I study the gravel underneath Cole’s bike and wiggle my toes. If I try to carry the board, it’s going to hurt walking on the gravel driveway to Uncle Jasper’s shed. But I’m not going to get shoes, either. I want to see Cole look at me with the same tenderness in his eyes as the boy looked at the girl in the coffee shop. I make my decision. I can do it. The gravel won’t hurt for too long.
Cole stands on one side of the bike and says, “If you lift on the other side, we’ll slide it off.”
He grins at me, and my stomach leaps as he flashes straight white teeth and his eyes twinkle. I can do anything with those eyes twinkling at me. Taking a big breath, I slip my hands under the board and lift. It’s heavy and I wish that I’d been a better student in PE class! I take one long last look at the gravel and my bare feet. I won’t be able to balance gingerly on the gravel and carry the board. It’s going to hurt too much.
Then I look up and see Cole’s smile. I try not to stare, but it seems that he might be looking at me like the boy at the espresso shop.
Suddenly I feel very brave.
I lift the board off the back of his bike. As soon as we remove the board, the bike crashes to the ground. At the same time, pain shoots through the soles of my feet from the gravel underneath. I want to drop the board and hold my feet while I run around the yard yelling, “Ouch, ouch, ouch!”
Instead, I bite it all back.
“Shoes?” Cole’s eyes warm over with something that I think might be tenderness. I could drown in that look.
“I’m okay.” I quickly push away the pain. If we can just walk a few steps, there is a grassy path that leads to Uncle Jasper’s shed.
“Need some help?” Uncle Jasper calls from the porch. His tea mug sends small bursts of steam into the chilly morning air. I wonder if it ever warms up on the Island, or if I’m going to have to be around Cole all the time to feel warmth.
“We got it,” I yell, and smile at Cole. “Don’t we?”
“Sure.” The tips of Cole’s ears turn red again.
“Where are your shoes?” Uncle Jasper asks.
“I don’t need them.” The truth is I want to hop around and yell about the pain in my feet. And I can’t decide which is worse, the splinter in my hand, the gravel on the soles of my feet, or wanting to know if Cole has a girlfriend.
But I try to pretend none of it bothers me as we start walking toward Uncle Jasper’s shed. My arms ache as we round the corner of the house. I can’t even imagine how he rode a bike with this on the back. But just as I’m about to say we need to rest, we reach the shed. Cole motions toward the closed door. “Set it here.”
“You’re not taking it inside?” A small grunt escapes me. I set the board down. I don’t think my feet or hands can carry it another inch.
“I like to work outside.” Cole pushes a clump of hair off his forehead. “I like the light.”
“Me too.” I look at my feet. Is that blood creeping from the soles or just something red in the grass? “Is that all?” I ask, and hope there is nothing more, because if blood is oozing out of the soles of my feet, I’m going to need to get to a hospital soon.
“Yeah.” Cole grins at me. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” I say, and take another peek at my feet. The red oozing seems to have stopped. I think it’s probably something in the grass, but I can’t be too sure.
I walk very carefully next to Cole back to the front of the house. As we walk, I try to match my steps with Cole’s. I once heard that people who like each other mirror each other. Cole looks down at me. There is a puzzled look on his face. I stop counting.
When we reach the house, Uncle Jasper wheels the bike off the front porch. “Good morning for a ride to town. You can do a little exploring.”
The bike. He wants me to ride the bike to town. I have the strange suspicion Uncle Jasper is trying to get rid of me. I suspect that twelve- and thirteen-year-olds together are not something he wants to deal with.
“Do you want me to show you a short cut?” Cole asks as he taps me on the shoulder. “I know a quick way to town. On the bikes.” He looks hopefully at me, and my heart crashes against my chest. My no shoes trick worked. I hooked him.
“But maybe you have work to do here?” I ask. I start spinning my ring. I want nothing more than him to show me the short cut, but I don’t want him to get in trouble with Uncle Jasper, either.
“It’s okay,” Cole says. He turns to Uncle Jasper. “Right?”
“I don’t know, Cole.” Uncle Jasper waves toward the shop. “You and I have a lot to do today.”
