Maggie Malone Makes a Splash Page 4

  I hear two hard knocks on the metal door to my room…er, Marina’s room. “Swab the decks in five, sweetie!” I hear a man say, followed by footsteps down the hall. I’m guessing that was Marina’s dad, Flynn. I’m not really sure how one swabs a deck, but I hope it doesn’t involve Q-tips. I hop out of bed and walk all of two steps to Marina’s tiny closet. Hey, everybody can’t be a princess or a rock star, right? The room is rocking gently from side to side, and I have to grab hold of the closet doorknob to steady myself. I hope I grow a pair of sea legs today! Those would come in handy.

  Marina’s closet, if you can call it that, is just a few shelves with baskets strung together by bungee cords. I know it might sound silly, but I’ve been terrified of bungee cords ever since I heard about Stella’s cousin Kenny, who used a bungee cord to pull his brother Benji on a skateboard behind his motorized scooter. Benji got a good ride at first, but then that bungee cord let loose and popped him right in the eyeball. Ugh! It makes me blink about a billion times just thinking about it. Luckily for Benji, his eyeball didn’t roll out into the street and get squished by a truck. He did have to wear an eye patch for a while, but that was right when Pirates of the Mediterranean came out so he kind of liked it.

  Squinting my eyes almost shut, I pull a bungee cord from its hook and plop a couple of baskets on the bed. As I suspected, she has all kinds of swimsuits, red ones with white polka dots, pink ones with turquoise trim, and one that’s all rainbow-striped from top to bottom. That one is all me! I step out of my pajamas, and when I do, they make a big thud. I slip into the suit, then I pick the pajamas back up and feel around until I find my pocket mirror in the side pocket. Since there’s nowhere to stash that thing when you’re decked out in nothing but a rainbow swimsuit, I stuff it underneath the rest of the suits and return the basket to the closet. Shutting my eyes tight, I pull the bungee cord back and snap it into place.

  I grab a big, fluffy white robe from a hook by the door and slip it on. It says Sea Angel in bright blue embroidery on the back and it’s softer than a newborn bunny. I pull on the bedroom door handle—it’s like a little ring, not a knob—but the thing is locked. I jiggle and jostle it, and I’m looking for an unlock button when I remember that on Uncle Winston’s boat, you had to lift the door up to open it. It was a safety feature to keep those doors from flapping around in rough seas. I try it and it flies open, and when it does, I fall face-first into a giant step. Mother of a slippery squirrel monkey, is this going to happen every single time?

  I brush myself off and look up a tall, ridiculously narrow staircase with railings on each side. It’s actually more of a ladder than a staircase. I grab hold of those rails and pull myself up one step at a time. Each step is at least a foot high. I guess it’s a good thing they make us do all of those lunges in PE, because even with all that training, I’m nearly out of breath when I hit the top of the stairs.

  That’s when I see it: miles and miles and miles of the bluest, most beautiful water I’ve ever set my eyeballs on. It’s so clear and clean that it’s almost white in places. I’m so overwhelmed by the sight that it takes me a minute to notice something else. There’s not a sliver of land in sight! Just an endless world of water all around me. Which makes me panic. We’re lost at sea! WE’RE LOST AT SEA! Where are the life vests? The rescue boats? Why isn’t anybody sending giant flares into the sky? We’ll die out here in the middle of nowhere. DIE, I TELL YOU. I’m gripping the sides of those rails for dear life when a voice startles me half to heaven.

  “Morning, Marina!” a woman says, coming up behind me and ruffling my hair. It’s a good thing I’m holding on or I’d have tumbled straight back down that ladder-staircase. “Just as soon as you get these decks swabbed you can do your morning mile. You might want to hurry too. Skipper’s getting antsy.” The woman is tiny for a grown-up—my mom would say, “petite”—and has long, straight hair that falls almost to her butt and looks to be naturally streaked blond by the sun. She’s wearing khaki shorts and a Sea Angel T-shirt and has a ginormous camera on a strap around her neck.

  She points to the boat’s back deck and there, bobbing in the water not ten feet from me, is the world’s most adorable dolphin. He’s shiny and gray and has this sweet little white patch right under his chin. Do dolphins even have chins? I’m not really sure, but I’m almost positive he just smiled at me.

