ON SATURDAY MORNING, MEL and Lacey woke up early enough to see the sunrise. Mel slapped her alarm off the second it began to ring, and leaped out of bed. She had slept in her bathing suit, so it took her only a few moments to get ready. She grabbed her sweat shirt and slipped it on as she ran barefoot through the chilly gray dawn to the Reeders’ house.
Mel scratched softly on the screened window to the bedroom that Lacey and Jeanmarie shared. “Hey,” she whispered. “Lacey!…Lacey!”
Lacey’s sleepy face appeared. “I’ll be right there,” she mumbled.
“Okay, but hurry. We always manage to miss this.”
Lacey had slept in her bathing suit, too. In exactly three minutes, she stepped onto her front deck, also barefoot, also wearing a sweat shirt. A camera dangled by its strap from her wrist.
“You’re going to photograph the sunrise?” Mel asked. “I don’t think anything will come out.”
“Well, I’m going to try. I’ve seen other pictures of sunrises, so I know it can be done.”
“Come on,” said Mel. “Let’s go.”
The girls ran quietly down the walk and along a network of wooden boardwalks.
The last walk ended above the ocean at the top of the dunes. The girls found themselves looking down on the crashing ocean, gray in the early light, and a misty, deserted beach.
“We made it!” Mel exclaimed in a whisper. “Look! It’s just beginning.”
On the horizon, the tip of a brilliant orangey-pink disk had appeared, staining the ocean with wavery bands of color.
“Shall we watch from up here or go down to the sand?” asked Mel.
“Let’s stay here,” replied Lacey, hugging her sweat shirt about her. “This is a great view. And I bet the sand is cold.”
The girls settled down at the top of the wooden stairs that led to the beach. Lacey clicked her camera every few seconds, as the sun climbed the sky.
Mel was enchanted. She couldn’t take her eyes from the sight.
But when Lacey exclaimed, “Hey, I’m out of film,” she shook herself back to reality.
That was when she noticed that they were not alone. Somebody else had enjoyed the spectacle. A figure in a green windbreaker was huddled, knees drawn to his chest, in the sand a little distance down the beach.
It was the boy.
As Mel watched him, he rose slowly, brushed the sand from his long legs, and began striding down the beach toward the western end of the island.
“That’s him!” Mel whispered loudly. “There he is! Come on, I’m going to follow him! Maybe we can find out where he lives.”
“You can’t do that!” exclaimed Lacey. “It’s invasion of privacy.”
“Oh, he’ll never know. We’ll keep a safe distance. Hurry! He’s a fast walker.” Mel was already halfway down the stairs. “If he turns around and sees us, he’ll just think we’re out for an early walk. This is a public beach. We’re allowed. Look, there’s a guy walking his dog. We’re not the only people on the beach anymore.”
Mel was jogging along, trying to keep up with the boy. Lacey ran beside her. “I don’t know, Mel. I think you’ve gone nuts.”
Mel didn’t answer. She concentrated on pumping her legs up and down.
She and Lacey followed the boy for five minutes. “Where is he going?” Mel asked finally. “We’re almost out of Davis Park.”
“Maybe he’s taking a twenty-mile hike,” said Lacey. “I hope your legs are prepared for it. Mine aren’t. In exactly two more minutes, I am turning back.”
But before two minutes were up, the boy suddenly veered to his right and cut across the sand toward a flight of wooden steps.
Mel looked around. They were on an isolated stretch of beach. The area in which she and Lacey lived was crowded, the homes close-set, even those nearest the water. From where she stood then, however, Mel could see only one house, a rambling, older home with oddly placed sun decks and terraces.
Mel waited until the boy had climbed the flight of steps. Then she hurried across the sand after him. Lacey followed, shaking her head. At the top of the steps, Mel paused and looked down the boardwalk. It was deserted. She ran along it until it intersected with the walk to a house. Mel peered up the walk. And there was the boy, rinsing his sandy feet with the hose before going inside his house.
Mel pulled back, putting a row of shrubbery between herself and the boy. “It’s the house we saw from the beach,” she whispered to Lacey.
“Amazing,” replied Lacey. “Now let’s go home. I’m starved. I want breakfast.”
