Escaping the Giant Wave (3 page)

“How old is the Totem Pole Inn?” Mom asked.

“It was one of the first luxury hotels in Oregon,” the man replied. “Built in 1928. Three American presidents have stayed here, and so have many movie stars. It's always been popular with celebrities because it's so far away from town. If you like quiet, this is the place to be, especially now when the inn is officially closed. The only guests are the few whose rooms weren't ready at the Frontier Lodge and who couldn't get rooms at one of the hotels in town.”

“We weren't told when we registered that the hotel's being torn down,” Dad said.

“You should have asked for a bigger discount,” BeeBee said.

We entered the dimly lit lobby. I could tell it had once been an elegant facility, but it looked as if no upkeep had been done in several years. Wallpaper curled at the edges, and the frayed carpet had bare spots between the door and the elevator.

“It's not exactly what we were expecting,” Mom said.

“We don't have to do anything here except sleep,” Dad said, but I could tell he was disappointed too.

“We could have slept at a Motel 6,” BeeBee said, “for a lot less money.”

The bellhop pushed the “up” button on the elevator, and we all looked expectantly at the doors. They stayed closed. He pushed the button again, but it didn't light up.

“Looks like the elevator is out of order again,” he said. “Do you mind walking up to the third floor, or do you want to wait in the lobby while I call the repair service?”

“Are there any first-floor rooms?” Dad asked.

“None that still have furniture.”

“We'll walk up,” Mom said.

The bellhop couldn't take the cart full of luggage up the stairs, so he carried Mom and Dad's bags while BeeBee and I each carried our own.

Two full flights of stairs later, we puffed into our room.

BeeBee ran to the window to look at the ocean view, Mom checked out the bathroom, Dad tipped the bellhop, and I stood in the doorway watching Daren and his parents walk toward me.

They stopped at a room three doors down the hall. My dream vacation was beginning to seem like a nightmare.

The next day we saw the warning sign.

We got up early, partly because we were too excited to sleep late and partly because our bodies were still on Kansas time, which was two hours later than Oregon. The construction noise from the new hotel hadn't helped either.

After breakfast at the Frontier Lodge, Mom, Dad, BeeBee, and I headed for the ocean. Wooden steps zigzagged from the hotel parking lot down to the beach.

“Twenty-seven steps,” BeeBee said when we reached the bottom.

“It'll seem like more when we go up,” Dad said.

The Pacific Ocean was awesome, stretching into the distance as far as I could see. A wide sandy beach, dotted with shells deposited at high tide, invited us to explore. Waves lapped the shore, sandpipers scuttled along just beyond the water's reach, and gulls swooped overhead.

The water was too cold for swimming, but BeeBee and I took off our shoes and socks, rolled up our pant legs, and waded along the edge.

BeeBee carried a plastic bucket; she began collecting shells and pretty stones.

“Be selective,” Dad said. “You can't keep every rock you find.”

“I don't plan to keep any of them,” BeeBee said. “When we get home, I'm going to sell them to the other kids. Genuine Pacific Ocean souvenirs: ten cents each.”

I saw Dad roll his eyes at Mom, and I was pretty sure they wouldn't let her sell the stones to her friends, but they didn't scold her now.

The tide was low, exposing wide outcrops of rock. Tide pools held tiny crabs, sea anemones, and even one starfish. I was tempted to put the sea creatures in BeeBee's bucket to take home, but I didn't do it. I wanted them to live more than I wanted to show them to my friends.

We walked and walked and saw only four other people. Each time a person approached, I looked to see if it was Daren and was relieved when it wasn't.

Mom said, “It's so beautiful here; I'm sorry to see a big hotel built. By next summer, this beach will probably be crowded.”

“There's a sign sticking out of the sand,” BeeBee said. She ran ahead to see what it said, then rushed back to report, “It's a warning sign! It says the Oregon coast might get hit by a t-s-u-n-a-m-i.” She spelled out the word.

“Tsunami,” I said. “It's a giant wave, usually caused by an earthquake.”

