Manatee Blues (2 page)

Maggie takes a lollipop out of her backpack. “Keep an eye on David,” she tells Sunita as she unwraps it. “We don’t want him wrecking the place while we’re gone.”

“Hey!” David protests. “I wouldn’t do that. Besides,” he grins, “I’ll be busy with Trickster.”

David isn’t coming with us either. He has been working with a special horse at Quinn’s Stables. He had already promised to help Mr. Quinn out at a competition this weekend. David wouldn’t miss that for the world.

Sunita smiles. “We’ll take care of the clinic. You guys take care of the manatees. Take lots of pictures, Brenna. Manatees are adorable.”

“You should see all the film I have.” I pick up the camera hanging around my neck and look through the viewfinder at Sunita and David. “Squeeze in together. Move closer to David, Mag.”

Maggie leans next to David, sticks the lollipop in her mouth, and crosses her eyes. David holds up two fingers behind Maggie’s head. Sunita, sitting on the other side of David, smooths her hair down neatly.

“Wait for me!” Zoe calls. She drops her magazine and runs around behind the others. She rests her chin on David’s head and gives the camera a brilliant Hollywood smile.

Click!
I snap a quick picture of my friends. “Perfect!”

The woman at the check-in counter picks up her mike. “U.S. Air flight 1072 to Tampa is now boarding all rows.”

People all around us collect their briefcases and carry-on luggage before joining the long line to get on the airplane. An electric tingle starts in my toes and shoots up to my head.

This is it!

As Maggie and Zoe get in line with Dr. Mac, I walk over to Mom and Dad, still standing by the window that looks out onto the parked plane.

Mom hugs me first. “Have fun,” she says. She tucks an escaped strand of brown hair behind my ear. “Be polite, watch your temper, and think before you open your mouth.”

I sort of have a reputation for blurting things out—especially when I lose my temper—but not on this trip. “I’ll be a perfect angel,” I promise.

“Have a great time, kiddo,” Dad says. He gives me a bear hug, his beard scratching my cheek.

“And hang on to that camera.”

“I’ll sleep with it around my neck,” I say. “Here. Let me get a picture of the two of you.”

Through the viewfinder, my parents look small, out of place in the airport terminal. They belong back home in our little forest.

I press the shutter release.
Click!

“You’d better get going,” Mom says. She gives me one more quick kiss. “Be a good girl,” she says.

Suddenly I realize this is the first time I’ll be away from them for more than a day.

I hug her tightly. “I love you.”

I hurry to the door and give the attendant my boarding pass, then wave to everyone one last time.

“Bye, guys!” I shout, jiggling the bracelet on my wrist.

Mom and Dad wave back. David puts his thumbs up against the sides of his head and wiggles his fingers at us like antlers. Sunita mimics holding a camera and mouths, “Take pictures.”

“Ready?” asks Dr. Mac.

“Let’s rock!”

M
y first minute in Florida!

As I step out of the airport terminal in Tampa, the heat wraps itself around me. It’s got to be one hundred degrees. The air is heavy and smells like the ocean, the sun so bright I have to squint.

Zoe fans her face with her magazine. “I forgot how hot it gets here in the summer. The best time to come to Florida is April, not July.”

“This way, girls,” Dr. Mac calls. “We’ve still got about a half-hour drive to Bay City ahead of us.”

Maggie, Zoe, and I follow her to the rental-car parking lot, dragging our suitcases and backpacks. Dr. Mac is the mother duck, and we’re the ducklings.

The attendant at the car lot, a young guy with a great tan and bleached-blond hair, gives Dr. Mac a form to fill out. While she’s taking care of the paperwork, I look around. It’s only a parking lot, but it’s beautiful. Spiky plants with brilliant red and bright pink flowers grow along a low wall. Hidden insects whir and click, and seagulls cry overhead. The people walking by us are speaking Spanish, and a car radio somewhere plays salsa music. It couldn’t be more different from home.

I love it.

Zoe flaps her magazine in my direction. “You look hot,” she says. “What are you staring at?”

“I can’t believe I’m really seeing palm trees,” I say. “They look so weird. Don’t they remind you of David’s hair, the way the palm leaves stick out on the top?”

“Take a picture,” Maggie suggests.

“Good idea.” I take aim and shoot.
Click!

“What are those birds, Brenna?” Zoe asks as she points overhead.

“Oh, my gosh. Snowy egrets!” I adjust the camera lens to bring the elegant birds into focus. They have enormous white wings, S-shaped necks, and plumes on their heads—just like I’ve seen in Mom’s bird books. They look like soaring ballerinas.

Before I can get the shot, the egrets disappear behind a billboard.
Darn.
I’ll have to shoot faster.

The rental-car guy hands the car keys to Dr. Mac. “First time in Florida?” he asks with a friendly smile.

“First time anywhere,” I answer.

“Are you going to Disney World?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Way better than that. We’re going to Gold Coast Rescue Center.”

“Never heard of it,” he says.

Dr. Mac opens the trunk of the white sedan. “The girls are going to work with recuperating manatees.”

The attendant lifts the suitcases into the trunk. “You came all the way down here to do that?”

“We’re going to squeeze in a baseball game, too,” Dr. Mac says. “I got us tickets for the Bay City Stingers and the Hurricanes.”

