by Zoe Quinn
“So why are we here?” I asked. “Is this where I learn to bring the entire river to a boil by shooting laser beams out of my eyes?”
Grandpa shook his head. “Not today.”
He opened the tackle box, and I could see that, other than a few faded bobbers and a tangle of old fishing line, there was nothing inside that had anything to do with catching fish.
Grandpa removed what looked to be a cross between a digital camera and a handheld calculator—only a zillion times more intricate, with flashing buttons and switches and something that looked like a miniature satellite dish attached to the corner. He pressed a button on the gadget and it whirred to life.
“What's that?” I asked.
“A measuring device.” Grandpa marched along the bank a little way until he found what he was looking for: a dead oak tree had fallen across the river, creating a bridge.
“You'll need to come back from the other side.”
“Come back?” I put my hands on my hips. “So I guess that means I'm going across the river.”
“Correct.”
I stared at the water, taking in the width from bank to bank. The current looked pretty strong, and I could tell just by looking that it was deep. And cold.
“And how, exactly, am I going to get to the other side in the first place?” I asked.
But I had a pretty good idea.
day's lesson was going to be all about, as Grandpa called it, “airborne transport via forward propulsion.” Also known as jumping.
“I can already jump,” I argued.
“I know you can,” he said. “You jumped across the stage at the school play.”
“So why do I have to practice?”
Grandpa put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye.”Zoe, you know as well as I do that you got lucky with that jump.”
I remembered the way I got my leg hooked in the scenery and almost blew the entire rescue. He was right. I got lucky.
“Airborne transport can be very useful to a superhero,” he explained. “It's not a power exactly, it's more of a skill. Your speed and strength enable you to jump high and far, but as for aim, accuracy, and control—those things must be learned.”
“Good girl. All right, then, toes on the bank.”
Obediently, I stepped toward the slope of the riverbank and settled the toes of my sneakers on the edge. This sent a tiny avalanche of dirt and pebbles rolling down toward the water. “How's this?”
“Excellent. Now, bend your knees. … A little deeper…. No, not that deep…. Yes, that's right.” Grandpa pointed across the water. “Now, I want you to focus on a spot in that meadow, oh, maybe three yards beyond the opposite bank, where the ground is flat and solid. If you land too near the slope, there's always the chance you may lose your footing and slide backward.”
I squinted into the brightness of the sun reflected on the water. “Focused.”
“From this position, using your heels, you're going to spring up and out. Got that? Up, but not straight up. When I was learning, I made the mistake of going completely vertical and smacked my head on the underside of a helicopter.”
“Ouch.”
“Indeed.”
“Up and out,” I repeated.
“Yes. The key words are forward propulsion.”
“Wouldn't I go farther if I gave myself a running start?” I asked.
“Maybe. But consider this—you could inadvertently gather too much speed, which would increase the velocity of the jump, thus making it that much harder to control. And besides, rescue scenarios don't always allow for a running start.”
“Hadn't thought of that.”
“Yes, well, it was a logical question. Now… here we go.”
I concentrated on the spot across the river.
“Trust that your strength will carry you,” Grandpa whispered. “It's in you, Zoe. AU you have to do is leap. As soon as your body recognizes that gravity is against you, it will call upon the depth of its own power and take over the jump. Soon you'll be able to decide to use your strength, but for now, you only have to trust your superhero instincts and… jump!”
I jumped. I kept my eyes forward and launched myself off the earth, springing upward, outward….
I felt the precise nanosecond that the power took over. What began as an ordinary gym-class-caliber track-and-field long jump became a sonic hurdle! It was as if my body just decided to ignore gravity. The jump stretched higher, farther, longer…. I was twenty-five feet up, then thirty, with the water rushing below me. I'd never felt anything like it—I was a little bit scared, a lot excited, and totally super! My blood pounded in my veins like a drum solo in a rock 'n' roll song!
