A Million Miles From Boston (4 page)

I followed Dad, the brownies in my hands. If I told him how awful they were, he’d want to know why I hadn’t told him in the first place. Which I couldn’t answer; it had happened so quickly.

We turned on the path next to the Grants’ cottage and without looking at each other we took off running. Dad used to beat me easily, but the past summer I’d finally won. Now I turned at the oak tree and poured on the speed. I was first into the big field, the plate of brownies steady in my hands.

“Whew!” Dad bent over, breathing deeply. “I’m out of shape!”

We laughed and started across the field. Far off to the left were two old tennis courts, weeds sprouting through cracks along the baselines. A wooden play structure stood nearby. It was so old that it gave everyone splinters, but no one wanted to take it down.

We walked up to the Big House, a one-story meeting house with a wraparound porch. The families had built it in 1922 and it hadn’t changed much. The floors creaked, the gutters
leaked and it smelled like burned wood and mildew. We loved it. Mrs. Steele called it the heart of the Point, and I agreed.

I stopped in front of the steps. “These brownies aren’t any good.”

“Everything you make is great!” Dad smiled and disappeared into the Big House.

People were everywhere, walking through the field, crowding the porch. “How was your winter?” “How did your cottage hold up?” Hugs, kisses, slaps on backs.

I knew everyone, the Sullivans, the Tolls, the Averys, the Grants, the Pollards.

“We were so glad to get your email about camp,” said Mrs. Dennis, holding her three-year-old, Stevie. “Lauren’s excited! Stevie’s too young, so maybe you could sit for us sometime?”

“Sure.” I grinned at Stevie, who frowned and turned his face into his mom’s neck.

“Lucy!” Mr. Ramsey was behind me. “Good to see you! Did you hear we’ve got new neighbors in the Dorsey house? From your neck of the woods.”

I nodded. Lots of people from Boston vacationed or owned homes here. Someone grabbed Mr. Ramsey and said hello, so I slipped behind the crowd into the main room. Tables were stuffed with plates of food.

“Lucy!” Mrs. Ramsey hugged me. “Brownies! Your mom would’ve been proud! She always made the best ones. But I’ve told you that a hundred times.”

“Yeah. But these are no good.”

“So modest! Take them to the dessert table.” She turned to talk to someone else.

No way.

In the kitchen, a new girl opened and shut drawers. She was maybe sixteen, with long blond hair streaked pink. She watched as I dumped the brownies into the trash. “Decided not to poison anyone?”

I laughed. “Exactly.”

She had eyes so dark they were almost black and impossible to read. She smiled. “Are there any flashlights in this godforsaken place? My dad sent me in here for one.”

I yanked on a drawer. It stuck, then screeched as I pulled harder. I reached in for a flashlight.

She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve asked three people and no one could help me.”

“I know where everything is.” I turned on the flashlight and nothing happened. I banged it on the counter and the light came on. “Sometimes you have to do that.”

She took the flashlight. “You’re like me. I always know what’s going on.”

“Well, not always,” I said. But I stood taller. She wore a tank top, blue like the ocean, and jeans. Beaded earrings hung from her pierced ears. I touched my ears, which were still sore. Soon I’d wear earrings just like hers.

“Thanks, catch you later.” She waved and disappeared into the main room.

You’re like me
. I smiled. No one had ever said that to me.

The main room was packed. Dad sat with the Steeles in the corner. Stevie cried as Mrs. Dennis pulled him out from under the dessert table. Kiki Pollard and the other older girls, Tonya and Danielle Winston, walked in.

I watched Kiki as she said hello to everyone. She was by far the nicest of the older girls. Before she drove into town, she would always ask neighbors if they needed anything. Two summers earlier she’d read every day to Mrs. Graham’s mother, who had been ninety-two and recovering from eye surgery.

Right now she was bent over old Mr. Grant, talking, her hand on his shoulder.

Up here kids were either a lot older or a lot younger than me, so I was always alone with Superior—which I liked, because Superior was my best friend and so much fun.

Still, sometimes as I watched the older girls when we were at parties or while they went tubing in the bay, I liked to imagine that they’d ask me to hang out with them, a little-sister kind of thing. But they never paid much attention to me.

I sighed and walked outside. I looked up as Bucky limped toward me, blood trickling down his leg.

“I fell.” He bit his lip, trying not to cry. I leaned closer. “Don’t touch it!”

Bucky got hurt a lot because he was reckless. Falling off his bike, jamming his finger on a baseball. “It’s not so bad. Let’s go find a Band-Aid.”

I got the first aid kit from the closet. The past winter, at my babysitting certification course at the YMCA, I’d learned
that you should wash a cut before putting on medicine and a bandage. But water would sting and Bucky might yell; people would think I couldn’t take care of him. The cut wasn’t bad. I smeared on ointment, then put on the bandage.

“Thanks, Lucy.” He ran out the door, past a woman I’d never seen before.

Mrs. Ramsey pointed to her and said, “Will you go see what she brought?”

I walked up to the woman. She had long, perfect brown hair and wore a blue skirt and a stiff white shirt. Something about how tall she stood, head forward, mouth open, made me think she was so hungry she could eat everything in the room.

“Hi,” I said. “Nice pie. I can take that for you.”

She had rain clouds in her eyes. No—her eyes weren’t cloudy, but gray-green. She broke into a gigantic smile.

“Aren’t you nice!” Her voice was high and excited as she handed me the pie. Then her smile faded. “I had to hold it all the way from Boston. Does it look okay?”

