Riptide Read Free Page A

pretty good though, huh,
     Mal?” he said, testing the fiery patch on his neck with one forefinger.
    “Sure did.”
    They fell silent. Malin looked out across the little cove toward the islands in the bay: Hermit Island, Wreck Island, Old
     Hump, Killick Stone. And far beyond, the blue outline of Ragged Island, appearing and disappearing in the stubborn mist that
     refused to lift even on this beautiful midsummer day. Beyond the islands, the open ocean was, as his father often said, as
     calm as a millpond.
    Languidly, he tossed a rock into the water and watched the spreading ripples without interest. He almost regretted not going
     into town with his parents. At least it would be something to do. He wished he could be anywhere else in the world—Boston,
     New York—anywhere but Maine.
    “Ever been to New York, Johnny?” he asked.
    Johnny nodded solemnly. “Once. Before you were born.”
    What a lie,
Malin thought. As if Johnny would remember anything that had happened when he was less than two years old. But saying so
     out loud would be to risk a swift punch in the arm.
    Malin’s eye fell on the small outboard tied at the end of the dock. And he suddenly had an idea. A really good idea.
    “Let’s take it out,” he said, lowering his voice and nodding at the skiff.
    “You’re crazy,” Johnny said. “Dad would whip us good.”
    “Come on,” Malin said. “They’re having lunch at the Hastings after they finish shopping. They won’t be back until three, maybe
     four. Who’s gonna know?”
    “Just the whole town, that’s all, seeing us going out there.”
    “Nobody’s gonna be watching,” said Malin. Then, recklessly, he added, “Who’s chicken now?”
    But Johnny did not seem to notice this liberty. His eyes were on the boat. “So where do you want to go that’s so great, anyway?”
     he asked.
    Despite their solitude, Malin lowered his voice further. “Ragged Island.”
    Johnny turned toward him. “Dad’ll kill us,” he whispered.
    “He won’t kill us if we find the treasure.”
    “There’s no treasure,” Johnny said scornfully, but without much conviction. “Anyway, it’s dangerous out there, with all those
     pits.”
    Malin knew enough about his brother to recognize the tone in his voice. Johnny was interested. Malin kept quiet, letting the
     monotonous morning solitude do his persuading for him.
    Abruptly, Johnny stood up and strode to the end of the dock. Malin waited, an anticipatory thrill coursing through him. When
     his brother returned, he was holding a life preserver in each hand.
    “When we land, we don’t go farther than the rocks along the shore.” Johnny’s voice was deliberately gruff, as if to remind
     Malin that simply having one good idea didn’t alter their balance of power. “Understand?”
    Malin nodded, holding the gunwale while Johnny tossed in his satchel and the life preservers. He wondered why they hadn’t
     thought of doing this before. Neither boy had ever been to Ragged Island. Malin didn’t know any kids in the town of Stormhaven
     who ever had, either. It would make a great story to tell their friends.
    “You sit in the bow,” Johnny said, “and I’ll drive.”
    Malin watch Johnny fiddle with the shift lever, open the choke, pump the gas bulb, then yank the starter cord. The engine
     coughed, then fell silent. Johnny yanked again, then again. Ragged Island was six miles offshore, but Malin figured they could
     make it in a half hour on such a smooth sea. It was close to high tide, when the strong currents that swept the island dropped
     down to nothing before reversing.
    Johnny rested, his face red, and then turned again for a heroic yank. The engine sputtered into life. “Cast off!” he shouted.
     As soon as the rope was uncleated, Johnny shoved the throttle all the way forward, and the tinny little eighteen-horsepower
     engine whined with exertion. The boat surged from the dock and headed out past Breed’s Point into the bay, wind and