“Yes!” Maggie pumps her fist in the air, almost smacking her cousin. “The Stingers have one of the best hitters in the league, Ronnie Masters. He used to play for the Philadelphia Phillies.”

“We can watch baseball at home,” I say, putting my suitcase next to Maggie’s. “I want to spend all my time with the manatees.”

The attendant closes the trunk. “It’s probably a good idea,” he says. “My girlfriend told me that manatees are dying off. There aren’t that many left, you know.”

The two-story stucco rescue center is bigger than I thought it would be, with a middle section and two wings that go off to the left and the right. A slow-moving river flows behind the center, shaded by tall oaks draped with spooky Spanish moss. Exotic birds screech from the top of the
trees. The insects here are louder than at the airport, and it’s hot and sticky, even in the shade.

“Welcome to the Gold Coast Rescue Center,” reads a faded sign on the front door. “Bay City, Florida.”

Dr. Mac told us that Gold Coast is a manatee critical-care center. It’s certified to rescue injured or sick manatees and to rehabilitate and take care of them until they are healthy enough to be released into the wild. It’s supposed to be a tourist spot, too, but we’re the only visitors I can see. The cars in the parking lot are all in the “Reserved for Staff” spaces.

Dr. Mac tugs on the front door. It’s locked. Maggie leans against the glass to peer inside.

“That’s strange,” Dr. Mac says. She knocks on the door. “Gretchen knew we were coming. I hope everything is all right.”

“Maybe they’re on a lunch break,” Zoe suggests.

“Wait, here comes someone,” Maggie says.

“Gretchen!” Dr. Mac exclaims.

A tall, muscular woman wearing a light blue sleeveless shirt and black shorts unlocks and pushes open the front door. Her blond hair is up in a bun. She looks like she’s around thirty years old, but there are dark circles under her eyes. I bet she works really hard.

“J.J.!” the woman exclaims. “I thought I heard a car pull in. Sorry about the door.” She gives Dr. Mac a big hug. “It’s been nuts around here. I’ll tell you about it later. These must be the girls.”

Dr. Mac beams. “Maggie and Zoe, my grand-daughters, and our friend Brenna Lake. Girls, this is Gretchen Linden, director of the center.”

“I’m so glad you could come,” Gretchen tells us. “Dr. Mac e-mailed me all about you guys.”

“Gran has told us a lot about you, too,” Maggie says.

“Thanks for inviting us,” Zoe says politely.

Enough chitchat. “Can we see the manatees?” I blurt out.

“Patience, Brenna,” Dr. Mac says.

“No, that’s great,” Gretchen says. “We like enthusiasm. This center was created to get people excited about manatees and other Florida wildlife. We need more people like Brenna.”

I like this lady. She thinks the same way I do.

A thin man wearing khaki shorts and a gray polo shirt leans out the door. “Uh, Gretchen?” he asks.

“Carlos, come out and meet everyone,” Gretchen says. “Carlos is the assistant director here. He’s the best marine biologist in the state.”

“We have an emergency,” Carlos says, holding up a portable phone. “An injured manatee floating by Walker’s Point.”

Gretchen’s smile vanishes. “A boat strike?”

“Sounds like it. The caller says it’s cut and swimming on one side.”

An injured manatee? My heart starts thumping.

Gretchen is all business. “Get the boats ready,” she tells Carlos. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

I want to go with them.

Carlos jogs back inside, talking into the phone. Gretchen puts her hands on her hips and sighs. “Sorry, guys. Duty calls. I have to go.”

Dr. Mac nods her head. “I understand. We’ll head for the hotel. You can call us when you’re free.”

We’re leaving? No way!

“Can’t we go?” I ask.

Gretchen hesitates. “Brenna, this manatee was probably cut by boat propellers. It won’t be nice to look at. But don’t run off. I’ll have one of the volunteers show you around.”

The last thing I want right now is a tour. I follow Gretchen to the front door. “Gross things and injured animals don’t bother me. We see them all the time at Dr. Mac’s Place. Let me go with you.”
Be polite, Mom said.
“Please?”

“Brenna,” Dr. Mac says sternly. She’s using that grown-up code voice, telling me to shut up and leave Gretchen alone. But I can’t. Not when I’m this close to a real rescue.

“We came down here to learn about manatees,” I say. “Isn’t this the perfect thing for us to do?”

“We usually take two boats,” Gretchen says slowly. “There’s enough room, if you think it’s all right, J.J.”

Dr. Mac’s right eyebrow creeps up a tiny bit as she studies me.

“I’ll do whatever I’m told,” I say. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

T
he rescue center boats creep down the river at ten miles an hour. I thought we’d be rushing to the scene like a fire truck or ambulance, but we drive slowly so we can steer clear of any manatees. Fast boats and manatees just don’t mix.

Gretchen drives the four of us in the lead motorboat, loaded with nets and medical equipment. The seats aren’t exactly comfortable, and the heat is awful. We came dressed for an air-conditioned airplane ride, not a sauna bath. I’m sweaty and smelly, and I already have fifty million mosquito bites.

Don’t think about the heat
, I tell myself.
Get ready.
I check my camera: film loaded, lens cap off. I’m set.