Under the Dusty Moon by Suzanne Sutherland Page A

forming ferry line, “should we go and buy our tickets?”
    â€œOh. Yeah. I’ve never been to the Island before,” Shaun said. “How does this, you know, work?”
    â€œSeriously?” I said, at last feeling like I had the upper cool-hand , “My mom and I come here all the time. We buy our tickets over there.” I said, pointing to the row of booths with giant lines of Island-goers in front of them.
    â€œAh, okay,” Shaun said. “Cool.”
    We walked our bikes over and picked a line. When we finally got up to the front, I thought for a second that Shaun might offer to pay for my ticket, acting all chivalrous or whatever. He didn’t, though. He bought his own ticket and then walked his bike over to the loading area just behind the row of booths.
    Once I’d bought my ticket I had to dodge about a thousand sets of kids and parents to finally find him again, waiting with a small crowd by a gate marked HANLAN’S POINT ONLY: GATE #4 .
    â€œWhat’s with the crowd?” Shaun asked, pointing to the gate next to us that was swarmed with families.
    â€œThat’s Centre Island. There’s a little amusement park there. It’s got a log ride and stuff. My mom and I once went on it like fifteen times in a row.”
    â€œOh yeah?” he said, taking off his sunglasses as we waited in the shade. “Cool.”
    â€œYeah, the islands are all kind of connected but that one’s, you know, for little kids.”
    â€œSounds fun.” He grinned, and I couldn’t believe how huge his lips were. They looked, well, delicious.
    â€œOh, well, I mean, we could go,” I said, suddenly losing any cool I’d picked up on the way in. “Do you want to? We could totally go to Centreville if you want. It could be fun.”
    â€œHa, no,” he said, waving me off, “it’s cool, I was kidding. Wherever we’re going is fine.”
    Of course. Could I not just play it cool for fifteen seconds?
    The ferry arrived, and we walked with our bikes to take our place on deck. Everyone else on board looked older and more relaxed. They were snapping pictures with their phones and smiling and wearing cool hats and brightly coloured bathing suits under their clothes. And then the wind hit me and I finally got a whiff of myself. I was deeply, deeply funky. Why the hell did I leave the house in Mom’s old shirt? I smelled disgusting. How was I going to manage this?
    I tried at first to figure out exactly how strong the smell was — were other people around me stopping to look, or did no one else notice? What was Shaun doing, was he having a good time? Should we take a selfie together, just us, the ferry, and the waves? No , I thought, getting too close right now was definitely not an option. I was ripe.
    â€œWow, this is pretty great,” Shaun said, his sunglasses back on, looking out at the sailboats nearby.
    â€œHuh?” I said.
    â€œI just meant …” he said, turning to face me, “is everything okay?”
    â€œOh?” I said. “No. I’m not. I’m just. I’m so happy to be here, I can’t believe you’ve never been here, the Island is the best! I love it so much!” The words tumbled out of my mouth clinging on to one another and I was helpless to stop them.
    â€œYeah,” he said, looking me up and down skeptically. “I can tell.”
    â€œOh,” I said, reaching into my bag, “I almost forgot.” I pulled out the Coke and handed him the bottle.
    â€œThanks,” he said, “but I’m cool.”
    â€œNo, seriously,” I insisted, “you should try some.”
    He raised an eyebrow before taking a small sip. He smiled, and then took a gulp that drained nearly half the bottle.
    â€œNice,” he said, handing it back with a wink. “Crafty.”
    I took a small swig and a trail of rum and Coke dribbled down my chin and onto my T. Perfect, just what