“Focus!” Grandpa called from the bank.
But it was at that moment that I noticed the vat.
It was the bright orange lettering on the side that caught my eye. I shifted my gaze from my landing target to the factory. From the wooded side of the river, I had only been able to see the upper stories of the building. Now that I was airborne, the entire factory was in view, and I could see all the way down to ground level, where a huge vat stood beside the foundation wall.
Stenciled on the side of the vat was the word HAZMAT.
“Focus!” Grandpa cried again.
But it was too late. I forgot all about the jumping exercise, and the minute I forgot, my body downshifted from Super mode.
“Uh-oh.”
You know those cartoons where the coyote accidentally runs off a cliff, and for a few seconds, his legs keep pumping and he just sort of hovers there in midair before he goes plummeting down … down … down …
Well, I was that coyote.
“Ahhhgggg!”
Grandpa ran across the fallen-tree bridge and met me as I climbed up the bank on the opposite side of the river. My excessive dripping had turned the dirt to mud, which made for a slippery climb.
“What happened?” he asked. “You were off to such a terrific start.”
“I know,” I said, collapsing in a wet heap in the grass. “But then I noticed something that broke my concentra—”
I gasped as a familiar smell sent my brain spiraling.
“Zoe, what is it?”
“I'm dizzy!”
“Must be from the fall.”
“No! It's the smell.”
Grandpa sniffed the air.
“Do you smell it?” I demanded.
“Yes! It smells like…” Grandpa gave me a puzzled look. “Like apple blossoms. No, like eucalyptus. Wait… it's more like … a breeze through a field of heather.”
“Mountain-fresh-country-ocean-autumn-sunrise…,” I sputtered. I closed my eyes tightly, but I could still feel the spinning in my head. “It's the smell that's making me dizzy!”
With every breath I took, floral and citrus and herbal bombs seemed to be exploding all around me. Then it occurred to me that I wasn't just smelling springtime-sunshine-wildflower-blah-blah-blah, I was tasting it, too. I must have gotten a mouthful of river water.
“Yuck!” I knew it was impolite, but I couldn't help it: I had to spit. When I did, Grandpa looked shocked.
“Zoe, you're spitting bubbles!”
And I was. A sparkly trail of soap bubbles drifted from my lips and floated toward the sky.
I spit until the soapy taste was gone; then I sat still and waited for the wooziness to pass. When I felt better, I explained to Grandpa about the new detergent Mom had used and the dizzying effect it had had on me. I was certain the two episodes had to be connected, and that they were more than likely linked to the factory's waste output.
“Mom's hunch was right,” I said, feeling anger churning inside me. “She had a feeling Mr. Hazmat was polluting the river. She's having a meeting about it on Sunday.”
“Mr. who?”
“Mr. Hazmat. He must be some dodgy business partner of Mr. Mitchell's, because his name is painted in great big letters on the side of a giant vat.” I was proud of my deductive reasoning. “So all we have to d
o is find this Mr. Hazmat, seeing as Mom couldn't get through to Mr. Mitchell, and tell him what's what.”
“Actually…” Grandpa cleared his throat, his eyes twinkling. “Hazmat is an abbreviation for Hazardous Material.”
I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Oh.”
Grandpa helped me up; I waited until he had made his way back across the makeshift bridge. Then I positioned myself on the bank and sprang up and across the river. This time, I cleared the water and landed on the opposite side with no trouble at all.
“Nice one,” said Grandpa. “Good steady landing.”
“Thanks.”
“And as far as this whole waste issue is concerned,” he continued, “I'll see what I can find out about it as soon as we get home. In the meantime, we've got more training drills to do.”
I was just getting ready to attempt a second jump when we heard my mother's voice calling through the trees.
“What's she doing here?” I asked Grandpa in an urgent whisper.
He shrugged. Mom emerged from the woods, carrying my fishing pole.
