I rush toward the office, stepping around blankets and coolers and people. When I get there, Mom’s straightening up the front desk while Jess is reading aloud from a piece of paper.
“Option one: I can take a bus. I checked it out. The driver will watch a younger kid. I’ll sit in the first seat. It’s only, like, twenty bucks, and it’ll take me to downtown Madison, a couple of blocks from the audition. I can take the bus right back afterward. Option two: Amy’s mom can drive me and bring me home. They said it’s okay. Option three—”
“Who’s Amy?” I interrupt.
“My best friend. She wants to be an actor too.”
“I thought Emily was your best friend,” I say.
“Oh, we’re not friends anymore.”
Mom stops, puts down a stack of brochures. “Really? Since when?”
“Since the last day of school when she told everybody not to be friends with me anymore. But Amy didn’t listen. So we’re BFFs now.”
“You didn’t tell me,” Mom says. “What happened?”
Jess rolls her eyes. “Long story. There was a whole big scene at the three-legged race during the class party. Actually, not so long. Emily turned into a mean girl.”
Mom sighs. “Are you okay?”
She shrugs. “Yeah. I don’t want to be friends with her either.”
Mom puts a rubber band around the brochures. “Jess…I don’t know Amy’s mom, and I told you how busy we are right now, plus everything we talked about with you starting things, and then—”
“You don’t have to worry. Her mom’s super nice.”
I butt in. “Where’s Dad?”
“He went to get a part for the vacuum,” Mom answers. “It’s not working.”
“So, which option?” Jess asks.
An older man and woman come in, asking for restaurant recommendations. Mom mentions a few places, showing them a binder with menus that we keep at the front desk.
While she’s talking to them, I glance at the Thought Wall. More notes are tacked up: I flunked art. Ice cream makes everything better. Carly F likes Dylan G. If Cinderella’s shoe fit, then why did it fall off?
The couple asks if they can borrow the binder, and Mom says “Of course.” They take it outside and sit at one of the picnic tables.
I glance out at Renn. I don’t see any green from where I’m standing. It seems to be only down by the reeds, which makes me feel a little better. “Mom, can you tell Dad I need to talk to him when he gets back? I think something might be going on with the lake.”
“Who cares about some lake in the middle of nowhere!” Jess snaps.
“Um, I do.”
“Sure,” Mom says to me, then looks at Jess. “The yelling needs to stop. Dad and I will discuss it, but no promises. Understand? And I want to see all the information about the audition.”
“Done!” Jess tears out of the office and runs toward the water. I see her pick up a stone and throw it. An amazingly good throw, actually, for someone so small. It lands with a splash and Renn gobbles it up. Jess stands there, hands on hips, her back to the cabins.
Mom opens her laptop and sips her coffee. “This was warm at some point.”
“You need me to do anything?”
“Not right now. I have to catch up on emails.”
I walk outside, looking for the boy. Finally, I see him near the canoe tent, inspecting the bottom of a canoe with his magnifying glass. Does he carry that around with him all the time?
I jog over. I clear my throat, but he doesn’t look up. “Um, excuse me.”
Still stooped over, he peers up at me through the glass, which makes his eye enormous. It’s dark brown, the color of soil.
“Hi, I’m Annalise. My parents own the cabins.”
He lowers the glass, straightens up. “Zach.”
His shorts and shirt droop off him like they’re on a hanger. “You were just looking at that green stuff. The algae?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, how do you know it could be the start of a dead zone?”
He opens his book and taps a picture. It’s a lake with a green coating—similar to the one by the reeds, except much bigger—covering most of the surface.
“Blue-green algae,” he says. “Technically, cyanobacteria. This is an algal bloom.”
My mouth gets dry. A bloom? That’s what Renn said.
Zach closes the book. “We learned about these in science last year. Never thought I’d see one up close, though.”
“But this isn’t like that. In the picture, the bloom is huge. Here, it’s just one little area, if that’s what it is. The rest of the lake is fine.”
“For the moment.” Suddenly, Zach starts blinking crazily, covering one eye with a hand. “Not again,” he groans, then peels something from his eye. “I just got contacts. I’m failing miserably at keeping them in. I suspect my corneas are rejecting the foreign objects.” He walks away, stumbling a little.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“To get my glasses.”
I follow him to cabin 8. He takes a key from his pocket and opens the door.
“Oh, you’re staying in this cabin?”
He gives me a little smile. “No, I stole the key from the front desk.” He disappears inside and comes back out a minute later, wearing glasses with square black frames. “I’m here for a month with my dad. He thinks this is the perfect place to finally write his novel. We arrived two days ago and he’s been staring at a blank screen ever since. So, you know, lots of progress.”
“Where do you live?”
“Chicago.”
He takes off the glasses and cleans them on his shirt, then slides them back on. I bet Zach’s really bored and he’s pranking us, like we’re dumb small-town kids.
I cross my arms. “I don’t believe you. The bloom—or whatever it is—will evaporate or sink or go away on its own in a few days, and the lake will be fine.”
He shakes his head slowly.
