by Sylvia Liu
Deion leans in, sticking his nose almost to the screen. “You’re cooking.”
My heart does its pitter-pat workout. “I … I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it. I couldn’t stand the idea of Missy and Sunny being in danger one minute more. I thought if I posted it, we could change the city council’s mind.”
Amelia sags and looks out the car window.
“It’s going wild, up to two hundred views!” Deion punches the air. “I’m going to share this.” He digs out his phone.
“Wait,” I say. “Amelia, we can still do our project. This will help us get attention for it.”
“This is the second time you did something without thinking about what I want,” Amelia says.
This hits me in the gut. Am I a terrible, selfish person? I’m not used to thinking about what my friends might want when I’ve never had friends before.
“What’s this video?” Grandma asks.
“Remember the video I showed you of the dolphin saving Missy and Sunny?” It was the first thing I did when she came to pick me up today.
“Of course. It was so interesting.”
“I just made it public, and lots of people are liking it now.” I glance at Amelia and sigh. “It’s a good thing.”
Amelia’s expression changes from a glower to a more neutral look. “Okay,” she says. “I don’t like secrets, but you’re right. We need to spread the word to stop boats from hitting manatees.” She pulls out her phone. “Liking and sharing.”
I lean my head against the headrest and close my eyes. After this roller coaster of emotions, frozen yogurt will hit the spot.
We arrive at the Froyo store and make our way in. I’m temporarily distracted by the yumminess all around. I get my usual chocolate base and add my favorite toppings: gummy bears, strawberries, and chocolate chips.
“How does that site work?” Grandma asks. “Are you safe online?”
“Yes, it doesn’t identify me or anything. My name on the account is Ms. Manatee.” One of the reasons I was even able to post the video was because only my voice is identifiable. I don’t show my face or name anywhere.
I put away my phone. “I don’t want to think about it now.” I dig into my treat. If there’s one thing I’m very serious about—aside from manatees—it’s enjoying every bite of my frozen yogurt. I don’t want any distractions from the creamy smooth taste of chocolate with the crunch of chocolate chips and chewy goodness of gummy bears.
Deion nods emphatically. “Yeah, man. This is much too good to not pay our hundred percent full attention to. Mmmm-mmmh.” After a few minutes, he looks up. “What’s the number of likes on that video now?”
I wake up my phone.
The view count is at 579, and the numbers are switching even faster than before.
Amelia looks at me with wide eyes. “Becca, your video is going viral.”
Amelia was right.
It wasn’t quite viral when I went to sleep—1,200 views—but when I woke up this morning and turned on my phone, it had exploded to over 28,000 views, 6,100 likes, and 470 shares. I turn off notifications again because the unending buzzing practically burns my phone.
People leave all sorts of comments. Most are good, like, “Wow, dolphins are so awesome,” and “That’s so cool to see animals helping each other.” Exactly my feelings. Lots of people liked those comments too, but some gave them a thumbs-down. Who would be so negative as to dislike a comment about how awesome a dolphin is? What surprises me the most is that some of the comments are just mean or nasty. I don’t get people. A manatee would never squash someone’s happy, positive thoughts. Another reason manatees would make better people than people, if you ask me.
At school I don’t look at my phone. Our school’s policy is no phones and they’re pretty strict about it, but I can’t help feeling like a hot-air balloon stretching against its lines, waiting to fly into the sky. I’m sitting on a huge secret. Tens of thousands of people have seen this video and know about the amazing dolphin rescue, but everything around me is still normal.
I can’t wait for science class for once. We’re going to meet with Ms. Amato to talk about our progress on our project, and we’ll tell her about our plans to feature the dolphin and the manatees in a public service announcement.
* * *
Ms. Amato looks up over her glasses at the three of us. We’re seated around her desk. “Where are you on your project?”
I look to Deion and Amelia—they usually tumble all over themselves to speak up. Surprisingly, they look at me. I almost turn behind me to see if there’s someone else in our group I’d forgotten about.