“Go home?” Mel exclaimed. “But we just got here. This is the closest I’ve come to finding out anything about—”
“About him?”
“Yes. About him. Come on. I want to go back to the beach. The view of his house is much better from there.”
“You mean we’re going to spy on him? Mel, I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that. You know what? You’re obsessed.”
“I am not.”
“Are too.”
“All right, I’m obsessed. I still want to go back to the dunes and watch for a while. Maybe he’ll sit out on one of his decks. Maybe he’ll eat his breakfast there. I wonder if I’ll be able to tell what he’s eating.”
Mel turned and trotted back along the boardwalk. She ran down to the beach, scouted around in the sand dunes, sat down, and looked at the house. Then she stood up, moved over slightly, and sat down again.
“What are you doing?” asked Lacey as Mel stood up once again.
“Trying to get the best view of his house, somewhere where I can see but not be seen. The trouble is, I don’t know whether I can be seen. Oh, well.” Mel sat down and patted the sand beside her. “Sit, Lace. It’s actually pretty comfortable here. You can lean back against this dune.”
“Mel, I am not sitting down. I am going home to have breakfast. Then I am going to spend the day reading on the beach like a normal American.”
“Not all Americans spend their days reading on beaches.”
“And statistics show that even fewer spend them lolling around in sand dunes, spying on boys their brothers hit with Frisbees.”
“Well, anyway, do me a favor. After you eat breakfast, could you bring me Jackie’s binoculars? I have a feeling they might come in handy.”
“His binoculars? Me-el. How long do you plan to stay here? And what am I supposed to tell your parents if they ask where you are?”
“Tell them the truth. Tell them I’m on the beach.”
“Well…okay.”
“Thanks, Lacey.”
“You’re welcome. I guess. See you later.”
“Bye.” Mel trained her eyes on the house, and Lacey retreated down the beach. After a while, as the brightening sun reflected itself in the windows, Mel had to shield her eyes against the glare.
She watched and watched, but nothing happened. Police stakeouts must be incredibly boring, she thought.
She wished she had her watch. She wished she had her tape player.
The sun rose a bit higher, and Mel removed her sweat shirt.
She was just beginning to feel slightly drowsy when she caught a flicker of movement on the highest deck of the house. Mel sprang to attention. A door slid open and the boy stepped out. He was wearing blue bathing trunks, the same ones he’d had on the first time Mel had seen him. That’s no coincidence, she thought. It’s fate; it’s kismet.
A dark-haired woman wearing a white dress, or maybe it was a white uniform, followed the boy onto the deck. She was carrying a tray.
The boy sat down in a lounge chair and the woman placed the tray on his lap. Then she sat on a bench near him, crossed her legs, and watched him eat.
Mel strained her eyes until they stung, but for the life of her, she couldn’t make out what the boy was eating. She was still trying to see, when suddenly a pair of binoculars was thrust in front of her.
She looked up, blinking. “Thanks, Lace.”
“Candidate for the loony bin,” Lacey muttered. But she dropped a bag containing an orange, a hard-boiled egg, and a muffin onto the sand next to Mel before she left again, so Mel knew she wasn’t really angry.
Mel was starving, but first things first. She wanted to get a good look at the scene on the deck before the woman and the boy left. She aimed the binoculars at the sun deck and adjusted the focus.
The result was more than she had hoped for. There was the boy, his handsome face looking pleasant but serious as he talked with the woman. Mel zeroed in on the tray in his lap. Nothing. The plate was empty except for a crumpled napkin.
She shifted to the right for a look at the woman. Curly brown hair. Dark, friendly eyes. Yes, the white dress was definitely a uniform. Perhaps she was a housekeeper.
A few moments later, the woman rose and picked up the empty tray. She carried it inside the house. The boy rose, too, and walked to the edge of the deck, where he rested his arms on the rail and gazed out to sea.
Hastily, Mel lowered the binoculars. She scrunched down in the sand, hoping the dunes hid her from the boy. When she dared to peep up again, he was gone.
Mel sighed. She raised the binoculars and scanned every inch of the house. She was halfway through counting the windows when a hand was suddenly clapped over the binoculars, blocking her view.
Mel shrieked and dropped the binoculars in the sand.
She looked up.
The boy was standing over her.