Hello from Renn Lake

by Michele Weber Hurwitz

  “I don’t know.”

  The few guests from the cabins make their way over, including Sophie and her grandparents. More shop owners arrive. Mom and Dad walk up, looking confused, and Vera, who doesn’t look at all confused. Last to get here is Mr. Alden. And then, coming out of cabin 8 is a man in a tweed cap.

  Everyone’s talking about the plant islands. Asking questions, pointing to them, and reading on their phones. An electric buzz is pulsing through the crowd.

  Dad comes over to me. “Let me take a wild guess. You had something to do with this?”

  “Dad. The lake is in serious trouble. How could I not do anything?”

  “My daughters seem to think they can just take it upon themselves to—” Dad starts, then stops as Mr. Alden taps his shoulder.

  “I’m in on this too, Jay,” he says. “So whatever you’re about to tell Annalise, you might as well tell me too.”

  Dad opens his mouth, then shuts it as a loud voice booms, “Make way, please. Thanks very much. Comin’ through.”

  The tallest man I’ve pretty much ever seen is standing next to me. Or rather, over me. He’s got to be close to seven feet. I look way, way up as he extends a hand. “Brinkley Wilson,” he says, shaking mine. He’s wearing a denim shirt, not a brown one. On it, a green badge says HEALTH OFFICER.

  “So what do we have here?” he asks.

  “Floating plant islands,” I say weakly. “You’ve heard of them?”

  Jess is pushing her way through the crowd. She marches right up to Brinkley and offers her hand. “Jess Oliver,” she says. He shakes it.

  Brinkley eyes me. “And you are?”

  “Annalise. Annalise Oliver.”

  “My sister,” Jess says, then gestures to Zach. “Our colleague can bring you up to speed.”

  Zach squeaks, “Me?” and Jess nods.

  Zach explains how we made the islands and set them afloat last night. “It’ll take some time, and we know this is only part of the answer, but it’s a start. It should help lessen, then eventually clean up the algal bloom. This method has been used successfully on other lakes. In Montana, Illinois, and China…”

  Zach’s voice drifts off as Brinkley goes over to one of the islands near the shore. He studies it, then looks back at us. “I believe these are anchored to a lake bed. And have a filter to attract the microbes.”

  “Yes, they should be, but we didn’t have the materials to do that.” Zach glances at me. “We thought it would be better to just get the process started.”

  Jess strides toward Brinkley, little tufts of her hair wafting up. She taps his arm. An elf bothering a giant. He turns and looks down at her.

  “I hope you’re not planning to remove them,” she says. “Because I’m doing a documentary about this whole thing.”

  Brinkley raises an eyebrow. “You are.”

  “Uh-huh. You probably haven’t heard of the Renn Lake Elementary School Film Club because I’m starting it in the fall, but I’m making our first movie. The Magic of Floating Plant Islands. We start filming today, in fact. I’m the director. It’s a big job.”

  “Is that right?” Brinkley asks, smiling.

  “Yes.” Jess does a very small, very controlled foot stomp. Then she motions to the crowd with both hands, urging them forward.

  Everyone moves toward the lake and something amazing happens. They spread out and form a human barrier in front of the islands.

  “This is our lake,” Jess announces. “And the islands are staying right where they are.”

  Far, far off in the distance, where the river connects to Renn, I hear a low rumble, then a gushing. It almost sounds like applause.

  A few beats of silence; then Brinkley nods. “I admire your enthusiasm, and your commitment. I’m pretty blown away by it, to be honest.”

  I’m waiting for the but: But they have to come out. But you made them wrong. But you shouldn’t have done this. But you’re in trouble.

  There are no buts.

  Instead, Brinkley motions to Kim and Keith. “We need to apply for a permit for these anchors. We’re going to need…” He turns and counts the islands. “Seven.”

  My heart leaps a mile in the air. “They can stay?”

