The Light in the Lake

by Sarah R. Baughman

  “There’s a lot going on in the Maple Lake watershed,” I say, hoping Mr. Dale will be impressed I used that word.

  “Good point,” Mr. Dale says. “Watersheds can cover quite a distance, so there’s a lot that could affect Maple Lake. Nice work, you two. It sounds like you have some hypotheses about what could be causing the pollution.”

  “Great.” Tai pumps his fist. “What’s next?”

  “I’ll bring your mom in,” Mr. Dale says. “She has some ideas.”

  As Mr. Dale leaves, I lean over to Tai. “My mom had ideas too,” I say. “She’s the one who brought up the construction.”

  “That’s cool,” he says. “She sounds smart.”

  “She is,” I say. I can feel something deep in my chest swell just a little. “She was the best science student at her school.” I don’t say high school. Mama might not have gone to college, but she knows a lot just the same.

  “We need to get cracking on our secondary investigation, you know,” Tai whispers, even though nobody’s around to hear.

  “I know,” I say. “I’ve got the notebook. We should try to get them to send us out on the lake by ourselves.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Tai says, pulling out his phone. “Hey, I was doing some more research on white whales after I saw you at the library. They’re pretty cool-looking. Did you know that when they’re born, they’re actually dark gray? And they talk more than any other whale. I guess they have a whole language.”

  I lean over and look at his phone, even though I know exactly what white whales look like. They have kind of cone-shaped heads with blunt, stuck-out noses, and their faces look almost human, like they’re smiling.

  “Nice research,” I say. “For someone who isn’t into science.” I poke him lightly.

  “Yeah well,” Tai says. “It’s actually pretty interesting. Did Amos think the creature looked like this?”

  “Maybe.” I push past the pang I feel at hearing Amos’s name. “I don’t think he thought of it as a regular white whale, though. He thought it might have started that way but grown and changed over time, since the glaciers.”

  “Like evolution?” Tai asks.

  “Kind of like that, but maybe with some magic that would make it different from regular whales,” I say. “You know, it’s funny. These whales are related to narwhals, which some people call unicorn whales because of their tusks. And unicorns are magical too.” I can’t bring myself to add and also not real.

  Mr. Dale comes back in with Dr. Li. Tai rolls to the other side of the table and sits up a little straighter.

  “I’m pleased with the start you’ve made,” Dr. Li says. “You’ve come across some of the same information Jake and Tasha have been researching. We’ve run some initial numbers based on the water samples you took with Mr. Dale along with the ones we had, and it’s clear that Maple Lake has a phosphorus problem.”

  Phosphorus. I saw that word in my research. It sounded like a lot of different things could cause too much phosphorus to get into the water, and harmful algal blooms were definitely a major symptom. I wonder how we’ll figure out a solution.

  “I’d like you to collect some water samples from different points on the lake,” Dr. Li says. “Just to confirm what we suspect.”

  Mr. Dale tosses the boat keys in his hand. “I’m ready when you are,” he says. Then he looks toward the biological station and sighs. “Though I’ve got a lot to do in there too. Dr. Li, do you think you could put off the conversation with Dr. Rush at UVM until we’re back?”

  Dr. Li winces. “You’re right, we are cutting it a little close,” she says. “Maybe we should postpone the sampling, though I really wanted the kids to get a few this morning.”

  I clear my throat. “Um, I could drive the boat,” I say. “If that would help.” I try not to show how much I need to drive the boat by myself. My plan to get out onto the lake to investigate Amos’s clues kind of relies on it.

  Dr. Li cocks her head to one side. “Drive the boat?” she asks. “Addie, that seems a little”—she pauses, and I can see she’s trying to find the right word—“risky?”

  “Well, it’s just that… I’ve been driving our boat since I was ten,” I say. “My dad taught me. And I took Boater’s Safety too; I’ve had my license since last year.”

  Tai smiles and sticks his hand out under the table for another low five.

  Dr. Li’s brow wrinkles, and Mr. Dale steps in. “She does know how to drive a boat,” he explains. “But Addie, we’d need to speak with your parents about this.”