“Thought you might need this,” she said. “How in the world does a person go fishing and forget to bring along her fishing pole?”
“Good question,” I mumbled, then forced a laugh. “Guess I'm not gonna be voted Field and Stream's Sportsgirl of the Year, huh?”
Mom looked me up and down, taking in my sopping wet jeans and dripping sweatshirt. “What happened?”
“Um… well, you see … I had this big fish on my line … this really big fish. …”
“Huge fish,” said Grandpa. “Enormous.”
“And I was trying to reel him in….”
Mom quirked an eyebrow. “Without a pole?”
“She was using mine,” Grandpa offered quickly.
“Right.” I picked up Grandpa's fishing pole from where it leaned against the tackle box to demonstrate. “But I wasn't used to Grandpa's reel, and since the fish was so gigantic, I sort of lost control and got pulled into the river.”
“Are you all right?” Mom asked.
“I'm fine. Just a little wet.” I handed Grandpa his fishing pole and took the one my mother was holding. “I shouldn't have any trouble now that I've got my own pole.”
I fiddled with the reel for a moment. I hoped Mom wasn't going to wait around to watch me bait the ho ok. We didn't have any bait. We didn't even have any hooks, unless you counted the lures attached to Grandpa's hat.
But Mom wasn't looking at me; her gaze was fixed across the river, beyond the meadow. She was scowling at the factory with a very determined look in her eye.
I knew that look! She was planning something. And it didn't take a mind reader to imagine what it was.
think I'll go over to the factory gate and take a closer look,” said Mom.
I hadn't meant to yell, but I didn't like the idea of my mother wandering around over there. Sure, I didn't have any solid evidence that Mitchell Enterprises was up to no good… but then, I had no way of knowing that it wasn't, either. And although all I'd found so far was some soapy water, it was certainly possible that this guy was up to something much worse. And if that was true, chances were he wouldn't look kindly on Mom's snooping.
“Don't go!”
“Why not?” asked Mom.
“It's trespassing,” said Grandpa.
“Not if I stay outside the fence,” Mom argued.
Grandpa nodded reluctantly. “Good point.”
I searched for a reason that might change her mind. “I'm interested in this issue, too, and I'd like to join you in looking for clues, but I can't go with you right now because Grandpa and I have more fishing to do.”
Mom gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I appreciate your interest, Zoe, but since I'm here, it would be silly not to go over there and check out that factory on my own.”
I slid Grandpa a look. I could tell he didn't like the idea of Mom walking into a dangerous situation, either.
“Zoe and I can go along with you on your search,” he said to my mother. “We can fish some other time.”
I felt a surge of relief. Maybe I wasn't allowed to use my superpowers yet, but I was sure that as a retired hero, Grandpa could protect Mom and me if anything came up.
“Good. Let's go.”
As we walked along the riverbank, Mom eyed the dead grass in the field. I could practically see the wheels turning in her head; I'd have bet a million bucks she was thinking the same thing I'd thought—that the factory was responsible. She turned away from the brown meadow and looked at the water.
“I think you gave up on your fishing too early,” she teased. “Looks like there's a big school offish swimming down there.” She pointed to a trail of bubbles, then frowned. “That's an awful lot of bubbles.”
I grinned. “Maybe it's not just a school. Maybe it's a whole university offish.”
But as the bubbles popped, I smelled flowery soap.
“When I was a little girl,” my mother said, “back before the Sweetbriar city council built the town pool, the river water was so clean and clear that we used to come here and swim.” She sighed over the memory, while I dragged my hand across my lips, which still tasted soapy.
“I wouldn't recommend that now,” I said.
“Neither would I!” Mom stopped in her tracks and pointed down the sloping embankment to the water. “Zoe, Zack … look.”
We looked. The end of a wide metal pipe—a newly installed one, from the shiny look of it—poked from the reeds. Spilling out of the pipe into the beautiful river was a stream of green goop. When the goop hit the water, it made a hissing sound and created a thick film of brownish green foam.