  Chapter 9

  When I Meet My New Best Surfer Friend

  “Actually, Mare, you slept a little later than usual,” the woman says, looking at her big, black, rubbery, must-be-waterproof-to-a-million-feet watch. “Captain Jack’s been down in the galley for an hour so his famous ‘flap-Jacks’ are probably ready. Let’s go grab a bite and then Zac can help you with those decks.” Can you say “score”? I mean, flapjacks are probably one of my top ten favorite breakfast foods. (I think I have about thirty-seven.) And something about these MMBs makes me ravenous. I hope Skipper can hang in for a few more minutes. And I wonder who Zac is…

  I follow the woman down a narrow alleyway that runs the outside length of the boat, holding tight to the side of the ship as I inch along. There’s basically a clothesline up here between me and all of that ocean below, and I’m not ready to make that kind of a splash.

  “Morning!” bellows a man I’m guessing is Captain Jack as we enter the main cabin. He’s wearing an apron over his own Sea Angel T-shirt and flipping pancakes on a griddle in the side of the room that looks like a kitchen—that must be the galley. He’s got a big belly and a gray-speckled walrus mustache. You know, the kind where you can’t tell if he’s got any choppers in there? I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “Don’t be shy this morning,” Captain Jack says, holding out a plate. “You’ve got a big day ahead.”

  “Thanks Captain Jack,” I say, breathing in a face full of pancake deliciousness.

  “Here you go, Lex,” he says, offering a plate to Lexi.

  “Give that one to Zac when he comes up,” Lexi tells him.

  “He’s up,” says a scruffy, mop-headed boy maybe a year or two older than me who shuffles into the room. He’s wearing a Sea Angel T-shirt too—that must be the uniform around here—and he has that sandy-golden, sun-bleached hair the boys always have in surfer movies. Also? I wish Stella were here for an arm-by-arm comparison, because I think he might even be tanner than she is. The only kid we’ve ever met who is tanner than Stella was Mario Miceli, who was Italian and mowed lawns every day after school without a shirt in the spring and summer, so it didn’t even count. If Stella did that, she’d turn the color of dark chocolate.

  “Hey, Mare,” incredibly tan Zac says to me as he slides into the chair next to me. “You look like cat puke today.”

  He says it with a big, friendly smile though, so I’m thinking we must be friends. Like the brother-and-sister kind of friends who give each other all sorts of grief but really like each other deep down. At least I’m hoping that’s the case. It’s about time I had an actual friend on one of these adventures.

  “Thanks, Zac,” I say with a smile, amazed at how calm I sound because Zac is pretty cute and I’m not always the coolest around boys. “You smell like a skunk that just ate anchovies and rolled in a pile of rotten eggs.”

  “Good one,” Zac says with an appreciative nod. “When I’m a famous oceanographer someday, I might even keep you around.” Jack and Lexi laugh. I shove a light and fluffy bite of flapjack into my mouth and smile with relief. We are friends! We’re all friends! Today is going to be so great.

  “Hey, your dad took the dinghy to scope out the reef for the photo shoot today, and he won’t be back for at least an hour,” Zac tells me through a mouth of flapjacks. “I’ll do the decks so you can get to your warm-up.”

  An underwater photo shoot? Can you say totally awesome?

  “Zac, first of all, manners,” Lexi says with a big sigh. “And second of all, you know Flynn likes Marina to pull her wei
ght around here.”

  “I know, Aunt Lexi,” Zac says. “But I’m supposed to be the first mate, and that’s the first mate’s job! Besides, Mare here has a big day ahead of her. We don’t want her getting all tired and cranky, do we?”

  “Don’t you have some logbooks to fill out?” Jack wants to know.

  “Already done, Uncle Jack… I mean Captain Jack!” Zac says, hand to forehead in an official military-like salute. Jack and Lexi smile at each other. “And I cleaned up the wheelhouse, checked the fuel levels and anchor lines, and charged all of the radios. I think we’re good here.”

  Lexi laughs. “Fair enough, and that’s sweet of you, Zac. But if Flynn flips out, it was all your idea.”