“It looks great!”

“Whew!” The pie had perfectly pinched edges. She probably knew all those mom things, what to do with walnut oil, where to shop for the right kind of underwear and how to make sure your newly pierced ears didn’t get infected.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Lucy Gallagher. We live on the east road.”

“I know you! We’re neighbors back home. You go to school with my son.”

My gaze followed her outstretched arm to the porch. Ian
Richards stood on the steps, staring at the field, his hands jammed in the front pockets of his jeans.

“We just moved in today,” she said. “Such a wonderful spot. We bought the Dorsey house on the west road. Ian! Come say hello to Lucy.”

Ian? On porch. Bought Dorsey house. On
my
Pierson Point. Was this a joke?

Ian’s wild blond hair was combed off his forehead and he wore a bright purple polo shirt. He raised his eyebrows at me and didn’t move.

I felt my blood throb in my cheeks.

Mrs. Richards sighed. “I understand there aren’t many boys up here.”

No. No way will I hang out with Ian. Wait until I tell Mei!

Mrs. Richards seemed so nice. How could she be Ian’s mom? And
how
had they found this place?

Mrs. Ramsey walked up, took the pie and led Mrs. Richards away.

“Lucy!” Bucky yelled. I walked down the porch steps, past Ian and onto the grass. Becca, Olivia and Bucky pushed Henry on the rope swing that hung from a tree next to the Big House.

“Wanna play chase?” Becca called. She and Olivia would both be in my camp the next week.

“After dinner.” Chase was a game I’d made up the year before, a combination of hide-and-seek and kick the can. Ian walked down the steps and stood near me.

“Oh,” Becca whined. “Can’t we play now?”

“No, later, I promise,” I said. Henry leaped off the swing and they ran away.

I glanced at Ian, my heart pounding, my face hot. He looked at me, then dropped his eyes.

“Who
told
you about this place?” I asked.

Ian shrugged. “My dad grew up in Maine.”

“Did you know that I live up here?”

“Yeah, the Realtor dude told us.”

“Well, why didn’t you say something to me?”

“What’s the big deal?” He kicked the grass.

I clenched my hands. “Just so you know, people here don’t bug each other.”

“Okay.”

“Nobody shows off or teases each other. Families have been coming here for generations and hardly anyone fights with each other. You better remember that.”

“I’m new, so you think you can boss me around?”

“I’m not bossing you around.”

“Yeah, you are, Bossy Boss. Jeez, nice welcome party.”

I glared at him. Then the girl with pink streaks walked around the Big House and he said, “Allison, Mom’s looking for you inside.”

“Tell her I’m going back. This party is so lame.” She tossed her pink-streaked hair behind her, then walked across the field. Ian started up the steps.

In my head I heard Mr. Steele:
Pierson Point will never be the same
.

he next morning I woke, my sore ear throbbing against the pillow. I rolled onto my back, and the pain disappeared. Then I watched a spider make its way across my wall. Maybe it’d be my friend, like Charlotte was to Wilbur. A new friend here on the Point.

Ian
. I pulled my quilt up to my neck.

For our science project the past winter, we had studied water sources. Our teacher put us in pairs, then assigned each pair a country. Ian and I got Egypt. Everyone had to research, write a PowerPoint presentation and give it to the class.

When we went to the library to do research, all the computers were taken, so Mrs. Jonas let Ian use hers. I went to find books. When I came back, everyone was working, except Ian, who was staring at a blank screen.

I
had the instructions that our teacher had given us the day before. I sighed, “No wonder you don’t know what to do!”

As I said this, the room grew quiet. Everyone looked at us. Someone snickered.

Ian laughed, too, then gave me a dirty look. “You think I’m
stupid
, Miss Brainiac?”

That wasn’t what I’d meant. “Ian, I …”

“Shut up,” he hissed. “I can do this myself.”

I sat, face burning, and opened a book about water shortages.

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Jonas stood over us, her hands on her hips.

“Lucy pulled it up,” Ian said. On the computer a man ran across a stage, then mooned the audience, his naked bottom bright white.

Mrs. Jonas gasped and closed her laptop. “On my computer!”

“I didn’t do that!” I said.

“Yes, you did, Lucy Goosey.” Ian’s voice was loud.

Several boys laughed. My friends, near the door, stood up to watch.

“No, I didn’t!” How could he be so mean, such a liar?

Mrs. Jonas took us to her office and shut the door. She frowned at me.

“I didn’t do it,” I said.

Mrs. Jonas looked at Ian.

“Why blame me?” he said, crossing his arms. “Because Lucy’s a perfect student?”

“I am not!” I said.

“Stop, both of you!” she said. “Ian, what happened?”

We glared at each other. Then he uncrossed his arms and grinned. “I was just trying to have a little fun.”

Mrs. Jonas sighed. “Lucy, go back to work. Ian, I’d like to have a word with you.”

In the library I sat down and stared at my book. Ian didn’t come back.

We got an A, although I did most of the project. But I’m not a perfect student. I have to work hard. Did
that
make me bossy? Or a brainiac?

Now I swung my legs over the side of my bed. With my toes I scratched Superior’s neck. Cool air blew through my window, sending goose bumps up my arms.

Maine had plenty of peninsulas and islands. Why did Ian have to come to this one?

I jumped out of bed and grabbed my notebook and bird book. After Superior ate and I had breakfast, we started down the road. On the path to the water, the air was cool and smelled like dirt and pine. Down at the beach the sky was so clear that I saw Pear Island and, farther out, Upper Egg Island.