by Sylvia Liu
I look at Amelia, who shrugs. I wonder what she told her dad to get him to take us on this trip.
“Um, not exactly. We’re doing some research on manatees,” Amelia says.
“What do manatees have to do with my houses?”
Amelia looks to me, but I shake my head, like, Don’t make me talk to your dad. She juts her chin out, like, You’re the one who wanted to do this. I feel my mouth go dry. “I’ve noticed a lot more boats coming up this way,” I say. “They’re a danger to the manatees in the river.”
Mr. Carlson glances over at me. “Huh.”
Deion chimes in. “We want to take a look around, you know, to see how many boats and docks there are. It’s like a statistics thing.” I don’t really know what statistics are, but I don’t think Deion does either.
“That’s nice,” Mr. Carlson says, distracted. He doesn’t seem to understand why we want to see his Airbnbs, but that’s okay. “We’re renovating a couple of the houses, and the other one has renters in it now. We’re almost there.”
Riding on the water is always mesmerizing. I love the gentle up-and-down motion, the water slipping by, and the trees rolling along the bank. It’s even more fun on a kayak with Grandma, when we’re up close to the overhanging branches and competing to identify the herons, hawks, woodpeckers, and other birds. I envy the manatees and dolphins that get to live and play in the water all the time.
We arrive at the dock of a large white house on stilts with a covered porch. The lawn leading up to it is perfectly green and flat, with small, bushy palm trees marking the border of the property. Next to it is a similar house and lawn. They look fancy and very different from the more down-to-earth houses along the rest of the river.
“Whoa. Those are some houses,” Deion says.
“We’re proud of what we’re doing,” Mr. Carlson says. “We have a couple other ones farther upstream.” He gestures to the house next door, where two Jet Skis are tied to the dock. “Vacation renters are in that one while we’re getting ready to put this one on the market.”
Amelia and I exchange glances. Those might be the Jet Skis we saw yesterday.
When we arrive, Mr. Carlson ties up the boat and we step onto the dock. We approach the house and go under the stilts to a set of stairs that leads up. The door is open and we hear voices inside.
“Your moms are here,” Mr. Carlson says. “Marcie and Allison, I brought the girls over. This is their friend Deion.”
Deion gives them a half wave.
“Hello, kids.” Mom stands with Amelia’s mom in the kitchen. They’re looking over fabric swatches and photos on the kitchen island. “I’m helping Marcie figure out color schemes for this house. I have some great pieces that could go in the family room.”
I’m not surprised to see them together, because Mom’s been talking about her new friend Marcie ever since they moved in. But I’m a bit surprised to see her here. Mom’s thing is more wicker baskets and rag rugs, not this contemporary and sleek stuff.
Mrs. Carlson grins. “Your mom is helping me stage these homes to help sell them. We’re going for a casual and eclectic Florida vibe, and your mom’s art and furniture is perfect. People love this look.”
I smile blankly. Designer talk usually goes in one ear and out the other. I’d much prefer to think about marine biology or manatees, though the thought of how Jet Skis could run over manatees sours my mood. Worse is the sinking feeling that my own mom and Amelia’s parents are on the wrong side of this equation. More Airbnbs will bring more boats and Jet Skis. Last night I worried about pushing Amelia away, but now my mom is involved too.
I can’t hold it in anymore. “What about the Jet Skis?”
Mom looks puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“The guys who are renting the house next door were on their Jet Skis. They were zooming around, not paying attention to the minimum wake signs.”
“They were very disconsiderate,” Deion says.
“Inconsiderate,” I say in a low voice.
“Inconsiderate,” he says, as if that’s what he meant all along.
Amelia says hesitantly, “Dad, can you talk to them about it?”
Her dad gives her a sharp look. “All the rules are in our rental packet.” He gestures to a folder that no one probably ever reads. “My guests don’t need to be pestered about environmental issues when they just want to relax.”