  “I actually talked to them about it,” I say. The lie slips out more easily than I thought it would, but it leaves me light-headed. I hope Mr. Dale can’t tell. I hand him the letter I typed and printed at the library:

  Dear Mr. Dale,

  Addie has told us that she’s interested in driving the boat during her research. We feel comfortable with this, and think it’s a great way for Addie to keep her skills up since we haven’t been out on the lake in a while. Please contact us at the phone number noted below if you have any concerns.

  Laura and Bruce Lago

  Signing the letter in a way that looked like a grown-up and not like a middle schooler who was too careful with her cursive wasn’t easy, but I just made my signature a little messier than usual. It was risky including a phone number too, but I figured if I did, Mr. Dale would be more likely to believe the letter and less likely to actually call my parents. Dad barely ever answers his phone on the job anyway.

  Dr. Li turns to Mr. Dale. “What do you think?” she asks. “Are you sure this is safe?”

  Mr. Dale gives me a careful look. “I’ve seen Addie driving the boat when she was out fishing with her family,” he says. He doesn’t mention he also let me drive it the other day, when we took our first water sample. “I know she’s been learning since she was very young.”

  Dr. Li nods. “Well, this isn’t exactly conventional,” she says. “But I suppose it could work.”

  “You’re required to wear life jackets, of course,” Mr. Dale says to Tai and me, his voice suddenly stern. “And to stay in the boat at all times. That’s clear, right?”

  We nod. Mama and Dad always make me wear a life jacket anyway. And as for staying in the boat, well—that shouldn’t be hard.

  “Mr. Dale will set you up with more sample bottles,” Dr. Li says. “And Addie, I have a map of the lake with about ten collection spots.” She hands me a piece of paper. “Each of the spots has been assigned a number, and these correspond with what’s programmed into the Navionics. We’ll send you to the ones closest to shore so you’re not too far away. Does that make sense?”

  I study the map and the numbered spots where we have to take measurements. Dr. Li pulls out a highlighter and swipes it across the numbers closest to the biological station.

  “Yes,” I say. “I’ve been watching my dad navigate to his fishing spots practically since I could walk.” I take another look at the map. “I think you’ve actually found a few of them.”

  “Let’s hope they remain good for fishing,” Dr. Li says. “You know any kind of pollution can have a negative effect on aquatic life.”

  “You mean the fish could die?” I ask, picturing Amos casting a line, his eyes squinting out at shining water.

  “They might already be dying. Jake and Tasha are working with Vermont’s Agency of Natural Resources to crunch some numbers on fish populations.” Dr. Li ticks off a list on her fingers: “Sample bottles. Labels. Marker. Data sheets and pencil. Life jackets. Phones in waterproof cases. Cooler. GPS. Anything else?”

  “Nope, sounds good,” Mr. Dale says. “C’mon, scientists. Let’s head out to the boat.”

  Maple Lake stretches before me, blue and silver in the sun. Every sparkle pierces me, but the beauty also feels so familiar, I want to move toward the water and through it, stepping clear of fear, like Barbara Ann said.

  Mr. Dale helps us get set up, then waves goodbye. I push the throttle forward and raise
the motor out of the water so the boat rides on a smooth, even plane.

  The mountains close in on me, dark and beautiful. I’ve seen the lake this way a million times, but now with Amos’s notebook, it feels new too. It’s not what I thought it was. Or, there’s more to it than I ever saw before. In the distance, a heron rises from the water and soars into the sky, its wings dripping silver. I have to catch my breath, even though I’ve seen herons fly a hundred times before.

  If there’s magic anywhere, I think, it’s here.

  I know exactly where we’re heading first, and I don’t need the GPS to get there. The closest spot Dr. Li marked on the map isn’t too far from Bear Rock. The huge, rounded top part that sticks out through the water looks just like a bear’s back, and people always dare each other to jump off it. I guess it’s not that scary—as long as you can swim, you’re fine—but I’ve never really had the guts to try it. Amos did, and I remember how my heart would pound when he crashed into the water. He always came up smiling. I catch myself smiling too, just thinking about it.

  I cut the motor. There’s not much wind, so I’m not worried about drifting.

