Lost in the River of Grass by Ginny Rorby Read Free Book Online Page A

picture of a frog run through with tiny, sharp tines, its legs kicking, comes to mind, and I change the subject. “Where
do
you go to school?”
    â€œNaples. Maybe you could come back over someday. Go to a game or a dance with me.” He smiles, then adds, “I don’t really gig frogs, you know.”
    When I was little, Mom signed me up for ballet, tap and piano lessons, but I don’t know anything about dancing
with
someone. “A game would be fun, but I don’t really know how to dance.”
    â€œI’m not a very good dancer anyway. Maybe a game, or a movie.”
    â€œSure. I guess.” I have a big picture of my parents driving me all the way to Naples and back for a date with Andy, but it’s nice to think about anyway. As good-looking and nice as he is, I bet he has lots of friends—especially girlfriends. I take another sip of Gatorade and wipe the rim. I’m just passing it to him when I see the duckling round the side of the cabin.
    â€œCome here little duck, duck.” I get up, patting my thigh.
    I’ve only gone a few feet when Andy says, “Oh my God.” I freeze, afraid he’s seen a rattlesnake or something.
    â€œWhat?” I cry when he runs past me. “What?” I run after him.
    When I catch up, he’s standing on the dock, hitting himself in the forehead over and over with the heel of his hand.
    My heart is thundering. “What’s the matter?”
    He drops to his knees on the dock, folds himself in half, locks his hands behind his neck, and starts to rock. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
    I can see past him now and bite my fist to keep from screaming. The airboat is gone.

6
    My first thought is that it had been stolen, but when Andy sank to his knees on the dock, I see the curved top of the propeller cage arching over the water. One blade sticks up like the arm of a drowning victim, and a few final air bubbles rise to the surface and pop in the rainbow of gas that encircles the cage.
    I don’t realize I’m crying until he glances at me. For a moment I see the look of anguish in his eyes, then he blinks it away and slips off into the water. I immediately think of the gator. It’s still down there somewhere, but Andy wades around, collecting the things that were floating: the pole, the gas can, the Pan Am flight bag, and a single flip-flop. He dumps them at my feet and looks up. “I’m sorry.”
    Tears stream down my face. “What are we going to do?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” he says.
    â€œCan’t we tip it over like a canoe and empty the water out?”
    I knew that was a stupid question almost the minute I said it, but when Andy snorts “no,” it makes me mad. “How did this happen?” I cry.
    â€œI washed it this morning and took the stern plug out so the water would drain. I put the plug on one of the trailer’s tires.”
    â€œAnd you forgot it was there?”
    â€œYeah, I guess.”
    â€œWhy didn’t it sink when we put it in the canal?”
    â€œIt takes a while to fill through that little hole.” He’s standing chest-deep with both hands on the dock, his head down. “And as long as we were moving, water couldn’t get in.”
    I glance at the cabin. There are no power or phone lines. My parents gave me the Tracfone for my birthday, but I didn’t bother to bring it. In fact, I’ve never used it. There’s no one to call. “Did you bring your cell?”
    He snorts again. “I don’t have a cell phone. Even if I did, there are no cell towers out here.” He takes a deep breath and looks up at me. “I’m gonna have to walk out.”
    My turn to snort. “You’ve got to be kidding? How far is it?”
    He shrugs. “’Bout ten miles, I guess.”
    â€œOh.” I’m suddenly hopefully. “That’s not far.” He could go get help and be back in a couple of