“I’m sure it’s not bacteria. Something probably just got in the water.”
“Cyanobacteria.”
“Okay, cyanobacteria. Our lake, my lake, doesn’t have that.”
He doesn’t reply, but walks toward a picnic table, then grabs a clear plastic cup someone left behind. He heads to the water.
I run after him. “What are you doing?”
“There’s something else I want to check.”
I follow him down the shore to the reeds. Zach kneels, holds the cup with the edges of his fingers, then drags it through the gunk. He places the cup on the ground.
“What are you checking?”
“I’m looking for an indicator. The contents need to settle.”
The slimy liquid swirls slowly in the cup. “So the bacteria’s going to magically appear?”
“Sort of.”
I glance at him. “Do you want to be a scientist or something?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. What about you?”
“Possibly something to do with bedding.”
“Bedding?”
I sigh. “Never mind.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Tiny green flecks start to emerge in the water inside the cup. Sort of like floating particles of dust. Zach lifts the cup, holds it in front of his face and turns it around.
I stare at the little bit of Renn, trapped in the plastic. Suddenly, it doesn’t seem like Zach’s making this up or pranking us. Something did appear.
He puts the cup down next to me. “I’m sorry.”
“This is bad?”
“I mean, it’s just a jar test, but…”
“But what?”
“It could be very bad.”
“But I’m sure there’s a way to clean this up.”
“From what I remember, ther
e isn’t an easy solution.”
His shoelaces are still untied. One of them has a spilled drop of the greenish water. “You learned all this in science? Are you in high school?”
“Next year. I just finished eighth.” He pulls out his phone, looks at it, then shoves it back into his pocket.
“You must miss your friends. And you won’t see them for a whole month.”
“Oh, yeah, for sure. We’ve been texting nonstop.” He stands, brushes off his shorts. “Well…my dad’s probably wondering where I am. I should go.”
He walks toward the cabins. I glance at the cup, then at the reeds. It’s so…quiet. Not like in winter, when the surface of the lake is covered with ice and snow. That’s a restful, peaceful quiet. Even though I miss talking and listening, I know Renn is hibernating during those months. This is different. This feels like the kind of quiet where no one knows what to say.
“Renn?” I ask.
A murmur comes from the clear water, where the bloom ends. I go over there. “Don’t worry. We’ll clean this up, or get medicine, whatever you need.” I sit, draw up my legs. “I promise.”
Another murmur. Then a soft, weak Thank you.
I think about how I wore that armor hat with the pom-pom and tassels every day for almost a year. Then, one boiling hot summer afternoon when Mom, Dad, Jess, and I were at the Milwaukee Zoo, I took it off. We were eating lunch and my head was unbearably sweaty and itchy. I put it on the bench. As we were leaving to go to the reptile house, I forgot to take it. We went back, but it was gone. I looked at every single kid walking around the zoo but didn’t see anyone wearing my hat. When we got back to the cabins, I ran out to Renn and sobbed as I told the story. “What’s going to protect me now?” I wailed.
And Renn said, I will.
Night.
Frog melodies blend with the hums of the cicadas, crickets, and katydids. The moon shimmers across me. Now and then, there’s the splash of a restless fish.
I cannot sleep.
Funny thing. When people are around, I yearn for a break from the noise. But when they’re gone, I count the slow, long hours until morning when they return.
I pass the time by sifting through their lost possessions. I have quite a collection at the bottom. Keys, sunglasses, fossils, and canoe paddles, as I mentioned.
Also:
One rusty hammer.
Seventeen phones.
Two skateboards.
Thirty-nine shoes.
Forty-seven hats.
Glass bottles of all shapes and sizes, too many to count.
Plastic forks and knives and spoons.
Gold rings. Silver ones too.
One chair.
One microwave oven.
Two umbrellas.
Books. Bits of fibers that once were books.
Golf balls, footballs, baseballs.
And a gazing ball, like in the Alden’s window. I brush away some mud and examine the red-silver-purple swirls in the glass. If I gaze at it, maybe it can tell me something about the strange algae. I try, but the ball shows nothing.
The night inches on. The insects become a low buzz. The fish settle. And I grow weary, sifting and counting.
Toward dawn, I feel worse. Perhaps it is a fever, like Annalise said, and I do need medicine.
The sun pokes its rays over the roofs of the cabins and the birds begin to chirp. The lindens and pines rustle and yawn and stretch their network of roots. Tru, surprisingly, sends me a playful wave. But I am too tired, too sluggish, to reply.
Mom and Dad get home late. As soon as they pull into the driveway, Jess leaps from the porch swing where she’s been waiting. “Whenever you’re ready, I can show you everything about the audition!”
Mom climbs the steps slowly, gripping the railing. “Okay, let’s get something to eat. It’s been a long day.”
“I need to talk to you guys too,” I say. “It’s important.”
Jess rushes past me, following Mom and Dad to the kitchen. “I’m first!”
Dad takes a container from the fridge. “Leftover mac ’n’ cheese?”
“Fine,” Mom says. “Did you two eat?”