  “Sample bottle?” I ask. Tai pulls one out, along with a permanent marker. I write the date, time, and place on the white label, then add a number matching what Dr. Li wrote by this spot. I rinse the sample bottle, then hold it under the surface, cap it once it’s full, and hand it to Tai, who stores it in the cooler.

  No wind means even the leaves on the trees stay quiet. Water bumps softly against the boat. I close my eyes and breathe in deep. And I don’t only smell things—I feel them, without having to touch. Spicy cedar branches, flaking bark, warm dirt mixed with sand. Clean, hard stone. The faintest trace of fish. I’ve always loved this lake.

  But I shiver too. Maple Lake has never just been what I can see on the surface. There’s so much more to it, plunging dark and unknowable beneath me. I thought I knew what there was to know, or at least that with enough time I could figure everything out. But now I’m not so sure anyone can.

  “It’s nice out here,” Tai says. “Really quiet. But nice.”

  “My brother was only ever quiet on the lake,” I say. “Every other time, he needed to be making noise. Banging around. Out here, in our boat, he just sat still and watched.”

  A lump rises in my throat. I want Amos to be here so badly it makes my ribs ache.

  And then the boat rises. I grab the steering wheel before I even understand the fact of it, that the water actually moved beneath us on such a still day.

  “Hey, did you feel that?” I ask. And then it rises again.

  “I felt that!” Tai shouts.

  Water surges underneath now, again and again, like it’s getting pushed from somewhere too deep for us to see. A sheaf of wave slaps the side and splashes over the edge, drenching my knees.

  The boat heaves toward Bear Rock, the water pushing it higher, higher—

  I fumble with the key, the steering wheel, trying to get the motor started and keep us turned toward the middle of the lake before we smash into Bear Rock or, worse, the sharp face of Bevel Mountain. Tai’s scrambling up from the bottom of the boat, reaching for the sides. The regular sounds of water and birds slip away, replaced by crackling static. A scream locks in my throat.

  And just then, as quickly as it started, it stops. The water shrinks, stills. Quiet comes back.

  Tai’s face is pale, the muscles in his arms popping as he clings to the side of the boat.

  I’m shaking, my fingers still on the key. Finally, I let go and drop my face into my hands.

  “What was that?” Tai asks.

  “I—I have no idea.” I stand opposite Tai to keep the boat balanced and stare into the water, shimmering and dark at the same time. Deep breaths. As air fills my lungs, I stop trembling. “Actually—I do have an idea.”

  I fumble for Amos’s notebook, zipped into a plastic bag just in case. “Amos wrote about this,” I say. I flip past the doodles and sketches to clue number two, just so I can read it again for myself. Amos described it exactly the way I would. I quickly check my watch and record the date and time on the back of the page. Significant disturbance in the water, I write. Unexplained ocean-type wave.

  “The waves,” Tai remembers, touching the words on the page. Amos’s handwriting. “You’re right. Did those feel like ocean waves?”

  “They really did. That big, anyway.” I’ve only been to the ocean once before, when we went camping in Maine a few years back, but I still remember how huge those waves felt, how they rolled underneath us. By Bear Rock, I continue writing. Almost smashed the boat but stopped just in time.

  I look up at the cedar branches hanging over our heads. They aren’t moving even a little bit. No other wind, I write. Then I shove the notebook in Tai’s direction. He reads my entry and nods. “Something’s going on for sure,” he says. “Your brother knew what he was doing.”

  I don’t know what to think.

  “Let’s go to the next spot,” I say. My hands are steady but my head’s still spinning, and I want to move on.

  Tai studies the map. “Two, three, and four are really close together,” he says.

  I start the motor while he finds the coordinates in the Navionics app. “Know where to go?” he asks.

  “Got it.” I turn the boat and push the throttle hard, then stand tall at the wheel, trying to clear my mind. I love the hard push of air against my face when I drive fast. The air alone feels tough enough to push through a wall, erase anything it touches.

  We take our next three samples quickly—I’m in charge of labeling the sample bottle; then after I rinse and fill it, Tai packages it back up in a plastic bag and puts it in the cooler.

