Maine Squeeze by Catherine Clark Page A

house, but just for fun let’s call it Rule 13, because it felt so unlucky.
    Never have important discussions on a boat when you are halfway through a round-trip.

Chapter 10
    â€œSo, I’ll see you later?” I asked.
    Ben mumbled something as he leaned over to unlock his bicycle, but I didn’t quite catch it. I decided not to push my luck right now. He was still angry with me. He probably didn’t want to see me later, or even think about seeing me later. He hadn’t spoken to me on the way back to the island. (Me, I had made small talk with tourists, and it was the longest forty-five minutes of my life.) I had to give him some time to let him deal with the news about Evan, and me and Evan.
    â€œOkay, well, um, take care,” I said awkwardly as he pulled his mountain bike out of the rack beside the Landing.
    â€œBen! Where are you going?” Haley shouted from the takeout window.
    â€œHi, Haley!” he called back.
    Well, at least he was talking to her . He wasn’t doing that hate-by-association thing.
    â€œWhere are you going?” Haley asked.
    â€œI’ve got to get home,” Ben said. He didn’t explain what the big rush was. Obviously it involved getting away from me.
    â€œHey, you want a FrozFruit for the road?” Haley offered. “We got more coconut in today.”
    â€œNo thanks. Tomorrow, though! See you later.” Ben gave me a cursory glance, and immediately his grin faded. Then he climbed onto his bike and started pedaling away.
    â€œBye!” I called after him, trying to sound as sweet as I possibly could, hoping I’d erase this new, bad impression I’d apparently made on him. Then I walked over to Haley. No, more like crawled.
    â€œSo, how did it go?” Haley asked.
    â€œCouldn’t you tell? Ben hates me now.”
    â€œHates you? Come on, be serious. What flavor do you want?”
    â€œI’m not hungry. Anyway, you saw how he was,” I said. “Not even talking to me.” I stared at the tubs of ice cream. “Cookies and cream,” I sighed.
    Haley scooped ice cream into a sugar cone and molded the scoop so that it would stay in the cone. “So he’s a little put out,” she said. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”
    â€œI don’t know. I think I would ,” I said.
    She dipped the ice cream into the bowl of chocolate sprinkles—we call them “jimmies,” but I know not everyone does, because I ordered them that way once when we went back to Chicago to visit and everyone treated me like I was a freak. “How did he really react?”
    â€œHe kind of didn’t say anything. I mean, he was mad at first. And he’s still mad. That pretty much wraps it up, I think.”
    Haley handed me the cone, then rang up the sale and slipped a dollar into the register. “Don’t worry. He’ll be angry for a while, but he’ll get over it. He loves you. He’ll understand.”
    â€œThanks for saying that.” I started to lick the ice cream. “I hope you’re right.”
    â€œOf course I’m right,” Haley said. “I’m a Boudreau, and Boudreaus are always right. Or at least they always think they are.”
    I laughed. “Haley, what if he doesn’t forgive me? What if he gets mad at—at Evan, and they fight or something?”
    Haley looked at me and frowned. She seemed annoyed by the suggestion. “Ben’s not like that. When he’s mad at someone, he keeps his distance. Now be quiet and eat your ice cream and forget about those guys for a second. Put your feet up. Relax.”
    â€œOkay, Mom,” I said.
    â€œI’m not acting like—” Haley stopped as she noticed she was about to unfold a napkin for me. “Anyway, eat.”
    â€œSo, speaking of. Have you seen your parents lately?” I asked.
    â€œOh, yeah. I went over there to see how they’re doing. They’re still mad