  “Deal,” Zac says, giving me a big grin and a thumbs-up.

  “Thanks, Zac, but maybe we could do it together,” I offer, since it only seems polite. Plus I sort of need to get a grip on this “big day” ahead of me. “Maybe if we have time, we can go over the details of today’s shoot. You know, give me the first mate’s perspective on how it’s all going to go down.”

  “Race you to the supply closet!” Zac shouts, pushing himself away from the table and bolting from the salon.

  “No running!” Captain Jack shouts after him. But he’s smiling when he says it, and you can tell that everyone around here is just about as awesome as they come.

  Oh Maggie, I think, giving myself a mental pat on the back as I scramble to catch up with my new buddy Zac, Marina Tide might be your best choice yet.

  Chapter 10

  When I Have My Own Swim-with-a-Dolphin Movie Moment

  Zac pulls a couple of mops and buckets from a tiny metal closet. “Bow or stern?” he asks me and I figure we must have some really funny secret language because I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  “Zeep or chong?” I reply.

  “What’d you just say?” Zac says with a sideways smile. He thinks I’m hilarious so I keep going, and this time I throw in some robotic arms.

  “Dirp or tang?” I say, really getting into it this time with my robot moves.

  “What the…” Zac looks really confused, and I can feel my face getting hot because I realize that there is no secret language and I’m a total ding-a-ling.

  “Wait! I get it! You’re doing the robot from that old Lost in Space episode we watched! Good one!” Zac continues. “But I think it was more like this: ‘Greetings, earthling. Take me to your leader.’” Zac does the robot arms and cocks his head to the side.

  Seriously, Malone? You just got super lucky. You don’t want to blow this before you even get to dip your little toe in the water!

  “Okay, so bow?” Zac asks, motioning to the front of the boat with a mop. “Or stern?” he asks, motioning to the back of the boat.

  “Oh!” I say, finally remembering that those are the weird names for the front and back of a boat. “Bow, please!”

  “Good choice,” Zac says, handing me a mop. “You don’t want to torture Skipper back there waiting on you. Are you sure he’s not at least part golden retriever?”

  “I know, right?” I say because that sweet little dolphin really does love me—er, Marina. Whatever.

  We clean the deck of the boat, and Lexi comes up the stairs carrying a giant plastic bottle. “Have you kids put on your sunscreen yet?” she asks, setting it at the top of the steps.

  Holy cannoli, I can only imagine all the shades of red I’d turn if I didn’t lotion up. This Irish skin does not tan. It burns, peels, and freckles. Then does it all over again, in that order.

  “No, ma’am. Thank you!” I say, pumping a huge handful from the bottle.

  “Hey, Zac, when you’re a world-famous oceanographer yourself, you’re going to have to hire somebody to remind you to put this stuff on,” Lexi says with a laugh.

  “You planning to ditch me or something, Aunt Lexi?” Zac asks.

  “Never,” Lexi says, and I get little goose bumps all over my arms. I love that Zac’s family is so awesome.

  I take my time spackling myself with sunblock from head to toe. I’m still traumatized by the gnarly sunburn I got last summer when my family went to River World for the day. I was in such a rush to get into that wave pool that I missed about half of my body when I was putting on my SPF 70. I looked like a red-and-white zebra when we got home, and my mom made me soak in a bathtub filled with vinegar. Pee-yoo! It did take away some of the sting, but my skin stunk like salad dressing for a week.

  “I’m ready for my swim!” I announce, but everybody has gone to work on their next chore. There sure seem to be a lot of chores on a boat.

  I walk to the back of the boat—the stern!—lay my towel across the railing, and look at this dolphin that’s going completely berserk. He’s nodding his head, like, Come on! And I think he may even be foaming at the mouth, he’s so jazzed for me to get in the water with him. It’s hard to tell. Don’t get me wrong—he’s adorable, but can I tell you? Up close, he’s huge. And kind of looks like a shark. This really is like a dream come true to get to swim with Skipper, but…but what if he takes one dolphin whiff of me, realizes I’m not really Marina, and rips me to shreds? What? It could happen!

  Just then, Skipper dives into the water, comes back to the surface, and sprays me with that butthole thing on his head.

