by Sylvia Liu
Amelia nods.
“You saw a dolphin playing with manatees?” Deion asks.
“It was so wild,” Amelia gushes. “You should’ve seen it. I was there!”
“I was thinking,” I say, “we should get more videos of the dolphin and the manatees.”
Deion knits his brows together, then smiles. “Oh, so we’re going to make a documentary or something like that?”
“Something like that.” I smile back. “If we take videos of them playing and hanging around together, it’ll be scientific research.”
“Will it help us come up with recommendations to protect them?” Amelia asks.
Mmm. That is a good question. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe we’ll learn something new about these animals,” Amelia says.
Then the idea hits me like a blast of fireworks. “Let’s make a public service ad based on our videos. That will be primary research and we’ll help the manatees too.”
“Like getting boats to slow down?” Amelia asks.
“Yes. Boaters need to know that their speeding boats are killing manatees, and now maybe even dolphins are in danger,” I say.
Deion gives my shoulder a hearty shake. “Let’s do it. You are awesome. You’ve saved us, just in time.”
Amelia does a little jig. “I knew I was lucky to be partnered with you.”
We all walk to science. They don’t notice I’m walking four inches above the ground, floating through the hallways, buoyed by Amelia’s smile and Deion’s words. I can’t believe I did that. We finally have a specific project. I won’t have to let Mom and Dad down with a bad science grade, and neither will Amelia and Deion. Our video will reach more people than the signs in my backyard, and maybe we can make a difference for Missy, Sunny, and all the manatees.
Ms. Amato approved our idea to make a PSA based on videos of the manatees and the dolphin, so the three of us meet after school in between our other activities. Well, in between Amelia’s Roller Derby classes—Florida’s alternative to ice-skating, I guess—and Deion’s swim practices. I don’t do after-school activities, because the thought of them makes my heart do backflips. If heart palpitations counted as a sport, I’d be a superstar.
We meet at my house. We’ve silently agreed to avoid Amelia’s house.
“Look what I brought.” Amelia holds up a head of lettuce. “We can feed Missy.”
I frown. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I used to feed Missy, but I found out doing that, or leaving a hose in the water for manatees to drink from, is bad for them. It lures them to where people and boats are, putting them in danger.” I sometimes wonder if feeding Missy might be why she comes around here now, but it’s been a while since I stopped and she still visits.
Amelia pouts briefly, then shrugs and returns the lettuce to her bag.
As we walk down to the dock, Deion fake-whispers, “Are we going to have to be all quiet-like now?”
Amelia bumps into him, like they’ve been buddies for ages. “Why? Seems like the manatees have gotten used to your annoying presence.”
“Har har.” Deion nudges her back.
It’s true. The manatees seem to have gotten used to the three of us. Missy and Sunny swim around and sometimes one or two other manatees join them. Deion hasn’t seen the dolphin yet, but I have a good feeling about it today.
We sit cross-legged on the dock, watching some boats motor by. Eventually, Missy and Sunny show up. Missy does her usual thing, nibbling at seagrasses like a large, slow vacuum cleaner. Sunny swims up to the dock where we sit, flapping his tail up and down, and pokes his stubby snout up for air.
“He’s saying hi!” I say.
“I wonder what he thinks of us.” Deion leans forward as far as he can without teetering into the water.
“Becca, let’s see the videos you’ve already taken of the manatees,” Amelia says. “That way we can decide what else we need to do.”
My fingers tighten on my phone. I hadn’t thought about how this would actually work. I’m a totally different person on my videos, and I’ve never shared that side of me with anyone. When I take my videos, I pretend I already have my own documentary series. I hesitate.
“Yeah, Becca, let’s see ’em.” Deion tilts his head to the side and gives me silly puppy eyes, practically tilting over.
Seeing both Deion and Amelia smiling and with such open expressions makes me realize they’re not sitting around thinking I’m weird or a dork. They do their thing, have fun, and don’t get tangled up in their thoughts like I do. I should learn from them. A warmth blossoms through me. I’m beginning to trust them. They haven’t made fun of me, and they seem to love Missy and Sunny too. That goes a long way in my book.