  “For now. Let’s give these babies some time. See what they can do. We’ll keep an eye on them.” He scans the lake. “We could use a few more, in fact. It’s a pretty big bloom.”

  Tyler wiggles his way toward Brinkley. “Me and my brother can do it. We can make some more.”

  Brinkley crouches. “Terrific, son. We need people like you because there’s a lot of work to do. Not just the islands, but changing some things so this doesn’t happen again. Are you up to the job?”

  “I am, sir!” Tyler salutes him.

  Henry goes to stand next to Tyler as Maya appears at my side. She’s beaming at the boys. “I never thought I’d say this, but they’re good kids, you know?”

  “Where are their lightsabers?”

  “They said they didn’t need ’em today, that the plants would blow up the bad bacteria.”

  I laugh. “I hope so. You and Jess were texting everyone? Thanks for getting the word out.”

  “You’re welcome.” She gives me my phone. “Is your sister really making a documentary, or was she bluffing? Because if she was, that was excellent acting. I totally bought it.”

  “You never know with Jess.”

  Zach is next to Brinkley, and they’re gesturing to the islands. Kim and Keith are talking on their phones. My sister is by Mom and Dad, and I hear her ask them where our old video camera is, and if it still works. Maybe she is serious about the documentary. The crowd is breaking up, people fanning out like streamers.

  Henry calls out to Maya and she jogs toward him. I sense someone behind me and turn to see Mr. Alden. “Looks like we’ve got more islands to make,” he says.

  I take hold of my necklace, slide the tiny house around the chain, and let it drop back against my skin. “Yes, we do.”

  “So I’ll see you soon?” He winks at me. “Not in twelve years?”

  I smile. “Not in twelve years.”

  “You let me know when. I’ll be here.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  He starts to walk away.

  “Wait, Mr. Alden?”

  He looks back.

  “Thank you. For the supplies. And helping us.” And the handkerchief, I want to add, but I can’t. “I don’t know if I said it yesterday.”

  He gives me a little wave. “No need.” He walks toward Main, arms swinging. I watch until he reaches his store, those goofy flamingos shining in the window, unlocks the door, and goes inside.

  The islands have been on the lake for a week, and every day I’ve checked the bloom but it looks about the same. I know they take time to work, but still. I wish there was some small sign.

  The Thought Wall’s become a get-well message board for Renn, with notes like: Hope the islands work and Wishing the lake a speedy recovery. Once one person started doing it, everyone joined in, and now the wall is covered with positive messages. One note even says: We miss you, Renn Lake!

  I miss Renn too. It’s been a long time since I heard anything. We made three new islands at Alden’s and put them out on the water. I have faith in the islands, but I worry that the bloom has done some permanent damage. I keep pushing away my biggest fear: that I’ll never hear Renn again.

  Mom and Dad are busier again. Their calls and emails helped, because a scrapbooking group is here, staying in five cabins. The women said the algae didn’t matter because they weren’t planning on swimming or canoeing. Mom set up tables for them in the office and they’ve been cutting, gluing, and chattering constantly. Mom’s making them lemonade and snacks, and admiring their creations. Maya even got Henry and Tyler involved, collecting scraps of paper to recycle and
handing out pieces of tape. Mom gave them Renn Lake Rentals caps to wear, and the scrapbookers have been calling the boys their “assistants.” I haven’t seen their lightsabers in a while.

  Dad told me a chess club booked several cabins next week for a tournament, so that should help pay some bills. “Your sister’s been telling us we need a”—he made air quotes—“ ‘social media presence,’ and I think she’s right. We’re overdue for some upgrades around here.”

  “But you’re not going to change the cabins into some fancy hotel, right?”

  “Not on your life. But we can post pictures, upload videos, and create a hashtag.” He did the hashtag symbol with his fingers.

  I raised an eyebrow and smiled at him. “Who are you?”

