by Sylvia Liu
“You’re so lucky to live on the river and these cool houses on stilts!” Deion beelines it toward the water behind our houses.
“Let’s go inside and get a snack first,” Amelia says.
We follow Amelia up the steps to her house. Inside, the layout is similar to ours, with an open family room and windows overlooking the water through the tall trees, but hers is mostly empty, other than a few pieces of furniture and stacks of moving boxes. It’s almost a relief to see blank walls instead of the explosion of flea market and beachcombing finds we have scattered around our place.
We head to the kitchen, where Amelia rummages through the fridge until she triumphantly holds up a box of cantaloupe cubes. She hands out forks.
“These are my favorite.” Deion stabs a couple of pieces and shoves them in his mouth. “I could eat fruit at every meal,” he says with his mouth full, letting the juices dribble down his chin.
I love fruit too. Sometimes I think I could be a fruitarian, but then I’d miss my bologna sandwiches. I almost say this out loud but take a bite of cantaloupe instead.
“Mmm, me too.” Amelia grins.
Deion smiles back while finishing his mouthful.
My stomach squeezes into a knot. In the time it took me to wonder whether I should chime in, the two are competing to see how many cubes of cantaloupe they can stuff into their mouths, while laughing and snorting.
Raised voices from the den interrupt them. I recognize Amelia’s dad’s voice.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to trust the first quote you get?”
“Stop treating me like an idiot.” That must be her mom, her voice filled with bitterness.
Amelia’s face reddens. “Let’s go outside,” she mumbles.
I don’t meet her eyes. Deion and I both pretend we didn’t just hear her parents fighting.
I check to make sure my phone is handy. I never know when Missy or another manatee might show up, and I’ll need to record them. As we head down to the river, the plap plap of the water lapping at the bank soothes me. The cypress trees with their gnarled roots standing sentry in the river push away any thoughts of Amelia’s parents.
The dock creaks as I walk out and sit on the edge, dangling my legs and enjoying the slight breeze. Amelia sits down nearby, while Deion scampers up and down the dock like a gecko. Amelia gazes at the water below her feet, her body hunched over. I want to make her feel better, but I don’t know how.
“Should we get to work on our ideas?” I say.
She sighs. “Sure. Deion, come over here. We’ve got work to do.”
Deion lopes over and scoots down next to us. “Okay, geniuses. Or is it genii? What should we do?”
“I don’t think it’s genii. That would make us jinns or spirits,” Amelia says. “Anyway, you’re assuming a lot to think you’re in the company of more than one genius.” She winks at me. “Hey, why did you curl up like that?”
I must’ve tucked my chin into my chest at her words. I’m not used to her friendly joking. I don’t understand how Deion and Amelia are so easy with each other when they’ve just met. I wish I could joke around like that, not worrying what they might think about me. I look out to the river. “The manatees are in trouble with the boats. We should—”
Before I can finish my thought, Deion jumps in. “We should measure the lung capacity of manatees!” His eyes light up and he throws an air punch. “If they could hold their breaths longer, manatees wouldn’t need to come up for air as often, and they’d be hit by boats less.”
“How’re we going to do that?” Amelia says. “Let’s make a Styrofoam sculpture of a manatee or a scene of a manatee getting hit by a boat.” Her eyes widen. “Or we can create a puppet show about manatees.”
“Are you in love with Styrofoam?” Deion says.
“No, but you are with your breathing experiments.” Amelia scoffs.
“An experiment is better than a model.”
“A model that teaches is better than an experiment we can’t do. How’re you going to get a manatee to cooperate with us?”
I stare at both of them with increasing dismay. I was right to worry when I got paired with them. Deion doesn’t take anything seriously, and Amelia is weirdly obsessed with Styrofoam. Their conversation makes me want to fold in like origami. I want to speak up, but I can’t.
The water ripples with the distinctive circles of an approaching—
“Manatee!” I point. “A manatee is coming our way.”
