The dog was an incredible swimmer—could even dive underwater and retrieve objects from the bottom.
But there was no time for play this morning. The boy had to get ready to tag sharks.
All members of Sharks Incorporated had jobs to do before a trip. Maribel was in charge of the boat and fishing tackle. Sabina was responsible for providing a sack lunch, packing a first-aid kit, and making sure they had plenty of water.
Luke’s job was making chum. It was a stinky job, but he didn’t mind.
He placed a second bucket near his feet and clamped an old metal meat grinder to the side of the cleaning table. The wooden handle reminded him of sausage grinders he’d seen at farm auctions. Luke had never made sausage. Maybe he would one day. It couldn’t be any harder than grinding up skins and skeletons of fish that had been filleted and left behind by yesterday’s fishermen.
The process was simple: load fish scraps into the top of the grinder and crank hard. Metal blades inside churned it all into a chunky paste that dropped into the bucket below. Later, when the mess was hung in a bag off the boat, tiny pieces would drift away in an oily sheen. Fish from a long, long way off would smell the chum and come searching for the source.
Today, hopefully, those fish would include blacktip sharks.
Luke didn’t mind hard, smelly work. It gave his mind time to roam. Daydreams, images of him in a Major League Baseball uniform were standard. Lately, though, he’d been trying hard to think, not just daydream.
Trying to understand the colors that sometimes flashed in his head gave him something to do. Like now. What he thought of as his “lightning eye” moved to Maribel. The girl was unhappy about something. No … he’d been right the first time. She was worried about today’s trip. The ashen-gray haze still framed her face.
Luke’s focus moved to Sabina. The girl had just exited the houseboat where her family lived. Black braids dangled from beneath her new fishing cap. She wore sneakers, baggy shorts, and her blue Sharks Incorporated T-shirt. The girl appeared happy, yet in his mind an orange-yellow strobe trailed the girl as she came toward him.
The orange-yellow light throbbed in a way that reminded Luke of something. Finally it came to him: a caution light at a dangerous intersection. That was strange. He’d never experienced flashing orange colors before.
“Buenos días,” the girl said.
Good morning? Suddenly, Luke wasn’t so sure it would be a good morning. He associated Sabina with a soft blue mist. And sometimes yellow sparks that turned red when she was mad. Which was often. But why a flashing orange caution light?
“Hope so,” he mumbled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sabina placed the sack she was carrying, which contained the day’s lunch, on the dock. After wondering if the food was too close to the chum bucket, she moved the sack to a place where the air was fresher.
“I made a bologna sandwich just for you,” she informed the boy. “Talk about gross. And sliced mangoes with black beans and salsa. If I’d known you were grumpy, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
Luke shrugged and reached for more fish scraps.
With an expression of distaste, the girl watched him crank the handle. “Maybe you’re doing it wrong,” she said. “Maybe that’s why we haven’t caught any sharks. Let me borrow your gloves—I’ll show you the right way.”
Luke’s inner eye moved from Sabina to her older sister. The caution light flashed brighter in his mind.
Then, for reasons he didn’t understand, a distant area of the bay attracted his attention. It was a narrow opening in the mangroves where the trees were taller. Fishing guides called the spot Fools Cut. He’d been told it was because there were rocky oyster bars that made it dangerous to pass through. Oyster shells were rock-hard, sharp as razors.
For this reason, few boat captains risked an attempt.
“What’s the matter with you?” the girl demanded. She was irritated by the boy’s distracted, faraway gaze. “You think I enjoy slicing bologna for someone who won’t even talk about sarongs … or loan me a pair of dirty gloves?”
Luke seemed to notice her for the first time. “Sorry … I’ve got a funny feeling about today,” he said.
Anyone but Sabina would’ve been startled by this odd response.
“I know,” she said in a superior way. “It’s because you’re strange … even stranger than me. Why are you ashamed of your hand?”
The boy stopped cranking. “I’m not ashamed,” he said, and stared for moment. “Who told you about my hand?”
The girl was delighted. “You told me, farm boy, without saying a word. Sometimes I know what’s in your head. Like just now, you were thinking there’s a better place to catch sharks. Same with me. The difference is, I’m not afraid to tell my snotty sister.”
That wasn’t what Luke had been thinking.
A little later, lugging the chum bucket toward the boat, he didn’t respond when the girl suggested, “Take off your gloves, and I’ll read your fortune. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone what I see.”
Luke wondered, How dumb does she think I am?
* * *
The rental boat was an open and simple craft. It was similar to a fiberglass sled with bench seats. In the middle of the boat was a steering wheel on the console. Along the sides were storage hatches where the new tagging pole was hidden. Maribel stood at the wheel and steered toward the mouth of the bay. She couldn’t help noticing that something had changed between her sister and Luke. Usually, the pair chose seats as far apart as possible.
Not this trip.
They sat side by side, close enough that Sabina could jabber away without being heard over the noise of the engine. Mostly the boy ignored her. But sometimes he seemed interested in what she had to say.
That, too, was odd.
Maribel concentrated on staying in the channel.
