Free Water Steps by A. LaFaye Page A

their pelt where they’ve hidden it on the beach, the silkies are doomed to walk on dry land as a human for the rest of their lives.”
    â€œYeah,” Tylo frowned as he licked his teeth. “I guess they die of sadness.”
    Or they would if they existed. But luckily, Tylo never got a chance to test my belief in silkies, because the bushes to the south of the beach started to shimmy.
    â€œLook,” Tylo whispered in my ear. “It might be a silkie trying to return to the water.”
    Jumping fish didn’t start in the bushes, so I asked, “You saw them come out of the bushes?”
    â€œNo,” he pointed toward the water. “I saw them jump off those rocks.”

    More like over them, I thought, looking at the boulder peninsula he pointed to.
    â€œHere they come.” He nudged me as the bushes rustled again.
    Out of the bushes waddled two raccoons, a mama and a papa followed by babies make five. A little food-washing lesson, I bet.
    â€œWow,” I put on my amazed voice and started taking pictures. “The rare ring-tailed silkies. Who would believe it?”
    â€œShut up!” He gave me a shove. He was a shovey kind of kid. Must be from having so many brothers.
    The raccoon family washed their meal, then moved on. We switched back to our thrilling rock watch until Tylo started to do the potty squirm. I had to go, too, but I wasn’t going to squirm around like a snake with its tail caught in a trap.
    â€œBe right back,” Tylo scurried down to the ground. It’s pretty convenient to have ready-made bathrooms behind every tree. But I’m not a big fan of leaf toilet paper. That’d really make Aunt Rosien mad.
    Tylo came back up, then started dumping canteen water on each hand.
    I held my breath, watching the water gush over his hand, hearing the lake lapping at the shore down
below. I started sinking below sea level in my mind’s eye. If I didn’t get a handle on it, I’d pull a freak-out and Tylo would never want to see me again. Oh come on, Kyna, it’s just water. A little wash up, as Pep would say.
    But I’d already backed up and Tylo had started staring at me, so I had to talk fast. “I’ve seen enough rocks. Let’s go home.”
    Startled, Tylo dropped his hands, saying, “Now? Can’t we stay a little longer? They came last night. Why couldn’t you have come last night?”
    â€œWe had to go to Albany for the night film,” I told him, breaking the last brownie in half to share it with him.
    â€œWell, maybe they’ll be back tomorrow.” He looked so sad, I almost gave him my half, too. “Will you come back tomorrow? I can bring more brownies.”
    â€œSure, I’ll bring some Irish biscuits.”
    â€œBiscuits?” He frowned.
    â€œThey’re cookies, silly.”
    â€œOh.” He stuffed his half into his cheek, then said, “Okay.”
    We headed back through the woods. We said our good-byes at the edge of my yard, then headed for home. Seeing him disappear into the trees made me a little nervous. “Hey, Tylo!”

    â€œYeah?” He called back, but I couldn’t see him.
    â€œHow about you give me your walkie-talkie and then call me when you get home?”
    Tylo came back. “You know, my dad used to say that worrying is in a woman’s genes.” He laughed. “I used to think he meant jeans with a ‘j.’ So when my mom wore jeans, I asked her to show me her worries. She gave me lint. I put it in a box in the stand by my bed. I thought it’d make her worry less. But she still worried a lot. Then my brother told me about genes with a ‘g,’ so now I know what Dad meant.” He handed me the walkie-talkie. “Here you go, Worry Genes.” He laughed and walked back into the woods.
    â€œGood night, Lint Boy,” I called after him.
    â€œYadda, yadda.”
    â€œBe quiet or I’ll track you down and