Amelia and Deion stop bickering, and we scramble to our feet. The circles of water move our way, and the dark shape of a manatee appears. Even though I’ve seen plenty of manatees, each time I encounter one fills me with awe. Their slow grace as they move through the water, going about their day, not caring about us people, reminds me of the vastness of the world. The three of us, standing on the dock, with the sky above, river below, and greenery all around, and the manatee, a friendly soul—all make up a whole lot of wonderful.
I glance over at Amelia and Deion and see a bit of the same feeling in their faces.
“There’s a little one next to it!” Amelia grips my arm. “Oh, Becca, I can’t believe I’m actually seeing them.”
“It’s Missy and her baby.” My grin spills into my voice. “Hiya, girl. What a cool mama you are.”
Missy swims closer, like she’s saying hi. Her baby hangs back, probably unsure about us humans. Once this baby gets to know us, I bet it’ll be just as friendly as its mom.
“Missy, I’d like you to meet Amelia and Deion, my … classmates.” I glance over at them and feel my face grow warm. I almost called them my friends, but I don’t know them well enough to say that. But I’d really like to be friends with them, I think. They don’t seem to notice my awkward pause.
I wake my phone and start to record.
“It’s Missy the manatee and her very cute offspring,” Deion intones into the camera. He waves at me to record him.
Even though it’s against policy—I mean, I’m the narrator of my videos, but how can I resist his eager expression?—I turn the camera on him and make sure Missy and her calf are in the frame. Half of Deion’s face is off-screen, but that’s okay, the manatees are the stars.
“Deion Williams, nature reporter for the, er …” He pauses and tilts his head up, as if to find inspiration in the clouds. “Manatee Mammal Network, where it’s all things manatee, twenty-four seven. Today’s magnificent specimen is Missy and her baby. Such a cute little one, with, I’m sure, great lung capacity.”
I giggle, making my phone wobble. Deion’s not so bad after all.
Amelia squeezes into the frame. Her and Deion’s heads fill up most of the screen, with Missy and her calf vague blobs in the background. She smiles widely. “Mr. Williams, thank you for the intro. Amelia Carlson, award-winning MMN reporter. We now turn to an expert on manatees who can tell us why you, the watcher of this show, should care about these adorable creatures.” Amelia takes the phone out of my hands and turns it on me, shuffling me around so she can video the manatees too.
My heart leaps. My stomach roils. A clash of two worlds. When I do my private videos, my words flow, especially when I talk about Missy. But when I’m with other people, I worry about every word that comes out of my mouth.
I glance back at Missy and her baby. Missy is still on the bottom of the river, and her baby has its snout under her flipper. It’s nursing! Missy is so patient, not eating, just hanging out, while the baby’s tucked under her armpit. My heart fills. I want to talk about what a treasure manatees are. From the point of view of evolution, they shouldn’t exist. They’re slow and tubby, but they don’t have any natural enemies. It’s as if all the other animals took a look at them and decided these creatures are too kind to kill. Only people are careless enough to hurt the manatees.
But none of that comes out of my mouth. My face warms up. I reach for my phone. “Let’s just take videos of them.”
Deion leans over the dock and looks at the pai
r with wide eyes.
Amelia hands me my phone with a curious look. “How about we name the baby manatee?”
I’ve wanted to be the one to name the baby, but it’s kind of cool to do it together. Somehow it means more with the two of them helping come up with a name. “We need to give it a good name,” I say.
Deion ponders the baby. “How about Sunny or Happy?” For once, it doesn’t seem like he’s cracking a joke. “You know, because he’s like a ray of light.”
My smile widens. “Sunny’s a good name.”
“How do you know it’s a he?” Amelia asks.
“We don’t,” Deion says. “That’s why Sunny’s a great name. It works for either a girl or a boy. Sunny!” He hustles to the edge of the dock and waves his arms wildly. “Sunny! Having a good meal?”
Missy and Sunny move apart and swim away.
I shoot Deion a dirty look.
“You scared them away,” Amelia says.