I blink a few times. “We have a video of a dolphin saving a group of manatees from a boat.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s totally wild,” Deion says. “This dolphin is all, like, you’re not getting anywhere near my manatee friends.” He splays his arms out dramatically.
“A boat was about to hit the manatees,” Amelia explains, “and the dolphin risked its own life to jump in front of it.”
“The dolphin saved the manatees from getting hit,” I add.
“That’s so unusual,” Ms. Amato says. “I’d love to see it.”
“It’s online.” I tell her the site and Ms. Amato pulls it up.
Her eyes widen. “It’s quite popular. You have over forty-seven thousand views.”
The three of us stare at one another. Deion mouths a silent whoa. Amelia is stunned into silence for once.
“Really?” I squeak.
Ms. Amato plays it and we all watch the now-familiar scene—the manatees moving along, the boat speeding in, and the dolphin throwing itself in front of the boat. I only halfway pay attention because the numbers of views and likes mesmerize me.
The idea that almost fifty thousand people have seen this video and heard my voice is unreal.
“This is remarkable,” Ms. Amato says. “How do you plan to use the video for your project?”
“We want to talk about the dangers of boats to manatees, and this video will be really dramatic,” I say.
Ms. Amato nods and she taps her pen against her face. “I’d like to put you in touch with my former professor at the University of Miami, Dr. Elena Martin. She specializes in dolphins.”
“A dolphin doctor? Does she squeak Dolphin?” Deion says.
Ms. Amato’s face grows stern. “Dr. Martin is a real, working scientist. You’ll need to be serious when talking to her and not waste her time.”
Deion gulps and shrinks. “I’m sorry, Ms. Amato. Why do we need to talk with her?”
“The dolphin shouldn’t be this far upriver. Dr. Martin could work with the FWC to rescue the dolphin and bring it back to the ocean.” Ms. Amato turns to her computer and starts to type. “You can help them by letting them know where and when to find the dolphin. And she can probably answer questions for your project too.”
My eyes grow wide. A cold feeling of dread seeps through me. I’m not ready to talk to real live adults, especially marine biologists, and I definitely don’t want to give up the dolphin’s location. It seems happy in the river, playing with Missy, Sunny, and the other manatees. If I rat out the dolphin to some scientists, they’ll separate a beautiful friendship.
“Sure, we can do it,” Amelia says with a wide smile. “We know exactly where to find it. It shows up near Becca’s and my docks most days.”
I glare at Amelia. Doesn’t she know how traitorous she’s being to Missy and Sunny?
She looks at me quizzically. “What?”
My eyes cut to Ms. Amato. I can’t talk about it here, not in front of our teacher, who’s looking at me curiously. Her eyes soften. “Are you worried about the dolphin?”
“Yes. Sort of. I mean …” I lapse into silence. I can’t explain why I think the dolphin would be happier staying with the manatees. There’s a real friendship between the animals.
“The dolphin should be fine for a little while in the river,” she says, misunderstanding my
worried look, “but it can’t stay for the long term. Dolphins aren’t meant to live in fresh water. Salt water keeps their skin healthy, and it’s better to have it to rejoin its pod.”
She’s probably right, but I don’t want her to be. Missy and Sunny need their protector, and she did say the dolphin will be fine for a while.
I’m beginning to think I made a mistake making this video public. I don’t want scientists to come and tell us what to do. Amelia was right—we should have saved it for the PSA. When I made it public, at most, I thought city council members might see it and slow down the festival idea. But now Missy and Sunny could lose their dolphin friend because of me.
* * *
Over dinner, I tell Mom and Dad about the video getting all those views. Dad puts down his iced tea and says, “Hmm. If this video’s getting a lot of interest, we should use it to get people interested in the boat festival. Imagine.” He fans out his arms. “Show the video of the jumping dolphin and cut to a girl on a wakeboard doing a similar spinning move … Come see the excitement on Florida’s Nature Coast. Even the dolphins are psyched for the festival!”
