and headed back. When I reached Pier B, I spotted a huge water rat cleaning itself on the rocks. The rat looked at me, and then went right back to cleaning itself. That rat gave me an idea.
Tuesday before school I tracked down Melissa. "I'm sorry about yesterday," I said.
"Forget it," she said, her voice icy.
"It's a rat's nest," I said.
"What?"
"In the rocks. There's a bunch of paper and wrappers all in a mound. I think a momma rat and her babies live in there. Sometimes I can see little pink eyes looking back at me."
Her eyes brightened. "That's cool. Why didn't you just say so?"
"I don't know. I guess I thought you'd think it was stupid."
"Well, I don't. I think it's nice."
For a moment we both stood there. "See you around," I said at last, and started off.
"Chance, wait a second," she said. I stopped. "What?"
"That's the kind of thing you could write about."
"What?"
"For the newspaper. You could write about stuff that goes on along Golden Gardens and on the beach. The rats, or something else if you want." She paused. "The newspaper staff still meets at the Blue Note Café at eight o'clock every other Friday. Our next meeting is this Friday. Why don't you come?"
I started to say no automatically, but then I stopped myself. For the first time in my life, I had money in my pocket. Not a lot, but enough so that I could buy a mocha and a piece of cake and not worry about it. I liked Melissa, and she liked me. She was just asking me to meet her at a café. How could going to the Blue Note hurt?
"OK," I said.
She smiled. "OK."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The first few years we lived on the boat, my dad would heat up some sort of turkey loaf and deli mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving. Some years, he even bought a pumpkin pie. He was trying, but all he did was to make me feel mom's absence even more.
Now we basically treat Thanksgiving and Christmas and birthdays as if they are any other day of the week. Since there's no buildup, there's no letdown. Thanksgiving came and went.
The morning after Thanksgiving, my dad gave me a hundred and thirty dollars. "To help with the moorage fee," he said. "I've had a few jobs lately. Mainly helping guys get their boats ready for winter."
I was about to tell him I didn't need it, but I stopped myself in time. "Thanks," I said. "This will help a lot."
That evening, after he'd taken off for wherever it was he
was going, I grabbed a jacket and walked the length of the marina to the long stairway leading up to Thirty-second Avenue and the Blue Note Café. It's about one hundred steps, straight up, so I was breathing hard when I finally reached the top.
I caught my breath, then crossed the street and entered the café. Melissa, her brown, shoulder-length
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