Page 32 of Summer People
My phone rings immediately, my father’s name on the screen. Rather than answer, I send it to voicemail and text him again.
Me: Sorry, I’m out with friends so I won’t be able to hear you.
Dad: Glad to hear you’ve made friends. Hope you’re enjoying your summer so far. No, I haven’t told anyone. Is someone bothering you? Brad?
Breathing out a sigh of relief, I hold the phone to my chest. Not Brad. Like I told Fisher, it’s nothing. Well, not nothing, but not anything sinister. People don’t want me here, and they’re making it known. I can deal with pranks and grumps who think I’m trying to ruin their island. And I’m more determined thanever to change their minds. I grew up as Hollywood’s darling. I know how to make people like me. No matter what it takes, I’ll make sure every person on this island loves me before the end of this summer. Everyone but Fisher. I know a lost cause when I see one.
Me: Nope. Just checking. Miss you, Daddy. Love you!
It is surprisingly difficult to avoid my next-door neighbor. Despite my certainty that I’m the last person Fisher wants to see, I can’t go anywhere without seeing him. In the two days I’ve been avoiding him, I’ve already hidden in two bushes, beside one tree, and behind one oversized tourist who smelled like roasted walnuts and seaweed. It was not my first choice, but I held my breath and bore it.
I’ve just stumbled down the hill behind our houses, rather than taking the path into town, when I hear a hiss and then a spitting sound, then come face to face with a goat.
“Oh, hello, there.” Hands up, I take a step backward, then another.
The animal bows its head, showing off his impressive horns. Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good sign.
“I’m Libby,” I say as I continue to back away. “Everyone loves me. Well, okay, not everyone. But you should love me. I’m very lovable.”
“I think you’re lovable.”
I jump, my heart lurching, and the goat bleats loudly.
“Oh, Betty,” Maggie says as she walks up to the angry goat and pats him on the head. “Don’t scare Libby, you old fool.”
The thing merely grunts at her and then turns around and walks away.
Heart pounding from my near-death experience, all I can do is blink at Maggie. She’s wearing another set of overalls—deep red this time, with a hole in the knee.
“How’d you stay so calm?”
She giggles. “She’s harmless. We do need to let the sheriff know when she escapes. Though I reckon he’s a bit busy right now.”
Still a little out of sorts, I frown. “Huh?”
She smiles. “Because he’s on your roof at the moment.”
“Who is?”
“The sheriff?” She says it like it’s a question.
“Is there a sheriff other than Fisher?”
She giggles again. “No, and Fisher’s not really the sheriff.”
Now I’m really confused. I close my eyes and shake my head, hoping to clear away the fog of panic that hit me when the goat appeared. “He’s not?”
“Well, he is, but he’s not.”
Yeah, still not making any sense.
“He’s the acting sheriff. He took over for his brother. We just haven’t gotten around to electing a new one yet.”
I nod, though she lost me.
“So we should let him know about the goat.” She points to a tall wooden box at the top of the hill.
“What’s up there?”
