Читать книгу The Shark Whisperer - Ellen Prager - Страница 9
ОглавлениеTRISTAN AND HUGH WALKED THE SHORT TRAIL back to the jungle wall. Luckily, there was a steady stream of kids making their way through. The older campers were about fifteen to seventeen years old. They nearly ran through, testing how fast the vines reacted as they stepped on each rock. The younger teens were less confident, hopping from rock to rock more hesitantly. Twelve-year-olds Tristan and Hugh were among the youngest there. They happily followed on the heels of an older boy with flaming red hair and a face full of freckles. He smiled at them, subtly encouraging them through the wall, without making a show of it. Tristan went slowly, but still stumbled a few times. Fortunately he never did a full face-plant or fell completely off the sea creature rocks.
By the time they got through the wall, most of the other kids were long gone. Tristan and Hugh figured the few campers left were also going to the Conch Café. Only problem was they seemed to be going in two different directions. Some kids headed down a path to the left, while the others were taking a walkway that went straight through the middle of the park.
“Which way should we go?” Tristan asked.
Hugh took out his map. “Either direction will get us efficiently to the Conch Café. One way goes along part of the lagoon. The other goes through the streams and rainforest area. By my calculation, there isn’t much difference in distance between the two. If we walk at the same pace, we should get there at an equivalent time either way. If I had my map app . . .”
Tristan stared at Hugh, his eyes glazing over as the boy continued to talk. “Uh, how ‘bout we just go through the park?” Thinking that in the future if he needed a quick decision, Hugh might not be the best person to ask.
“Okay,” Hugh replied surprisingly succinctly.
Tristan led the way onto a stone walkway lined by tall palm trees and bushes bursting with weird red puffball flowers the size of softballs. Soon the path became strewn with coconuts, at least a hundred of them. Tristan stared at the trail ahead—it was a minefield. He moved forward slowly, picking his way around and over the coconuts. The probability of twisting an ankle and flopping embarrassingly onto the ground was exceedingly high. Then he remembered reading that more people were killed each year by falling coconuts than by sharks. He immediately looked up for incoming head smashers. Hugh passed by, completely ignoring the coconuts and Tristan’s strange slow-motion dance as he tried to avoid the hazards on the ground as well as ones that could crash down from above at any minute. Tristan was thankful when the pathway cleared and gigantic green ferns lined the trail. The curling fronds were nearly as tall as Hugh. They heard running water and saw a small arched bridge up ahead in the distance.
Tristan ran ahead. There were no feet-grabbing coconuts on the path, yet as usual, he stumbled and nearly fell.
Hugh just smiled in a friendly, it could happen to anyone sort of way.
After regaining his footing, Tristan tried to act casual, as if he hadn’t nearly done a nosedive onto the trail. He gazed down into the water flowing beneath the bridge. “Hey, check out the fish.” He pointed to two big, fat, cobalt blue fish that were nipping at rocks. “They’ve got big buckteeth.”
Hugh joined him. He looked down, squinting in the sunlight. “I know what those are. They’re parrot fish. They live on coral reefs. I read that they eat algae and scrape up the coral. And then, when they—you know—defecate, they produce sand for beaches.”
“Yuck! A poop sand beach,” Tristan said with an expression like he’d just stepped into a really big, stinky pile of dog doo. They both looked totally disgusted.
“This must be one of the streams for snorkeling,” Tristan said, wanting to jump in right there.
“Yeah,” Hugh said, moving back from the edge of the bridge.
“You can swim, can’t you?”
“Sure, yeah, no problem. I’m just not that keen on swimming with other things in the water.”
“You sound like my sister,” Tristan said. “Uh, how come you’re here then? It’s a camp about sea creatures and all.”
“I like to learn about ocean animals, just don’t want to swim with them. My mother said I don’t have to go in the water with them if I don’t want to.”
Tristan thought about telling Hugh about his swim with the sharks, but figured Hugh, like everyone else, would think he had just been lucky or that he was ready for the loony bin.
