The Boy and the Brave Moon

Down a cobblestone road, lined with purple petunias, and neatly trimmed hedges, a rental car occupied by a father with a rather pensive and decisive gaze, and a mother with a tendency to fret over small and unimportant things, while rendering indifference to the things that mattered, steered along the road into a dazzling blaze of sunshine.

Herbey Plumtree, who—if he had been another boy—may have been miffed that his pensive and indifferent parents had left him on the curb to spend a morning with a tour guide, but he wasn’t. Not in the least. Instead, he scratched the top of his head, turned about, and headed down the path toward the ticket station, just as Mother had instructed.

Cool ocean air blew across his forehead. Texas air feels different than ocean air. Ocean air feels like vacation, he thought. This vacation would be different, Herbey decided. Even if he had to wear a long-sleeved shirt, which he despised.

Earlier, his mother had said, “Long sleeves will protect your skin from the harsh coastal sunshine. You’ll thank me when you have freckle-free skin.”

Oh, sure, Herbey thought wryly.

End of sample

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