I nod. “I’ll find one.” I pull up a video from a month ago, from before Missy had a baby.
The screen shows a clear shot of Missy swimming lazily near the dock. I cringe at the perkiness of my voice. “Becca Wong Walker, world-famous marine biologist, reporting. Today we’re going to talk about the biology of manatees. They’re marine mammals, which means they breathe air. They can hold their breath up to twenty minutes, which is a long time! Imagine that. I can only hold my breath for one minute.” I pause the video, already embarrassed by my gushy reporting.
Deion looks at Amelia triumphantly. “See, even Becca’s interested in how long a manatee can hold its breath.”
Amelia rolls her eyes, then looks at me curiously. “You sound so different in the video.”
My face warms up uncomfortably. I know I’m different when I’m by myself. If I’d known someone would watch my videos, I wouldn’t have let myself loose like that. I might’ve used captions or nautical flags instead.
“It’s great,” Amelia says. “You sound so professional and knowledgeable.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” Deion says. “Keep playing it.”
When their words sink in, my lips twitch in a smile. I turn the video back on and my voice continues. “Manatees usually come up for air every five minutes. Manatee mothers and their babies will come up for air at the same time. How cute is that?”
“So cute,” Amelia says. “Oh my gosh, Becca, you really are a great newscaster. We should do a series of videos about Missy and Sunny and the dolphin, with you telling people about all them and why we should care about them.”
“I’d be a great newscaster too,” Deion says. “Ahem.” He lowers his voice. “I’m a magnifico narrator of mind-blowing science news.” He snorts, barely holding back his laughter. “Listen up, pee-awe-poe-lees, and you will learn things you’ve never heard before.”
A chuckle pops out of me at his inventive way of saying peoples.
Amelia joins in. “Right,” she says, “you think people would trust a kid with a fake deep voice? Now me, on the other hand, I can win over an audience. Watch.” She flips her braids and bunches her fists on her hips in a fierce pose. “Manatee lovers, wake up! It’s time to take a stand and fight the problems they face!” She turns to me. “What are the problems they face again, Becca?”
“Um.” My words stumble. “A really big problem is too much development, which brings people and boats and pollution to the water. This harms the ecosystem and grasses manatees depend on.”
Amelia shakes her head impatiently. “Say it like you do on the video, you know, funny and bouncy.”
I blink rapidly. She sounds like Mom and Dad. Becca bug, you shouldn’t hide your wonderful personality from the world. But hearing the words from Amelia doesn’t rile me up in the same way it does when I hear it from Mom and Dad. But still, the thought of acting like myself, whatever that is, in front of others, or even now in front of Amelia and Deion, is too much.
“Look.” I point to Missy and Sunny. “They’re coming up for air at the same time, just like I read about.”
Deion hovers over the edge of the dock, about to topple in. “So cool … look how their nostrils open up when they come up for air, and then clos
e when they go down. If I had a manatee’s nose, I’d beat everyone in my swim meets.” He looks up. “Where’s this mysterious dolphin?”
I look out over the water. “It doesn’t come by every day. I’ve only seen it twice.”
“I saw it.” Amelia grins at me. “It’s not just a figment of Becca’s imagination. Plus, we have the video.”
A surge of gratitude bubbles up. Even though Deion didn’t disbelieve me, having Amelia stick up for me anyway feels great. Nobody’s ever been on my side like this, even if it’s for something small. I could get used to this friendship thing.
“Becca, let’s go to your house and look through your videos.” She links arms with mine and walk-drags me back to the house. “Earth to swimmer, you joining?”
Deion gets to his feet. “My mom’s picking me up soon for swim practice. I’m bored of working on the project. Do you have an Xbox?”
We need to get to work, but I find myself saying, “We’ve got a Ping-Pong table.”
“Ooh,” Amelia says. “You’ve met your match. I’m a champion table tennis player.”
“Really?” Deion says.
“Well, I’ve never actually competed in any tournaments, but I’m probably good enough,” she informs us. “I win against my older brothers, and they go to college.”
