by Barbara Dee
“Yesss!” Darius pumped his arm, like he was celebrating.
I rolled my eyes. Scarlett would probably slap this kid, I thought.
“Can we give them names?” Aspen begged. “Because I already have a good one: Clawed.”
“Excuse me?” Darius said, laughing.
“That’s a pun,” Aspen explained. “You know, like the name Claude, only spelled like—”
“Yes, we get it,” I cut in. “But I just think if we’re doing real science, we shouldn’t be naming our subjects. They’re not pets.”
Ms. Molina put her hand on my shoulder. “Zinnia is thinking like a true scientist. I’ll leave the naming question up to you guys: if you feel compelled to name your crayfish, go ahead. But yes, let’s keep our relationship with these creatures as scientific as possible.”
Aspen wrote CLAWED on a strip of masking tape, which she stuck on the tank.
Ugh. How to Survive Working with Aspen Garber.
I tried to focus on Ms. Molina.
“Today,” she said, “we’ll just be observing, taking notes in our science journals about how they interact with the tank environment. One thing I want you to notice is how sensitive they are to sound. So talk to them.”
Darius hooted. “What do we say?”
“Anything at all.” Ms. Molina laughed. “You don’t need to speak crayfish.”
“Do crayfish have ears?” Li-Mei asked.
“No. But that doesn’t mean they can’t hear.”
“What about music?” James Ramos asked.
“Music? You want to play a crayfish music?” I didn’t even try to hide my scorn. This kid was way beyond stupid.
How to Survive Working with James Ramos.
Ms. Molina didn’t seem to notice my face, or my voice. “Interesting question, James. Try singing, and see what happens.”
Darius let out a loud, long burp.
Ugh. How to Survive Working with Him, Too.
“Just be sure to record all observations,” Ms. Molina said. “Tomorrow we’ll be designing some cool experiments. And, Zinny, I’d like to talk to you after class.”
Right after Science Class
I was sure Ms. Molina was going to scold me for how I acted with my crayfish team. Instead she waited for everyone to leave the room, and then turned to me, smiling. “You’re really into this crayfish study, aren’t you,” she said.
“Yes,” I said quickly. “And sorry if I was rude before. And showing off about the swimmerets. I’ve just been reading a bunch of stuff online—”
“Never apologize for your passion about a scientific subject. That’s not why I wanted to talk to you.” Her eyes were sparkling. “Zinny, have you ever heard of Blue Shoals Marine Lab?”
I shook my head.
“Well, every summer they run a four-week program for kids who are really into marine biology. It’s not a camp; you do actual research. And it’s completely free, because they get a lot of funding. Interested?”
Was she joking? “Yeah. I mean yes, definitely!”
“Awesome,” she said. “Because the deadline for applications is approaching, and I wanted to recommend you. You need a letter of support from your science teacher, and that would be me.”
Ms. Molina brought over her laptop and showed me a page:
Blue Shoals Summer Program for Middle Schoolers
Spend four weeks with other middle schoolers who share a strong interest in marine biology as you conduct actual research with working scientists. Explore how crustaceans, fish, sea lions, and florae share the ecosystem of our magnificent protected marine lab.
“Just so you know, there’s no guarantee you’ll get in,” Ms. Molina said. “It’s extremely competitive. But I’d really love to see you do this, Zinny.”
“I’d love to see me do this too,” I said.
She grinned. “All right, first I’ll need permission from your parents; then I’ll get the application going. Of course I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything, but it won’t be for a while.”
“Okay. Thank you so much!”
“You’re very welcome. And, Zinny, try to be a little more patient with your teammates, okay? Group work is so important for scientists.”
My cheeks burned. “I know. I’ll try.”
“Good. Also, I’d prefer if you didn’t discuss this Blue Shoals program with classmates. I can nominate only one student, and I don’t want to cause any hard feelings.”
No problem. I’m really great at keeping secrets.