The boat wasn’t fast, but traveling twenty miles an hour across the water felt fast. Wind tangled her hair. Seagulls scouted their wake, hoping to snare small fish the boat had spooked. The roaring engine vibrated the deck beneath her feet. The air smelled wonderful—a mix of salt, wet sand, and mangrove swamp.
Driving required concentration. It also gave Maribel time to plan today’s fishing trip.
Last night, she had sought advice from Captain Hannah. Who better to ask? The woman had been on the covers of fishing magazines and had appeared on TV shows.
“I have to be doing something wrong,” Maribel had confided. “Sabina’s already complaining. And I think Luke is losing confidence in me. I’ve been anchoring in exactly the same spot where we caught sharks with you and Dr. Ford. But, two trips in a row, all we caught were catfish.”
Hannah had spent a patient hour with the girl, offering tips and studying a map of the bay. Nautical maps were called charts, as Maribel knew.
“You don’t catch fish just by baiting a hook,” Hannah had said. “The most important tools are your eyes and your brain. First, figure out where the fish should be. That can take some time. Think of it this way: When people are hungry, where do they go?”
“The kitchen?” Maribel had guessed.
“Where there’s plenty of food,” the woman had agreed. “Sharks are no different. On the water, what we might consider to be the kitchen moves around. Sometimes it moves several times a day. Out there”—Hannah had motioned to the water—“tell me this. What else eats fish besides other fish?”
Birds.
“Think of seagulls and pelicans as your scouts,” Hannah had said. “They follow schools of baitfish. If you find a school of bait, chances are good there are bigger fish nearby.”
Maribel had made mental notes. There were many ways to locate fish before bothering to anchor.
Large fish are predators, according to Hannah. They stalk areas where the current is strong enough to flush smaller fish and crabs out of hiding. Predators use tree roots and rocks as hiding places. They wait for food to swim by.
There is something else t
hat good captains look for, she added. When big fish ambush a school of bait, the feeding frenzy often creates an oily sheen on the water.
“A natural chum slick,” the woman said. “Look for it and consider anchoring down current. Let the fish come to you.”
“Avoid areas where there’s a lot of boat traffic” was another tip Hannah provided. “In shallow water, the fewer boats the better. Maybe you’ve been anchoring too close to the channel.”
The fishing guide had offered lots of good advice.
Maribel was determined to put the advice to use. At the mouth of the bay, she pulled back on the throttle. As the engine slowed, the young captain remembered that outboard motors leave frothy tracks. She saw that a couple of boats had passed through the area recently. Several more would soon follow.
That wasn’t surprising. There was only one marked channel in and out of Dinkins Bay.
“We’ve decided we don’t want to anchor in the same place,” Sabina called over the noise. “We want to catch something besides stupid catfish.”
Maribel expected this. But good captains give their crew credit for decisions that have already been made, as Hannah had told her. “Great idea,” Maribel replied. “I think you’re right. We’ll look for a better spot.”
The expression on Sabina’s face told Luke, See? I told you my sister would listen to me.
The boy shrugged. He seemed to be fixated on a tiny opening in the distance. Trees were taller there. Fools Cut, the opening was called. The name was also a warning because the cut was guarded by rocks and oyster bars.
Maribel nudged the boat ahead and used her eyes. The tidal current appeared sluggish where they had anchored on previous trips. There were no schools of baitfish that sometimes spattered the surface like rain. No birds, no leaping mullet.
She said, “I think we should move to a whole different area. Anyone have a suggestion?”
In Spanish, Sabina replied, “Let’s try outside the bay, where the water is deeper.”
Maribel gave the girl a sharp look that meant, We’re not allowed outside the bay, and you know it!
“Speak English,” she added, “so Luke understands.”
“When are we going to have Spanish-speaking days?” Sabina complained. “Marion said we would. He said the farm boy needs to learn Spanish because Spanish is just as important as English.”
That was true, but now was not the time to discuss it. While the sisters debated the subject Luke continued to stare into the distance.
Maribel liked Luke … not in that way, of course. Not really. It was because he was quiet and did his work without complaint. He also spooked her a little with his ability to sometimes see what others could not. “Bionic eyes,” her sister had termed the gift.
Maybe that gift could help them now.
“What are you looking at?” Maribel asked.
Reluctantly, he replied, “Nothing. Just that little opening in the trees.”
“I’ve never seen a boat anchored there,” Maribel replied uneasily. “I heard there’s deep water near the mangroves. But it’s not easy to get to. That might be good, though. The fewer boats, the more fish. Think we’d find sharks?”
Luke nodded. He knew there would be sharks. What else could explain a series of violent explosions on the surface that he could see from half a mile away? He pointed. “Look for yourself. Something big is feeding in that cut.”
The girls shaded their eyes. In the distance was an occasional puff of mist that might be where a big fish had busted the surface.
“If the farm boy says he sees fish, he sees fish,” Sabina said on Luke’s behalf.
Maribel was convinced, “Okay, then. Fools Cut. Here we go. We’ll take it slow and try to find our way through the oyster bars.”
The boy did not mention the orange caution light that once again began to flash softly in his head.