Jess pulls out a chair. “We made sandwiches.”
Dad puts the food in the microwave and then sits next to Jess. “Let’s see what this is all about.” She hands him her phone.
Dad scrolls down. “Cucumber Productions? That’s who’s making the movie?”
Jess nods. “Indie film.”
“Hmm. There’s an audition fee? Fifteen dollars. Is that standard?”
“I’m sure that’s normal. I mean, they have a lot of costs, right? It’s expensive to make a movie. You have the director, all the actors, the set…” Her voice trails off as Dad keeps scrolling, frowning a little.
The microwave beeps and Mom takes out the bowl. “It could be a scam, Jess. What do we know about this production company just by looking at their website?”
“It’s not a scam. I checked it out.”
Dad gives Jess her phone, and glances at Mom as she brings two forks, dishes, and the bowl to the table. They’re not saying anything.
Jess looks from one to the other. “You’ve already made up your mind. You’re going to say no, aren’t you?”
“I know I asked you to show me the information,” Mom starts, eyeing Dad.
“We did discuss it,” he continues, “but we think it’s better if you try out for something here—”
Jess jumps up, then runs upstairs, sobbing. Her door slams, echoing through the house.
Mom picks at the macaroni.
Dad sighs. “What did you want to talk about, Annalise?”
I tell them about Zach and the algae. “He’s staying in cabin eight with his dad. He dipped a cup into the lake out by the reeds and there were, like, little green specks in the water. He said it’s bad, and there’s bacteria, and it could turn into a dead zone.”
Dad says, “Hmm. It’s too dark to see anything now, but I’ll take a look first thing in the morning. It’s by the cove?”
“Yeah, you’ll see the cup. Thanks. It’s really scaring me.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. Algae’s common in lakes. Part of the ecosystem. It comes and goes, and only some species are harmful. They came out and tested for E. coli a week ago and the report was negative. I know some lakes have had problems with algae recently, but like my father always used to say, ‘Panic only when necessary.’ ”
I blow out a long breath. “Okay. I’ll try not to panic.”
“Jay,” Mom says softly, putting her fork down. “Maybe we should let her go to the audition.”
“No. We made our decision. It’s too much right now.”
“It’s just, she’s so excited, and something happened with her friends…”
“This thing doesn’t even sound legit, Jackie. She always nags us until we give in. She can find something else.” He changes the subject and starts telling Mom about the vacuum, which sounds like it can’t be repaired.
“If we’re going to pay for roof and window repairs, let’s use our own vacuum for now,” Mom says. “We’ll deal with getting a new one later.”
“Okay.” Dad brings his dish to the sink. “You know, I was thinking. Since we’re full up, what about bringing back those activities we used to do years ago when every cabin was booked all summer long? Marshmallow roasts, ghost story night, movies under the stars.”
Mom nods. “Great idea. I always loved those.”
“But is that stuff too corny now? Annalise, do you think kids would still be into it?”
“Those things never get old,” I say.
Dad grins. “Good answer.”
They start rinsing the dishes and I go upstairs, still worrying about the algae. Renn’s voice didn’t sound like it usually doe
s. But Dad has to be right. He knows a lot more than Zach, who’s only studied lakes in science class.
One of the pictures in my frame is a snow-covered Renn. When the ice and snow start melting at the end of winter, I can’t wait for Renn to wake up. The first winter, when I was three, I didn’t understand why I couldn’t hear anything. I asked Mom why the lake couldn’t talk. She smiled and told me that nature takes a long sleep to store up energy for spring and summer. When I finally saw some ripples that next April, I splashed my hand in the chilly water and told Renn everything I’d done over the winter. And Renn said, I missed you too.
I get the jar from my dresser and drop in a penny I found by the soda machine. I’m hoping it’s good luck and the algae will turn out to be nothing. I rotate the jar, then give it a shake, admiring the delicious weight of all the coins.
“Where’d you get all that money?”
I jump. Jess is leaning against my doorframe. “From the cabins.”
“So technically, it isn’t really yours.”
“Um, no, it is. People lost them. I found them.”
“What are you gonna use it for?”
“I’m not sure.”
“How much do you have?”
“Why do you want to know?”
She picks at her nail polish. A few green flakes flutter to the floor. “No reason. Just curious.”
“Jess…I know you have a reason. Tell me.”
“I don’t! I was just asking.” Foot stomp. “And it’s JessiKa! Why is no one calling me that?” She dashes down the hall. Door slam, again.
I start to put the jar back on my dresser, then change my mind. I stick it behind a pair of boots on my closet floor. Not that I don’t trust Jess…but my sister doesn’t react well to being told no.
When she was in second grade, she begged Mom and Dad to get her a pet frog, but they said she was too young to take care of a pet herself. So she went to the lake, plucked one from the water, and brought it home. Dad lectured her as they went back and returned it. Last year, Jess wanted to get hair extensions but that was a no too. She used clear tape, the kind for boxes, to attach two imitation blond braids to her hair. Mom had to cut them out. Her hair is still growing back.
Hello from Renn Lake Page 5