Strong Like the Sea, стр. 40
This is why Mom made the picture on the box so clear and easy to understand. She knew I’d never believe it otherwise. “Aw, Mom. So not cool.”
Uncle peers down the wash. “Remember what I said about this wash channel changing with storms? Sometimes waves carry sand all the way to the parking lot here and bury this pool, but this time it left the pool deeper here, and—” He squats to look under the bridge. “Shallow farther in with a sandbar. You saw that from the other side.”
I duck to follow his view and sigh at the island of dry sand rising up from the water on the other side. At least it’s not full all the way to the ocean. Okay. Only a little water. I can do this . . . maybe. “How deep do you think it is under the bridge?”
“Foot and a half, maybe. Less than two.”
I can feel him studying me, like I’m some marine animal about to do something really interesting—but I already decided I won’t go back in the water.
I stand frozen, caught between two powerful currents: curiosity and fear. The only way I can solve Mom’s clue is to step into the water, but didn’t I promise myself no force on earth could get me back in the water? I glance at Uncle, half expecting him to admit he set it up—a huge conspiracy between him and the ocean—but even he’s not that grumpy.
Why would Mom do this to me? Clearly I can’t go forward, but . . . I can’t leave without Mom’s clue. My hands break out in sweat as my anxiety spikes up. “Come on, I can do this.” I shake the stress from my arms and take a steadying breath, but when my feet refuse to move for the third time, my voice comes out in a whine. “Why did Mom have to put it down there?”
“Don’t worry.” Uncle grins. “It’s only small kine water.”
Small kine water? I give him the stink-eye, but Uncle just grins wider.
“Bah!” I grumble. He may be the kahuna on all marine biology things, but who really knows what’s down there? There could be all sorts of things hiding under the sand or in the shadows. Cars driving over top wouldn’t have a clue of what lurked below.
Why make a bridge here at all? It’s obviously a man-made riverbed. It’s got cement walls down both sides and everything. “Why’d they build a waterway that starts right here by a parking lot and ends at the ocean? It’s only, what—a few hundred feet long?”
“See behind you? The long dip in the grass? It’s a natural depression. Laie is a flood zone. You know heavy rains sometimes bring water down from the mountains and fill the streets, yeah? It’s why so many here build their house on stilts—they prepare for the floods they know will come sooner or later. If there was no water channel, no way through to the ocean from here, the next heavy rainstorm could flood everything on this side of the highway.
Okay, fine. So maybe they have a good reason for the water here, but it’s still mean that Mom added this path to my challenge. I stare down at the water below. On this side of the bridge, saltwater mixes with fresh runoff to make a brackish soup, so probably there’s nothing big hiding up here, but that’s how hiding works: you don’t see hidden creatures until they jump out and try to get you.
“So, we go look, or just watch those little fish all day?”
I jump at Uncle’s voice. How long was I staring at the water anyway? I swallow. “I think . . . uh, I think that one of us has to go in there and look under the bridge.”
I glance at Uncle hopefully, but he doesn’t volunteer. Instead, he extends a hand toward the water. “Ladies first.”
Why does it matter to him if I go in the water or not? Okay, fine. I’ll just step in and . . . My leg muscles flex, but my foot is stuck fast to the grass. Not just stuck, but rooted, like my heel transformed into a banyan tree vine, burrowing deep down through the ground all the way to lava rock.
The other foot doesn’t do any better. I can step back, but not forward. A short circuit in my brain with malfunctioning feet sensors. I blow out a breath in frustration. “Stupid. So stupid.”
“Can’t step in, can you?” Uncle sidesteps so I can look at him better.
I shrug. If I could, I would’ve done it already.
“Remember what I said before about how these kinds of fears are bigger? It’s not your fault that you feel afraid, and you’re certainly not stupid. It’s your mind and body’s way of protecting you.” Uncle leans against a tree and steps out of his rubber slippers.
Still rooted to the side of the shallow pool, I watch him from the corner of my eye.
“You like codes, right?” He steps to the edge, letting his toes curl over the little drop-off.
“Yeah, but Mom knows way more than me.”
“She’s lived more than twice your lifetime. Of course she knows more. That’s not the point. You read Morse code, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And ciphers?”
“Sometimes.” What does it matter? How can that help me move when my feet won’t listen?
“I bet that means more times than not. What about maps?”
“Sure. Everyone knows how to read maps.”
“Only if they have the right key or legend to understand them. Kamalani mentioned you’re doing a report on a codebreaker? Someone from Bletchley Park, yeah?” Uncle asks.
Whoa, why would Auntie tell him about my report? “Yeah—what does Mavis Batey have to do with the ocean?”
“This Mavis was a real smart lady, correct?”
“She was brilliant.”
He taps his beard and nods. “Brilliant enough to