I groan inwardly. How can Dad see the same video and think so differently? He doesn’t even make the connection that it’s boats like his that are endangering the manatees. “Dad, that’s … not right.”
He smiles. “It’s just an idea, honey. I’m glad your video is getting a lot of attention.”
I frown. He doesn’t get it at all. He could listen to me if he wanted to, but he just doesn’t care.
When I wake up in the morning, I turn on my phone.
My jaw drops.
Overnight, the video has reached 274,000 views and 11,900 shares.
I’m in complete shock. The numbers are so large, I can’t even wrap my head around them. My school has 600 students, and our town is about 5,000 people. I’m not going to try to do the math, but a lot more people than my town’s entire population have seen the video.
I go downstairs. I only have ten minutes before the bus comes, and Mom’s made me one of my usual breakfasts, yogurt with fruit and honey. Dad sits at the island with his laptop and a strangely eager expression. “Your video is blowing up,” he says.
“I know. I can’t believe it.”
Dad’s eyes have a disturbing gleam. “I’ve got a great idea.”
I have a feeling I won’t like it. “What is it?”
“You’ll see.” He smiles and types away on his laptop. I come around to see what he’s doing. As I look over his shoulder, he hits send on a post from his business account. He’s posted the video and a caption:
Come see the extraordinary dolphin that saved the manatees. Call the number below to arrange riverside seats to one of nature’s most unusual friendships.
My vision briefly grays out as I read those words. “Dad, you’re inviting strangers to our house to see the dolphin?” I manage to croak. “Why would you do that?”
Mom looks up. “You’re inviting strangers to our home?”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t put our address on the Internet. I’ll screen the calls,” Dad says. His phone rings, and he holds up a finger. “Hello … yes, this is he.” He walks to the family room. “Which station are you with? Of course, I watch you all the time. Hold on, I have another call coming in.”
“Mom,” I hiss. “What is Dad doing? I don’t want strangers to come to our house.” All those people will drive Missy and Sunny away.
Dad paces back and forth on the phone, giving out directions to our house and dock. Mom, glancing at Dad with an exasperated look, says, “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ll talk with him. Finish your breakfast and get your bag together. I’m not driving you to school again if you miss the bus.”
I finish the morning scramble, gobbling up the rest of my yogurt and scooping up my backpack, but the whole time, I worry about Dad’s sketchy plans. He’s fielding more than one call at a time and taking notes on the back of an envelope. Missy, Sunny, and the dolphin don’t even show up every day. What’re people going to do, camp out in our backyard?
* * *
At school, when I get to the courtyard where we hang out before first bell, kids who haven’t ever talked to me come up to me.
“Ms. Manatee!” says one boy, a tall kid named Mark who plays basketball. “High five!” He holds up his hand in the air, and I tap it tentatively.
“You’re going viral, Becca,” Emma says. She’s one of the popular girls whose talent is swishing her long brown hair. Her eyes are bright and her smile is wide.
I want to shrink from all this attention. I wonder who told everyone it was me who put up the video. This is not what I signed up for.
Amelia stands with a huddle of kids at one of the metal picnic tables. “This dolphin comes by our houses a lot. It plays with the manatees and is so awesome,” she says. “We’re working on teaching it some tricks. I told Becca she should make the video public after she showed it to me.”
My mouth falls open. The others hang on her every word.
She smiles when she sees me. “Oh, here’s Ms. Manatee herself.” She puts her arms around my shoulder and jostles me into the circle of kids so now they’re all staring at me.
“You’re Internet famous,” a guy says.
“Are you going to go on TV?” another girl asks.
My heart races and I sputter. “It’s … I …” Finally, I manage to put together a sentence. “It’s not about me. It’s the manatees that are in danger.” There, I said it. The kids stare at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language.
A boy pipes up, “What’s the secret to making a video go viral? None of my posts get more than a few hundred likes.”
