Read A Million Miles From Boston for Free Online

just kept staring at him.
    It was almost noon and we hadn’t started the craft. Only Lauren and Olivia wanted to do it, so I showed them how to glue Popsicle sticks in a square, making a frame. Bucky and Henry set up army men. When Ian squatted in front of Superior, Peter squatted, too.
    I walked to Superior and patted her head. She leaned into my leg.
    “Great dog.” Ian smiled at her but didn’t try to pet her. “What’s her name?”
    “Superior,” I said. She looked up at me. Smart girl. Don’t trust him! I thought.
    He stood. “Our next-door neighbor told me that pirates buried treasure here years ago. And your dad’s writing a book about the Point.”
    “Supposedly smugglers buried stolen goods somewhere onthe Point. But my dad doesn’t think it’s true. He never said anything about pirates.”
    “Smugglers, pirates, same thing.”
    “No, they aren’t.”
    “Sure they are.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “What’s the difference?”
    Was there a difference? Then Ian grinned. He was trying to tangle me up.
    “Ian, wanna push me on the swing?” Peter asked.
    “Okay.”
    Peter jumped onto the small plastic saucer that was tied to the end of the rope. Ian pushed, and Peter tipped back his head, laughing, as he flew through the air in big looping circles.
    “That’s enough,” Peter yelled. Ian let the swing slow down as the girls and I started putting the art supplies back in the box.
    Bucky yelled, “Don’t do that!”
    Holding the rope above Peter, Ian jumped onto the back of the saucer. The tree branch groaned as they sailed out into the yard. Then the rope snapped and they fell hard onto the ground. We ran to them.
    Peter rolled onto his stomach, his face buried in his elbows. I leaned over him, my hand on his back. “Peter?”
Please
let him be okay, I thought.
    He turned over and wiped his face on his shirt, leavingstreaks of dirt and tears. He rubbed his shoulder but seemed okay.
    Whew! I sat back. The rope had snapped near the top and now only a small part hung from the branch. The rest sprawled across the grass. I glared at Ian.
    “Sorry,” Ian said.
    Peter smiled slightly. “It’s all right.”
    “The rule is only one person on the swing at a time,” Becca said.
    “Well, I didn’t know about any rule,” Ian said.
    Learning to swing on the rope was a rite of passage, Dad said. I was four when Mom taught me. You placed hand over hand above you. And the secret to hanging on was crossing your legs over the rope and squeezing.
    “Lucy, you can fix it, right?” Lauren’s lower lip trembled.
    “Oh, my dad’ll fix it,” Ian said. “Or put up a new one. This one looks pretty old.”
    “It was
fine.
” How could he act as if this were no big deal? I stomped up the stairs with the art supplies.
    When I came back, Ian was gone. Peter and Becca ran to the tennis courts to meet their mom. Bucky and I walked the others home.
    Along the way they fired questions at me. Why had he jumped on the swing? How would we fix the rope? Who would pay for it? Was Ian in big trouble?
    I didn’t know how to answer. Was I responsible, since it happened during camp? I started walking faster, hands clenched.
    After we dropped everyone off, Bucky and I walked back to the cottage.
    “I don’t like Ian,” Bucky said as he opened our porch door.
    “Me neither.”
    Dad stood at the stove in his old flannel shirt, making grilled cheese sandwiches. “Hey, how’d it go?”
    “Ian broke the rope swing!” Bucky said, then told him what had happened.
    Dad peeled back the bread tops and scattered Goldfish crackers on the melting cheese, as Mom used to do. “I’m just glad Peter’s okay.”
    “But, Dad, Ian
broke
it,” I said. “Won’t everyone be mad?”
    “Oh, I don’t know. A couple of us were talking about the swing at the barbecue. It was old, an accident waiting to happen. It’s time for a new one.”
    Bucky and I exchanged frowns.
    Dad put the sandwiches on plates and we headed to the dock.