Uncle Jasper swallows his tea and turns to look at me. It’s not really a friendly stare. I gulp, and my heart pounds. Just like with Dad. I have broken a rule and people are going to start leaving, only this time I don’t think anyone is leaving but me.
“I can—” I start to tell Cole and Uncle Jasper that I can figure out how to get to town on the bike.
“I think I forgot something,” Cole interrupts. “I’m going to have to run back to town anyway. It’s at Mom’s store.”
Uncle Jasper shifts his intense glare to Cole, but Cole doesn’t seem shaken by him. Instead he turns back to me. “It’s a short ride. Are you ready?”
“Just a minute,” I say. “I’ve got to get some things.” Inside, I fall into tiny pieces every time Cole looks in my eyes.
I step back onto the porch and brush past Uncle Jasper. I look up at him and try to smile. I hope he will forgive me. He has to understand that Cole is a cute boy who I really just want to get to know. He’s the first person I’ve met on the Island, besides Opal, and I really want to have some friends this summer. Or, I think to myself, a boyfriend.
Uncle Jasper nods to me and his face relaxes. He’s not that mad. He understands. I can breathe again. I have not made him angry like Dad.
“And you’ll get shoes?” Cole says from behind me.
“Shoes,” I say, and smile into Cole’s sparkling blue eyes.
It takes me ten minutes to brush my teeth and apply lip gloss. I find healing ointment in the bathroom cabinet and dab it onto the bottoms of my feet. As I work at taking out the splinter with tweezers, I keep peeking out the window to make sure Cole is still sitting outside and waiting for me. Uncle Jasper has disappeared, probably to his studio in the back, but Cole sits on a large wooden porch swing on the side of the house. Waiting for me. I’m so excited I can barely stand it. I quickly change into black jeans, a black belt with a silver latch, and a light gray t-shirt with a scoop neckline. I can’t stand shirts that are high on my neck and feel like a choker. Turtlenecks are my least favorite of all. Dad hates wearing tight, tucked-in shirts as much as I do. We both like our clothes to flow around us. Mom is always fighting with us to look more presentable.
“Tuck in your shirt,” Mom whispered to Dad on our way into a restaurant. “Wear a jacket over your blouse,” she reminded me. Mom’s favorite outfits are matching suits and pumps, usually in blue and beige, while my favorite color to wear is black. I even tried wearing all black on my fingernails, but it looked like I had been cleaning the cat box and forgot to wipe something off my hands.
Scooping my sandals into my hands and dangling them from my fingertips like the girl in the coffee shop, I grab my black art bag and push open the screen door.
“Ready!” I call, even though I know exactly where Cole is sitting because I just checked the window two seconds ago.
Cole gets off the swing and heads toward me. I step off the porch and toss my hair. This time, it floats around my shoulders instead of onto my face. I glide past Cole and try to feel confident. Don’t boys like girls who are confident?
Cole raises an eyebrow at me and folds his arms across his chest.
I stop smiling. Confidence doesn’t work with Cole.
Flustered, I twist my right sandal straps around my left hand. My hands shake and the sandal plunks to the ground. The girl crossing the street didn’t drop her sandal. She balanced them between her fingers while the boy
grinned at her. But I am not the girl crossing the street.
I bend down to pick up my sandal, and my head crashes against Cole’s. “Ouch,” I cry, and jerk up again. Cole’s head is not supposed to be there.
Cole holds my sandal in his left palm. “Did you drop something?”
I grab my sandal. “Thanks,” I mumble, and lean against the porch railing. Placing my left foot on the ground, I balance my weight against the porch and lift my right foot. I slide my sandal over my foot and tug hard at the back strap. The strap snaps in two. I’m not sure if I’m going to hurl the sandal into the woods or start crying. Why am I so clumsy?
“Do you have others?” Cole gestures toward my broken right sandal as he slips onto his bike. He places his feet on the ground to balance.