“I’m sorry,” Deion says. “They’re so cool.” His look of genuine joy makes it hard for me to stay mad at him. Seems he’s got a heart underneath that jokey exterior after all.
My own heart is full of love for Missy and Sunny, but I feel weighed down with a bag full of worries. How are we going to help these two?
I actually groan out loud when I wake up. In the commotion of spotting Missy and Sunny yesterday, we never agreed on our specific topic, which is due today.
On the bus to school, Amelia says, “Becca, I can’t get over seeing my first manatee—and a baby too. I’m glad we picked out a name, and I’m not sure I agree with Deion that it’s a boy, but I guess it doesn’t matter too much. I’ll have to look into how to tell the difference.”
My hands grow clammy. I’m getting used to her paragraph-long statements, and I’m starting to like her, but trying to have an actual back-and-forth conversation still makes me nervous. Especially when I’m about to push back. “We need to come up with our specific project.”
Amelia smiles. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
I wonder what she means and want to press her about it, but my mouth clamps shut. We’re just starting to be friends, so I better not mess it up by pushing her. I wish I had some of her confidence. I’d buy some of it if it came in a bottle.
* * *
It’s fifth period and Ms. Amato calls each group up to her desk to explain our projects. I fiddle with my mechanical pencil, tapping it against the desktop. I wish I knew more Morse code than DOT DOT DOT, DASH DASH DASH, DOT DOT DOT, which everyone knows is “SOS.” But on second thought, Save Our Ship is all I need to know right now.
Deion, Amelia, and I walk up to Ms. Amato, who looks up over her square glasses, her curly brown hair springing like baby fern fronds. “Amelia, Deion, and Becca. What do you have for me?”
Amelia looks at me, then Deion. Deion looks at Amelia. I keep my eyes fixed on Ms. Amato’s laptop. Why isn’t Amelia speaking up? She said she had it taken care of.
Deion clears his throat. “We, er … decided to study the …”
Amelia interrupts him. “… the eyeballs of manatees, no, I mean …”
“… the lung capacity …” Deion says as Amelia jostles him into me.
I always thought wishing for the earth to open up and swallow someone whole was a cliché, but it turns out this is an actual feeling.
Ms. Amato looks at us sharply and turns to me. “Becca, does your group have a project or not?”
My mouth is so dry. Why is she asking me? “We haven’t completely figured it out yet,” I stammer, “but it’ll have to do with manatees.”
“What about manatees?”
“We’re figuring it out,” Deion says hopefully.
Our teacher looks like a disappointed mama bird who found out her baby birds can’t fly. “I’m going to have to give you an incomplete. You have until Monday to give me your topic or I’ll have to give you a zero.” She reaches into a file folder and pulls out the dreaded yellow slips. “I need each of your parents to sign this.” She scribbles the date and a note on each slip. My vision goes gray for a brief moment. I’ve never had a homework demerit before. What am I going to tell Mom and Dad?
We shuffle back to our seats. I glance at Amelia, who doesn’t seem too bothered. She said not to worry on the bus, but it turns out she had no ideas. It seems she’s too flaky to be counted on. Deion doesn’t seem worried either as he goes off to sit by some boys huddled over a tablet. We’re allowed to use them to make quizlets and school-related things, but I bet they’re looking up basketball scores.
Amelia and I head back to our seats.
“Becca, what are we going to do?”
I take a deep breath and exhale. I want to confront her and ask her why she said she had a plan when she didn’t, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I do know I have to speak up for Missy and for my grades. “Well,” I start slowly, “one of the biggest threats to manatees is they’re getting hit by boats, because boaters don’t pay attention and manatees are slow swimmers.”
“So what do we do?” Amelia asks. “Jump up and down and yell at them?”
“I’ve been thinking about making signs.”
“But that’s not a science project. Don’t we need to figure out something experimental, come up with a hypothesis?”
“Let me check.” My face warms as I pull out the folder with the guidelines. “Here, it says we can develop educational materials, but we have to use primary research.”
“Primary research?”
I read on. “Primary research is when you collect information directly from the world or interviews, and not just from books.”
