Jax balanced on one foot, using the other to scratch a mosquito bite on his calf. Why was Lucy being so mysterious?
Finally she spoke again. “We’re setting up a nonprofit to buy the lighthouse, fix it up, open all the closed-up rooms, and use it as an artists’ retreat—real artists, not scams like that guy! Artists will be able to come and stay and make beautiful art on the island.”
“Especially diverse artists. Got to get some more brothers on this rock,” Elon added, laughing a little and shaking his head. “If this place were any whiter and richer, it’d be a cheesecake.” He flashed Jax a thumbs-up while Papa groaned.
Jax almost dropped his second-mortgage muffin, which he had grabbed from the bag Dad was holding. He stared at his aunt, then at his brothers. Then the Fletchers all started talking at once.
“Wait, you’d own it?”
“That’s so cool!”
“But then we couldn’t go in it!”
“That would mean it’s still off-limits!”
Lucy held up her hands. “It would be an artists’ retreat…except for the month of August. In August it would remain free and open to the public. Forever.”
“Forever,” Eli echoed.
“Forever and ever?” Frog asked.
“Well,” Lucy said. “For as long as we can imagine.”
The boys digested this for a moment. Then Jax whooped and high-fived Elon, and Eli hugged Lucy so hard she squeaked.
“You can have all the money we raised!” Eli said. “It’s only a hundred and thirteen dollars, including my birthday money, but at least it’s something, right?”
“It’s everything,” Lucy said, hugging him back. “Your plan gave me the idea in the first place. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been brave enough to try.”
“What’s going to happen to Kark?” Jax asked, still too shocked to finish chewing his bite of muffin.
Lucy shrugged, looking supremely unconcerned. “Who knows? Lawsuits, probably. Jail time, doubtfully, unfortunately. He’s got enough money to slither out of it, I bet. But who cares? One thing’s for sure—he’s not getting our lighthouse!”
“How did you pull this off? Dad? Papa? Did you know?” Sam asked, turning so fast from one parent to the other that he looked like Lili watching a fly.
“We had an idea, but they played it pretty close to the chest,” Papa said, throwing an arm around Lucy and another around Elon. “Sneaky buggers, aren’t they? Good thing they’re on our side!”
Frog, caught up in the excitement, launched himself at Papa, trying to wrap his arm around all three of them. Jax joined in and grabbed hold; then Eli, Sam, and Dad followed suit, until they were a yelping, whooping knot trying to keep from falling over.
Jax didn’t let go until the line of cars waiting to drive down into the ferry started to move. Dad untangled himself and quickly said goodbye to Lucy and Elon as the others frantically grabbed the cats and Sir Puggleton and everything else they needed. Then Dad moved the van into the line of cars. Soon Lucy and Elon were waving goodbye as the Fletchers stood in the long, winding line to board the ferry, signaling the official end to their Rock Island summer.
—
Even with the astonishing, amazing, mind-blowing good news, standing in line was brutal.
“EW! Lili totally gacked and it’s coming out the front of the carrier!” Jax yelled. He put the wailing cat down and wiped his hands on Eli’s shirt. Eli shrieked and jumped out of his way.
Sir Puggleton began to bark at a dog down the dock, and several people around them in the ferry line shifted toward the gangplank.
“Jax, can you please just…deal with it?” Papa asked. He was carrying an enormous cooler, Sir Puggleton’s leash, and two tote bags full of fragile “specimens,” as Eli called the shells and rocks he was bringing back.
“Why can’t someone else take this stupid cat?” Jax complained. “I’ll take Zeus.”
“You can’t even lift Zeus,” Sam answered. He had Zeus’s carrier in one hand, but his arm muscles were bulging from the effort. In his other, he had his phone, which was pinging with some terribly annoying bird noise that Val had set up as a goodbye gift.
“I have to go. Papa? PAPA! I have to GO,” Frog said suddenly, appearing at Papa’s elbow.
Papa gave a wild-eyed look around and thrust the tickets at Sam and Sir Puggleton’s leash at Eli, who was already staggering with three bags of leftover groceries. “Go on up. I’ll be back shortly!” He darted through the crowd with Frog close at his heels. Frog’s bathroom visits often came with little warning.
Slowly the line moved forward, and finally Jax, Eli, and Sam boarded the ferry. Before too long a very relieved-looking Papa appeared with Frog; then Dad came up from the car deck. They gathered on the top deck and looked out over the island.
“Is the loud horn going to sound now? Is it, Papa?” Frog asked, keeping an eye on the giant smokestack.
Papa dropped all his bags and lay on the bench with a sigh. “Not yet, Froggie. Soon, but not yet.”