Amelia’s mom looks up. “It might not be a bad idea to let them know they’re breaking the law when they create more than a minimal wake.”
Mr. Carlson shakes his head impatiently. “No need to rile them up. It’s never good business to antagonize paying guests.”
Amelia looks from one of her parents to the other and rushes out to the covered patio overlooking the water.
Deion and I follow.
“Let’s go talk to those guys anyway,” Deion says.
Amelia shakes her head. “I changed my mind. If we make the guests mad, they’ll leave bad reviews and that’ll just make my parents fight more.” She pushes past us. “I’m going outside.”
Deion and I look at each other. After a moment, we follow her. When we get down the stairs, Amelia has run ahead to the river’s edge, where she crouches, fascinated by something by the water.
I’m stumped. Videos and signs are fine, but I need to be able to fight for Missy and Sunny in person too. What kind of manatee protector am I if I can’t even talk to a couple of guys next door?
Deion must be feeling the same thing, because he turns to me. “Let’s go talk to them. We don’t need anyone’s permission.”
His determined expression steadies me. I glance over to the house next door and see two guys swinging in hammocks under the house.
I blink. “Okay, let’s do it.”
I’m not sure how we’re going to just casually walk over next door to talk to the guys. I notice a box by the staircase with some balls and a Frisbee. That’s it. I pick up the Frisbee. “Deion, let’s play with this and throw it into the next yard.”
He laughs. “Got it.” He grabs the Frisbee and runs out to the lawn. “Catch!” He slings it my way.
I catch it and fling the Frisbee back. My back’s to the yard next door, near the palm trees. Deion takes aim and whizzes the Frisbee past my head and between two palms, landing it in the next yard. “My bad,” he calls out loudly. “Sorry I threw the Frisbee too hard, and it landed in the next yard!”
I muffle a laugh at his over-the-top act, but I gotta hand it to him, it’s what we set out to do.
We walk over next door and come to the two guys in the hammocks. One of them is holding a beer, and the other is swinging with one leg hanging out, earbuds in, eyes half closed.
Deion heads over to the Frisbee and calls out, “Don’t mind us. Just picking up our Frisbee that came over completely accidentally.”
“Yo,” the one with the beer calls out lazily. He and the other guy look to be in their twenties, though I can’t tell for sure because adults look pretty much the same to me.
Deion raises a brow at me and mutters under his breath, “Are you going to say something?”
“Um …” I give him my What? Are you kidding? I’m not talking to these guys face, even though they seem pretty chill and it’s hard to imagine these are the same don’t-care-about-manatees speed freaks we saw yesterday. Still. Thinking about confronting them is very different from actually doing it. Plus, it’s hard to go against my no-talking-to-strangers rule, which has served me well all my life.
Deion walks over. “Are those your Jet Skis?”
The guy with the beer looks at him. “Nah. We’re on vacation. They came with the house.”
Deion nudges me.
The universe is conspiring against me. Or testing me. Or both.
One of the guys takes a swig of his beer. He looks at me impassively. It’s not a mean look, but it’s not friendly either.
I gulp and look down. Nothing comes out of my mouth. I know I’m letting down Missy and Sunny, al
l their manatee friends, and their new dolphin buddy, but I can’t do it. I can’t speak up. Again.
“My friend saw your Jet Skis yesterday,” Deion says. “It’s a minimum wake manatee zone, so you gotta slow down so you don’t leave a huge wake.”
I’m flooded with relief and dismay that Deion had to say what I couldn’t.
The guy snorts. “What’re we supposed to do? The point of Jet Skis is to go fast.”
His friend looks over. “There are manatees here? Cool.”
I blink rapidly, still tongue-tied.
“Yo, man. Go farther out to the bay to jet ski,” Deion says, “or try a kayak.”
“It’s not going to make a difference if we stop,” the guy with the earbuds says. “There are other boats and Jet Skis on the water.”