From the bridge, the two boys quickened their pace, not wanting to be late. They went through an area thick with plants and trees. Stringy gray moss hung from the trees’ branches and there was a cool drizzling fog. Water droplets hanging off the moss sparkled like teardrop-shaped crystals. They passed a large, shallow pond with sea turtles swimming in it. On a small grassy island at the pond’s center, a flock of shockingly orangey-pink flamingoes ambled about. Tristan thought of the tacky hot pink plastic flamingos one of his neighbors had in their yard. They really looked nothing like the real thing.
Further along the walkway they came to another stream with a deep curving bend. Tristan could see something dark and shadowy moving in the water. It resembled a giant shape-shifting football. He moved closer, bending down to get a better look. The sand at the path’s edge was loose and like a bee to honey his foot found it and slid. No preventing it this time. Tristan tumbled right into the water. He thought: Why is it always me?
Smiling again, Hugh just nonchalantly asked, “How’s the water?”
Red-faced, Tristan climbed out of the stream and shook the water from his hair and clothes. “Feels kinda good. Did you see that moving ball thing? It was hundreds of small fish swimming all together.”
A little further down the trail, the quiet of the closed park was interrupted by the sounds of laughter and talking. Tristan and Hugh followed the noise. It led them out of the winding rivers and gardens to a building similar in construction to the bungalows, but much bigger and at ground level. They saw two other campers going in through the bamboo doors. A sign overhead read Conch Café.
As they entered, Hugh said, “Hope its name doesn’t mean we have to eat conch. That’s a giant slimy snail you know.”
Inside the Conch Café, Jade and two of the other older campers were directing things, telling the incoming teens where to sit. Seeing Tristan and Hugh, Jade gave them a lively wave and pointed to two tables up front.
Tristan whispered to Hugh on his way to the table, “I think someone went a little overboard on the theme.”
Everywhere they looked there were shiny pink conch shells. They were painted on the walls and strung up on old nets attached to the ceiling. At least twenty sets of chimes were hung around the room, each made of gleaming pink pieces of shell. The tables had the shape of conch shells carved into them and sitting on top were pitchers and glasses decorated with spirals of pink paint.
Hugh rolled his eyes. “My mother would think it was darling.”
A group of four girls came in and sat at the table next to them, looking over at Tristan and Hugh. Two of them were identical twins and hard to tell apart. Tristan thought he heard them say something about him being all wet just before they fell into a fit of giggles. A few minutes later a tanned, very good-looking blond boy (in that California surfer-dude sort of way) strode over to their table. “Man, do I really have to sit at the kiddies’ table?”
A couple of girls at the next table put their heads together whispering.
Looking briefly at Hugh, the boy nodded his head. “Hey.”
“Oh, hi Ryder. This is Tristan. He’s in our room too.”
“Hey,” Ryder said, giving Tristan the cool head nod. “Dude, what happened to you?”
Before Tristan could say anything, Hugh jumped in, “Uh, he kinda helped someone who fell into one of the streams.”
Tristan thanked Hugh silently. He shifted his weight, trying to look cool and give Ryder a head nod back, but only ended up nearly falling off the bench. This sent the girls at the next table into another fit of giggles. Tristan turned tomato red, slumping as low as possible on the bench.
Just then there was a noise like someone trying to blow a horn, only it came out as a spluttering honking sound instead. The older campers laughed and a boy up front holding a conch shell to his lips shrugged. He then laughed along with the others and sat down.
A sandy-haired man with a rugged pockmarked face walked to the front of the room. He was about average height, very fit, and wore khaki shorts with an all-too-clean white shirt that had the shark and wave logo on it. “Good try there, Carlos. I’ve heard worse.”
“Hello everyone. Welcome to Sea Camp. For you first-timers, I’m Mike Davis, the camp director. Here’s a good one for you: how come clams don’t like to share their food?”
The older kids looked at one another, shaking their heads.
“Because they’re shellfish!” Director Davis exclaimed.
The room was silent.
“Oh come on, that was a good one. Shellfish, you know selfish.”
“We got it,” someone shouted. “That’s the problem.”
“Did you hear the one about the sea turtle crossing the road?”
“No, no more! I can’t take it!” someone else yelled.
“Oh you love my jokes, I know it. It’s just not cool to show it. Anyways, we’re so glad you’re all here. This is a very unique camp and each of you has been specially chosen to come here. You all have some amazing and unusual talents that we’ll help you to explore and develop over the summer.”