“Signs wouldn’t be primary research,” Amelia says.
My shoulders wilt. She’s right. I can make signs on my own, but we still need to come up with a specific science project.
I can’t give up. I’ll just have to work extra hard to think of a better idea.
* * *
After school, I head to the dock. I hope Missy’s there so we can talk. It’s been too long since I’ve confided in her. The leaves of the old oaks sway in the breeze, stray leaves stuttering into the water.
I pace up and down the dock, keeping my eyes peeled for signs of Missy or Sunny. Falling behind before our project even begins is a horrible feeling, and I have to show Mom and Dad my homework demerit. I hate having to depend on Amelia and Deion. It’s Friday afternoon, and once again, we made no plans to figure out our assignment over the weekend.
On the bus home, I researched manatees on my phone. My stomach churns remembering what I read. One article showed a dead manatee floating upside down in a canal, its tail caught in a net and its body sickly green. Another talked about manatees dying from getting cold-stunned in the winter and falling sick from red tide algae. The biggest killer of manatees in northwest Florida is boat strikes.
All the info is out there, but I’m not sure how to make educational materials out of primary sources. The thought of interviewing someone is paralyzing.
I look out over the river. A white heron wings its way low across the water, no boats in sight.
A series of ripples shows up. It’s manatee time! I break into a grin and get to my feet.
Missy swims over with Sunny by her side. I don’t know whether Sunny is male or female, but I’ve started to think of Sunny as a boy. Sunny is only a few weeks old, but he’s just as graceful as Missy, sticking close to his mom. Missy nibbles at the eelgrass by our dock. Sunny turns his small, trusting face to me. I swear he’s smiling at me.
“Sunny,” I say softly, “your mom has been such a good friend. I can tell you’ll be a great listener too.”
I turn to Missy. “Missy, you have no idea what a week it’s been.” My pent-up words spill out. “I was so excited when Amelia and Deion agreed to work on manatees, but they went off on their own ideas, and now I don’t know how to get them to focus. It’s the first time since forever that I feel like I’m making friends, but I’m so bad at it.”
&n
bsp; Missy doesn’t answer, but I know she understands. She munches away on the eelgrass so she can make milk for a calf so adorable all I want to do is jump into the river and hug him.
The two move away from the dock, back to the middle of the river.
A splash catches my eye. Down the river, a fin and slice of dark gray pops up and down in the water, heading toward the manatees. A moment later, it comes up again.
A dolphin!
I’ve never seen a dolphin this far inland before. The dorsal fin and the sleek shiny body break the surface again, this time right near Missy and Sunny. It’s so frisky, popping up and down.
If Missy or Sunny are scared or bothered, I can’t tell. They don’t seem to mind this playful dolphin. It even jumps partway out of the water, sprinkling rainbow droplets. It swims fast and spins, brimming with joy and life.
The dolphin disappears beneath the water. I scan the river, waiting for it to come up again. I look around. I can’t believe no one else is here to see this dolphin and its antics. It’s as if I’ve been given a secret gift—something rare, just for me. I feel so special.
The dolphin doesn’t come back, and Missy and Sunny move away. The river is once again smooth and placid. Did I imagine this strange and wonderful event? Too late, I realize I didn’t record it.
The dolphin showing up was so incredible I can’t wait to tell Mom and Dad about it. But if it wasn’t captured on video, no one will believe me.
I kick my shoes off at the doorway and head toward the chopping noises in the kitchen. “Mom, a dolphin’s out in the river, playing with the manatees.”
“Really?” Mom looks up from chopping scallions. “I’ve never heard of a dolphin coming this far inland. Was it sick?”
“I don’t think so. It was really playful, jumping out of the water.”
Mom puts down the knife and wipes her hands on a kitchen towel. “Let’s check it out.” We go to her studio-porch, which overlooks the river, and Mom picks up the binoculars. After a moment, she shakes her head. “I don’t see anything, but how wonderful. I’ll keep an eye out for it when I’m working. Come help me with the food.”