Strong Like the Sea, стр. 22

The interview with Mavis Batey goes on about the things she did—things she figured out. But all of it was top secret. The list of things she knew (that she could never share) must’ve been enormous.

So many secrets.

So many questions unanswered—and not just about Mavis.

Mom too.

How many classified things has Mom promised not to tell us? We know she does intelligence and counterintelligence stuff, but she never tells who, what, where, how—or anything specific. Is there a limit to how many secrets one person can hold inside her brain? Even computers run out of memory space sometimes. Does she think about classified things at home when she’s walking, or counting, or spending time with me?

When she’s gone working, am I in her thoughts at all?

Thirty years is a long time to wait to find out.

I check my watch. Twenty more minutes before Auntie comes to pick me up. Plenty of time to get more work done on my report—especially since Dad says I can’t go to Kahuku High till tomorrow because it wasn’t on the schedule for today.

He loves his red and blue marks on the schedule so much, it makes me want to make lots more of them—real thick. In fact, we could paint over the whole schedule in blue and red, make it a big flat blue and red flower. That way, if Dad says something isn’t written down, I can point to the schedule and say, “Sure it is. It’s right under that big red blob.”

Perfect!

“Alex, I found these World War II books back in the office. You want them?” Mrs. Keala sets a stack of books beside me and leans over to see my screen. Her heirloom bracelets clink together, each carved with delicate gold flowers surrounding a Hawaiian word or name.

“Yes, please. Thank you.” I slide the biggest book onto my lap and flip through pages of tanks, airplanes, and soldiers. “Mrs. Keala, is it okay if I leave my stuff here and read these on the couches?”

“Sure, and if you want to check them out, just let me know. Leave whatever you don’t want on the table.” She pats my shoulder and turns to help a couple keiki with their arms full of picture books.

I tuck my backpack under the table and slide the chair in before carrying the new books to the wide green couches in the reading corner of the library. The zigzag carpet is soft enough to make a good reading spot, and the green couches around it are nice, but the best place in the whole library to read is on the giant inchworm. It’s enormous, but I take a spot on a couch because only tiny kids are allowed to sit on the worm. When I was little I used to sit on a low spot between its humps and imagine it could move if it really wanted to—a sea dragon to take us on a ride around the school and maybe even across the ocean.

But that was a long time ago—before Mom taught me how to find a different kind of magic inside numbers, words, and patterns.

Page after page, I search for anything about Bletchley Park or codebreaker girls, but mostly it talks about war machines and battles and things—not secret stuff or spies.

The library door swings open and a boy yells directions, “Don’t drop it! I spent months on that thing.”

I hop up to peer around the stacks.

A group of boys carry something tall and wide and all covered in black rubbish sacks and taped closed so no one can see what’s inside. Lowen leads the group, sweat sticking his straight black hair to his forehead as he strains to hold up whatever it is. He glances behind him. “Mrs. Keala? Where can I put my report?”

“Already? I thought you were bringing it next week?” She clears a few books off the top of some shelves to make space. “You must’ve been working really hard to get it all done already. Very dedicated.”

“Yeah, my dad works afternoons all next week. So we brought it early. Make sure no one sees it. Okay?” Lowen and his friends grunt and strain as they lift the thing onto the shelf.

What does he have in there anyway? Sandstone instead of poster board?

“If you really want to keep it covered, we can.” Mrs. Keala centers his project on the shelves a little more. “But you should be proud to show it.”

“I am! It’s the best ever. But I don’t want anyone to steal—” He spies me standing beside the stack. “Hey! No peeking. You hear? It’s off limits to you.”

“I wasn’t gonna peek.” What’s he even talking about? “What do I care what your stupid project is?”

“Hey.” Mrs. Keala stands between us. “That’s not any way to talk to each other. Be nice.”

“She’ll steal my idea.” Lowen folds his arms and scowls at me. “For science project last year, I did a report on ocean currents, and next thing I know, her project has ocean currents and tides and everything. And then she won! I’m not taking any chances.”

“That’s not fair. I didn’t copy off yours.” I glare at him. I picked the ocean because it’s Dad’s favorite place in the world—I mean, I might not go diving with him anymore, but at least with a report, we can talk about the ocean and it makes him happy. “Besides, you don’t own the tides. I never copied you.”

“Says you. You’re a no-good, rotten cheat!”

“Okay, okay, enough.” Mrs. Keala guides Lowen and the other boys toward the door. “Time to go home.”

I try to stuff his words down where they don’t sting, but like steam venting from a volcano, it leaks through till my face is as hot as the lava in my guts. He called me a cheater.

A cheater!

I don’t even care that he wants to keep it a secret. I’m used to secrets. It’s the idea that he