  * * *

  —

  On day eight (I’m counting), Maya, Zach, and I are hanging out on the shore. Jess is wandering around with the video camera, taking shots of the lake from different angles, and Henry and Tyler are tossing a football back and forth.

  “I still can’t believe they didn’t take out the islands,” I say.

  “I know,” Zach replies. “The way they were talking about Brinkley—the man in charge and all that—I thought we were goin’ down. But he was the nicest.”

  Maya nods. “He was. This whole thing, wow. Just wow.” She’s threading a red ribbon around a white basket for raffle tickets at the Fourth of July Fest.

  Zach pulls off his glasses, wipes sweat from the sides of his nose. I can hear the slap of the football on Henry’s and Tyler’s hands every time they catch it, but other than that, it’s sticky quiet.

  I look at the islands, one by one, floating on the green. “Zach?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What happened after those other lakes got rid of the algae? Everything I read only focused on how the islands worked.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, let’s say the islands cure the bloom here eventually. But what if this happens again? What if more cyanobacteria form and it becomes a bloom again? What if it keeps happening, over and over?”

  Zach stretches out his legs, crosses them at the ankle. “Yeah. To be honest, the islands are kind of a Band-Aid.”

  “Why?” Maya asks.

  “To really tackle this, you gotta take care of what caused the bloom in the first place. Brinkley and I were talking about how hard it is to control the polluted runoff that gets into the water.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “Remember how Keith said at the meeting—‘down the drain, the driveway, into the sewer.’ It all ends up in the lake.”

  Maya puts the basket down. “How do you change that?”

  “Everyone has to help,” Zach says. “Stop fertilizing your lawn as much, and don’t use pesticides. Even washing your car in the driveway can send junk into the water.”

  “Some people are careful, but others don’t bother, right?” Maya says.

  Zach nods. “That’s how it always is. You should see what people in my apartment building throw away when it could be recycled. It’s so sad.”

  We’re all silent for a few minutes; then Maya narrows her eyes. “I’ve got an idea.”

  “What?” I ask.

  She crosses her arms. “Let’s set up an information booth at the fest. Then everyone in town will know what to do.”

  I leap up. “That’s a great idea!”

  Maya starts counting off on her fingers. “We’ll make a three-panel display board, hand out brochures, maybe even have something interactive. We should put a cup of algae on the table so everyone can see how gross it is up close. People can sign a pledge to do their part. We can do a game for kids—”

  “Let’s have a rain barrel,” Zach interrupts.

  “Sure. Whatever that is.”

  “It’s a container to collect rainwater at your house so it doesn’t wash into the lake. Then you use it to water your grass and plants.”

  “Maybe we can raise money for permeable pavement too,” I add.

  Maya grins. “It’s like you guys are speaking another language.”

  “I read about them,” I say. “They replace the concrete in sidewalks and driveways with something else, like crushed-up glass bottles. Rain goes right into the ground and won’t run into the lake.”

  “How cool is that?” Maya says.

  I wave my arms. “We’re going to need streamers, string lights, and balloons. Maybe a disco ball if we can hang it somewhere! I want everyone to come to this booth.”

  She laughs. “Sure, why not.”

  Jess comes over. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re doing an information booth at the fest,” I announce. “About what people can do so the lake never gets an algal bloom again!”

  “Awesome!” Jess holds up the camera. “I’ll be there.”

  Maya texts her parents and they love the idea. Zach pulls the twenty from his pocket and says he can help buy supplies. “And I’ll use some of my babysitting money,” Maya adds. “The ’rents will be very proud.”

  “I’m broke,” I moan.

  Jess looks at the ground and pushes the dirt with the toe of her shoe. “You have ten cents.”

  “No worries,” Maya says. “You can pay us back.”

  We rush to the office and tell Mom and Dad our plan. It seems like all the scrapbookers are listening too. Mom and Dad also love the idea, and offer us an empty cabin to use for our preparations. Mom hands me the key for cabin 10. “Let us know if you need anything.”

