Silhouette of a Sparrow by Molly Beth Griffin

loved it.
     
    Finally, as Friday rolled around again and a full week had passed since I’d seen Isabella, I darted out of work at noon and rushed down to the docks. The lake sparkled in the full summer sunlight, wavelets dancing, inviting me on the day’s long-awaited adventure. And there was Isabella, sitting on the second dock just like we’d planned through a series of secret notes, dangling her bare feet in the water. She smiled up at me as I approached and it was marvelously clear—she’d missed me as much as I’d missed her.
    Maybe she had longed for a companion as much as I had—come to think of it, she’d never mentioned other friends besides Avery. Was it possible that this beautiful, talented, outgoing girl was actually lonely? Or, could it be true that she felt the same tug beneath her ribs when I was near her that I felt when she was near me? Her longings were a mystery to me. I could hardly get a handle on my own.
    “You know, I’ve never stolen anything before,” I said as I joined her on the dock, still nervous about what we’d planned to do. “Is this it?” I eyed the little dinghy tied beside
her. It didn’t seem like much. She’d assured me that the owner had a new speedboat and didn’t care a bit for this old piece of tin. He’d never notice it was gone, she had promised me that.
    “Yeah, this is it. Isn’t she perfect?” Isabella said, her eyes shining, reflecting the gleaming water.
    “I guess,” I said.
    “Get in.” She tossed her satchel, our picnic, into the bottom of the boat and climbed in after it.
    I hesitated.
    She laughed and held a hand out to me. I tentatively reached one foot out over the edge of the dock as I grasped her soft hand. I closed my eyes and leapt into the boat. It rocked beneath me and in a quick move Isabella guided me onto a bench. She’d obviously done this before. I wished then that I’d been raised in the country, but I didn’t for a moment voice my jealousy to the girl who’d grown up with too many siblings in a too-small house with too little money. I watched her unwind the rope from the dock with ease and toss it into the bottom of the boat. Then she sat down herself and grabbed the oars.
    “How can you possibly have such soft hands?” I asked. She looked so feminine and yet she could fish and row and carry on like a man.
    “I have to grease them up at night and sleep with gloves on. Disgusting, isn’t it?”
    “The best of both worlds,” I countered, as she bent to work.
    I’d been in boats before. A girl can’t grow up in
Minnesota without spending at least some time on the water. But I’d never been in one like this—a rusty tin can of a boat, so low on the water that there was nothing but a sheet of metal between my feet and the lake.
    As we pushed off from the dock the dinghy swayed gently on the waves and then surged forward as Isabella pulled on the oars. She was stronger than she looked. I held onto the ridges on either side of the boat with white-knuckled hands at first, but my grip relaxed as I got used to the rhythmic rock and surge of the little craft.
    Isabella smiled at me as she pulled the oars against the weight of the water. “Turn around,” she said. Then she must have seen my grip tighten again because she added, “Just swing one leg over the seat at a time. Keep your weight low and we’ll be fine. This old girl is sturdier than she seems.”
    I moved slowly, crouching down low in the boat. I swung one leg over the bench and then the other, my white skirt rubbing against the dusty metal. What was I thinking wearing white today? I thought, irritated with having decided to dress to allay Hannah’s suspicions instead of dressing practically to suit the activity of the day. I’d stayed away from the library all week so that I could plausibly pretend to be spending the day there during this trip with Isabella. I couldn’t think of any other excuse, so I’d hoped the old one would still work if I dressed the part.