Kid vs. Squid Read Free Page A

pink plumes of cotton candy.
    Tattoo guns buzzed inside the tattoo parlor.
    â€œYou smell that, son?” called a man from a popcorn cart. Chemical butter odors wafted on the air. “That’s the smell of the sea, and the sea says you need popcorn.”
    â€œMaybe later,” I muttered. “But let me ask you something. Why’d everybody suddenly show up today?”
    He was broad-shouldered, in a too-small T-shirt with a faded crown on the front. A beard of silver curls blended with the mane of hair spilling down his shoulders. His eyes were the color of coal, and they suddenly grew sharp and furious. I stepped back, wondering what I’d said to make him angry. But then his look softened. He seemed to get sleepy, and he blinked.
    â€œYou smell that, son?”
    â€œThe sea?”
    â€œIt’s the smell of the sea, and the sea says you need popcorn.”
    â€œDidn’t we just have this conversation?”
    â€œYou smell that, son?”
    â€œAh, yes, the smell of repetition.”
    Stumbling along with my sore foot, I left him and his smell behind.
    A partially dismantled Ferris wheel stood farther down the boardwalk behind a plywood fence. Curious, I used an abandoned plastic paint pail for a boost and pulled myself up to peer at the wreck. It towered over a dry moat—maybe the former home of alligators or piranhas—that was now just a muddy trench. Buckets for riders dangled off the wheel like loose teeth. I didn’t think I’d be riding it anytime this summer.
    Next to the Ferris wheel, a train of roller-coastercars ratcheted up the hill. The train wasn’t full, but the few passengers let out impressive screams as the cars swooshed down.
    Merchants arranged T-shirts and beach towels in front of their shops. A woman at the bike and skate rental pumped air into bicycle tires. Beeps and buzzers sounded from the arcade. A man on a bench threw seed at a mob of pigeons.
    Where had all these people suddenly come from?
    A girl approached me.
    â€œYou look confused.”
    Solidly built, she stood a couple inches taller than me, with an FBI Academy baseball cap jammed over a head of tight black curls. Lively brown eyes stared from her dark brown face. I felt like I was being studied and judged.
    â€œIt’s First Day,” she said, sweeping her hand over her head to indicate the entire boardwalk. “It happens like this every year. One day, ghost town, the next day, all this.”
    â€œThe same day every year?” I asked.
    â€œWalk with me,” she said. Adjusting the backpack she wore slung over one shoulder, she started down the boardwalk toward the midway without waiting for any response from me. I followed.
    â€œLast year First Day happened in July,” she went on. “I heard it was late May the year before that, oneof the earliest First Days ever, but I wasn’t there for it. I moved here a week before First Day last year.”
    â€œThere wasn’t anyone here yesterday. Do the shop people and tattoo artists and everyone live in town?”
    â€œSome do, but not many. Most of the workers just sort of roll in on First Day, like flotsam on the waves.”
    That word again. The jellyfish boys had asked if I was flotsam. Was she friends with them? If so, I didn’t think I wanted to know her. But except for Griswald and his tabby cat, I’d had no one to talk to in weeks. So I kept walking with the girl.
    â€œFlotsam,” I said. “What does that word mean?”
    â€œYou know, the floating wreckage of a ship. As opposed to jetsam, which is what gets tossed overboard to lighten the load during a storm.”
    Jetsam. Kind of like how my parents had tossed me to Griswald to lighten their load.
    As we continued along, merchants and snack vendors watched us go by. I didn’t like the way their eyes tracked us, not even bothering to hide the fact that they were staring. Maybe they were just hungry for our