Jax stared at the island. It was early morning, but the dock was bustling. He could see Captain Jim’s slip, already empty. Captain Jim must have set out early to fish. Farther away, he could make out the tip of the lighthouse. Although he couldn’t see it, Jax knew that their house was right next to it, nestled up alongside, where it had always been.
Dad came up and squeezed him. “You okay, my sweet son?” he asked. “It’s been quite a summer, don’t you think? That’s pretty amazing news about the lighthouse, hey?”
Jax nodded. It had been a crazy summer, really. He thought about the fence around the lighthouse, and the Galindo kids, and the ice cream truck. Then he thought about Chase Kark and his lies, and unbidden, his thoughts returned to what had happened at town hall. He tried to keep his thoughts on the good stuff, like the fact they’d have the lighthouse back, but Sheldon’s sneer kept popping up. Jax scowled, wrapping his arms around his stomach.
Dad’s arm tightened on his shoulders. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.
Jax didn’t answer for a minute. Then he shrugged and said, “Just stupid Kark and his stupid friends.” He didn’t say anything more, but Dad held him close.
“They were some pretty nasty people,” he said. “There was Kark, who doesn’t care about the island or its history. And there was his associate—”
“Sheldon. His name was Sheldon,” Jax interrupted. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forget that guy’s name.
Dad hugged him. “Sheldon. He was not only a crook and a liar but also a terrible, racist, bigoted one. I wish I could say he’s the only one out there, but unfortunately there are plenty more.” He sighed.
Jax didn’t say anything. The stomachache feeling was coming back.
“Jackson.” Dad turned so that he could look right into Jax’s eyes.
Jax looked back at him. Dad was tanner than during the school year, his hair longer and messier than usual. But his blue-gray eyes and sandy-brown hair still looked nothing like Jax’s. Jax tried to look away.
“Jackson,” Dad repeated. “There are more good ones than bad. More Captain Jims and Officer Levees and Natalia Galindos and Elon Reynoldses than there are Sheldons. I wish there were none of him. Seriously, if I could have one wish that would probably be it.”
“I would wish for an invisibility cloak,” Eli interrupted. He was sitting behind them, listening. “Think of how we could get back at Sheldon if we had that! Poison ivy leaves rubbed on the inside of his clothes. Burrs stuck in his hair.”
“I would paste him when he was walking on Main Street,” Sam interrupted, a gleam in his eye. He had taken out one earbud to listen to the conversation. “Seriously. Stupid racist jerk. I’d just wait till he was rushing somewhere in those idiotic boat shoes, then I’d throw out my foot and BOOM! All over the sidewalk.” He smiled at the thought and held out his fist for Jax to bump. “Seriously, dude, that guy is a waste of oxygen. You’re worth a dozen of him. Just ignore him.”
<
br /> Jax started to smile. With Jax’s permission, Papa had given the older Fletcher boys a brief overview of what had happened at town hall, but Jax hadn’t really wanted to talk about it with them. Now, though, even if they couldn’t totally understand, their righteous anger on his behalf felt really good.
“Hey! Next year can Jax and I do a sleepover in the lighthouse, just us?” Eli asked. “Maybe for my birthday!”
“If you do a double sleepover, then I get to do one by myself,” Sam said. “After all, I’m the oldest.”
“What about me?” Frog said, worming his way onto Dad’s lap. “I want a sleepover too! But not by myself—too scary! Can we do one all together?”
Everyone started talking at once. Dad tried to interrupt; then Papa said, “I think Dad and I get the first sleepover in the lighthouse next year! You maniacs can take the house!”
The boys gave such a chorus of approval that Sir Puggleton started barking.
Jax laughed and leaned back against the bench.
In the distance, Rock Island was getting smaller and smaller, its beaches and the town impossible to see against the dazzling blue of sea and sky. But Jax could still see the lighthouse, standing tall and striped above the horizon.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched the island recede. Then his hand brushed something square and folded. In one pocket was Alex’s phone number and email address, which she had given him. But the other…he pulled it out and found a piece of paper, folded and twisted so that it looked like a boat. On it Elon had written a note.
Glad to have seen the famous Fletcher Rock Island, and especially glad to have been here with your whole crowd. It’s a great place, but can we agree, brother to brother, that it’s not the most welcoming to dudes who look like us? Tell you what, next time you come to New York, you let me know. We’ll take a little field trip: hear some music or watch some ball or eat some good grub. And I promise you that you’ll fit right in. Meanwhile, a little memento of your summer.
Folded up in the note was Chase Kark’s official Rock Island parking permit.
