Strong Like the Sea, стр. 57

“Sneaky Mom.” A slow grin creeps across my face as I count the squares of the chessboard painted on my wall. How did I never notice there were too many squares? “No time to finish, she says, hah? We’ll finish it later, together, yeah?” Hiding in plain sight, Mom’s unfinished wall chessboard is a perfect place to transfer them. Seems it was no accident that she “ran out” of time.

I pull the dragon down and tape its string to the middle of the square, but it feels incomplete. Maybe there’s clues on the inside? I unfold it.

There’s no new message, but the colorful paper that used to be my best dragon is the exact same size as Mom’s chess square. Like exact size. No way was it an accident. I tape it to the wall in the J6 spot on the grid.

Each instruction calls for me to pull another origami down from my flock, and every one of those unfolds into a pale water-colored square. None of them make a picture on their own, and none have words or anything, but as I tape them in their assigned squares on the wall, an image takes shape. I rotate a few that seem wrong until their lines and colors match the ones beside them like a giant puzzle with all square pieces.

Finally, I step back just to say, wow! Mom’s chessboard is transformed into a humongous watercolor painting that takes up most of my wall. The colors and blurs form a picture of a V-shaped waterfall spilling over a rocky cliff into a round pool filled with deep blue water and rainbows.

“A waterfall?” I tilt my head, trying to match it to any of the waterfalls I know. I’ve been up the trail to Laie Falls loads of times with Castle Crew, but it’s not as big as this. Waimea Falls, maybe? That’s not right either.

I glance at the clock. If I don’t leave in five minutes, I’ll be late for school—ho, the coconut wireless would be all over that. Probably Dad would know I was playing hooky the minute I stepped out the door. But still, how can I leave now with a paper miracle unfolding right in front of me?

My origami flock has been on my ceiling since I was little, and they’re the same origami creatures . . . aren’t they? They must’ve been swapped, but it still feels like magic.

For the millionth time this week, I wish I could ask Mom how she did it, or talk to her, or anything. I pause. More than asking how she’s done all this, I want to ask her if she’s okay. Dad said they’d call as soon as anyone had news. That subs can “go dark” for a long time since they have everything they need to hide and cruise underwater.

Her envelope said, “Almost there.” And that was before I found the waterfall painting, so I’ve got to be really, really close.

But which waterfall is it? Koloa, or Wailele Falls maybe? Last time, I jumped at the wrong answer for the chocolate factory and was totally wrong. I have to be sure this time.

The rainbow draws my eye again and again. I’m sure I’ve seen it before, but I can’t— My eyes widen. The sappy picture!

My feet slap against the tile as I run to the framed pictures by the kitchen.

Behind my smooching newlywed parents, a rainbow arcs across the splash pool at the base of Rainbow Falls. It even has that V shape. It’s got to be the one!

I pull the picture off the wall and check the back, but there’s nothing written or stuffed in the frame. Just to be sure, I pull the picture all the way out of the frame and check between the picture and the backing, but there’s nothing there either. It’s the only picture we have of Rainbow Falls, and there are no clues on it anywhere.

What am I supposed to do? Swim there to look for clues? Rainbow Falls isn’t even on Oahu. It’s on the Big Island in Hilo—that’s like two hundred miles away. Dad didn’t even like the idea of my almost-Kailua trip. And no way would Dad let us sail there in his boat. First, I don’t think he’s ever taken his boat out that far, and second, I’d rather get run over by wild pigs than sail through that much water. No way.

My phone chirps and I groan. I’m officially late.

But when I tell myself it’s time to go out the door, I end up back in my room in front of the Rainbow Falls watercolor.

I’m sure I have the right falls. It’s just like the picture on the wall—except without the mushy stuff. To look there for clues, I’d need to take a plane—something way sturdier than Mom’s paper plane from the envelope. That’s for sure.

Well . . . I don’t know. And I’m out of time. Better late than never to school, I guess.

I walk under what’s left of my origami flock to get my backpack by the desk. My ceiling seems so odd without them all hanging up. Folded creations still dangle from the edges, but the rest are mostly gone, leaving an empty star-shaped hole in my ceiling. Except, the middle isn’t empty.

My steps slow as I eye the last origami left inside the star shape: a jet hanging in the exact center of the flock.

I pull the string down—but the jet feels heavier than it should.

Layer by layer, I unfold the paper, until it lays open on my desk—with an airplane ticket to Hilo in the middle.

It is Rainbow Falls, and I’ve got an airplane ticket with my name on it to prove it!

Dad laughs when I call him all breathless on the phone. “I have a ticket! Mom’s clues lead to Rainbow Falls, in Hilo!”

“I knew you could do it.”

“I can’t believe Mom hid the next clue on the Big Island! How’d she do it? Did she stop there before she left?”

“No, hon. There