Tristan looked skeptically at Hugh, whispering, “Yeah, I’ve got a talent all right. I can fall over anything you put in my way.”
“Coach Fred over there . . .” Director Davis continued, pointing to a burly man in the front right corner of the room. His dark hair was slicked back into a short stub of a ponytail and he stood ramrod straight with an expression on his face that seemed more appropriate for a military inspection than a summer camp welcome. “. . . he’ll work on your in-water skills and navigation. Ms. Sanchez, our linguistics and camouflage expert, will teach you how to relate to and communicate with marine organisms. And I’ll be teaching ocean geography and also coordinating missions.”
Tristan looked around, wondering if he’d heard right. The other Seasquirts appeared equally confused.
“Did he say communicate with sea creatures? And missions?” Tristan said to Hugh.
“Did he say in-water skills?” Hugh asked.
“To use your abilities for the best possible purposes, we have several rules here that must be followed. Each of you will have to agree to them before camp officially begins. There will be no photos taken, no cell phones, and no computer use unless in a prescribed area with permission.”
There was a collective groan from the two tables of Seasquirts.
“What is this place, a prison?” Hugh said.
As if on cue, a blue light began flashing over the doorway. There was an accompanying low rhythmic hum that they could hear as well as feel. Director Davis immediately looked to the back of the room.
“We’re on it,” Jade said as she and an older boy ran out the front door.
“Looks like we’ll need to cut this short,” Director Davis said. “Coach Fred will finish here. But before I go, does everyone have a glass of water?”
The older campers at the other tables all filled their glasses. There was a silent pause as everyone in the room stared at the Seasquirt tables. The young teens quickly filled their glasses from the pitchers on the tables.
Once they each had a drink in hand, the director continued, “Cheers! To a wonderful, productive, and safe summer at Sea Camp.”
Tristan could swear everyone was watching as they drank the water.
“Have a good night and I’ll see you tomorrow—I hope.” Director Davis then jogged out the door. Tristan noticed he had a distinct limp and was wearing two different colored sneakers.
“After dinner, Snappers and Squids go to the Wave Pool for practice,” Coach Fred said sharply. “Dolphins and Sharks assemble at the lagoon dock. And Seasquirts get your butts to the Poseidon Theater, no dillydallying or detours. I’ll meet you there. And be sure to stay well hydrated here at camp. Now fuel up!”
The Seasquirts all just sat there, looking bewildered, as if they’d just been told they’re at a camp for space aliens. So far, it was definitely not what Tristan had expected.
“Like, time for some chow,” Ryder said, getting up and joining the older teens already at the buffet.
Tristan and Hugh went to the back of the line. Fortunately for Hugh, conch was not on the menu. In fact, there was no seafood at all. The buffet contained only not-from-the-ocean choices, including pizza, pasta, something that vaguely resembled chicken pot pie, and bins of salad-making ingredients. While deciding what to eat, Tristan overheard the older campers talking. He didn’t catch the entire conversation, only a few words like “mission” and “accident.”
Tristan and Hugh met back at their table. Ryder had gone to eat with some of the other campers.
“Wonder what the blue light was for? An emergency or something?” Tristan said to Hugh. He wondered if there’d been an accident at camp and what kind of mission the other campers were talking about.
“I don’t know, but look at this food. If this is not an emergency, I don’t know what is.” Hugh stared at his plate as if it was teeming with ants and wriggling worms.
“I think it looks pretty good. What do you usually eat?”
“The other night chef made quail with roasted potatoes and truffle oil.”
“Quail? Is that some kind of duck? You have a chef?”
“Thank God we do. My mom can’t cook at all. She tried to toast some bread once, lit a towel on fire, and almost burned the house down. Hey, does this water taste funny to you?”
“Yeah, tastes kinda weird. What’s the word? It tastes . . . tart. That’s it and it looks sort of pink. Maybe it’s to go along with the room.”
The older teens nearly inhaled their food, finishing dinner quickly. The new campers at the Seasquirt tables were the last to clear their plates. Hugh sat down to examine his map.
