There was absolutely no way, no way, that this whole 'living-on-an-island' thing was safe.
Noway.
None.
It just was not possible.
This was my second trip across the bay, in this giant boat thing, and the water, nor the wind, had let up on me one bit. Rob and Francais? Oh, they were sitting about ten feet away, perfectly dry.
Me, you ask?
My blonde curls were not curls anymore.
They were hay clumps. Wet ones.
I was very lucky I wore a rain coat today, having a brilliant moment when I saw the bright yellow rubber-duck resembling peice of clothing. Okay, in actuality, I just liked how it was so neon-y and reminded me of a baby duckling.Not the ones you see in real life; no, the ones in cartoons. Those are the cool ones.
Either way, Iwas beginning to accept the fact that I was just not made for this whole 'water' thing. I mean, if it didn't make up more than seventy percent of my body, I would totally live just fine without it.
"What are you thinking about, Hales?" Rob called, shouting over the wind, from the pointy end of the boat. I think it Francais had called it a curtsey, or a ribbon, or something. Whatever.
Moving on from that, have you ever had that moment when you've been left alone to your thoughts for so long that your mind just starts to wander, and you end up on some freakishly random topic that no one needs to hear about? And then, suddenly, just as you realize how disturbng your thought process is, someone decides to ask you about it?
So, then you rush to cover yourself, making up some story about how you just zoned out, or weren't thinking of anything, or, if you're me, you end up with the grand old response of;
"I was sleeping with my eyes open." Oh yes, I am brilliant.
"Um, okay..." Rob trailed off, and turned back to the steering, but not before I saw the look of disbelief on his face. Oh yeah, that's right, look away you motha-honker. I scrunched up my face and did one of those sassy head bobs at his back. When Francais caught my eye with an incredolous stare, I crossed my eyes and stuck my tongue out at him.
Serves him right for letting me fall into the boat.
"Uh, Haley?"
"Yes Rob?" I answered, semi-sweetly. If I got any sweeter, I'd be bashing my eyelashes, up and down, and up and down...
"You do realize there are mirrors on this boat... right?"
Oooooh.
That's awkward.
****
I was now absolutely certain that the boys went out of their way to be clueless.
I was in a grocery store, the same grocery store that I had been in for approximately fourty five minutes, simply because, and I quote, Rob "had to pee."
And that, my dear friends, was thirty three minutes ago.
I was seriously considering ditching him and going back home; however, I knew that Francais would probably think I'd offed Rob, and call the cops on me or try to drown me or something. Oh, and I had no money to get out of here. That was another reason I hadn't been able to leave. Because Rob had to pee, and he had to pee with the money in his back pocket.
Unfortunately, I had never truly mastered the art of pick-pocketry, and I didn't want to risk the chance of him thinking I was touching his bum. That would just be so wrong, on so many levels. Plus, the whole point of this 'ignoring' thing, is to ignore him. Reaching for his back pocket in a crowded store would probably not help.
Okay, so, maybe the store really wasn't that crowded. I mean, it was one of those smaller-than-life general store type grocery store. The kind where the bakery has it's own cute little room, but the meat section is smack dab in the middle, awkwardly surrounded my hundreds of green and orange and yellow fruits and vegetables that dotted the wall supports on either side. The ceiling lights were hanging precariously from the ceiling, and I was half convinced that one of them would plop down onto my head, simply for the sake of doing it.
Imagine that; Local famous band member's long lost sister dies in tragic ceiling light incident.
Oh, that would be an awkward way to go.
Those mirrors that are stuck to the wall behind the fruits and vegetables weren't, well... They had no reflectioning surface anymore, so I was pretty sure they hadn't cleaned them in awhile. Or maybe I just wasn't able to see them properly because of the three shattered light bulbs above my head.
The reassuring thing was, though, as I walked through the aisles in search for something realitively eadable, that this was where the boys had shopped. And I say it was a good thing, because the only thing they had in their house was preserved foods. And the only thing that I would openly admit looked less like a case of salmonella waiting to happen, and more like a few thousand extra unhealthy bites, was the packaged foods.
Oh, there was no way I was buying food here.
"Where are you Rob?" I hissed, awkwardly shuffling up the pasta aisle for the thirteenth time since I had ungracefully collided with the front glass doors on my way in. The older man at the counter shifted his stout, pear shaped frame, and narrowed his evil little beady eyes in my direction. He was consistently sending pointed looks at the security cameras that dotted the corners of the room -as if they even worked- and then returning his gaze to me suspiciously.
"Yeah, because I'm going to steal something from here. Not even a hoodlum would want your food," I chortled, clumsily patting myself on the back mentally, for that wonderfully amazing pun.
***
It was now one thirty in the afternoon.
And I was still alone.
Had I seen heads or tails of Rob? No. of course not.
Did I get groceries?
Oh, most definitely. And how did I do that, you ask?
Well, apparently knowing the suckish four boys back at the island home, and giving the teenage cashier their numbers as a sort of credit, worked wonders at the local Foodland.
Yeah, I had walked about six blocks down through town, found a clean, pretty, safe looking grocery store, and bought over four hundred dollars worth of groceries. It was all put on Rob's account.
That's what you get for ditching me in town, you buttwipe.
***
The town was rather pretty; I'd admit. It was one of those seaside villages that you see on tv, but never actually resemble the real-life, run down ones that they were based off of. Spritzed up non-fiction, was what my tenth grade english teacher called it. Enhanced.
The side walks were cracked, but kepy in a nice, neat, orderly fashion. White washed houses lined the streets, with pretty, colourful gardens of flowers around their doorway. Every few houses had the whole white picket fence thing going on; cliche. The actual down-town part of the village was full of docks and marinas, with the most pretty to the most untrustable looking boats that danced in the clear blue water. The buildings that lodged around this side of town were all stone, with white, brown or grey window frames, and pretty ivy running up the sides.
About halfway down the road, after saying hello to a police man at a lamp post who was tying his shoe, a lady who was searching for her pen on her way out of work -it was behind her ear-, and the old man who apparently always sat in the same place every day for the last thirteen years, I saw the most beautiful sight in the world.
An icecream shop.
Okay, I know what you're thinking. I just spent the entire morning complaining about the unhealthy-ness of the boys, and throwing out food substitute after food subsititute... But I just loved icecream.
The building itself was dwarfed by the two huge brick one's on either side of it. The front door was covered by a red and white striped verdana, and the front glass window showed hundreds of different flavours of the oohey, goohey goodness.
I stepped lightly across the street, and headed straight for the white oak door. A clanging above my head alerted me that there was a greeting bell, but that wasn't what froze me in my tracks.
No, it wasn't the bell. It wasn't the warm, comfortable, eighties style candystore/bar type deal going on around here, either. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I could see the prices, and they were very low. It didn't even have to do with the fact that there was a big, white, chalk scrawl above the counter stating that my favourite type of icecream, mint chip, was non-existent at the moment.
No.
What made me freeze in my tracks was the sight of three, very familiar, very wide eyed boys, who had all turned around in their swivelly benches at the counter, and were levelling their semi-frightened eyes on me. And the fourth, who slowly but surely caught on to his friends gaze, and turned his blonde head slowly in my direction.
Oh, Rob.
I am going to kill you.