by Sylvia Liu
Amelia skips by me and clatters down the steps. “Come on.” She waves. Everything about her is a lot—her voice, her hyper energy, even her smile. Mom and her dad are talking house renovations now. At least going out back will take me to the river, where I might see Missy and her baby again. And maybe—hopefully—my first impression of this girl is wrong. I really want to have a human friend, and even better, one who lives right next door.
I follow Amelia, lagging behind. Her backyard is like mine, but the trees are thicker and closer together. Both our houses are on the older side, built on stilts, and set in a wild and wooded area. While a multicolored woven hammock hangs under our house, along with our paddleboards, kayaks, and a Ping-Pong table, the underside of her house is empty.
“What do you do for fun around here?” Amelia asks. Before I get a chance to open my mouth, she says, “I’m an ice-skater, but I doubt there’s a lot of that here in Florida. We just moved from Baltimore. What grade are you in? I’m in sixth grade. I don’t think I’m going to like coming to a new school in the middle of the year. Do you have sisters or brothers? I have two half brothers who are much older than me. They’re both in college, so I’m practically an only child.”
I stare at her. This is not going to work out. I’d like to lodge a complaint and return my neighbors for a refund. It would’ve been one thing if the girl next door had turned out to be shy, like me. A reader, maybe. A reader would’ve been great—we could be best friends forever and never even talk to each other. But all this girl does is talk. I should’ve known it wouldn’t work the minute she started hollering out on the river. Serves me right for getting my hopes even halfway up.
I walk ahead to the shoreline to put some distance between us.
Amelia picks up a rock and hurls it into the water.
“Don’t!” I blurt out before I even think about it, my face flushing with heat.
“Why not? It’s just a rock.”
“The manatees,” I stammer. “They’re out there. You could hit them.”
“Manatees?” Amelia’s eyes grow round. “Real live manatees? They look like funny hippos, right?”
“Well, sort of. Some people call them sea cows.”
“Sea cows!” Amelia bursts into laughter. “Moooo!” She runs around pretending to swim-gallop, which, by the way, is not how manatees or cows move at all. She hitches her thumbs in her shorts and walks around bowlegged. “Giddyup. I’m a sea cowgirl wranglin’ them darn sea cows. We’re roundin’ them up for the ole seaside rodeo.”
I’m pretty sure my jaw unhinges.
This is all too much. Amelia is making fun of my best friend in the world. How could I ever be friends with someone who mocks manatees? I turn and run back to my house, cutting across our backyards, weaving in and out among the trees.
“Where are you going? What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong is this new girl moving into my backyard and making fun of my manatee friends. The door slams behind me and I’m back home, where it’s safe and quiet.
* * *
“Why did you run off like that earlier today?” Mom asked, her voice laced with concern.
We’re at the table, Mom, Dad, and me. Between making cookies and meeting our new neighbors, Mom didn’t have time to cook, so Dad brought home the usual from Publix—rotisserie chicken, mac ’n’ cheese, and sweet tea. It’s one of my favorite dinners aside from my Grandma Popo’s garlic chicken stir-fry.
I take my time chewing my food. “I don’t know. I wanted to get home.”
Mom and Dad exchange glances. It’s their worried about our daughter’s social skills look. I’m aware I lack them, thank you very much. Now they’re either going to launch into their talk about how I need to stop caring about what other people think, or they’re going to pretend everything’s okay.
“So you said they renovate houses?” Dad asks. Pretending, it is. “Did you tell them how you refurbish old furniture?”
“Yes.” Mom perks up. “I’m going to meet his wife tomorrow for coffee. I have some great ideas for helping them furnish their renovated homes. I think this could be the beginning of a nice partnership.”
“It’s great we’re getting some forward-thinking people moving here,” Dad says. “I’ve always thought this is an underrated area. It’s beautiful and a great place for people to buy second homes or come visit. Tourism is the key. Communities have to grow or they die.”
