Bull was actually an inch or so taller than the pirate, but it didn't help him. The guy walked over and got square in his face. “Pretty summer day, you can't think of anything better to do than hassle some helpless little girl? That's flat-out pathetic, son.”

“Helpless? She nearly took my ear!”

“I'd say you got off lucky,” the stranger said with a smile.

He winked at Abbey and me, and jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Y'all run on home. Hurry up, now.”

“Who are you?” my sister asked.

“Nobody. And that's the truth.”

He wasn't kidding around.

“Now get goin', both of you,” he said. “Me and the boys are gonna finish our chat.”

Abbey and I quickly retrieved our bicycles and took off. As soon as we were out of the trees, we started pedaling for home as fast as we could.

“You ever seen that guy before?” Abbey asked breathlessly.

“I don't think so.”

“Then how'd he know who we were? Has he been spying on us or something? He looked kind of dangerous, Noah, you think he's dangerous?”

“Abbey, I honestly don't know.”

Maybe I should have been creeped out by the strange old pirate, but I wasn't. For some reason I believed everything he'd said in the woods.

Except the part about him being nobody.

It was an hour before dark when we got out to the islands called the Cowpens. They got the name because Indians supposedly kept sea cows penned up there a long time ago.

Dad tossed the anchor into a deep hole about two hundred yards from the main channel. The Tropical Rescue towboat was much bigger than Dad's bonefish skiff, so there was plenty of room for Mom to ride along. She'd said yes, too, which was a nice surprise. She sat on the bow with her back to the sun and snapped pictures of us fishing.

Right away I got a couple of decent mangrove snappers, and Dad caught a fat keeper grouper. My sister reeled in a puffer fish that blew itself up into a spiny balloon-she said it looked just like her fourth-grade teacher.

Of course, Abbey and I didn't mention what had happened that afternoon on the way home from Shelly's trailer. Dad would have taken off after Jasper Jr., and Mom would have gone to the police to tell them about the strange old man.

Besides, my father liked things quiet and peaceful when he was out on the water. He didn't go for too much talking. He said it was disrespectful to nature.

After a while we put away our fishing rods and sat down to wait for the sunset. The sky to the west was mostly clear, except for a few wispy clouds and the long foamy contrail from a big military jet. Dad took a seat up front next to Mom, who handed the camera to Abbey. I dangled my legs off the starboard gunwale, where RESCUE was painted in bright orange lettering.

A flock of pelicans floated over us in the shape of a V and kept on flying, straight toward the great Gulf of Mexico. A light breeze was blowing from the southeast, rocking the boat just enough to make us a little drowsy. Abbey nudged me and cut her eyes toward our parents, who were actually holding hands.

Everything felt so good and so right, I had this feeling that we'd finally get to see the green flash. The evening was perfect for it.

Gradually the sun changed from gold to blazing pink and seemed to turn liquid as it dimpled the horizon. None of us said a word because we didn't want the moment to end.

People who've never seen a sunset at sea would be blown away. Time seems to slow down until finally that huge blazing ball looks like it's just hanging there, balanced on the far edge of the earth. In reality, though, it's dropping fast.

As the last rosy crescent melted into the Gulf, I felt myself leaning forward, squinting hopefully at the skyline.

Then the sun was gone, leaving a pale lemon emptiness. I glanced over at Abbey, who was putting the camera away. She smiled and shrugged.

“Wow, that was gorgeous,” my mother whispered.

“Yeah,” said Abbey, “but no green flash.”

“Maybe next time,” my father said, as he always did.

I turned my gaze back to the horizon and held it there, even as the rim of pink faded to darkness. I heard Dad hauling in the anchor and Mom zipping her windbreaker and Abbey asking if she could steer back to the dock, but still I couldn't take my eyes off the sky.

Fifty-seven dollars and sixteen cents.

That's all Abbey and I could scrounge up-and fifty-one bucks of it was hers. I would've had more if I hadn't bought new skateboard trucks the first week of vacation.

“You think it's gonna buy enough?” Abbey asked on the way to the store.

“It'll have to,” I said.

I didn't know the exact size of the Coral Queen's holding tank, but I guessed it carried a couple hundred gallons of waste. I also didn't know how much dye we could get for fifty-seven dollars and sixteen cents.

Abbey led me to the aisle where the food coloring was displayed.

“Blue won't work, right?”

“No, that wouldn't show up,” I agreed, scanning the shelves. “What do they use this stuff for anyway?”

“Frosting. Desserts. All kinds of goodies.”

“Do they make an orange?”

“No, but here's fuchsia,” Abbey said.

“What?”

“That's how it's pronounced, Noah. Few-sha.”

I had no idea what fuchsia was, but it sounded like something you wouldn't want to step in.

“It's a hot reddish purple,” Abbey explained. “Perfect for Operation Royal Flush.”

That was the code name for our secret mission to nail Dusty Muleman. We'd decided to use food-coloring gel instead of laundry dye because the gel wasn't made with chemicals that would harm the sea life. Even better, it was highly concentrated, which meant that a small amount would dye a lot of poopy water.

The plastic bottles were little, though, holding only an ounce. There was only one container of fuchsia on the shelf, so we asked a stock boy to go find more.

“How many you want?” he asked.

“Bring us all you've got,” I said.

When we got to the cash register, the checkout lady gave us the skunk eye as she tallied up the total.

“What in the world,” she said, arching an eyebrow, “would you kids be doing with thirty-four bottles of food coloring?”

Abbey smiled sweetly. “We're baking a birthday cake,” she said.

“Oh, is that right?”

“A very big birthday cake,” my sister added.

“And a very purple one, I see,” the checkout lady said, handing us the bag of bottles.

On the way home I kept looking behind us to see if we were being followed by the old pirate geezer. I couldn't stop wondering who he was, and how he knew us.

Abbey said he was probably a gnarly old mate from one of the sportfishing boats, or maybe a bridge person who'd seen us around the island and overheard us calling each other by name.

Whoever he was, I kept my eyes peeled.

As we turned the corner of our street, someone called out to us. It was Bull, of all people, standing in front of the house. He waved as we rode up, though Abbey and I were too suspicious to wave back.

I hopped off my bike and asked, “What's up?”

Bull seemed edgy and uncomfortable. I could see Abbey's teeth marks on his left ear, which was still puffy and crinkled. He cleared his throat about five times before he finally spoke.

“Uh, I just came over to say I was sorry,” he said. “Real sorry.”

I set the grocery bag full of dye bottles on the sidewalk. My sister stood behind me and said, “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“No way.” Bull shook his head forcefully. “I'm righteously sorry-for everything, dude.”

He was looking straight at me. “All the times me and Jasper hassled you, it was wrong, okay? Bogus and wrong.”

“What's going on, Bull?”

“Nothin'! Why you ask me that?”