Between the Spark and the Burn by April Genevieve Tucholke Page B

on an island.” Finch sat back in his seat and put his arms behind his head.
    â€œDo you mean us, or them?” I asked.
    But Finch just shrugged. His eyes held mine, and . . . shifted. They lit up, and I saw curiosity shining inside them, sparkly and bright, like stars in a moonless sky.
    â€œI’m looking forward to the sea,” he said, and smiled again.
    â‰ˆâ‰ˆâ‰ˆ
    We reached the coast just as the sun started going down. I drank in the sight of the sea, breathed in the smell of it. I rolled down the window so the breeze could tangle up my hair.
    Neely parked the car on a side street in the small coastal town of Nags Dune. We got out and walked right down to the water. Neely stood by me with his legs apart, hands on hips, and looked very Mr. Adventure. But it was Finch I was watching. If he’d never seen the ocean, then I wanted to see how he took it. I couldn’t imagine being fifteen or possibly seventeen and never having been to the Great Big Blue. It was such a part of me, like my name and the color of my hair.
    Finch faced the sea with his back straight and his palms turned out. He batted his eyes and breathed deep and I kind of felt like hugging him.
    â€œHow old are you, Finch?” I asked.
    â€œSeventeen,” he answered. “I think. Not really sure.” And then he turned his face back to the water and disappeared into the experience of it again.
    I thought about what Aggie had said, about him losing his mother and then his grandmother too. I wondered how long he’d been alone.
    And then I wondered if Aggie had survived the night.
    And Pine . . . after we left her there, standing in the middle of the road . . . Did they let her keep my scarf, or did they take it away?
    Did they figure out that she helped us?
    Don’t think about it, Vi. Don’t. There was nothing you could do.
    But my heart was racing and I felt kind of sick. I forced myself to take big sea breaths, over and over.
    The ferries had stopped running for the day and the sun was sinking fast. I thought we’d have to camp on the beach. I even set my heart on it. I wanted to crawl into Neely’s tent and stop caring about everything and have the waves sing us to sleep like the wolves in the wilderness of New York.
    But then a man with rugged red cheeks and kind blue eyes and thick working-man’s fingers wandered up to us after a few minutes and asked where we were going.
    â€œWe’re trying to find a fisherman’s shack,” Neely said, lifting his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the last sharp rays of the sun.
    The man laughed, and his eyes crinkled at the sides. “Well, the coast is full of those,” he said.
    â€œThis one’s haunted.”
    He just looked at us, a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth.
    â€œHow about an island with wild horses?” I asked.
    The seafarer nodded, like he was in familiar territory now. “Carollie, then?”
    Was there more than one island with wild horses?
    â€œSure,” Neely answered, because we didn’t know any better anyway.
    Our new sea captain introduced himself as Hayden. He gave us a long look as he shook our hands, and told us it would be ten dollars a head.
    Which was fair and all right, but I was running out of River’s money, damn it. Fast. I unfolded another origami creature and handed it over.
    Hayden had a small boat, just big enough for him and us. We left the car behind in Nags Dune, parked in a lot behind a hardware store. We took our suitcases and camping gear and the picnic basket and strode down a dock to a boat that looked as strong and weather-beaten as its owner.
    The open sea.
    For a girl who’s lived her whole life footsteps from the ocean, you’d think I would have set foot on a big sea-crossing boat at some point. But the Whites barely had enough money to pay the taxes on Citizen Kane, and buy canvases and paints. There was nothing