That Afternoon
As soon as I got home, I looked up more crayfish facts on my computer—stuff about their optimal habitats and behavior. I was thinking maybe I could use some background information to design a good experiment. My teammates wouldn’t be doing any research, I knew, so if anyone was going to learn crayfish facts, it was me.
But after about fifteen minutes, Aiden left the table to go to the bathroom, and I found myself typing the words “bipolar disorder.”
A lot came up. I mean, way more than I expected. Too much to take in, really.
Bipolar disorder, also called manic-depressive illness, is a brain disorder that causes unusual shifts in mood and energy. Bipolar disorder is not the same as “mood swings,” or the normal “ups and downs” associated with adolescence.
People having a manic episode may feel up, jumpy, wired, or agitated; they may talk fast, have trouble sleeping, or engage in risky behavior.…
People having a depressive episode may have little energy, feel sad, have trouble sleeping, or sleep too much.… Many highly creative, productive people have been associated with bipolar disorder, including Demi Lovato, Carrie Fisher—Princess Leia?!—Winston Churchill, Frank Sinatra, Ada Lovelace, Edgar Allan Poe—
Although how did we know that? Did all these people get notes from their doctors?
And did their families make up stories about them, too? Yes, Edgar Allan is back in college, studying paleontology—
“What are you reading?” Aiden asked, peering over my shoulder.
“Nothing.” I shut my laptop. “Just about crayfish.”
“What about them?”
“You know, just how they swim,” I said.
A Summer Afternoon, Five and a Half Years Ago
“All you do is blow bubbles into the water,” Scarlett says. “Like this, see?”
We are in the four-foot section of the pool. Scarlett’s chin is underwater, and she is wearing oversized green goggles, so when she blows bubbles, she looks like a bubbling jellyfish monster or something. I am almost seven years old, and to be honest, even I’m a bit freaked.
“No!” Aiden shouts at her. “I don’t see!” He’s two and a half, and this is the summer he shouts at everything.
Everyone at the town pool is staring at us. The Manning kids have a reputation for noisiness. And splash fights.
Gabriel does his goofiest grin. “Aww, Aidy, it’s okay. Want me to give you a ride on my back?”
“Yes!” Aiden shouts, giggling. He grabs Gabriel’s sunburned shoulders.
Scarlett slaps the water angrily. Sometimes she mommies Aiden a little too much, in my opinion. But this time I’m on her side.
“Gabriel, Aiden needs to learn how to swim,” I protest. “It isn’t safe for him to be in this part of the pool.”
Gabriel pushes his wet hair out of his face. “Yeah, and he will learn, Zinny. But he’s only two, remember?”
“And a half. He’s not a baby!”
Scarlett nods at me. When it comes to this subject, the two of us are a team.
“Aiden can’t even tread water yet,” she argues. “We should be teaching him, not giving him rides!”
“Well, if you ask me, he needs to have fun,” Gabriel insists. “That’s how you learn, by liking the water. Otherwise, what’s the point of swimming?”
He galumphs through the water with Aiden, the two of them shouting and laughing as they make a tsunami.
Afternoon, Late This Past August
> I knock on Gabriel’s door. The music is blaring, so I knock again.
No answer.
“Hey, Gabriel!” I shout. “WANNA GO GET ICE CREAM?”
He doesn’t answer.
I pound on the door so hard I hurt my hand.
“HEY, GABRIEL!” I shout, even louder. “I WANT A MONSTER CONE AT HERE’S THE SCOOP. DON’T YOU?”
I hear scuffling; then he opens the door a crack. His eyes look confused, like he’s just woken up, even though it’s four o’clock, and his room is throbbing with noisy music. And even though his door is barely open, a smell like unwashed socks attacks my nose.
“What is it,” he asks flatly. It’s not even a question.
“I asked Mom and she says it’s okay if we take her car to go get ice cream. I mean, she says if you want to drive—”
He scowls. “Who says I do?”