“It’s okay.” I hold up the broken strap and study the sandal. It might stay on if I press my toes hard against the toe grip. I wheel the bike from the side of the porch and toss one leg over the bike. I adjust my art bag onto my shoulders and grab onto the handlebars. The bike is unsteady under me, but I hold on and begin to pedal down the gravel driveway. Cole easily glides up beside me. I can tell that I have a lot to learn about bike riding as we make our way down the driveway.
We pass a chicken coop where feathers fly around the chicken cage in a dust storm, and large brown boxes with gold latches sit next to the coop. I’m fascinated with the chickens, and stop my bike by skidding my feet along the ground. I slip off while calling over my shoulder, “I’ve got to see this, okay?” We don’t have chicken coops in Chicago. I creep to the boxes like a fox creeping up on his prey.
Flipping open the silver latches and yelling, “I gotcha!” I find olive, turquoise, and brown eggs in straw. Dyed eggs just like Easter! I pick up one of the eggs and shake it. Something has to be wrong with the chickens. Chickens don’t lay colored eggs!
I replace the eggs, close the silver latch on the doors of the coop, and make a note to tell Uncle Jasper that his chickens are sick. They are laying colored eggs. He’ll think I’m very helpful and observant.
I walk back to the bike and lift myself onto the bike. This time I’m not so wobbly. I follow Cole as we head up the hill and away from the house. Sailboats bob on the blue water, and large flat rocks cover the hillside. The tall brown grasses blow behind me, and the valley dips in front. It seems like nature paints pictures herself out here on the Island. Wire fences blend with the grasses and separate Uncle Jasper’s land from the neighboring hillside. Even though Dad sometimes took me to the farms of Illinois, when the cornfields were sky high, we never lingered very long. Now I find myself slowing my pace while inhaling and observing the Island farms.
In the distance, a deer pauses in the high grasses. It looks once at me before dipping its head and eating from the brown grass. “Deer.” I call out to Cole, who pedals ahead of me on the curvy blacktop road. I’ve never seen deer in Chicago, and I wonder if I can feed them like I do with animals at the zoo. Bushes with blackberries line the road, and I pedal over to one. I stop my bike, reach over, and grab a handful of the dark berries. But before I can find out if the deer will eat them from my hands, it bounds away. I stare at the blackberry and wonder if I’ll be poisoned if I eat one. I squeeze a berry and black juice runs down my fingers. It looks too good not to try, and I pop one into my mouth.
Behind me, a car slowly comes up the road. I move to the side and wait for it to pass me. Ahead of me, Cole does the same, then turns around and waits for me to catch up to him.
“Your mom sure drives fast,” I say as I pedal up beside Cole. I stop when I reach him. My sandal flips off my foot and drops to the ground. It’s not working to keep my toes pressed against the toe piece and hope that it holds on. I reach down and pick up the sandal. Moving the broken strap between my fingers, I wonder if I can tie it together. I study the straps like I’m working on a fabulous piece of art. They are a little short, but with a piece of string it might be possible to fix.
“I know.” Cole grins at me. “They never ticket her, either.”
Large furry animals that look like sheep graze in a pasture beside us. “What are those?” I’ve never seen anything like them. They aren’t sheep, and they aren’t goats.
“Alpacas,” Cole says.
“They look like a rug.” I choke back my giggle.
Cole laughs. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
My insides warm as his laugh rolls around the open Island space. “Think I can borrow some of their fur?” I pull out my best charming smile and hold up my sandal. “I just need a tiny bit to hold the sandal together.”
“I might have something.” Cole swings his maroon backpack off and unzips it. He starts pulling out crumbled and folded papers. His ears turn red. “I’m not so good with organizing.” He stuffs the papers back inside. Cole keeps digging until he pulls out a long piece of white string. Cole pulls hard on the ball of rope. The muscles in his arm bulge as the rope snaps in two. I wince at the way it tears at his hands.
“Make a loop,” Cole says. “Then you can loop the strap through the rope. It’ll hold better.”
I loop the strap through the rope and tug hard. The strap holds in place.
“Not the best looking, maybe?” Cole says. “But it’ll hold.”
“Thanks.” A sculpted orca mailbox beside me catches my eye. I’ve never seen a mailbox in the shape of orcas, and think it might be something to send to Mom. “Where do you get those?”
