Contents ( 66)
- Cover
- Books by Valerie Fraser Luesse
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Contents
- Map of Florida
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- thirty-eight
- thirty-nine
- forty
- forty-one
- forty-two
- forty-three
- forty-four
- forty-five
- forty-six
- forty-seven
- forty-eight
- forty-nine
- fifty
- fifty-one
- Epilogue
- Keep Reading for a Preview of Valerie Luesse’s Next Book!
- Prologue
- one
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Ads
- Back Cover
“How much?”
“Price is relative.”
“Not when you’re as broke as I am.”
“Okay. Normally, I’d say ten bucks for all of it. But for you, the famous Bike Boy, seven.”
“Sounds like a deal.”
“It is. But once you wear that shirt for a day, you’ll be back to buy another one. Plus I just can’t stand to see you plastered all over our newspaper lookin’ like a Georgia cracker.”
“Well, I ’preciate that, Millie.”
“I’ll put your other clothes in the charity bin,” she said as she rang him up.
“But . . . I thought I might take ’em with me.”
“For what? You sure ain’t gonna wear ’em on the island. You’ll look like a—”
“I know, I know. A Georgia cracker.”
“Exactly. Trust me. You’ll be back in here to thank me before you leave the Keys.”
“Alright then. Give my personal effects to the needy.”
“Not sure anybody’s that needy.”
“Hey! Don’t go besmirchin’ my wardrobe.”
Millie laughed with him. “I don’t know about besmirchin’—I’m just saying you oughtn’ to be caught dead in that getup.”
“You’re just out for a sale.” He put the aviators back on and grinned at her. “But I do look good.”
Millie threw a small bag of peanuts at him. “Get outta here, hotshot. Take some complimentary peanuts and be about your business. Hey, lemme see your bike.”
“I don’t have it anymore. Fella named Luther took it.”
“You gotta be kiddin’ me. All the bikes he coulda stolen on this island and he picked yours?”
“’Fraid so.”
Millie sighed and shook her head. “Guess I’ll have to fix this like I fixed your pitiful wardrobe. Follow me.”
Peyton fell into step behind her as she walked two doors down and came out of a cigar shop with a bullhorn. “Carlos says we can borrow it,” she said. She walked down the center of Duval, ignoring the cars coming and going, with Peyton following. Once they stood beneath the “Welcome, Bike Boy” sign stretched high above, Millie raised the bullhorn and called out, “Hey, Duval Street!”
Some of the noise abated, but the tourists kept coming and going.
Again, Millie called out, “I said, hey, Duval Street! Stop in your tracks and hush up!”
The whole street grew quiet as all the shopkeepers came out to stand in their doorways and see what Millie was up to.
“Luther stole the Bike Boy’s bike. Everybody keep an eye out and lemme know soon as you see it in his yard. And this—this is the Bike Boy!”
Immediately, they were swarmed as the crowd cheered and a Cuban band stepped onto the balcony of a restaurant nearby, launching into a rumba. Two men hoisted Peyton onto their shoulders and carried him to Mallory Square, with a whole parade of people and restaurant bands following. It didn’t take long for the crowd to forget what they were celebrating and just celebrate. A reporter from the island’s newspaper took Peyton’s picture and interviewed him. Somebody handed him a drink that tasted like coconuts, and all the girls wanted to dance with him, cutting in again and again.