Kyle's Island Read Online Free

wouldn’t get to fish before lunch, and after lunch was the worst time of day for fishing. I might as well wait until suppertime. “Cripes,” I muttered. Mom gave me the Look, but I ignored it. “Why can’t—”
    â€œHey, Kyle, look sharp!” I raised my head when I heard Dad’s old phrase, and my hand shot up to grab the half-doughnut flying toward me.
    â€œAndrea!” Mom protested.
    â€œI can’t eat any more,” Andrea said, sort of fake-innocently.
    â€œThat’s not the point and you know it.” Mom was glaring, but her lips were twitching.
    â€œThanks, Andy,” I said, smiling. Andrea the peacemaker, at it again.
    â€œNo problem.” She smiled back at me, and for the millionth time I thought how much I like being a twin.
    When Mom came back from Cassopolis, her eyes were red and her face was kind of blotchy-looking. I’d thought she was over grieving for Gram, but I guess it takes a long time to quit missing your mother. I don’t even like to think about things like that. Anyway, she looked so unhappy I didn’t complain when I found out she’d forgotten to buy the bait.
    â€œThat’s okay, I can walk down to Clyde’s,” I told her. “Or I can just go dig some worms across the road.”
    â€œNot until I’ve asked the Dieners if it’s still okay for you to dig there. I suppose it is, but it won’t hurt to check. Besides, Clyde will be glad to see you.”
    Clyde’s Bait Shop was just down the road half a mile or so. He was a nice guy, and his prices were fair, but we never bought bait after the first day. By the time it was gone, I’d have dug enough red worms and found enough night crawlers to keep us supplied. I even caught crickets sometimes and put them in Gram’s old cricket cage, but I didn’t like using them. I wouldn’t tell everyone, but I have kind of a soft spot for crickets. It seems a shame to drown that pretty song.
    The road to Clyde’s is the one that runs along the backs of the cottages, the same one you come in on. It goes allaround the lake, I think, but we’d never driven down the other way. Once you got to the lake, the last thing you wanted to do was get into a car and leave, even for a little while.
    Walking along the road, kicking at stones and watching the dust cloud around my sneakers, I let my ears fill with peacefulness. The birds were quieter than they’d been earlier, and there was no breeze. Now and then you’d hear a screen door slam, and sometimes you could hear voices from down at the water’s edge, but mostly it was so quiet I felt as if I were the only one around.
    When I got to Clyde’s and stepped inside, it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dimness of the shop. There were only two people there—Clyde, and Tom Butler. The shop wasn’t much, just one room, with an old cash register on a countertop, some shelves, a couple stools, and two refrigerators. One refrigerator was for bait, and one was for beer and soft drinks. For such a little place, it was amazing how Clyde’s shelves always seemed to hold what you needed, from candles and fuses to playing cards and dish towels.
    â€œAfternoon,” said Clyde when I came in. “Kyle Chester, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes, sir,” I said. “Afternoon. Afternoon, Mr. Butler.”
    â€œSorry about your grandmother, Kyle,” Clyde told me. “We all miss Hazel Cook. I thought she was one of those who’d go on forever. Well, you never can tell.”
    â€œThank you.” That seemed a funny answer when someone said they missed your gram, but I couldn’t think what else to say.
    â€œYou here for the summer?”
    â€œI hope so. Mom won’t say for sure how long we’re staying. The longer the better for me.”
    â€œWhat’s your dad say?”
    â€œDad’s not with us. I’d like a pint of red worms,”