BeeBee scowled at me. “How do you know that?” she asked. It always bugs her when I know something she doesn't.

“We did a disaster unit in fifth grade. Remember my report on volcanoes, when I made the model of Mount Saint Helens?”

BeeBee nodded.

“Gary gave his report on tsunamis. He enlarged some pictures that he had found in a book. They showed an area where a tsunami had hit. There were collapsed buildings and uprooted trees, but the photos were all taken a long time ago in Hawaii. I didn't know tsunamis ever happened in Oregon.”

“Neither did I,” said Mom. “The one I remember reading about was years ago in Alaska.”

“Tsunamis sound scary,” BeeBee said.

We gathered around the sign while Dad read it out loud. It said that tsunamis are dangerous, have struck the Oregon coast many times, and can follow within minutes of an earthquake.

“Minutes!” Mom said. “That doesn't give much time to get away.”

Dad continued to read. “Most tsunamis are not one giant wave, but a series of large waves that strike the shore over the course of several hours.”

“It had better not happen while we're here,” BeeBee said. “I'd hate to think Dad's boss paid all that money for our vacation and then we can't stay because of a tsunami.”

“We aren't any more likely to have a tsunami while we're here than to be caught in a tornado back home,” Mom said.

“I wonder if they have tsunami drills in school here,” BeeBee said, “the way we have tornado drills.”

“Probably,” Dad said.

The sign had a map showing that the offshore earthquake-prone area ran parallel to the coast of Oregon.

“Where's Fisher Beach?” I asked.

Dad pointed to the center of the map. “Here's the town of Fisher, and here's Fisher Beach.”

“Great,” I said. “We're right in the middle of the danger zone.”

Dad read the instructions for escaping a tsunami: “Protect yourself during the earthquake. As soon as it stops, go inland and uphill. Do not go to the beach, even after a tsunami wave hits. Wait for official notice that it's safe before returning to the beach.” He quit reading and looked at us. “You got that?”

We all nodded.

“Okay. Let's forget about giant waves and enjoy ourselves.”

We walked awhile longer, then turned back toward the hotel. When we reached the zigzag steps again, Mom and Dad sat on some driftwood and watched the waves while BeeBee searched for shells.

I decided to make a “sea picture.” I gathered stones, bits of seaweed, pieces of driftwood, two bird feathers, and some broken shells. I drew a rectangular “picture frame” in the sand with a stick and then used all the other materials to create my artwork. It turned out so well that I was sorry I had made it close to the water, where the tide would come in and wash it away. I decided to take a photo of the sea picture.

I went back to our room, got my camera, and was waiting for the elevator when Daren came out of his room. “What're you doing?” he asked.

“I'm meeting my folks down on the beach.”

“I'll come with you.”

I couldn't very well tell him no. It's a public beach. Still, my palms got sweaty at the idea of going anywhere with Daren.

When the elevator came, Daren got on first. Being shut in an elevator alone with him did not appeal to me, so I blurted, “I'll meet you downstairs. I need the exercise.”

The elevator doors closed. I clumped down the stairs, reminding myself that this was my chance to fulfill one of my summer goals. Stand up to Daren. Put him in his place, once and for all.

Dream on.

I wanted to do it—but not now.

When I reached the lobby I looked at the elevator, expecting Daren to step out. The doors remained closed. Had he already gotten out and was hiding somewhere, waiting to pounce on me? I glanced nervously behind a large potted plant.

Then I noticed the arrow over the elevator that showed which floor it was on. The arrow was between two and three, and not moving. I pushed the “down” button but it didn't light up. The elevator was stuck.

I ought to leave him there,
I thought. Payback for seven years of punching me. I could pretend I thought he was ahead of me and go on down to the beach, and then when I saw him again, I'd ask why he hadn't come with me and act surprised when he said the elevator had stopped.

Then I thought how scary it would be to get stuck in an elevator, and I couldn't do it, not even to Daren.

I went to the counter in the lobby and rang the brass bell. When the clerk arrived I said, “There's a kid stuck in the elevator.”

