“What is it with chestnuts in this place?”
“Maybe because they taste so good,” said the squirrel.
Darby gasped. But before she could completely embarrass herself by responding to the rodent, a boy stepped out from behind the tree.
“Very funny,” she blurted, trying madly not to blush at the thought of the close call. She scrambled away from the swing and flipped her skateboard into one hand.
The boy stared at her. He had curly hair—black as a raven’s wing—and his blue eyes sparkled from a darkly tanned face.
“You thought the squirrel was speaking,” he said, with barely contained glee.
“Did not.”
“Maybe not, maybe so.” He strode forward and took over Darby’s spot on the swing, leaning back and pushing off hard with his legs. “It’s not nice to tease people,” he said in a reasonable tone. “Better to make friends.”
Suddenly he stopped, planted his feet and stood up with one hand outstretched. “My name is Gabriel.”
Darby stared at his hand for a minute, thinking. At least this guy was willing to talk to her, unlike Red T-shirt.
“I’m Darby,” she said at last, and shook his hand quickly. His skin was cool, which was good because Darby hated sweaty hands. She snatched her skateboard up and stepped out of his way in case he decided to hop on the swing again.
“You are here only for the summer?” he asked.
Darby shrugged. “Not the whole summer, if I have anything to do with it. I’m from Toronto.”
He nodded. “Myself, I have lived in this small place since I was a baby.”
She looked at him doubtfully. “You don’t sound like you’re from here,” she said. “You have a French accent.”
“I speak French at home,” he said, stepping away from the swing and flipping a rock from the ground onto his toe. He kicked his foot sharply and the rock sailed over his head, but before it could hit the ground he kicked it up with his other heel and it slapped neatly into the palm of his left hand.
She refused to be impressed. “You obviously don’t spend enough time watching TV.”
“I do not know about that,” he said. “Me? I just like rocks.” He held out his hand, and the rock sat smooth and flat and red on his palm.
This was turning into another bizarre conversation. Between Gramps and Red T-shirt and now this guy—man, was everyone in this town weird?
“Okay, so it’s a nice rock,” Darby admitted. “And it’s that colour because of the iron in the soil. Everybody knows that.”
The boy laughed. “Yes, the soil means there are no white dogs on the Island, for sure.”
“Or white runners,” she said, looking down at the rust-coloured stain on her new shoes.
Gabriel leaned back on the swing. “You can have white shoes anywhere,” he said. “I think the rocks are redbecause they are the heart of this place. And this red island is the heart of the country.”
“Oh, please.” Darby rolled her eyes. “Uh, sorry Mr. Romantic Imagery, but there’s no way that PEI is the heart of Canada. I live in Toronto. Have you ever been there?”
Gabriel shook his head.
“Well, it’s the biggest city in the country. Millions of people all living and working in one place. Way more than live on this whole island, let alone in this stupid little town.”
Darby’s face started to feel hot and she was embarrassed to feel tears stinging behind her eyelids. She blinked them back and to cover up, shouted at him. “Everything is really exciting and there is so much to do. Movies and concerts and theatre and …”
“And?”
She grabbed the rock out of his hand and threw it across the street as hard as she could. It cracked into the high branches of an oak and crashed down to the base of the massive trunk. A few leaves fluttered to the ground.
“And, it’s way better than this lame little place.”
Unexpectedly, the boy didn’t argue with Darby. She thought insulting his town should at least have gotten a rise out of him. But nothing. He just stared