The final bell had barely finished ringing when I shouldered my backpack and started toward the line of buses waiting by the curb. The crowd funneled into noisy clusters, some sprinting for the ride home, others dragging their feet. I\u2019d just stepped onto the sidewalk when I heard someone call out behind me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHey\u2014wait up!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I turned to see Gabriel jogging to catch up, guitar case slung over his shoulder. He fell into step beside me, looking a little hesitant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou headed to the ferry already?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYeah. Gotta catch it before it sails without me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He glanced toward the buses, then back at me. \u201cWhat if you didn\u2019t\u2014just for today? I could show you around Barnstable a bit. Might be better than sitting on a boat with commuters.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I tilted my head. \u201cYou offering the grand tour?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He shrugged. \u201cCall it\u2026 a detour. You\u2019ve been here for weeks and haven\u2019t really seen the place, right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I thought about it for a moment, then nodded. \u201cAlright. Show me something worth seeing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A small smile tugged at his mouth. \u201cCome on, then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We cut through the parking lot and onto the sidewalk along Route 6A, the old King\u2019s Highway. Barnstable Village was close enough to walk. Old clapboard houses with wide porches lined the street, their weathered shingles silvered from decades of salt air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gabriel slowed in front of a low, timbered building with a brass plaque by the door. \u201cSturgis Library. Oldest public library in the country still in its original building. Been here since the 1600s.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I brushed my fingertips along the rough wood of the doorframe. \u201cFeels like it\u2019s seen a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt has,\u201d he said quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We moved on toward the harbor. The scent of salt and seaweed thickened as the street dipped downhill. A cluster of small white buildings came into view, including one with iron bars on its narrow windows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the Old Jail,\u201d Gabriel said, nodding toward it. \u201cPeople say it\u2019s haunted. Used to be part of the Customshouse. Supposedly the \u2018Witch of Wellfleet\u2019 spent time there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I glanced at the dark doorway. \u201cYeah\u2026 I can see why no one would want to stay long.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We left the road for the worn path down to Millway Beach. The harbor opened wide before us, boats rocking gently at their moorings. We kicked off our shoes and stood where the cold water lapped at the sand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI come here when I need to think,\u201d Gabriel said, looking out at the horizon. \u201cIt\u2019s\u2026 quiet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI get that,\u201d I replied. \u201cLess people. Less noise.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We stayed like that for a while, not talking, letting the breeze carry the sound of the water between us. On the walk back, we passed a row of colorful artist shanties near Hyannis Harbor. One booth had wooden guitar picks carved with whales and anchors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gabriel stopped to pick one up, running his thumb over the smooth edges. \u201cNot my usual style, but\u2026 I like it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou keeping it?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He glanced at me, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. \u201cMaybe. I think I\u2019ll remember today either way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When we reached the bus stop, he gave a small nod toward the ferry terminal in the distance. \u201cGuess this is where you bail.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cGuess so,\u201d I said. \u201cThanks for the tour.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnytime,\u201d he replied, and I knew he meant it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The final bell had barely finished ringing when I shouldered my backpack and started toward the line of buses waiting by the curb. The crowd funneled into noisy clusters, some sprinting for the ride home, others dragging their feet. I\u2019d just stepped onto the sidewalk when I heard someone call out behind me. \u201cHey\u2014wait up!\u201d […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-25","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-high-school-life"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/firstsemester\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/firstsemester\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/firstsemester\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/firstsemester\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/firstsemester\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=25"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/firstsemester\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":26,"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/firstsemester\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25\/revisions\/26"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/firstsemester\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=25"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/firstsemester\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=25"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/firstsemester\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=25"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}