The Problem with Paradise by Lesley Dahl

Author:Lesley Dahl [Dahl, Lesley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-49740-6
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2006-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

10

Once we're underway, with both sails up, PJ abandons his pretend stint at the tiller and goes forward to sit on the bow. It's really hard to keep from saying, “Be careful. Hang on to the lifeline. Don't fall overboard,” like Mom would. I notice Dad doesn't say stuff like that to us ever. Neither does Sheryl.

“Go ahead and kick back for a while,” Jonah says. “I'll take the tiller until we tack.”

I sit on the starboard side lazaret, the seat in the cockpit, with my back to the cabin and my perfectly tanned legs out in front of me, hoping Jonah will notice. It would be nice if I had a little cleavage to go with them. I look down at my chest. No startling developments there. My legs look great, though, except for a few mosquito bites. I point my toes.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Jonah says. “When I went for the tanks this morning, I picked up your family's mail. Your dad was going through it just now when I asked him if we could take Bob. Here, he gave me this to give to you.” Jonah pulls a letter from the pocket of his shorts and hands it to me.

It's from Matt.

Matt! I'm so glad it's not a postcard that everyone else would have read by now. As it is, the envelope looks pretty beat up.

I turn it over a couple of times, reading the postmark, the return address, his name, my name. I like the way Matt writes my name, all in caps in his boxy printing.

“Aren't you going to read it?” Jonah says, not looking at me, looking straight ahead to Lizard Island.

“I'll wait,” I say.

Jonah gives me a funny, knowing smile that makes me think he thinks he's a lot more than just a year and a half older than me.

Even though I don't want to open the letter in front of Jonah, when I stick it in the outside pocket of the blue bag Jen gave me, I feel guilty, as if I'm hiding Matt. It's bad enough that lately I've been thinking about him less and less and thinking about Jonah more and more.

“We need to tack,” Jonah says. “Take the tiller.”

“I'll work the jib sheets,” I say. I say this as if I always do the sheets. Mike does it, I think. Sheryl does it. I never do it.

“Sure,” Jonah says. “Ready about!”

I'm not ready!

I'm still sitting, showing off my legs, but I answer, “Ready!” and jump up. I grab the jib sheet but realize I'm not really ready and when Jonah turns the boat and the sail crosses over the bow, the wind yanks the sheet right out of my hands. It flies out over the side of the boat. I barely have time to grab it before it completely unwinds itself from the winch. I start pulling like crazy; it takes a lot of grunting (not very alluring, I'm sure) for me to haul the sheet in and start winding it around the winch.

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