“Oh. I just thought if you weren’t doing anything—”
“Well, I am.” His eyes shrink, like they can’t bear to take in too much light.
“Like what?” I press him. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Were you sleeping? I don’t know how you could. Because that music is so loud—”
“Zinny, just please go away.”
He shuts the door on me.
Wednesday, Lunch Period
I hadn’t planned on going to Gladys. In fact, at lunch I went straight to the lab—and the door was locked. I peeked inside the science classroom, but Ms. Molina wasn’t there either.
Was she hiding from me? That was a weird thing to think.
Why would she? Especially after telling me about that marine biology program she was nominating me for.
Maybe she was just in the bathroom. Or in the teachers’ lounge, eating birthday cake.
I waited five more minutes. I fidgeted with my tiny chair charm, and smeared on cherry ChapStick. Then I chewed off a hangnail (left pinkie). But she never showed up.
Well, I definitely was not going to the lunchroom, that was for sure. Maisie wasn’t even making eye contact with me anymore. And every time I passed Kailani, she gave me a sad, helpless little smile. Like, I’m really sorry, Zinny, I know this is horrible, but what can I do?
Nothing, I thought. If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, whatever. I don’t want to talk to you, either. And definitely not to Maisie!
So I went to Gladys. At least there I’d get a slice of pizza, I told myself. And see Jayden. Maybe Luz would show me the secret handshake.
And talking about hard stuff—if Gabriel could do it in his therapy sessions, so could I. Maybe.
Anyhow, it was only for thirty-five minutes.
* * *
Room 107B was transformed. The sofa and chairs were missing, and the walls were covered in white paper.
“What’s going on?” I asked from the doorway.
Luz grinned at me. “Hey, Zin, it’s Graffiti Day!”
“What’s that?”
Mr. Patrick entered the room behind me.
“Zinny,” he said, as if he was stating a fact. He didn’t seem surprised to see me. “Why don’t you grab a bunch of markers? Today’s all about expressing ourselves.”
“You mean on that paper?” I waved my arm at the white-covered walls.
“Yep.” He smiled. “Pick any free spot, and just express whatever you want, any way you want to. Words or pictures, or a combination. Something abstract, if you’d rather. Or maybe a message to someone—”
“About what?” My heart was speeding. “Do you mean on a specific subject?”
“No rules, okay? Entirely up to you. And nobody has to see your wall if you don’t want to share. Today is just about getting it out.”
I peeked at the others. Luz had covered nearly the whole wall near Mr. Patrick’s desk—a bunch of squiggly hard-to-read words in purple marker. Keira was drawing what looked like a giant rainbow tornado. Jayden was standing over by the window, filling a big green circle with heads speaking dialogue. And Asher was sitting in the corner, writing what looked like a list.
I took some markers from Mr. Patrick’s desk and moved over to where Jayden was writing. Not near enough to see what the heads were saying, though; I figured it wasn’t my business, unless he wanted to show me.
I uncapped an orange marker.
Orange? Maybe not orange.
Blue.
Blue always cleared my head. Blue helped me think.
I drew some wavy blue lines.
Water.
Wavy blue waves.
A lot of water. A pool, or maybe an ocean.
And bubbles.
Bubbles were kind of fun to draw, actually.
Then a red crayfish waving hi with one pincer. So it couldn’t be an ocean. Crayfish swam in running fresh water, in brooks or streams. Or in rice paddies, swamps, or muddy ditches.
Of course, they also swam in tank water.
I drew a giant rectangle around all the blue.
A tank, with all kinds of stuff in it. A pink castle. A green plant. Some rocks in different colors.
Then a crayfish escaping out the top.
A big brown hand grabbing the crayfish.
YOU’RE SAFE NOW, STUPID, I wrote in purple comic book letters.
I stopped.
No one was talking or laughing—the only sound was the scritch-scritch of markers. They were all so focused, getting their feelings out into the universe, or at least on this wall—and I was filling up my space with nothing. Waves and bubbles. A comic-book diorama, a total waste of time.