  Ewww! There has to be some kind of poop or snot mixed in with whatever he just hosed me down with. As terrified as I am to jump in, the thought of being covered in slimy dolphin snot is even worse, so I gather up my courage.

  “Okay, buddy,” I tell Skipper. “Here I come!” I pinch my nose with one hand, cross the fingers on the other—you know, for good luck—and plunge into the water.

  As fast as you can say salty sardines, Skipper tucks his nose under my right arm and we’re off like a shot. Like, through the water really fast. This guy is massive and super muscular and his skin feels like rubbery silk, which I love. But I have to say I don’t really see why this would be called “swimming with Skipper” since it’s more like being dragged along like a forgotten bumper on a speed boat. It feels like somebody just opened up a fire hydrant. On my face. But I manage to crane my neck above the water for a gulp of air. Sweet, delicious air.

  Luckily, before I swallow my weight in water, Skipper slows to a manageable speed, like only half the speed of light, and then stops. Whew! I catch my breath and see the buoy in the distance. Skipper nods at me.

  “What is it, buddy?” I say, treading water and talking to this adorable dolphin that almost drowned me. If he did drown me, I’m pretty sure he’d save me too.

  “Eeee eee eee eee eee!” Well, that’s what he says. Again, he motions toward the buoy.

  “What? You want to race?” I ask, and those must have been the magic words because Skipper totally flips his wig. Well, not literally, because he’s a dolphin and dolphins obviously don’t wear wigs. What I mean is he goes crazy again like a dog waiting for somebody to throw a tennis ball.

  I guess I’m going to race a dolphin, I think to myself. And just to make it even more ridiculous, I’ll try and do the butterfly—only the hardest stroke known to the swimming universe—because that’s probably what Marina would do.

  “All right, boy! Let’s go!” I announce, throwing my arms over my head, and the most amazing thing happens: I glide through the water like an Olympian. For real. Up and over, down, then up again. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and at the same time, it’s like I’ve done this every day of my whole, entire life. I look to my right and there’s Skipper beside me. I know, from experience, that he can go a lot faster, but he’s choosing to stay by my side.

  This is like a dream.

  We reach the buoy in record time, and when we do, Skipper leans in and gives me a gentle nudge, like a dolphin hug. It makes me realize that I’m for sure not dreaming and that this just might be the single most fantastic moment of my life.
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  Chapter 11

  When the Coast Guard Shows Up

  I sense it before I feel it, and I feel it before I hear it: another boat. Skipper and I are splashing around, playing this game he must play with Marina where I hold my arms over my head in a giant V, and he dives really deep and then comes shooting to the surface before bursting through the half circle and flipping in the air. It’s cooler than one of those shows at Ocean World, probably because I’m actually in the show. I clap and wave my arms, and he does it again and again and it’s out-of-this-world awesome.

  I squint and try to scope out the approaching boat. At first I figure it’s Finn—my dad for the day—coming back from his reef exploration, but this isn’t any dinghy. This boat is enormous, bigger than the Sea Angel by two times at least.

  Pirates! I think with alarm, looking around frantically and realizing there is nowhere to hide. Still, I duck my head behind the buoy and peer around the side. Pirates aren’t real, you dodo, I tell myself, trying to forget Auntie Fi’s story about the time she was kidnapped by pirates on the high seas. Fortunately she got away—apparently she was wearing a fabulous gold-and-ruby ring an Egyptian king had given her and she was able to buy her freedom with it—but still. I don’t think my rainbow swimsuit is going to buy me much of anything if a boatload of pirates scoops me up.

  The huge boat is about to reach the Sea Angel, and from my perch behind the buoy I can see it’s some sort of official-looking boat with lights on the top, almost like a police boat. Just then I see Captain Jack and Lexi rushing to the back of the trawler. Captain Jack’s got his hands full of some sort of equipment, and Lexi is waving her arms at him and whisper-yelling at him. Even from here I can see she’s all red in the face. I see Captain Jack shove whatever was in his hands into one of the lockers that’s hidden under the big cushions on the back deck, like he’s hiding something. What would he be hiding, I wonder, and why?