  He takes a deep breath. “Was your brother scared of the creature?”

  It’s a good question, and I realize I don’t know the answer. “It didn’t seem that way,” I say. “He never seemed scared when he told me about it.”

  “Man,” Tai says, shaking his head. “He must have been brave.”

  “He was,” I say. “But you know, if what just happened was what he wrote about—which it kind of seems like it was—it didn’t hurt us.”

  “That was a pretty strong wave, though,” Tai says.

  “Yeah, but it stopped,” I say. “And we’re still in the boat.”

  “True,” Tai says. The water’s gentle now, barely moving, and I can sense both of us relaxing along with it. “It’s pretty cool, actually, when you think about it. Maybe the creature knew we were here and it decided to show itself to us. On purpose.”

  “Interesting hypothesis,” I say. Tai is way more on board with the idea of the creature than I am. “But just because the water moved, doesn’t mean a creature moved it. We still didn’t really see anything.” I’m trembling, though. I have to admit, I have no idea what caused that wave.

  “We felt it, though!” Tai’s voice presses through, louder than before. “I could ask my mom about it. If there’s any kind of scientific explanation, she’ll know.”

  I shake my head. “I know part of the scientific method is sharing,” I say, “but this feels different to me. We should keep track of it in the notebook, but that’s it. I’m—still trying to figure out what’s going on.”

  Tai nods. “Okay. It’ll be our mystery.” Then he looks over the side of the boat, down at the water, resting his chin on his folded arms. “Hey,” he says, “aren’t we supposed to be able to see fish swimming around?”

  I laugh. “Usually it’s not that easy. They stay pretty deep.”

  “It’d be cool to catch one.” Tai looks so hopeful it’s kind of heartbreaking.

  “You’ll need a few tips before the Maple Derby, anyway, if you want to have any hope of placing.” I smile to let him know I’m kidding.

  But he already seems to know. “Sure,” he says, laughing. “And by the way, I’m only doing that derby thing because you and I will be in the same boat. Literally. So however you want to cram twelve years of fishing in
to a few tips works for me.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Might as well start now.” There’s an old rod and reel on this boat with a jig still stuck by the hook. Must be Mr. Dale’s backup equipment. It’s not the best, but it’ll do for a lesson.

  I hand it to Tai and show him how to hold the rod. “Now what you want to do is to drop the jig straight to the bottom.”

  “How will I know I’m at the bottom?” he asks.

  “The line will go slack,” I explain. “You’ll see it start to swirl up. Now, once you’re there, reel up just a little to create some tension. Then start to jig the line, like this.” I demonstrate flicking the rod up and down, gently, then stopping, waiting. Jigging again. “As you go, you can pull the jig up higher too. Then bring it back down.”

  Tai does well. His wrist moves easily, not too jerky and not too soft. “Why exactly am I doing this?” he asks.

  “Perch are bottom-dwellers,” I say. “They like the mud, and they get food from it too. Bugs. When you knock against the bottom, it stirs up all the silt and makes them think something interesting is going on.”

  I steer the boat away from the center of the lake closer to shore, where the Pine River spills into Maple Lake.

  “So, fish like structure in the water,” I say. “A place where things shift and feel different. Where there’s a big drop-off in depth, for example. Or here, where a river comes into a bigger body of water.”

  I cut the motor. “This is one of our favorite spots,” I say. “One of the first Dad showed us.”

  Tai peers over the edge of the boat as though he’ll be able to see fish clustering below. “It’s still not going to be that easy,” I say.

  But Tai’s eyes darken. “It’s not that,” he says. “I’m just pretty sure I see some of those harmful algal blooms my mom was talking about.”

  My heart sinks, a heavy anchor. “You sure?”

  “Look,” Tai says, and reluctantly, I lean over too. Greenish-blue slime pools near the mouth of the river. I’ve never noticed those here before. I wonder if it’s even a good fishing spot anymore. I stick the handle of the boat’s emergency paddle into the middle of the sludge and try pushing it away to see if I can spot the wild celery and waterweed that give the water oxygen and the fish hiding places. But all I can do is swirl it around, like I’m stirring paint.