A padlock hangs from the ring on the door. Low-grade anger simmers in my gut as my cold fingers fumble with the keys. Mr. Harrison handed them to me with a little sneer when I reported to the office after school today. “Let’s see if you’re as good at cleaning as you are at messing with private property, Owens.” I didn’t trust myself to try and explain it to him. Again. I just took the keys, looked him in the eye and gave him a nod. Let him figure out in time how mistaken he’s been. I select a key that looks like it’ll fit the big padlock. But before I can slide it in, the shackle swings open. Not even locked. I pocket the key and pull the door open. That old-wooden-building smell hits me. “Watch your step,” I say over my shoulder. The boathouse is raised on concrete blocks. I point to the space separating the floor from the ground so Shannon doesn’t trip on her way in. I don’t want to have to carry her out of here if she falls and breaks something. “Lights?” Shannon asks.