Deion elbows his way into the group. “Can I get your autograph?” he says, somehow managing to make fun of everyone around us while making me feel like a celebrity at the same time.
Amelia steps in front of me, holding up a hand. “Nuh-uh. I’m her manager. Autograph requests go through me.”
“I thought I was her manager,” Deion says.
I shrink back. I’m glad their playful bickering is taking attention away from me, but I’m still the focus of attention. When it’s time to go to first period, I’m a jumble of emotions. Having Deion and Amelia by my side, running interference with the hordes of other students, is a huge relief. But Missy and Sunny are getting lost in the shuffle.
It’s early Saturday morning, and I can’t help checking the stats as soon as I wake up.
I inhale sharply.
Almost one million views! Or 987,558, to be exact, and the numbers are changing before my eyes. I look around my bedroom, the ceiling, and the window overlooking the old oaks and the river. This is surreal. My voice has been heard almost a million times. The number is so large, it doesn’t compute. I open a couple of apps and see it’s a trending topic on both.
I’m eating a bagel downstairs, still trying to wrap my thoughts around the number of views this video has gotten, when the doorbell rings. I never like answering the door, but neither Mom nor Dad is nearby. Mom’s upstairs and Dad is out in the yard. I peek out the window to see if it’s the UPS truck that I can safely ignore. Instead, parked in our driveway is a white truck with Channel 5’s call sign, WKPP.
I want to hide, but a woman with sleek blonde hair and gobs of makeup leans over and looks through the glass by our front door, her face popping up like a genial clown. She smiles and waves at me, so I can’t slink away like I was planning to.
I open the door.
“I’m Pamela Marks, from WKPP. Are your parents at home? Are you the girl who filmed the viral video?”
I stare at her, my mouth drying out. “One moment.” I close the door in her face and run-walk to Mom and Dad’s bedroom. “Mom, there’s a TV reporter at the door.”
Mom steps out of the bathroom with a bathrobe on and a towel around her head. “Dad mentioned she was coming, but I thought it was going to be later.”
“Why’s a reporter here?”
“It’
s exciting to have a viral video, so she wanted to interview us.”
I don’t like this at all. “I’m not talking to a reporter.”
“You don’t have to,” Mom says. “Why don’t you go find Dad?”
I head down the stairs of our house and out the back. Dad’s tooling around his boat tied to our dock. When I tell him the reporter is here, he wipes his hands on his shorts and hurries around to the front of the house. I stay behind at the dock, on the lookout for Missy, Sunny, or the dolphin.
Pretty soon, Dad comes back with the reporter and the cameraperson in tow. I move off our dock as they approach. They set up so Dad stands in front of the river, calm and beautiful.
“Pamela Marks, WKPP, reporting from the backyard of local resident Eric Walker. How does it feel to have a video your daughter filmed go viral?”
My insides go jellylike. It hits me that this story is going to go on TV too. Somehow the Internet feels anonymous, but with TV, there’ll be images of our house and Dad.
“I’m very proud of my daughter, who took the video and shared it. It’s incredible to see the dolphin spinning in the air in front of the boat,” Dad says. I perk up. Oh, good. Dad’s going to talk about how boats shouldn’t speed where manatees could be around. He’s so personable. People will definitely listen to him. “It’s an exciting cross-species friendship,” he says. “We’ll be opening our backyard for visitors to see this special friendship for themselves. Our town is a great place to visit to see sights like this.”
As Dad talks, my hope curdles. He’s inviting people to our backyard! And why isn’t he talking about boats hitting manatees? Now he’s talking about his boating festival. I edge past the reporter and cameraperson and hurry back to the house.
After the TV crew leaves, I storm into the study, where Dad’s answering calls and taking notes. “Dad, why did you do that?”
He holds up his finger, but then changes his mind after seeing the look on my face. “Excuse me, may I call you back later?” He puts down the phone.