“Not again.” The clerk sighed, as if the personal inconvenience was more than he could bear. “I suppose I should call the repair service.” He sighed again.

“That seems like a good idea,” I said. Then, having done what I could for Daren, I headed for the beach. I stopped several times to pick up more stones and another feather to add to my picture. Something silver glistened in the sand. I rushed over, but it was only the pop-top from an aluminum can. I stuck it in my pocket so nobody would step on it with bare feet and get cut.

I added the new stones and feathers to my sea picture, then aimed my camera at it and adjusted the focus. Just as I snapped the shutter, a pair of shoes jumped into the middle of my picture, kicking the feathers, stones, and shells into a jumbled pile.

“Hey!” I said. I let the camera dangle from its strap around my neck. “What'd you do that for?”

Daren stood inside my former picture, smirking at me. “Do what?” he asked.

“You wrecked my picture.”

“No, I didn't.”

I stared at him. How could he deny it when the evidence was right there under his feet?

Daren ground a feather into the sand with his heel. “You ran off and left me stuck in the elevator.”

“I didn't run off. I told the hotel clerk you were stuck, and he said he'd call the repair service.”

“Right,” Daren said, as if he didn't believe me. He dragged one foot back and forth, erasing the remains of my picture frame.

“How'd you get here so fast?” I asked. “The repairman must have already been in the building.”

“The elevator started working again by itself. It was only stuck a couple of minutes. When I got to the lobby I saw you through the big window walking toward the beach, so I followed you.”

I put my camera back in the carrying case and turned away from Daren.

“Where are you going?”

I pointed. “My parents are over there. I'm supposed to meet them.”

“That was a stupid picture you made in the sand,” Daren said.

In my head I said,
It was a really great picture, and you're stupid for wrecking it.
Out loud, I said nothing.

So much for my summer goals.

I'm a coward,
I thought as I walked away. A wimp. A big baby who's scared to stand up for himself.

I'll probably never learn to pop a wheelie either, and I'll strike out every time I get up to bat, and Mom and Dad will be so disgusted with me they'll cut my allowance in half.

When I got to where Mom and Dad were sitting, Mom said, “I saw you talking to Daren. Do you want to invite him to come to our room with you and BeeBee while we're gone this evening? His parents will be going on the cruise with us. He could eat with you and . . .”

“No!” I said. It came out louder than I meant it to.

Mom cocked her head sideways and waited for me to explain.

“I don't like Daren too much,” I said.

“Why not?” Mom asked.

“He smokes.” That was true. Twice I'd seen him light a cigarette as soon as he got off the school bus. I thought Daren was dumb for smoking, but it was not the reason I didn't like him. However, I knew Mom wouldn't want me to hang out with a kid who smokes.

“He's mean,” BeeBee said. “He picks on kids at school all the time.”

“Does he pick on you?” Dad asked.

“No,” BeeBee said.

“If he ever does, you tell him to knock it off or you'll report him to the principal,” Dad said. “You can't let bullies get away with being mean or they'll come back for more.”

I braced myself, fearing Mom would jump into the conversation with a million questions, but for once she didn't.

She nodded at Dad's advice to BeeBee and said no more about Daren.

That afternoon, when it was time for Mom and Dad to leave, I got even more instructions than usual.

“You can charge the pizza to our room,” Dad said, “but tip the delivery person with cash.” He gave me a five dollar bill.

“They get five dollars just for bringing a pizza to us?” BeeBee asked.

“Yes,” Dad said, “and don't get any funny ideas about only giving him part of it and keeping the rest.”

“Maybe I won't be president of a bank when I grow up,” BeeBee said. “Maybe I'll deliver pizza instead.”

“You'd have to carry a lot of pizza to earn as much as a bank president makes,” Mom said. “Not everyone gives a big tip.”

I was tempted to ask about a tip for the babysitter but decided not to push my luck. Tomorrow, after I reported how smoothly our evening had gone, I would ask again about an increase in my allowance.

“You can watch TV while we're gone,” Mom said, “or any of the G-rated movies or play cards or read. But stay in our room. We don't want you wandering around outside without us.”