“I like it the way it is,” I mutter into my mac ’n’ cheese. Dad grew up here and moved away after high school but came back to start his own business and to be closer to Grandma after Grandpa died. He never stops reminding us about how much he misses big-city life, even though I know he loves the water as much as I do. Kayaking with Grandma on the river is my favorite activity, but motorboats are Dad’s thing. At least he watches out for manatees in the water and pays attention to the rules, unlike other people. More loudly, I say, “What about the manatees?”
“What about them?” Dad asks.
“If more people come here, they’re going to be in more danger.”
Dad leans back. “It’s a tough dilemma. I’m all for nature and protecting animals, but people should come first. A town like this has to keep its young people from moving away. You know, I’m helping the chamber of commerce organize a winter festival to bring tourists to the area.”
“Have you picked a theme yet?” Mom says.
“We thought about a music festival or a fishing derby but decided on a boating festival.”
My face grows hot. Dad sells and rents boats and motor craft, so he’s always trying to find new customers. It figures he’s planning the festival to help promote his business. But now it hits me—he’s part of the bigger problem. The more boats he sells, the more manatees will be in danger of being mowed down.
I put down my fork, my chicken suddenly ashy and tasteless.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Dad says. “Maybe our new neighbor—did you say his name was Peter?—can help bring new energy to the project.”
Reviving the town sounds good, but there’s something that bothers me about his line of thinking. Like, what’s the point of coming to live in a paradise if you’re just going to ruin it? The manatees matter too.
“Hi, Becca.” Amelia stands at the bus stop with her backpack by her feet.
I stumble, and my heart promptly shrivels into a dark pit. I forgot she’d be going to my school. Or maybe I was in denial. “Hi,” I stammer.
“Why did you bug out like that yesterday?”
I bend down and root through my backpack. I wasn’t trying to be rude. I’m just bad with people. I want to tell her how much the manatees mean to me, how her jokes made me so angry, and how the thought of her boat and loud, careless ways will change everything. But I don’t have the courage to tell her any of this. I finally look up. “The manatees that come by our dock— Your boat scared them off, and …” My voice trails off. I’m so tongue-tied I can’t even explain myself.
Amelia’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” Her apology seems so genuine that it’s hard to be mad at her. Something loosens in me.
It’s probably my turn to apologize, but I’m not sure. “I’m sorry I ran away without explaining.” My face heats up, but Amelia smiles.
When the yellow bus for Diamond Springs Middle School pulls up, a familiar pit of dread kicks in as I think about being invisible again. Except today all the kids stare out the window at Amelia, the new girl. They stare at me too, because I’m getting on the bus with her. I sit in my usual seat, an empty one three rows from the front, far from the cool kids in the back. Amelia glances around the bus. The other kids give her curious looks. She’s living my exact worst nightmare—being the center of attention of a group of semi-hostile strangers. Except for some reason, Amelia’s smiling widely.
Next thing I know, she plops down next to me. Oh. Now everyone’s paying attention to us. But a part of me warms up. I’ve never had someone who sits next to me like it
’s normal. She’s too new to know that she’s supposed to ignore me.
“Tell me more about the manatees,” she says. “I looked for them after you left, but I didn’t see anything in the water.”
I shift toward her. My heart goes into double time. It’s so hard to open up, but thinking about Missy makes it easier. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything! What’s the best thing about them?”
I could go on and on. There’s so much to love. How gentle they are. Their cute faces with their button eyes and short, whiskery snouts. Except I can’t, because she might think I’m weird. I finally say, “They’re herbivores, which means they only eat plants.” Ugh. What a dumb thing to say. I’m sure she knows what an herbivore is.
“I think it’s special when an animal won’t kill another to survive,” Amelia says.
I sit up straighter. This girl might not be so terrible after all. She’s got a good heart, which is a promising sign for a potential friend. “Right? They’re really gentle giants.”