ELEVEN
SMALL SHARKS AND BIG TROUBLE
That Thursday afternoon, they hooked so many sharks and other fish in Fools Cut that Luke forgot he had sensed danger. Or maybe the caution light was a warning about the shoals—areas too shallow for most boats to cross—that guarded the entrance. The colors he saw were often confusing.
Oysters grew on both sides of Fools Cut in clusters beneath the surface—oyster bars, as they’re known. They could rip the propeller off a motor. Or slice a person’s feet to shreds if someone was foolish enough to get out and walk.
Luke soon learned this the hard way. Maribel had done a good job of snaking their boat through the shoals until the water suddenly went from several feet deep to almost no water at all. When their fiberglass hull crunched against something beneath the surface, she did as they’d been taught. Immediately she shut off the engine and confirmed that the anchor was coiled and ready for use.
“We have to tilt the motor up and use the oars,” she said. “No wonder boats don’t risk coming through here. We’ll have to find another spot.”
Luke, who had seen fish exploding on the surface, knew that deep water lay near the mangroves only a few boat lengths away.
“How about if I get out and push?” he suggested, and started untying his shoes. They were red Michael Jordans. He’d purchased the shoes at a yard sale for a tenth of what they’d sold for in a store. They were size eight—a little big for his feet, but so what?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Maribel said. As she spoke, she looked in the direction of Dr. Ford’s lab. His house was near the marina, both visible in the distance. Hannah had instructed them not to get out of the boat unless there was an emergency. What if someone saw?
Too late. Luke already had his legs dangling over the side and was adjusting his gloves.
“Wait!” she called. “At least put your shoes on. There could be stingrays.”
The memory of the stingray spine Luke had seen was enough to make him comply. He and his red Michael Jordans went over into water that barely covered his ankles. With the engine up, the boat was easy to push despite the rough footing. Oysters crunched like eggshells with every step the boy took. They stabbed at his feet. Soon the water was deep enough, and he vaulted into the boat after a final push.
“Your ankle’s bleeding,” Sabina scolded, but was actually delighted. “When will you learn to listen to us? Good thing I brought this along.”
She couldn’t wait to use the first-aid kit. Maribel had already dropped the anchor so the boat wouldn’t drift into even more dangerous water.
Luke removed his left shoe and inspected it. The rubber sole looked as if it had been sliced by hundreds of small knives. No cuts on his feet, though. Just a deep slice on his ankle.
“I hope this doesn’t sting too much,” Sabina said, and sounded as if she meant it. She cleaned the cut with an iodine swab, then added some kind of goop from a tube. Maribel was concerned as well.
The sisters bickered briefly over who would apply Luke’s bandage. A bottle of cold water was handed to him. With it came a stern reminder about the importance of drinking lots and lots of water on a hot summer morning.
It had been a long time, the boy realized, since anyone had fussed over him like that.
“Does it hurt?” Maribel asked when they were done.
Hurt? The pain of an oyster cut didn’t compare to getting zapped by lightning. Luke was tempted to say this, and possibly even reveal the burn scar on his hand.
Maybe he would one day. The sisters were close to earning his trust. But not now.
Instead, he nodded toward Fools Cut. It was a narrow gap in the mangroves where the current boiled over pools of deep water. The way the water churned reminded him of a river he’d seen in Colorado during a trip with his mother not long before she had died.
Luke shook himself back to the present and searched the surface for fish. You have to learn to look through the water, Doc had told them.
There was a trick to it, as the boy was learning. He ignored the water’s sunny glare and refocused on what lay beneath the surface. There
, drifting in and out of shadows, he saw heavy dark shapes. They were as thick and straight as ax handles. But ax handles could not move with the slow flick of a tail.
These did.
“I have a good feeling about this spot,” Luke announced, tying his shoes. “In fact, let’s get ready. I want to show you something I made.”
He opened a rod locker and, for the first time, revealed the shark-tagging pole. It was a short, lightweight spear with the familiar steel tagging dart for a point. That was the only resemblance to the cracked broom handle he’d broken a week ago. The shaft was amber colored, dense as pine resin. The grain was polished like glass.
“Beautiful,” Sabina said. She held out her hands for a closer look. “Where’d you ever get such beautiful wood?”
Luke wasn’t ready to discuss the day he, and a tree next to the house, had been struck by lightning. “Found it in the yard,” he said in a dismissive way. “Let’s hope we get a chance to use it.”
* * *
At thirteen, Maribel thought herself too old to whoop and laugh like a child. She was the quiet, thoughtful sister. Her clothes were always pressed, her homework done on time, her emotions always, always under control.
But not after three trips as captain without a shark.
When the first blacktip shark hit, Maribel watched in disbelief, then hooted with joy. “Got one!” she hollered. “Luke, grab the rod. Hurry … don’t let it get away. Sabina—reel in the other line so they don’t get tangled.”
The younger sister couldn’t reel in line—she suddenly had a fish, too. Her rod buckled. The bottle of tea on her lap went flying. Both fishing lines screamed through the narrow swath of water toward blue sky on the other side of the mangroves.
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