The Boat Thief

by M.D. Lee

  “Hi, Sara,” I say, now standing in front of her. Something about her has changed over the summer. For the most part she looks the same, well . . . maybe a little cuter, but she seems different in a good way. Maybe more mature? Maybe less annoying than when I first met her? I don’t know what it is, but I like it.

  She takes my hand in hers and we begin to walk slowly. “Want to go down to the waterfront?”

  “Sure,” I say. Suddenly, all the things I wanted to tell her over the summer evaporate like steam from a kettle. My mind goes blank. Why can’t I think of anything cool to tell her? We walk in silence for three blocks.

  Then I remember and reach into my pocket. “Here,” I say. “It’s your dad’s jackknife that you gave me. It saved my life a few times.”

  “Really?” Sara sounds surprised. “It really saved your life? Then I’m glad I gave it to you.”

  I hand it to her. “You better keep it,” she says, handing it back. “It may save your life again someday.” We keep walking slowly toward the waterfront again, silent.

  We pass two more blocks when she says, “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s about your hideout,” she says. “It’s gone. I went down there nearly every day to check on it for you, but there was one night when we had a bad storm and the tide must have been really high, and it just wiped it out. Gone. I’m so sorry.”

  I look ahead, thinking about my hideout. It’s funny; hearing Sara tell me my hideout’s gone doesn’t really bother me. Over the summer, with all I’ve experienced, have I outgrown hideouts? It doesn’t seem like a big deal anymore. It was certainly a cool hideout, but I don’t really miss it. We keep walking.

  As we approach the park across the street, a blue metallic color catches my eye. It’s my bike, and riding it is Owen Scaggs! That little punk! I quickly realize he’s a shrimp now compared to me.

  Without thinking, I drop Sara’s hand and sprint after him through the park. My speed startles even me. Luckily, he hasn’t noticed me yet and isn’t pedaling very fast as I overtake him. There’s a curve in the bike path, so I dash across the grass, leap out from behind a tree, and grab him by the bike seat. The sudden stop sends him flying over the handle bars and rolling across the wet morning grass. Owen Scaggs has no idea what hit him.

  Holding the bike and standing over him, in my best James Bond voice, I say, “Hello, Owen.” There’s a big green grass stain across his jeans where he skidded to a stop, along with a few leaves stuck to his greasy, black hair. His cigarettes are spilled out across the grass. The expression on his face tells me he has no idea who he’s looking at.

  “I see you’re still using my bike.”

  He blinks twice. Then he starts to get up, but my foot holds him in place. He says, “Fisher Shoemaker?” In that same instant, he realizes I’m now bigger and tougher than he is. Owen Scaggs’ face goes white.

  “Hey, man,” his voice quivers. “I haven’t seen you all summer.”

  “Unlike you,” I say, as he still sits pinned in the grass by my foot. “I’m not a thug who goes around stealing other kids’ bikes.” Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the roll of money I made from the lobsters, and peel off a twenty dollar bill. Slowly I wad it up into a tight ball and throw it at his head.

  “I’m buying my bike back.” With the bike in hand, I turn and walk away, almost daring him to attack me from behind. Instead, he just sits, with the wadded up twenty at his feet, too stunned at what has just happened.

  I walk toward Sara, pleased with how things have turned out. She’s smiling, too.

  She asks, “Why did you give him twenty dollars for your own bike?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I guess I just don’t want to be like him. I know it’s my bike, but somehow if I just took it, that would make me just like him. I don’t want to be a scumbag.”

  Sara smiles, shaking her head. “You’re a strange boy, Fisher Shoemaker.” And she gives my hand a little squeeze.

  ***

  I’m sure I’ll never forget this summer. It shouldn’t have, but somehow everything worked out. Because of the crazy thing I saw that night, I now have a cool job teaching Mr. Plankinton, I made some cash on the run, I’m stronger and can survive in any situation and, somehow, I still have Sara. But there’s one thing I don’t understand. Why am I not in trouble with my parents?

  The way I figure it, I should be grounded for the next ten years. I did a lot of things that weren’t too smart. I stole a boat and ran away from home. There should be years of hard labor ahead of me, along with never trusting me again. But maybe there’s something I don’t understand about parents; maybe they’re just thankful I’m back home and safe. Someday I’ll probably get it.

  There’s one thing about this adventure that won’t be easy, though. As strange as it is, I have a secret to keep. Maybe someday I’ll spill the beans.

  -The End –

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  About the Author

  MD Lee has sailed and worked with boats for almost forty years. In the late ‘80s he studied Naval Architect at the Landing Boat School in Maine. In the last fifteen years, MD Lee has also been writing articles for various sailing magazines. The Boat Thief is his first published book. There will be more Fisher Shoemaker adventures to follow.

  Fisher’s webpage at https://fishershoemakeradventures.wordpress.com/

  On Twitter, please follow @mdlee62