David thought he was alone, that the ocean around him was all there was of the world. The wind screamed, the waves towered, and his boat, the twenty-two foot fiberglass FROG, skidded and bucked and, each moment, filled deeper and grew heavier with sea water.
David thought surely he was dead at fourteen. His uncle Owen, who had taught him about sailing safely, would be so angry. Owen had died only days ago, his last wish for David to take the FROG out on his own, and sail her beyond sight of the coast, and once there scatter Owen's ashes.
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