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pleased than he was only minutes earlier. “The good news is that we won the meet.” He grins as everyone roars and jumps up and down! A five-team invitational win is big for us.
    Coach waits until we calm down. “The bad news is that Brody has been disqualified for language. A Lakewood runner was also disqualified for responding. Now listen to me: I don’t want this to ever happen again. Not ever.” He glares at Brody who slides a finger along his pressed lips and pretends to throw away a key. Yeah, right. Like that will so happen.
    Then Coach’s lopsided smile returns. “Most of you guys bettered your times today. I really like what I saw out there. You ran smart. Okay, let’s move. I’m buying ice cream on the boat, so don’t be late.”
    The storm has passed. But I wouldn’t want to be in Brody’s shoes at Monday’s practice.
    â€¢ • •
    It’s just after noon by the time we return to the island. Ben drives us to my house. My dad comes over to the car, still holding the shears he’s been using to trim the front laurel. Ben turns the Honda off, and we give Dad the meet highlights. He smiles and claps his hands over his head when he hears our improved times.
    Ben and I lean against the car as Dad asks Ben about the classes he plans to take at the U in January. My mind slides to Mackie and our previous evening. As Ben climbs back in the car to leave, I manage to get it together. “Hey, thanks for the ride. It was good today. Yeah?”
    The corners of Ben’s mouth turn up. Even his eyes crinkle upward. “Very good,” he replies.
    In the house, I head for the kitchen and open the refrigerator door. I am assessing the food on the shelves and trying to decide when I should call Mackie, when Justin walks in.
    â€œYou making lunch?” he asks, a hopeful note in his voice.
    â€œYeah, sure. Mom’s gone until dinner, right?”
    â€œThat’s what Dad said.”
    â€œHow ’bout we grill hot dogs. This could be our last chance,” I add, thinking about the months of impending winter rain. In October, a damp wetness usually begins that can last until the end of June.
    â€œDid you run this morning?” Justin asks, eyeing my warmups.
    â€œYeah, we won.”
    â€œCool.”
    Justin is the cool one. Nothing fazes him. He can laugh about almost anything. In that way, he is different than me.
    I pull out a few slices of cheese to nibble on before lighting the grill on the outside porch. As we move outside, Justin swipes a slice and I pretend to chase him.
    â€œFood Monster!” I yell at him. “Don’t make me come after you, monkey boy.”
    I grab Justin by his shoulders and wrestle him to the ground, but my being forty-five pounds heavier calls for at least token handicapping. Justin laughs and tries to pin me. He’s always pleased to prolong our roughhousing. We don’t play for long though, as my thoughts return to Mackie. What is she doing? What happened at the shelter today? And there was that first kiss . . .
    Dad approaches the grill, nodding his approval.
    â€œHey, add a couple of dogs for me,” he says.
    I slap two more hot dogs on the still-heating grill, return to the kitchen, and dump a can of baked beans in a pot. Justin takes out mustard, ketchup, relish, and plates, and sets them on the table. Dad pulls a large pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and pours three full glasses.
    We demolish the food. When Justin emits a bullfrog-worthy belch, I laugh. Dad gets the hiccups. Justin begins belching in time to Dad’s hiccups. That sends us over the edge. I laugh up tears.
    Justin eyes my half glass of lemonade and makes a big ‘Food Monster’ face. He gives his best fake-evil laugh, “Heh, heh, heh.” I drain the rest of my lemonade in three swallows.
    After we clean up, I climb the stairs to take a shower.
    â€œJustin,” I hear Dad call. “I’d