Strong Like the Sea, стр. 43
Then Uncle is there again, holding my hand and leading me onward. “Did you know turtles make noises to communicate with each other?”
“I’ve never heard a turtle noise.”
“Their sounds are mostly out of human hearing range. Sounds so deep, they travel long distances under water. But we can hear some. Hissing, a kind of cluck noise, or even a high-pitched whine sometimes.”
Before I know it, the smell of the noni fruit fills my head and I wrinkle my nose as we pass. Did we really travel so far already?
Uncle keeps spouting turtle facts. “And then there’s the baby turtles, which squeak at each other while still inside their eggs. We think it might help them coordinate their hatching so they all hatch at the same time. That’s their best defense against predators—to rush to the ocean all at once.”
We duck under the bridge, slosh through the last pond area, and step onto the grass. Soaked from the ribs down, but otherwise okay.
Uncle steps into his slippers and waits for me.
“You know,” I say as I take the box from him and put the scroll back inside, “you think you’ve got everyone fooled, but I’ve cracked your code too.”
“What do you mean my code? I have no codes.” Uncle trudges up to the parking lot, but I’m not letting him off the hook that easy.
“You pretend to be grumpy, so that’s the message you’re communicating to the world, but the truth is . . .”
Uncle slows and half turns his head. “What?”
I take a breath. “It’s fake—the way you act all mean, sharp, and bristly. ’Cause really, you’re just pretending. You swell up like a spiky puffer fish to scare people off, but on the inside, you’re a marshmallow.”
After Uncle buys some pork manapua buns for dinner and drops me off at home, I lay out the canvas on the table and snap a picture so I can text the mystery message to my friends.
SHELILESDBACCVACOS – Any ideas?
I know I can figure it out on my own eventually, but Jack really helped crack the last one fast, so why not give the rest of Castle Crew another try? Besides, with their brains working on that, I can make fried rice as a bonus sorry-I-freaked-out-and-ran-away-this-morning thing.
Spam chops up easy, and I dump it into the frying pan to sizzle while the first few text guesses pop up on my phone. Naya thinks the three empty spaces on the scroll means three words, like a spacebar—which makes sense.
Jack texts: If it’s an anagram, it spells saliva belches!
I text back: Not long enough. Still missing dccos. Try 3 words.
Malia tries: Loss beach advice—missing cls
Naya: Cave belch socials = uses all letters
Jack: haha—burping in caves with friends?
I add carrots, peas, and cabbage to the pan with an egg and let it crackle with rice and Spam until the whole house smells like fried rice.
Ekolu sends a smiley and shell emoji with: basic cave shells—doc
Something about “beach” and “cave” sticks in my head. Didn’t Mom show me a cave by Clissolds Beach once? I’m sure she did, high in the rock at the base of Laie Point there. I check the letters against the name.
That’s it! My thumbs fly over the screen: Got it—Clissolds Beach cave! TY! Go with me later?
Malia and Jack both text that they can, but I have to wait for Dad before I can go. We still need to talk.
By the time Dad drives up, hangs his scuba gear under the lanai, and drapes his towel over the line, I’ve got the rice and manapua on the table with napkins folded into frogs on each of our plates. I wish we had rambutan to make it real fancy, but I ate the last of the red fruit already.
He opens the screen door and sniffs. “Fried rice? Is Auntie here?”
“Just me.” I pull the chair out for him. “Sorry I ran off this morning.”
He sits down, but holds an arm out for me and pulls me in close to kiss the top of my head. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’d have come for you myself, but Malia said the aunties already told her where you were. I was scheduled back to back, but still. Do you want to talk about it?”
Talk about Mom being gone? “Do you know anything new?”
“Not yet. But these gaps in communication happen sometimes with military submarines. She’s all the way across the ocean and—”
I wave a hand to cut him off. “Not right now. Please.” Unless there’s something new—some fresh hope that everything will be fine, or reason for why she missed the call, then talking won’t help anything. My chair scrapes against the tile floor as I settle across from him. “Just tell me one thing—do you believe Mom is okay?”
He looks me straight in the eye so there’s no mistake. “I do.”
I take his belief and stuff it inside to strengthen my own. Mom will come home. And we will be together again. “Okay.”
He pauses with the manapua roll halfway to his mouth. “Hey, you’re wearing the glasses I bought you. Feeling confident today?”
“Uh, sure.” I try to smile, but it feels more like a grimace as he bites into the soft roll and closes his eyes, savoring the flavor. I know I should tell him about my glasses being gone, but a small part of me is still hoping I might be able to find my glasses again so I can pretend the whole disaster never happened. Besides, I need to focus on the new clue, not a soggy sad thing. “Can I run to the beach later?”
“Not by yourself. Buddy system, Alex. No more running off alone. Besides, you should be focusing on Mom’s challenge, not playing around on the beach. You don’t have much time left.” He jabs the roll toward the schedule with all its colors.
“I know, that’s why I need to go.