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, Kyna?”
“Yes.” I rolled my eyes. My parents overreacted to everything. I’ve scraped my knees worse by climbing a tree. If I didn’t show up for lunch at exactly noon, Pep would have Search and Rescue out there faster than Mem could say, “What’s their number?”
“Why not check out the woods?” Mem suggested as she started to put the food up.
Giving her a hand, Pep said, “Maybe you can ask that boy you met for a good guide about?”
I headed out, saying, “I can find my own way, thank you very much.”
“Go, Girl Guide, go,” Pep cheered. They called Girl Scouts “Girl Guides” in Ireland. Who knows why? It’s not like we go about guiding people through the woods or something. Not that I couldn’t do a great job of that myself. I know what side of the tree moss grows on and how to get my bearings from the stars in a clearing.
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