So I ripped it down.
“Sorry, just remembered something,” I muttered to Mr. Patrick, and slipped out of room 107B.
Wednesday, Next Period
Ms. Molina was back in the classroom for science. She didn’t explain to me where she’d been during lunch, and anyway, it wasn’t the sort of question I could ask.
Now she was strolling around, chatting with the tank teams as we debated what our experiments would be.
My team was hopeless.
Aspen wanted to do something about water temperature; what would happen if the water were eighty degrees.
“The crayfish would die,” I said. “That’s what would happen.”
Aspen pouted. “That’s just your hypothesis, Zinny. You don’t know.”
She obviously thought that if she used the word “hypothesis,” it would make her sound like a scientist.
I didn’t want to be rude again, but I didn’t want to kill the crayfish, either. “Actually, Aspen, I’ve read a bunch of stuff,” I said carefully. “Crayfish water needs to be between seventy and seventy-five degrees. They’re very sensitive to temperature.”
Sensitive to temperature, Aspen mouthed.
“Well, what about music?” James Ramos asked.
I groaned inside my head. Was he really going to bring up this question again? “What about music?”
“You know. If crayfish have a preference.”
Darius laughed so hard he almost fell off his chair. “If they have a preference? Are you like, serious? Greatest Crayfish Hits The Crayfish Top Forty—”
“Shut up, Darius,” James said, blushing. “I just mean, do they like loud songs? Or fast songs? Maybe hip-hop versus classical?”
“But what’s the point of that?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking. “And besides, those are too many variables.”
Aspen rolled her eyes. She probably thought my saying “variables” was like her saying “hypothesis,” but it wasn’t. Because I wasn’t showing off; I meant it. Just thinking about all the different types of music Gabriel listened to—in his room, in the car—made me realize we could never get conclusions that would mean anything. Music preference was such a dumb idea, anyway. It was what you’d come up with if you didn’t care about science.
“Okay, Zinny, so what do you suggest?” James asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “Probably something about their habitat.”
Habitat
, Aspen mouthed, rolling her eyes.
“Nah, let’s think outside the tank,” Darius said, grinning at his dad-ish joke. “Let’s see how fast our guy moves on land.”
“Hey, cool,” James said. His eyes lit up. “We could build a track for him to run on. And give him a goal, something to run toward. Like food—”
“No,” I said sharply.
The kids looked at me.
“Okay, what’s wrong with it?” Aspen demanded, her hands on her hips.
“Too risky,” I said. “Clawed’s gills need to stay moist, or he can’t breathe oxygen. So he can’t be out of the tank for very long. And what if he escapes?”
I nearly pinched myself for using the silly name. But Aspen didn’t even seem to notice.
“Zinny, Clawed won’t escape if we pay attention,” Aspen argued. “If all four of us are right there, watching. We’ll be super careful—”
“But that’s impossible!” I said. “We can’t watch everything, even if we want to. Sometimes things just happen!”
“Like what?” Darius said. “What could happen?”
“Anything! What if one of us blinks, or sneezes, or our mind wanders for a second? And then if he gets lost somewhere in the room, he’ll dehydrate. And then he’ll die—”
“How’s it going, Team Four?” Ms. Molina was standing by our tank. Her hand pressed my shoulder, as if she was trying to keep me from crashing into the ceiling.
“Not great,” Aspen said. “Zinny hates anything we suggest.”
“Hmm,” Ms. Molina said. She lifted her hand. “Well, what are you suggesting?”
Darius and James described their experiment. Weirdly, Ms. Molina seemed to approve. She helped design a track—something with cardboard tunnels—that seemed safe enough, probably. And then we talked about variables—how to measure speed. How long the track should be. Whether we should put a piece of food at the end for motivation. And if so, what sort of food it should be.
By the end of the period, we had a design even I had to admit was kind of cool.
But I still felt weird. Ms. Molina had pretty much ignored my input. Also my feelings.