  As soon as we get inside, Tyler and Henry start jumping on the bed. “Get down, you two!” Maya shouts. “This is serious. You told Brinkley you were up to the job.” She rolls her eyes.

  Maya launches into maximum planning mode, taking charge and assigning everyone projects and tasks. We make a list of materials, then walk to the only grocery store in town. Thankfully, we find everything.

  We spend the entire week researching and making items for the booth. Maya brings in a dry-erase board and props it against a wall of the cabin. Each morning she holds a staff meeting and goes over the plan for the day. Full-steam-ahead Maya. Doing what she does best.

  Zach and I work diligently on the display board, covering it with articles, website links, photos, and bulleted points on what people can do. Henry and Tyler make a spin-the-wheel game. Jean hears about what we’re doing and donates movie passes for us to hand out to people who land on the winning space, which says RENN LAKE CHAMPION.

  Jess is filming everything and interviewing us. Amy’s been advising her on angles, lighting, and framing, plus singing various show tunes.

  The night before the fest, Maya draws a line through the last item on the dry-erase board. “We’re ready,” she says. We plan to meet early the next morning to set everything up. Maya makes us get in a circle and put our hands together. Then we shout, “For the lake!”

  * * *

  —

  The sun is just coming up when Jess and I get to the shore. Our table is between the kids’ art area and the food tent, so I hope that’s a good spot with a lot of traffic. We cover the table with Mom’s blue tablecloth. I stand up the display board and Maya fans out the brochures we designed and printed at her house. Zach dips a clear plastic cup into the lake, comes back, and puts it on the table. Still as thick and green as ever. Are the roots even helping? Next to the cup, Zach places a clipboard with sheets of paper for people to sign their names, committing to do their part to make Renn Lake an algae-free zone from now on.

  We couldn’t get an actual rain barrel, but we added a section about them to the display board, explaining how they work. Maya puts the donation bucket in the center of the table. On the front, it says HELP US GET PERMEABLE PAVEMENT. She drops in the first dollar.

  Henry and Tyler add their spin-the-wheel game to one end of the table, then stand behind it. “I
get the first person,” Henry says.

  “How come you do?” Tyler replies. “That’s not fair.”

  “Fine, we race for it, okay? Winner goes first.”

  The boys dart away from the table; then Henry points. “To that tree and back.” He asks Maya to say ready, set, go. She does, and they’re off. Henry wins, and it looks like Tyler’s trying not to cry.

  “Tyler,” Maya says quickly. “You get to help Annalise with the streamers.”

  “Ha,” Tyler snorts, then grabs the tape from my hand. It’s the roll my teacher gave me on the last day of school, as a reminder to tape up something that’s torn and go on. It’s time for me to use it.

  Tyler and I undo the red, white, and blue streamers and loop them around the table. We put a piece of tape every few inches until the roll is empty; then we stand back and look. “Good,” he says. “People will like it.”

  I curl a strand of string lights around the display board and tie some balloons on the table legs. Perfect.

  Mr. Alden heads toward our table. He offers me a small bowl filled with wrapped red-and-white peppermint candies. “Starlight mints,” he says. “People like a little something sweet.”

  “Thanks.” I make space for it as he looks everything over. “Nice job,” he says, then pulls something from his shirt pocket. A handkerchief. This one has a tiny yellow bird on it. He blots his forehead, then squeezes it in his hand.

  During the fest, our booth is constantly crowded. At one point, there’s even a line of people waiting to talk to us! Henry and Tyler are beaming over their game, which everyone wants to try, and people are actually dropping coins and dollars into the donation bucket. Zach never seems to get tired of answering scientific questions, and Maya is hanging back and taking it all in.

  Jess, who’s been filming all day, marches over when the sky begins to darken. “Once again, Isabelle got first in the pie competition. How is it possible that she’s won for three years in a row? The only explanation is that it’s fixed.”

  “Whatever,” I say. “We have more important things to do.”