All-Season Edie Read Online Free PDF Page B

I’m practically standing up in the boat until I remember the rule and sit down with a bump. “Whack it on the head with my soda!” Robert shouts. It’s hanging in the air on the end of his rod, alive.
    â€œFISH!” I yell. Robert maneuvers it onto the floor of the boat, where it flops and heaves mightily. It’s about a foot long and silver. It has eyes.
    â€œOH MY GOD!” I yell. I grab Robert’s soda can and whack the fish’s head, once, to stop the awful flopping. It lies still, the hook and line still in its mouth. Robert and I are panting.
    â€œFish,” I say.
    Robert nods, speechless.
    When we get to the jetty, a crowd has gathered: our parents and the old man who rents the boats, and some people from other cottages. They all heard the yelling. The old man gets the hook out of the fish’s mouth (Robert and I haven’t touched it yet) and weighs it by hanging it on a contraption he pulls out of his pocket and seeing how far over the needle goes. People are patting us on the back. The old man wants to gut it for us, but Mom says, “I know how.”
    I stare at her. “You do?”
    â€œI grew up in Newfoundland,” Mom says. “I guess I know how to gut a fish.”
    â€œYou’re from NEWFOUNDLAND?” I shout. I knew it, but it didn’t really mean anything to me before now.
    â€œFish for supper,” Mom says, grinning.
    â€œIs it supposed to have this many bones?” I ask.
    Mom has fried the fish in butter and breadcrumbs. It smells good, but it’s impossible to eat. Dad keeps clearing his throat and glancing at Mom and eating his bread and salad. Robert, who’s over for supper, is politely pulling things out of his mouth like somebody taking hairs off his tongue. I can see he’s trying not to look at anybody.
    However, for dessert, Robert’s mom made chocolate cake. So it isn’t all bad. Although a chocolate cheesecake would have been even better.
    On my last morning at the lake, I sit with Robert on the jetty. I’m not even allowed to get my feet wet, and there isn’t much to say. Robert asks if we’ll be coming back next year. “I imagine,” I say wistfully. I’m thinking about the fish. “Are you?” I ask.
    â€œYes,” Robert says. “We’re here every year.” After that we watch the lake for a long time.
    â€œEEEEEE-DIIIIIIE!” Mom’s voice yells.
    â€œEEEEEE-DIIIIIIE!” Dad’s voice yells.
    â€œWhy are they calling you that?” Robert asks.
    â€œWell,” I explain, “it’s my name.”
    â€œOh,” Robert says. “Well. See you next year, Edie.”
    â€œBye, Robert.”
    â€œBye.”
    I run up the path from the jetty through the pine trees to the parking lot, where Mom and Dad stand by our car with the old man. Some other people who have just arrived are unpacking, and everybody has about a million hands on their hips. “Young lady,” Mom says, “where have you been we have been calling you for half an hour and you could at least have packed your own suitcase and you know Grandma and Grandpa are waiting and we have probably missed the ferry by now.” Dad says, “No cheese for you tonight, young lady.”
    â€œHa, ha,” Imaginary Dexter says.
    â€œJust you wait,” I say. I climb into the back seat of the station wagon and whack my knee on the cooler and wedge myself down in between the sleeping bags and the electric kettle and sulk all the way home.

A Charm of Powerful Trouble
    â€œFat aristocrat cat sat on the brat mat,” I say. I roll Dusty onto his back and make his legs do a little dance. “Dusty the Habitat Cat.”
    â€œShut up, you troll,” Dexter says.
    It’s Sunday afternoon. Grandma and Grandpa are coming to visit, which is why Dex and I are in the same room. Usually we manage to avoid this. Mom told us to wait together in the living room