Summer of Lost and Found by Rebecca Behrens Page A

unkempt—the kind of style my mom would call a “mop.” His blue eyes, staring at me both shyly and intently, were the brightest I’d ever seen. His voice had the slightest hint of an accent, or maybe it was the fact that he had said an old word like “morrow” throwing me off.
    â€œHi,” I replied. “I mean, good morrow to you.” I curtsied, and immediately after, I started to blush. The curtsy happened without thinking. The armor guy looked over at me funny, and internally I cringed. Already I could picture myself telling Jade that I had a chance to talk to a boy on Roanoke, but I blew it by acting like a weirdo.
    But the boy laughed. “Aye, a most mannerly lass!” Relief.
    When I saw him the day before, I thought he was older, maybe even in high school. Whatever age you have to be in North Carolina to get a summer work permit. Now that I was standing next to him, he looked a lot closer in age to me. He was only an inch or two taller than me, and thin in a way that didn’t make him scrawny but did make his pale cheekbones stick out. I know I’m too young to work, so why was he at the park, sweating in colonial garb, in the middle of the summer? “Aren’t you kind of young to work here?” I asked. “No offense.”
    Something flashed across his eyes, a seriousness that I wasn’t used to seeing in someone my age. “None taken. I am certes—I mean, certainly—young.” He blushed. “It’s tough to stop speaking like a colonist.” I admired his commitment to attempting period language. If my dad didn’t text me Shakespeare all the time, I’d have been lost with all the olde talk. The boy pointed to a woman leaning against one of the settlement buildings, in the shade of the thatched roof. She was wearing a heavy woolen dress in a drab charcoal color, one so long I couldn’t see her feet on the ground, and her hair was pinned back in a severe bun. Her eyes, the same bright blue as the boy’s, were forlorn. I guess I would be sad too, if I had to wear that kind of an outfit every day during a North Carolina summer. “Anyway, my mother’s over there. She barely lets me out of her sight.” She looked pretty young to be his mom.
    â€œMy mom’s super overprotective too. And I’m also helping mine at work for the summer. So, what’s your name?” I wasn’t normally capable of asking a boy I’d just met for his name, much less after establishing myself as a total dork by curtsying in front of him. Maybe it’s because I had caught him staring at me the day before. That gave me some confidence.
    His face flushed. “Where are my manners? I’m Ambrose Viccars Junior. My mother is Elizabeth Viccars. And you are?”
    â€œNell Dare, and my mom’s Celia Wood.” I stuck my hand out to shake his, but he didn’t reach for it. I quickly pulled back and clasped my hands together. My palms were kind of sweaty, anyway, so maybe that was for the best.
    â€œDare!” His eyes lit up with excitement. What is it with people around here and Dare? I get that it’s a famous name, but it’s not like I freak out about every Hudson or LaGuardia I meet.
    â€œI know, like this county.”
    His cheeks lost some of their paleness. “Er, right.” He glanced over at his mom. “Excuse me for one minute? I’ll ask my mother permission to take you on a tour of the grounds. If that’s, um, cool .”
    I nodded, and Ambrose raced over to his mom. She looked at me somewhat suspiciously at first, her mouth set in a tight frown. But he kept talking and suddenly she smiled. I could see her nod yes to Ambrose, then take his face in her hands and kiss his forehead. She disappeared around the side of the building as Ambrose walked back to me, turning once to wave, but she had already slipped away. It seemed kind of weird that he was such a mama’s boy, but