“Next time we’re on manatee lookout, I’ll be real quiet,” she says. “I’ve always wanted to see something special in the wild. At the Baltimore Aquarium, there are so many cool sea creatures. I love the jellyfish and the sharks.”
I purse my lips. “I hate aquariums. It’s depressing to see animals in glass cages.”
Amelia flinches, and I realize how judgy I sound. Why did I have to blurt that out and sound so mean? I’m so bad at this making-friends business.
She frowns. “I never thought about it that way. I love learning about animals. It makes me want to protect them and love them more.”
My heart sinks. She’s the first person in a long time who’s tried to be friendly and I go and act like a jerk. No wonder people ignore me. I don’t know what to say to get the conversation back on track, so I sink into silence for the rest of the trip to school.
* * *
School is pretty much the usual, where I keep to myself and get my work done. Amelia and I don’t cross paths because we have separate schedules, except for science. It’s not my favorite because Ms. Amato is too energetic. She’s always doing stuff like zooming around to demonstrate an elliptical orbit or having kids reenact plate tectonics. Even though it’s entertaining, it gets exhausting, because I’m always worried about being called on.
I sit down and line my book up on my desk, but the girls around me are still laughing and talking. “Homeostasis,” Ms. Amato says, which quiets the class. “Let’s get started. For the next couple of months, you will work in groups of three on a project for the science fair. I’ll hand out a packet that goes over the rules. You can pick almost any topic, as long as you use the scientific method or rely on primary research. You’ll give oral presentations, and your final project will be a display.”
A mix of groans and excited murmurs fills the room. My heart is squeezed in a vise, and my head throbs. I’m not sure which is worse—the oral presentation, or the fact I’ll have to work with others.
“Your partners are listed on the whiteboard.” Ms. Amato clicks on the screen and the names of everyone in the class are grouped in threes. My group pops up: Amelia Carlson, Becca Wong Walker, and Deion Williams.
“Get together with your group, and I’ll give you the rest of the period to brainstorm topics. I’ll walk around and answer any questions.”
I’m not sure what to think. Amelia’s starting to grow on me, but she might be mad at me for putting down her love of aquariums on the bus. Deion is the class clown who finds a joke in everything. I doubt he even knows who I am. My single scarring memory of him was in fourth grade when he hocked a disgusting glob of spit into the air and then caught it with his mouth and swallowed it.
Amelia and I are sitting near each other, so we scoot our desks together. Deion scrapes a desk over with a smile. I can’t tell if he’s about to be friendly or make fun of us.
“It’s my lucky day,” Deion says. “I get to work with Becca, the mystery girl who’s so quiet we don’t know if she can talk, and I’m paired with the new girl too.”
I stare at him. It seems like he’s trying to be funny, but it’s not really ha-ha funny. It’s more like that’s weird funny. I don’t like the idea that he’s thought about me enough to decide that I’m strange.
“I’m Amelia, from Baltimore,” Amelia says. “I’ve got some ideas. I’ve always wanted to learn about dreams. We should keep a dream journal and track our dreams for a month and figure out if our dreams have anything to do with our regular lives. Or if they’re prophetic. Like, sometimes I swear I’m psychic. Have you ever had these weird dreams about penguins, for example, and then the next day you see a penguin meme? I mean, that’s totally a sign that I’m supernaturally connected to the world.”
“Dreams?” Deion raises an eyebrow. “Dude, that’s weird.”
I flinch even though he’s talking to Amelia. What if he shoots down my ideas?
“You’ve got a better idea?” Amelia says, arching her own eyebrow. It’s like I’m watching an eyebrow-raising duel. I can’t believe his insult doesn’t faze her at all.
“Yeah. I’m a swimmer, right?”
Huh. I had no idea he was a swimmer. That’s really cool. I’d like to ask him about it, but he keeps talking without taking a breath and, of course, I don’t have the courage to interrupt him.
