Shades

He’d rescued the bike from a junk pile and fixed it up with some help from Matt, Chuck, Ronnie, and Jeremy. Once they got the thing road-worthy, Danny was proud of the bike. He loved the freedom of mobility that it offered. But the glory had long since faded. Now, the bike was just an embarrassment. Ronnie and Jeremy made fun of it. He needed something better—that YZ-125 dirt bike. If he got it, that would shut them up, once and for all. Shut everyone up—even those rich snobs from Snowdrop. And even if they didn’t shut up, even if he was wrong, all he would have to do was gun the engine to drown them out.

That was his dream. That was why he’d cut school on this gorgeous spring day, and what had brought him to the water.

The Hudson was brackish this far south; the air smelled of salt and fish and sewage. Blue crabs lived in rocky crannies along the shore. During low tide, Danny sometimes walked out onto the flats between Brackard’s Point and Haverstraw. He’d snatch the crabs from their normally concealed hiding places on the exposed rocky reefs. Luis and Maria, who ran the Haverstraw Marina Bait Shop, always paid him cash for a five-gallon painter’s bucket full. They touted them as FRESH BAIT! LOCALLY CAUGHT! As if that made a difference—no one in their right mind would dare eat anything that swam in the Hudson. At least, he hoped not. Sometimes, he worried about making someone sick by selling Luis and Maria the crabs, but most of the time he could put such thoughts aside.

The lure of the dirt bike was stronger than his conscience.

He pedaled on, keeping an eye out for the truant officer, park rangers, cops, his mom’s friends, or anyone else who might bust him. He also had to keep track of time and maintain a good pace. He needed to hit all the areas while the tide permitted, then pedal up to the marina, get his pay, and return at three-twenty in the afternoon, when he would normally get home from school. It was a lot to keep straight throughout the day, but he managed. Besides, it was a hell of a lot more fun than Social Studies or Math.

Luckily, the shoreline was deserted, except for the seabirds. Gulls cruised on the breeze, screeching at each other. Danny hated the sound of gulls. Last summer he and his friends had fed them Alka-Seltzer to see if their stomachs would really explode. One of the birds dropped out of the sky, landed at his feet, and croaked a white bubbling death rattle onto his sneakers. The others had laughed, while Danny hid his horror and revulsion. He didn’t let them see him cry. Danny still felt bad about the gull, but would never admit it to his friends.

Especially Jeremy. He could be mean. Matt and Chuck usually sided with Danny. Ronnie usually went along with Jeremy. And sometimes, Jeremy didn’t behave like a friend. Still, he was part of The Hill Crew, and kids from The Hill always stuck together—as it had always been. Someone had to look out for them. Their parents certainly wouldn’t. None of their parents were worth a crap, so they looked out for each other. Jeremy was a good friend to have. He never ratted you out. Never let anyone screw you over. But beneath his surface was a frightful temper, always at a full-boil. When the gull died at Danny’s feet, Jeremy laughed until he almost split a gut. The triumph in Jeremy’s eyes made Danny sick. The way he said, “Fuck yeah! Let’s do it again!” scared him.

The surf droned. The gulls continued screeching. Danny watched the frenzied birds. He noticed they were hovering over one particular section of the water. When he saw why, he almost wrecked the bike.

“Holy shit!”

He hit the brake. Gravel and dust plumed from the Schwinn’s back tire. The insects in the trees lining the path fell silent. Nature held its breath. Even the gulls suddenly seemed quiet. The only sounds were the waves lapping against the stony beach and the sharp clicking of crab shells.

Danny gaped. He’d never seen so many crabs in one place. Not in the tanks at the aquarium, or the seafood restaurants his father used to take him to.

Blinding flashes of sunlight gleamed off their shells as they jostled each other, a huge pile of scurrying segmented legs and clacking claws five feet out into the shallow water. Hundreds of them, right there for the picking. Danny’s heart beat faster. If he was quick enough, he could fill the bucket, pedal like mad up to Haverstraw, get another bucket there, and come back to grab the remainder.

Jackpot.

His salvation, the YZ-125, was within reach. Right here, right now. He could drive it home today. Home? Why bother driving there? With the dirt bike, he could go anywhere. He could be in Jersey in less than half an hour if he took the service road by the train tracks—or so people said. He’d never been down that far himself.