Free Spirit’s Key by Edith Cohn

his white T-shirt racing over the dunes.
    Yasmine and I wait with the dead baldie. “It’s so wet it’ll be hard to light. We can use driftwood for kindling. We’ll have to be careful not to burn ourselves.”
    I nod.
    â€œHad to do this for my pet turtle last year.”
    â€œYou had a pet turtle?” Except for the Selnicks, who keep a horse, I don’t know anyone else on the island with a pet.
    Yasmine nods. “Mom says they don’t live as long in captivity. She should have told me that before he died.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    Gomez comes back with a lighter, and Nector is with him, carrying a wooden pallet.
    â€œHey,” Nector says.
    â€œHey.” I can’t think what else to say, so I watch Sky. He paces around the dead baldie like it makes him anxious. The wet-dog smell crashes into my nose like a storm wave. Overhead, an eagle circles. I’m not sure how, but I know it’s my eagle, the one I freed from Mrs. Borse’s house. How could I know ?
    But I do.
    She’s not here to feed. I smell her sorrow. Like a rotten holly bush. An eerie feeling swims inside me. “When was the last storm?” I ask.
    â€œTuesday, May 6, high winds, tropical storm,” Nector replies.
    You can count on the Hatterasks to know about storms. It’s already June. The storm was over five weeks ago.
    â€œWhy do you want to know?” Yasmine asks.
    â€œI’m wondering how this baldie died.” And how Sky died. And the baldie in Mr. Selnick’s yard. This makes the third dead baldie.
    â€œWho cares?” Gomez says, kicking off his shoes and tossing them up the beach.
    â€œI care.” I’m outnumbered three to one, but I’m sick of people not caring. I look at Yasmine. “What if he was your pet turtle? What if no one cared that he died?”
    The three of them stare at me as if waiting for the punch line. Finally Nector says, “But he’s not a turtle.”
    â€œOr a pet,” Yasmine says.
    â€œI know that!” My voice rises to match my anger. “He’s a dog. A dog who hasn’t done anything to you. Why should it matter he’s not a turtle? He’s dead, and that’s what matters. That’s what’s bad. Not if we bury him or burn him.”
    â€œHe’s a baldie,” Yasmine says.
    â€œSee, I told you she wanted to bury him,” Gomez says to Nector. He makes a motion around his ear with his finger, meaning I’m crazy.
    It dawns on me that Gomez made Nector come along to make sure I didn’t stop them from burning the baldie. I’m so furious I can’t decide if I want to keep helping them.
    I wanted to bury Sky because I wanted a place to visit him. I wasn’t ready to let him go. I wanted him to be part of the island where I live. Always. And I’m sad about Sky’s relative, I really am, and I want to understand what killed him, but I don’t need to visit him.
    I force myself to speak calmly. “If you want to burn the baldie, it’s fine with me. That wasn’t my point.” I want to shake them. Make them see this animal is not the devil. A baldie is as worthy as a turtle. But I won’t convince them. No matter what I say.
    So I help them load the baldie on the pallet in silence. Sky watches from the shore. The wind is strong, and it’s hard to get the fire going. But we light the kindling first, and finally the pallet catches. We push him out to sea.
    When I get home, I hate it that Sky can’t come inside with me. He paces at the bottom of the steps. I wait with him awhile. I think about sleeping in the yard. I wish I could put my head in his soft fur. But I can’t. So I tuck the dog tag in my pocket and watch him disappear.

 
    13
    G RAVE T RICKS
    After school on Monday, Dad’s still sleeping, so I force him to wake up. “You have to eat.” I move a spoonful of soup to his lips. It took me an hour to find the