Deion gives her a skeptical look, and I’m with him. “You’re gonna have to prove it,” Deion says.
Our Ping-Pong table sits under the house. I bring out the paddles and the ball. I’m not sure how we’re going to decide on the teams—supposed Ping-Pong champ versus regular players, boy versus girls, or what. I don’t even know who should or how to decide these kinds of things.
“You two get over there, and I’ll show you,” Amelia says. Well, that takes care of that. I’m beginning to learn something hanging out with these two. Becca Wong Walker, world-famous sociologist here, observing the behavior of twelve-year-olds in the wild.
Deion and I look at each other. He shrugs and hands me the extra paddle. “You’re gonna regret it,” he says to Amelia.
I’m pretty good at Ping-Pong—not amazing, but I have a mean backhand that’s unstoppable about a third of the time. This is probably where I should jump in and talk trash too. But I don’t.
“Let’s spell manatee to see who starts.” Amelia bounces the ball to our side, and I return it. “M …”
She hits it. “A …”
Deion bats it. “N …”
She slams a vicious one on us and yells, “A!”
It whooshes by between Deion and me. Under normal rules, after spelling P-I-N-G, we would start the game, but Deion says, “Let’s do it again, until we spell the whole word.”
We try again and get to M-A-N-A-T, then M-A-N, then M-A-N-A-T-E. Amelia has a mad grin on her face.
“Come on, are y’all even trying?” Deion says.
We’ve forgotten to be competitive and we’re trying to keep the ball going.
“M …” Bounce. “A …” Hit. “N …” Bounce. “A …” We chant in unison, my voice blending in under Amelia’s and Deion’s increasingly loud shouts. “T … E … E!”
Amelia collapses across the table with a laugh, and Deion raises his arms in victory.
A thrill runs through me. I can’t believe I have not one but two actual friends. I laugh and say, “Let’s do that again.”
After Deion’s mom picks him up, I take Amelia to my room. It’s been a long time since someone besides my family has been here. I wish I’d known she was coming up, because I would’ve cleaned it up. She’s going to think I’m a big slob with my clothes all over the place. When we get to the room, Amelia doesn’t seem to notice. She peers at the many manatee photos pinned to my bulletin board. “You’re not kidding about loving manatees,” she says. “Oh, this one is sooo cute.”
I look away, caught between embarrassment and hope. She said it in a nice way, not like she was making fun of me, but I’m not used to this kind of attention. Hearing her excitement lifts me up. She and I are more alike than I thought—we both squeal over cute manatee pics. In the safety of my room, and with only Amelia around, things feel looser, easier.
“Why do you think that dolphin is up here in the river?” Amelia asks.
I’ve been thinking about this puzzle. “I was reading dolphins will go up into rivers to find food.”
“I wonder if fresh water is bad for them,” Amelia muses.
“A while ago, a bunch of people made a human chain to herd some dolphins that got stuck in a channel up in St. Petersburg.” Talking about dolphins with Amelia feels comfortable, almost easy.
“Really? How cool.” She plops down at my desk. “Let’s see some more of your videos.”
I’m not sure I want her to see more of my hyped-up videos. She was nice about it at the dock, but that was probably because she only got a little dose of the real me. “How about we go back out to the river and make new ones?” I say.
“Okay. I have some time before I need to go in for dinner.”
“What about Deion? Should we wait for him?”
She twists her lips. “Nah. He’s not taking this seriously. We’ll catch him up at school.”
I feel bad excluding Deion, but it makes sense. Amelia and I live next door to each other, where the manatees are. We can’t stop scientific research when he’s not around. We’re on manatee time, not Deion time.
Back at the river, I pull out my phone and start panning. Everything is calm. No manatees or dolphins in sight.
The drone of a boat engine overpowers the quiet. RRRRRRRMMM. A flat-bottomed boat zips by, creating twin trails of white wake behind it.
“Hey!” Amelia leaps to her feet and waves her arms wildly. “Slow down!” I can’t believe she’s yelling at these hostile-looking guys, with their crab pots, camouflage vests, and dead-eyed stares.
