Strong Like the Sea, стр. 14
“Swim? Nah.” Malia copies my finger flaps. “You two can fly.”
Wet spots speckle the sidewalk, and I blink up at the clouds swirling overhead as they drift in from the sea. Some curl in lazy white spirals against the skirts of the mountain, while others capture treetops in misty tendrils and cling tight to the world below.
Tehani slips her arms out of her kitty backpack and stuffs it (mostly) under her shirt. “I gotta go! See you tomorrow!”
“See you!” I wave as she scurries down the street, the backpack straps dangling around her knees as she runs for cover.
As the rain picks up, drops splash off our noses, hang from our lashes, and fog my glasses. Apparently my bowler hat was not the best choice for today—tiny brim and all that. “Hang on.” I pull my backpack off and hold it overhead like a second hat. “Malia, can you hold this a second?”
“Sure.” She holds my backpack-umbrella while I use a dry spot on my shirt to wipe my glasses off. She and Naya don’t mind the rain. They both are in and out of the ocean so much, they barely notice a little extra water.
“Thanks.”
“You’ve got books and stuff in there. Sure you don’t want to stuff your backpack under your shirt too?” Malia watches Tehani disappear around the corner down the street. “This storm might get cranky.”
“Naw, this one’s waterproof. Dad got it for me for when he’s diving.” For when I’m sitting on the beach . . . not diving. “It’s sealed pretty tight. So if the tide sneaks up, or if the whole bag falls in, it’s still cool. Everything inside would stay dry if I got it out fast enough. A little rain won’t hurt.”
“I still don’t get why you won’t come out on the waves with us.” Naya tucks the soccer ball under her arm and turns to watch us as she backs toward her house on Moana Street. “You can swim, and we could teach you how to surf, so what’s the deal? Don’t you get tired of watching the action from the beach? You’d need binoculars to see anything from there.”
Malia glances at me before lifting her face to the sky, her arms spread wide as if to catch as many raindrops as possible. A distraction—her slow, silly spin gives me time to think. Of course she knows. But best of the best, she’d never tell.
“See?” Naya jabs a thumb at Malia and grins. “If she does this on land with just a little water, imagine what kooky stuff you’re missing out there.”
“Who says I’m missing out? You might need binoculars, but I’ve got my brand-new secret spyglass!” I lift the tiny glass bottle to my eye like a telescope and stick my tongue sideways. “See? Finally! I found a use for . . .”
A faint mark shimmers on the bottom of the bottle.
“No way.” I flip the bottle over to check, but no, the marks aren’t visible on the outside. Holding it up again, I peer through the mouth of the tiny bottle and move side to side, testing the angle. The mark only shows on the inside when the light hits the bottom of the bottle just right.
“What? What is it?” Raindrops streak down Malia’s forehead, and Naya jogs up beside us.
“There’s a mark inside.” I set my backpack on the ground and look up through the bottle toward the lightest part of the cloud cover where the sun is trying—and failing—to shine through. The whole mark lights up, and I’m pretty sure it’s a word, but not one I can read.
救援
Mom loves languages, but words come slower for me—and I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen this character or not. “I can’t read it, but I think it’s a word.”
I hand it to Malia and wait as she peers inside. “Whoa. Sweet.”
“It’ll be sweeter if I figure out what it means.” Mom loaded a translation app on my phone last month, but could it scan something inside a bottle? Too wet for phones out here for sure.
Malia holds the bottle out to Naya, who tucks the soccer ball under her arm then tilts the bottle from side to side until it catches the light. “Nice. It’s not one I know, but if you can’t get it, maybe we ask my mom or grandma to help, hah?”
“Sounds good. I’ll text you.” I take the bottle back.
“No prob.” Naya tosses the rain-slicked ball, catches it, and bounces it off her knee. “See you tomorrow.”
“I better get home too. I’ve got hula practice, and this is gonna take more than a little brushing.” Malia smooths her dripping curls off her face and shakes the extra water off her hands. Pulling hair as thick as Malia’s back smooth into a bun for hula practice takes some doing. She takes a step but glances over her shoulder at me. “Want to come? You haven’t practiced since school started.”
“Maybe after Mom gets back. I have to solve this and work on my report.” I shrug. “Dad’s schedule grew colors.”
“Ah, did he add pins yet? Or magnets?”
“Not yet. But he did fold the old schedule into geckos before we made this one.”
“Fo’ real? That’s the best. Gotta go, see ya!” She waves and jogs for home as I grab my backpack.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow!” I bolt for home, but not fast enough.
A few houses away from our yard, the clouds start dumping water like someone unzipped their bellies to let it pour out all at once. As if waiting for the signal, wind sweeps through the street, each gust pressing sheets of raindrops together like schools of fish before splatting them against the ground in torrential showers.
Tiny rivulets blur my glasses, which slide down every few steps just to spite me, and when