Tracing Stars by Erin Moulton

Author:Erin Moulton [Moulton, Erin]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-05-09T22:00:00+00:00

“BE BACK IN AN HOUR! Lunch break!” Sloth says as she hits a button on the wall that says LOADING DOCK DOOR underneath it. A half of the wall opens up, just like a garage door, letting sun stream inside. She walks out with her hands in her pockets and heads toward Main Street. I hear a shuffle behind me and Owen comes in.

“Did you get anything out of her?” Owen says.

I pull the vellum drawing from my pocket and unfold it, holding it up against the wall.

“She says we need screws, braces.” I point to the five braces drawn on each side. “And a rope to make sure it holds. It can be secured onto a high branch.”

Owen takes the paper and holds it up close to his face.

“I have ropes,” he says.

“We can salvage the wood for the braces from the junk wood at the fort,” I say. “I can grab some screws and a screw gun before I leave.”

“We just need to figure out how to get the boat ends there,” Owen says, folding the paper back up and handing it to me.

I hadn’t thought of that. The boat ends are down at Goff’s Pier. There’s no way we can carry them back to Crawdad Beach. I chew my lip and watch as kids flood out onto the front lawn. I see Bebe and Kelsey and duck inside the doorway before they can spot me.

“Do you want to go and get lunch at Templeton’s or Chickory and Chips? Aunt Peg gave me some money and I always think better on a full stomach,” Owen says.

My stomach pangs away thinking about Mrs. Barkley’s delicious clam chowder, but if Bebe spots me in my Carhartts and plaid and hanging around with Owen, she’ll think I’ve turned back into what she hates the most.

“I’m not really that hungry, Owen,” I say. My stomach growls.

“Did you know that a stomach growl is indicative of hunger? Your stomach muscles are contracting and forcing your digestive fluids and air around inside, making that gurgling noise.”

“Ew,” I say, not feeling much like eating anymore now that he’s mentioned it.

“It’s a fact, nothing to be ashamed of. Do you like the clam chowder at Chickory and Chips?” he says like he’s some sort of mind reader. Stay strong, I think.

“Of course I do,” I say, going over to the screw bin and grabbing a handful of the screws. “It’s my mom’s recipe, after all.”

Owen walks over and takes a handful, too.

“That doesn’t really mean anything,” he says. “My mom makes lots of meals that I don’t like.”

I laugh as we put the screws into the bedazzled satchel. I try and keep them ends up so that they won’t rip the fabric. A breeze comes through the shop door, lifting some of the sawdust off the floor and spinning it in little tornadoes. I grab the broom from the corner, tackle the tornado and start sweeping.

“There he is!” Aunt Peg’s voice floats through the inner doorway and both Owen and I look up.

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