No sooner than the boat has gone by, a couple of people on Jet Skis carom by. “Minimum wake zone!” she yells at them. One of the riders, a guy in his twenties maybe, glances briefly at us as he zooms by.
I leap to my feet too. “There are manatees here,” I say in a voice no one hears. Tears prick my eyes. It’s not fair the manatees are at the mercy of boats and Jet Skis. And even now, I can’t raise my voice.
“Oh, jeez,” Amelia says. “What are we going to do about this? Did you record them? We should report them.”
I look down and my heart sinks. When the boat and Jet Skis barreled their way through, I was so upset I didn’t pay attention to my phone. All I have is shaky video of my feet and the dock and the sound of Amelia yelling at the boaters.
I had one job, and I messed it up. My face warms again, and my insides squinch together. But this time, instead of wishing I could fall through the dock or run away, a hot anger flares in me. Missy and Sunny deserve better.
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
I lead Amelia back up to Mom’s studio, where I’ve finished painting the signs. “We have to do something. Help me put these up.”
Amelia’s face lights up when she sees the large signs leaning against a wall. Instead of my original angry ideas, I ended up with two signs where I painted Missy and Sunny swimming happily. One reads, MOVE LIKE A MANATEE, WITH MINIMUM WAKE, and the other says, MAKE A MAXIMUM DIFFERENCE FOR MANATEES: MINIMUM WAKE, PLEASE.
“So cool! How are we going to put them up?”
I show her some wire stakes Mom got. “We’ll use these.”
We take the signs and stakes back down to the riverbank. I show her how to fit the stakes into the corrugated plastic signs, and then it’s a matter of finding the right place for them.
Pushing the signs into the ground makes me feel better. But it’s not enough. Thinking of that smug guy on a Jet Ski is enraging. “Amelia, can we ask your dad to take us up the river?”
She stares at me. “What does my dad have to do with anything? You want to go after those jet skiers?”
“No, of course not.” I definitely wouldn’t confront
strangers. “There are so many more boats headed upriver recently. I want to know why. Your dad is renovating some houses, and there could be other construction or something.”
Amelia furrows her brow. “I care about the manatees, I do, but I don’t want to mess with my parents’ business. Let’s just record videos for our science project and leave my dad out of it.”
My heart hammers and my breath grows shallow. I said what I wanted to, and Amelia shut me down. This is why I don’t speak up—what if I angered Amelia just as we’re becoming friends? Now I might lose my only new friend. Maybe she’s right—we should stick to the plan of making a PSA. We can still help Missy and Sunny by warning boaters about speeding.
She looks at me like she’s waiting for me to say something.
Now that I think about it, her tone of voice wasn’t mean. She didn’t make fun of me. She looks annoyed, but not at me. I push myself to speak up again. “Can you ask him anyway? I’d like to see his Airbnbs.”
Amelia’s mouth turns down. “I’ll see what kind of mood he’s in tonight, and maybe I’ll ask him.”
My heart is still doing its palpitations, but it’s calming down. “Thanks.”
What do you know. I didn’t sink through the floor or faint, and Amelia didn’t mock me. I’ll take that small victory.
* * *
Later, Amelia texts me. My dad will take us on his boat tomorrow after school.
Awesome. Let’s ask Deion to join us too.
Okay. Later, gator.
I put down the phone, flop back on my bed, and let out a relieved sigh. It’s a small thing, but I pushed back and nothing terrible happened. Amelia is still my friend. Now I just have to worry about what to say to her dad about his Airbnbs.
Amelia, Deion, and I sit in her dad’s motorboat. She’s made sure her dad knows we’re in a minimum wake zone, so we putter slowly up the calm, wide water. A warm breeze flutters my hair, and birdcalls drift through the air.
“I’m glad you’re interested in seeing the houses we’re working on.” Mr. Carlson wears a Tampa Bay Rays cap and mirrored sunglasses, his tanned, leathery hands resting on the boat’s wheel. “You said it was for a school project? About what—construction and development?”