I want to tell him every person makes a difference and if they did their part, they’d make a small dent in the problem, but my heart thuds and I say nothing, even when it’s Missy’s and Sunny’s lives at stake. I kick myself inwardly at how useless I am.
“Think about it.” Deion raises the Frisbee in a wave.
The guy shrugs and finishes his beer. He crushes the can and tosses it on the ground.
I open my mouth like a fish, and Deion and I walk away, back to the other property. What is wrong with me? My face burns as I hurry past the palms.
As we get out of earshot, I mutter to Deion, “Thanks for helping out.”
He looks at me curiously. “S’okay.” He brightens. “Those guys said they’d think about slowing down.”
I’m dubious. I don’t remember them saying anything that sounded promising.
Amelia watches us approach. “Why’d you do that? I asked you not to talk to them.” Her face twitches, like she’s about to cry. “You’re going to ruin things for my parents. Some friends you are.” She turns and storms back to the house.
My heart sinks.
Deion gives me a puzzled look. “What’s up with her?” He smiles and tosses the Frisbee into the air. “That was cool. We’re like the Manatee Vigilantes. No, that doesn’t sound right. We’re the Manatee Marauders.” It’s like he doesn’t even care that he upset her. He’s making jokes, again.
I shake my head and push past him. “Not now.” Those guys didn’t promise anything, and I was no help. Not only did we basically fail, but I still got Amelia mad at me. She’s right. Those guys will probably complain and her parents will fight more and she’ll never talk to me again and it wasn’t worth it because we didn’t even help the manatees. I’m so frustrated with myself, and to make things worse, I don’t know how to make things better with Amelia. But I know I need to try.
* * *
Inside, Amelia sits on a brown leather couch in the open, bright living room. She’s on her phone, her face stony.
I sit down next to her. She is liking some random kid’s pictures, ignoring me. I know she knows I’m right here, because she shifts slightly away.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
“It’s fine. I’m not mad,” she says without looking up. Everything about her expression and posture says that’s a lie. She puts down her phone. “We’re supposed to be working on a manatee education video, not ruining my life!”
I flinch. “What do you mean?”
“If this Airbnb thing doesn’t work out and my parents lose money, we’ll have to move again.” Tears prick at her eyes. “I hate it when they fight over money.”
This is terrible. The first time I tried to help Missy and Sunny in a concrete way may be the reason I lose my first real friend. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You never know what to say,” she spits out.
Her words strike me like jagged rocks.
Her eyes flare wide, like she surprised herself too, but she quickly goes back to her phone, tapping away.
I push myself up and find Mom in the kitchen. “Can you take me home?” I try to keep the thickness out of my voice.
Mom gives me her super-worried look and glances at Mrs. Carlson. “Sure. Marcie, let’s finish this later. Does Deion need a ride too?”
I glance out the window to the lawn, where Deion is tossing the Frisbee into the air and giving it enough spin for it to return to him. He still seems happy as ever, as if nothing has happened. I don’t want to deal with his jokes right now, so I shake my head a little at my mom to let her know I want to be alone.
“It’s fine, we’ll get him home,” Mrs. Carlson says brightly, her eyes darting between Amelia and me on the couch.
We head out. What a disaster. I failed Missy and Sunny, and Amelia hates me.
When we get home, I head straight to the backyard, my happy place by the river. All I want now is to see Missy and Sunny and forget about Amelia’s cutting words. I’m sure seeing them slip through the water, chewing on seagrass, Sunny nuzzling at his mom’s side, will calm me down.
I clomp down the dock, dangle my legs off the end, and let out a heavy sigh. The breeze sends ripples of water lapping against the dock. “Missy and Sunny, wherever you are, I wish you could help,” I say into the water, as if they were here. “I thought I was brave enough to confront those tourists, but it made Amelia angry and scared her parents will lose their business. And even my parents want more tourists to come.” On the ride home, Mom went on and on about how much fun it’d be to work on the new Airbnbs, probably trying to cheer me up, but all she did was remind me she’s part of the problem too.