“Let’s just follow them,” Tristan suggested, nodding toward the Seasquirt girls who also had their maps out and were heading for the door.
“Okay, I’ll just keep track to be sure we’re headed in the right direction.”
On the way out, Hugh was so focused on the map he missed a step down. Like cascading dominoes, he tumbled into Tristan who then stumbled into the two girls in front of them. One of the girls fell hard to the ground.
“Hey, watch where you’re going wet head. Are you an idiot, along with being all wet?” said the girl sprawled on the hard-packed sand. She glared at him angrily. Her shoulder-length hair was the color of dishwater and looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in days, if ever. She was wearing a black T-shirt and well-worn, baggy jeans with big blotches of dirt.
“Hey, it wasn’t even my fault this time,” Tristan said. “Are you okay?”
“Of course, I’m okay. Do you think I’m some prissy little girl who takes a tumble and gets hurt? It’ll take more than that, pal.”
She turned on her heel and strode off.
“Don’t pay any attention to her,” the other girl said. She was about Hugh’s height, thin but not skinny, and dressed in a frilly tan shirt and jean shorts. Her long, straight hair fell down her back. It was the color of wheat speckled with gold.
“Hi. I’m Sam. That’s Rosina. She’s not the most friendly sort, if you know what I mean. Are you guys going to the Poseidon Theater?”
“Yeah,” Tristan replied, staring at her large gray-blue eyes. They seemed to sparkle with curiosity and maybe a little mischief.
“Great, me too,” Sam said, walking in the direction the girl Rosina had gone.
Tristan and Hugh looked at one another. Neither of them was used to girls coming up and talking to them, especially pretty ones. Then again, it wasn’t like she just started talking to them out of the blue. After all, they had run into her, nearly plowed her down in fact. Tristan didn’t know what to say. As it turned out, he didn’t have to worry about his ability to make conversation.
“Where are you from? Me, I’m from Maine. The water there is really cold and there’s lots of lobster. People come from all over to eat them. There aren’t any fish like in the streams here. Did you see the dolphins in the lagoon? Isn’t this awesome? What did you say your names were?”
“I’m Tristan and he’s Hugh.”
“I’ve never been snorkeling. Have you? Can’t wait to do it. And a wave pool, that is soooo cool.”
“Yeah, should be awesome,” Tristan said, looking at Hugh and wondering how she could talk so fast and breathe at the same time.
“Wonder when we’ll get to go in? Hope it’s tomorrow. Though I don’t really want to go with Rosina. Who else is in your room? Hey, how did you get all wet? Where did you say you’re from?”
Tristan just looked at her, his mouth slightly agape. He wasn’t sure which of her questions to try to answer before she started talking again.
Sam laughed awkwardly. “Sorry ‘bout that, I kinda talk a lot when I get nervous.”
“Kinda a lot?” Tristan asked with a grin.
Sam shrugged and they all laughed, then headed to the Poseidon Theater.
It was dark inside the secret room hidden between the Poseidon Theater and the Conch Café. The only light came from the images on the flat screens mounted on the walls and spread out on the curved table at the front.
“It looks like it’s in the Bermuda Triangle area again,” Jade said.
“Jade, I’ve told you several times. Please do not call it that,” Director Davis instructed.
“Okay, well, word is that there’s something happening in the Bahamas,” Jade responded, pointing to a screen where a satellite image of the Bahamas showed an area outlined in red. There was a wishbone-shaped series of small islands in the middle of the highlighted region.
“Anything more specific? What about you Flash, any word from the net?” Director Davis asked, directing his question to a curly-haired African American boy sitting in a swivel chair at the front table.
The boy’s fingers flew over several keyboards as he talked. “Director, I’m patched in and sources in the region tell us that there’ve been several blasts in the area, a subsea sandstorm, and several pilot whales have been injured.”
“Any idea on the cause? Is it a military exercise?”
“Doesn’t appear to be, usually they let us know on those ahead of time.”
“Should we send a team in?” Jade asked eagerly.
“Not so fast,” the director responded. “I’d like to get a little more information before we rush in, especially now. Tap into the satellites and ocean observing buoys. And see if the seismic instruments have picked anything up. I’ll make a few calls.”