“That can't be good,” I said, wrinkling my nose.
“It's not,” Mom agreed. “And it's certainly enough reason to launch an official protest. That looks disgusting!”
She was right. This was proof that something was being dumped into the river. In which case, the hazmat vat was just for show, since the waste was being routed right into the Sweetbriar.
“But why would someone dump this stuff in the river? Don't they know how bad that is for the environment?” I demanded. There had to be safer ways of getting rid of this nasty green sludge.
“It can be very expensive to dispose of dangerous chemicals properly,” Grandpa explained. “But some people are more concerned with making a quick buck than protecting the ducks.”
I couldn't help smiling at Grandpa's rhyming explanation. But as I thought about the ducks, I stopped smiling. They lived in that water. I was in the river for a few measly seconds, and I came up spitting soap bubbles. I could only imagine what was happening to the ducks, fish, frogs, and everything else that lived in the river.
More than ever, I wanted Mom to expose whatever Mr. Mitchell was up to.
And more than ever, I wanted to help.
On Sunday morning, I helped Mom prepare for the meeting. We set up an easel in the living room to hold a large map of Sweetbriar. Mom stuck in a red pushpin to indicate the factory's location. Then she used a yellow highlighter to outline the river while I laid out flyers on the dining room table, next to the trays of snacks we'd put out for the guests: lemon squares, shortbread cookies, and coffee cake. I was feeling pretty psyched about the meeting. It was going to be way more intense now that we had evidence!
“I'll finish up,” said Mom, replacing the cap on the highlighter with a little snap. “You go on upstairs and get dressed.”
She didn't have to tell me twice! Josh Devlin was coming to this meeting and I needed to look great. I dashed upstairs, careful to keep from breaking into superspeed.
In my room, I'd laid out four possible outfits. I studied them now, trying to decide which one was the most activist-ish ensemble. I wished I could call Emily for fashion advice, but I knew she would already be on her way to the mall with Caitlin.
It took me a while, but I finally settled on a pair of gray corduroy pants with a ribbon belt and a pink polo shirt. Then, for extra enviro
nmental cuteness, I added my endangered species charm bracelet just as the doorbell rang.
I stepped into the hall and listened eagerly. Sure enough, I could hear my mother inviting Mrs. Devlin and Josh inside.
Smiling like a nutcase, I headed down the stairs. Mrs. Devlin was hanging her jacket on the coatrack;Josh had made his way over to the map.
“Hi, Mrs. Devlin,” I said when I reached the bottom landing.
“Hey, Josh.” I sounded calm, but I was gripping the banister as tightly as I could without shifting into Super mode. I was still new at this boy-girl thing, but I was pretty sure smashing the railing with my bare hands wouldn't be considered good flirting form.
Two more attendees had arrived just behind the Devlins, and while Mom ushered them inside, I joined Josh at the easel. I picked up the plate of lemon squares Mom and I had baked and held it out to Josh. My bracelet jingled happily.
“Cool bracelet,” Josh said. “Is that a bald eagle?”
I held up my wrist so that the light caught the charm and flashed off the round head of the tiny eagle. “Yep. Every charm represents an endangered bird, mammal, or reptile. This one”— I pointed to the smallest trinket—“is a Choctawhatchee beach mouse.”
“What's that squirmy-looking one?”
I twisted the bracelet around so I could grasp the charm. “This is a Coachella Valley fringe-toed lizard. It's my favorite. I love its pointy toes. And when I shake my arm, it really does seem to squirm.”
“I like it.”
He liked it. I made a silent vow never to go anywhere without wearing that bracelet!
Josh smiled and bit into his lemon square just as the phone rang. I excused myself and went into the kitchen to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Zoe? It's Grandpa.”
“Hi, Grandpa.”
There was a short pause. “I need you to swing by the cleaner's. I have something important to show you.”