“Your uncle makes them,” Cole says. “I want to work with him someday.” His ears turn red again.
I study the black and white wooden orca that hangs suspended in the air over the square box. “Maybe you’ll have to make me an Alpaca one.” I grin.
“With some real fur for string,” Cole says. “Just in case.”
I giggle as a red truck comes toward us on the other side of the curvy road. Cole lifts his right hand and waves.
“Do you know them?” I figure Cole knows everyone on the Island. On the school website, I read there are fifteen seniors in a graduating class. I can’t imagine going to a school that small.
“Island tradition,” Cole says. “We wave to every passing car.”
A four-door green car moves toward us. I lift my hand and wave while hoping that Cole notices how easily I fit into Island life. At least the waving part of Island life.
We get back on our bikes and continue to head toward town. As we ride, we pass a grassy field with a large purple barn that sags in the middle. Painted white names decorate the top of the sagging barn. “What’s that?” I ask.
“Seniors,” Cole says. “They paint the barn every fall.”
“When no one watches?” I imagine creeping up to the barn. The moon is full and I carry a paint can in my hand. Someone will watch for cars, and if one passes, we’ll all run into the field and hide in the tall grasses. It looks like something I would like to do.
Cole glances over at me and raises a right eyebrow. “People know.”
“It’s not a secret?” I can’t imagine why the Island doesn’t have a secret prank. I always loved the secret pranks in Chicago. Tradition was that on the first day of school, everyone arrived early to find out what trouble the eighth graders had caused the night before. This year was my year to be a part of the secret prank.
“No secret,” Cole says. “It doesn’t need to be.”
“But if everyone knows about it already, why is it a prank?”
Cole shrugs. “It’s not a prank. It’s just something we do.”
“Oh.” There is so much of Island life that I just don’t understand.
“You’ll catch on.” Cole turns to me and smiles, which sends my heart crashing into my stomach.
I secretly hope a part of catching on to Island life involves spending a lot more time with Cole. I could get used to bike rides on the Island.
Cole and I slowly ride up to a shop with a large glass window. He slips his bike into a rack placed in front of the shop, and I do the same. “Do we n
eed to lock these?” I ask.
Cole shakes his head. “It’s safe here.”
I nod at him, but I can’t take my eyes off the glass window. There is a small lamp that shines directly at suns, moons and stars that hang by thin fishing wires. Blown glass vases perch on black cloth, and a clear white glass bowl stands on top a square column. I marvel at the squares and triangles of colored light reflecting from the window onto the sidewalk.
I don’t wait for Cole to lead, and pull open the door myself. A small bell chimes above my head, and I find art.
I am home.
Chapter Seven
The room hums with activity. Three people sit on wooden stools and carve glass at a brown wooden table. At the end of the table, a five-year old girl with short blonde hair bends over a red crayon and colors on a printed flower picture. She reminds me of Saturdays with Dad at the Art Palace in Chicago. It’s not really a palace, not like one from Europe. The Palace is a warehouse where local artists offer weekly classes in printmaking, drawing, and clay sculpture to younger artists. When I used to take classes, Dad always sat on a plastic chair in the corner and flipped through photographs. After class, when Dad didn’t have somewhere else to be, he took me to the corner coffee shop and drank cups of black coffee while I talked about my lesson. I swallow the lump that rises in my throat.
At the front counter, Opal rubs a rag over a glass vase. A long red scarf dangles from her neck, and when I get closer and peek under the counter, a flowing green skirt with gold fringe drapes across her legs, and tall, shiny black boots with one-inch heels cover her feet. The cream boots like Uncle Jasper’s are gone. I like this outfit.
Opal waves at Cole and me.
Cole calls to his mom, then quickly disappears into a back room. I can’t help but watch him before I wave to Opal. I flush as our eyes meet. I’m embarrassed to be caught watching her son, but Opal doesn’t seem bothered and smiles at me.
Opal sets down the glass vase and steps around the counter. She moves toward the table and stops to look over at a woman who holds a small blade, the size of a pencil with a sharp tip, against the glass.
Stained Glass Summer Page 6