Jax burst out laughing. His family crowded around him, trying to look at what was cracking him up.
Jax just held up the permit. “Elon must have pinched it from Kark and put it in my pocket when he hugged me goodbye! Classic.”
Papa and Dad were laughing too, though Papa was shaking his head. “Great. My sister finally finds a terrific guy and he has mild criminal tendencies. Typical. I suppose we should mail it back, but…”
“Nah. Let him sweat it out,” Dad said. “Any headache that man has is well deserved.”
The early-morning sun was fully up by now, and the boat moved quickly toward the mainland. Jax let his thoughts run to the school year ahead, when he and Eli would once again be together at Shipton Upper Elementary. Sam started talking about the Shipton Elite soccer schedule, and Eli began to lobby hard for Chinese food for dinner, and Frog wondered loudly whether Birdy the turtle, who had spent the summer with their neighbor Mr. Nelson, had been lonely while they were gone.
But one by one, they fell silent, watching the island as it shimmered in the distance. Soon it disappeared into the blaze of sunlight. The day was glorious. The salt smell in the air and the slap of water against the boat spoke of beach days and summertime, but their thoughts were on their lives waiting for them at home. It was always a little sad to leave, but exciting too, to get to the place that lay ahead. And the island, they knew, would be waiting for them when they returned.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I acknowledge that having kids, parents, librarians, and the great wide world read my first book was a wild and wonderful experience, and I’m so grateful that some of you came back for more. Early cheerleaders for the family Fletcher, like Carol Chittenden, retired owner of Eight Cousins Bookstore in Falmouth, and Christopher Rose, teacher and book buyer for Hugo Books in Andover, made me feel that even if no one else ever read it, the journey was worth it.
I acknowledge that it takes a village to make a book, and that the team at Delacorte Press, led by the amazing Beverly Horowitz, has done an incredible job. Heather Lockwood Hughes took my words and whipped them into shape with the precision skills found only in copy editors. (And neurosurgeons. Maybe she moonlights.) Tamar Schwartz kept everything rolling along like a Rock Island ferry. Kate Gartner, art director extraordinaire, created the beauty that is this book, and found Rebecca Ashdown, whose vision of the Fletcher boys matches my own so perfectly. Jillian Vandall, who is never bossy but often the boss, got all sorts of smart folks reading my books. This team took a story and made it a book.
I acknowledge that Krista Vitola deserves to be feted with gluten-free whoopie pies and champagne for being, without fail, the most responsive, positive, and enthusiastic editor I could imagine. The Fletchers and I are lucky to have her.
I acknowledge that Marietta “Z-Fresh” Zacker is a true coconspirator, partner, mentor, and friend. While I am still waiting for her to take me to Culebra so we can reenact the Lift from Dirty Dancing, she is a woman of her word and I have every confidence it will happen. After all, she has made all my other dreams come true.
I acknowledge that the writers’ community, both online and in real life, has sustained me and made me a better writer and a better human. In particular, the We Need Diverse Books campaign and its founders have encouraged me to read broadly and widely, and showed me that frustration with the status quo can lead to positive change.
I also acknowledge that I waste an inordinate amount of time carousing around the interwebs with this aforementioned writers’ community. To the OneFourKidLit group, and my super-sekrit writing lair LBs, and those I know and love on the Twitter: thank you for amusing me, supporting me, galvanizing me to write, and putting up with my photos of tiny owls wearing hats.
I acknowledge that Mega-Friend Kate Boorman has to endure more of this amusing, supporting, galvanizing, and owls-with-hats-gazing than the rest of the Internet put together, and I am so very grateful. Boris, I thank you.
Finally, I acknowledge my family: marauders, cheerleaders, and comrades-in-arms. Summers are about toes in the sand and the sting of salt water in the eyes. My parents taught me how to dive under the big waves and ride the smaller ones, my sister picked me up when I misjudged and got thrashed by sand and spray, and today Patrick, Noah, and Isabel join me in the sea, porpoising and surfing and splashing with joyful abandon. Thank you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dana Alison Levy was raised by pirates but escaped at a young age and went on to earn a degree in aeronautics and puppetry. Actually, that’s not true—she just likes to make things up. That’s why she has always wanted to write books. She was born and raised in New England and studied English literature before going to graduate school for business. While there is value in all learning, if she had known she would end up writing for a living, she might not have struggled through all those statistics and finance classes.
Dana was last sighted romping with her family in Massachusetts. If you need to report her for excessive romping, or if you want to know more, check out danaalisonlevy.com.
The Family Fletcher Takes Rock Island Page 17