“Let’s go around and time how long everyone can hold their breath and find out whether or not they do sports, and if so, what kind of sports they do.” He leans forward. “I think swimmers have the best lung capacity and can hold their breath the longest. We can compare different sports.”
“That’s not science,” Amelia says.
Actually, it is science, but I keep my mouth shut.
“And dream journals are?” Deion says.
“Okay, if we don’t do dream journals, let’s pick a body part and learn all about it. Like eyes,” she says. “My uncle’s an ophthalmologist. We can make a big eye out of a Styrofoam ball and label it. We could come up with some kind of vision experiment, like, I don’t know, comparing how people see colors.”
“I know,” Deion says. “Let’s make one of those volcano science projects, but inside of a giant eye. We’ll make an exploding eyeball.” He doubles over the desk laughing, cracking himself up.
This is exactly how every group project goes. Everyone comes up with ideas, it degenerates into silliness, and eventually someone bosses the others into submission. No one’ll work on the project until a few days before it’s due and I won’t be able to bring myself to remind them, so I’ll end up doing most of the work. I don’t know why teachers make us do group projects. It’s not something I’m ever going to do in my other dream job, where I get to work in an underwater submersible, all by myself, never having to talk to anyone again.
But. But. Missy and her calf keep coming to mind. I can’t abandon them. They really need some help, and this could be a way to do something. We could research what will help them the most, or we could make signs together. Heat rushes through me as I open my mouth to chime in. My palms grow clammy and my breath goes shallow.
“Manatees,” I manage to say.
“Exploding eyeballs, that’s ridiculous,” Amelia says.
“What’d you say?” Deion says.
I gulp like a goldfish. “Manatees.” My voice sounds reedy. “Let’s study manatees and how we can help them.”
Amelia and Deion both look at me, and I cringe inside. They’re probably thinking how stupid the idea is. Or how weird I am.
Amelia nods slowly. “Manatees come by the river in our backyards. We could totally observe them.”
“I still like my eyeball idea,” Deion says. “What’s so great about manatees?”
My heart goes into overdrive. I’m never going to convince him when I can barely talk to him. I tried talking with Amelia on the bus, but that didn’t turn out well. I take a breath. “Manatees are super interesting.” I sputter out the first thing that comes to mind. “The
manatees’ closest living relatives are elephants. Old-timey sailors thought they were mermaids.”
Deion laughs. “They must’ve had pretty bad eyesight.”
I smile but cringe inside. I need him on board, not laughing at a joke. I search for something else to say. “There’s this one manatee who comes to my house. Her name is Missy and she has a new baby.” I swallow hard. “If we research the dangers manatees face, we can help protect them. I can’t stand the idea of them getting hurt.”
He looks at me intently, as if he’s never seen me before. I glance away, unused to being the center of attention. He probably thinks I’m strange to be so into manatees. “I guess manatees are cool,” Deion says.
“Let’s do it,” Amelia says.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I said my piece and didn’t sink through the floor. Better yet, they listened to me and like my idea! I let out a wobbly whoosh of air, relief and excitement washing over me.
We have a topic and it might even help Missy and her new baby.
A week’s gone by since Ms. Amato announced the science project, and we need to come up with our specific project idea by tomorrow.
I hurry-walk down the aisle of the bus, keeping my head low, because Deion is getting off with Amelia and me, and the other kids must be wondering what this wiry kid, full of energy, is doing with the new girl and the weirdo. It doesn’t seem like Deion or Amelia care, though, because they’re chatting like old friends.
We’re meeting at Amelia’s house to figure out our project. I’ve spent plenty of time thinking about how to protect Missy and her baby and the other manatees, but we never got around to talking about it. When Amelia suggested meeting at her house after school, I was both relieved and stressed. Relieved because they weren’t coming to my house but stressed wondering how I’ll talk to them for a whole afternoon.
We clamber off into the warmth of the day. I love early spring, with its perfect weather, which is unlike summer, when we practically swim through a soup of heat and humidity.