The Young Man and the Sea by Rodman Philbrick

Author:Rodman Philbrick [Philbrick, Rodman]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780545600309
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2004-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

AT the bend of the creek I shut off the outboard and get out the oars. Rowing soft and quiet as I come around the curve. Last thing I want is for Mr. Woodwell to see me. Not that he will. The lights are out in his house. Old man like him goes to bed early, I guess. Unless he’s sitting on the porch in the dark.

Soon as I think about the porch I can feel him looking, wondering what I’m up to, coming in so sneaky. ’Course it’s just my imagination — he’s probably sound asleep and dreaming of the boats he made. Plus he can’t see so good anyhow. Must be dead to the world by now. Stands to reason.

But just in case, I come up on the far side of the dock, out of sight from the porch. Nudge my skiff on the bank and stand ankle-deep in the cool water listening to the quiet. Even the birds gone to sleep. Only sound is crickets and peepers and the hush of warm summer wind.

I take a deep breath, ease it out.

There’s a hot blush on my cheeks. Always happens when I’m about to do something bad. Once when I filched a cookie from the jar, Mom called me the Blushing Bandit, on account of my red face. You know what? Having her laugh at me was worse than getting spanked. Made the cookie taste like dirt. Then she grabbed me up and said something that made me feel better. I don’t remember what exactly because I was only four, but knowing Mom, it was funny and sweet and sassy.

Mosquito lights on my neck. I squash it real quiet. Then I’m up the bank to the far side of the boat shed. Seems bigger in the dark. Big as a castle from a storybook. The high windows look like dark eyes watching me, and the shed doors are a giant mouth.

Tell myself, don’t be stupid. It’s a boat shed, that’s all it is. An empty boat shed. Get a grip.

My head feels light with knowing what I got to do. Which is exciting and scary all at the same time. I slip up to the shed and lean against the outside wall. The boards are rough and smell of rain and old wood. Feel my way along the boards until I get to the big iron latch.

Here’s where I got to be extra quiet. Mr. Woodwell may be halfway deaf, but a squeaky door will get inside your sleep. I ease up the latch and feel the weight of the big door. It wants to open and let me in. Big, old hinges don’t squeak, they make a deeper sound like ohhhh nooooo. Or maybe like an old man clearing his throat.

I slip inside and pull the door shut. Take another deep breath and taste the smell of fresh wood shavings. Kind of a green smell that feels good inside your nose and down the back of your throat, like spearmint candy.

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