Out on the water, circular ripples make their way toward me. Missy and Sunny are back!
I scramble to my feet.
“Missy, Sunny, you’re here.” Seeing their cute faces coming over immediately lifts my spirits.
Missy swims over to me, and Sunny follows. He’s getting to be such a great swimmer. I kneel down and hold out my arm in a greeting. I don’t have any food to offer them, but Missy seems curious and comes closer. Sunny hangs back.
“Oh, Sunny, don’t be afraid of me.” I wiggle my fingers.
Sunny tucks himself close to his mom.
I take out my camera. It’s time to take some footage that could be useful for our video project. “It’s another seventy-degree day in sunny Florida. Missy and Sunny are here, but we’re on dolphin watch. According to my research, it’s very rare to see dolphins and manatees hanging around together.”
Missy and Sunny are on the move today, and they glide away, flapping their tails. I keep the video trained on their ripples as they move to the center of the river.
The distinctive dorsal fin of a dolphin slices by right near them. “The dolphin is back. They really are friends!” I say.
My camera follows their progress. I can see Missy and Sunny, a large and a small shape moving along the bottom of the river. The dolphin zooms past the manatees and toward me. It comes almost to the dock, turns its head and looks at me with one eye, then swims back to where Missy and Sunny are. I bite my lip so I don’t squeal. I’ve never seen a dolphin so close. Its smiling face is so friendly!
It’s obviously much quicker than Missy and Sunny. It circles them, its fin showing up and coming back. It seems curious and frisky, like it wants to play with them. I can just imagine Missy pushing Sunny out of the way, her maternal instincts kicking in. I want to let her know, don’t worry, the dolphin just wants to play.
I keep the video on, staying quiet to not disturb this magical scene—splashing dolphin, milling manatees, and birdsong in the air.
But then—VRRROOOOMMMM.
The horrifying sound of a motorboat approaching. I turn the camera toward the sound and capture a boat speeding right toward Missy and Sunny! Time seems to slow as a man in a baseball cap and sunglasses sits at the wheel and a woman lounges on the seat behind, a floppy hat half-covering her face.
My heart is caught in my throat, and I’m stuck to the dock. My voice dries out and I can’t speak. This is my worst nightmare and I’m about to watch it happen. There’s no way the manatees can get away in time.
T
he boat bears down on the spot where I last saw Sunny’s little circular footprint.
With a flash, the dolphin swims between the manatees and the boat and leaps fully out of the water into the air, blocking the path of the boat. Its skin glistens and drops of water spray in a glistening arc.
The boat veers in a sharp turn, narrowly avoiding hitting the dolphin and Missy and Sunny. Shouts from the passengers carry across the water.
“Did you see that?”
“A dolphin!”
The dolphin squeaks and whistles and swims away. Missy and Sunny move along, not noticing the whole commotion.
I keep recording the boat, which has slowed down. A woman leans out the back, pointing and yelling. The boat turns around to follow the dolphin, which has swum away, sleek and fast.
“The dolphin saved their lives,” I say into the video. “I just witnessed the most incredible thing. The dolphin that’s been hanging around this river put itself in front of a speeding boat about to hit the manatees and jumped into the air. It risked its own life to save its friends.”
I turn off the video, my hands shaking. I just got video evidence of an incredible manatee rescue.
I run into the house, but Mom is on a conference call, and Dad’s still at work.
I want to text Amelia, but my stomach clenches as I remember she’s mad at me about the jet skiers and I’m mad at her for telling me I never have anything to say.
But she would want to know about the dolphin. I really want to share this with her. Is this what it means to have a friend? It’s awful how for a brief moment it seemed like we were real friends, and now I’ve lost her. Maybe I should try to reach out. I know she’ll love this video.
I can’t hold it inside anymore. I text her, The most amazing thing just happened.
An interminable row of dots blinks on my screen. I squirm, wondering what she’s typing. Maybe she’s telling me to leave her alone.