Strong Like the Sea, стр. 72
Sometimes I forget, he loves my mom too.
And then the decision is made. He is rooted in my heart as strong as any tree. He’s mine to protect, so I must trust Mom to be strong on her own for a little bit more.
Across the lawn, people in medical jackets with stretchers and boxes come running, though they’re blurry because my glasses went in the water with me, but didn’t make it out. It doesn’t matter though; I don’t need perfect eyes to see the path for my next step.
Gently, I open Uncle’s hand and press the glass to his palm, the dark liquid inside sloshing from one end to the other. I curl his fingers around the vial and tuck his fist against his chest. “You have the noni juice, Uncle.” I tap his hand that holds a bottle filled with hope as much as medicine. “Your noni, Uncle. Your medicine is here.”
His eyes clear for a moment, and he nods, his fist drawing close to his heart.
Bright jackets rush between us, and I’m moved out of the way as they go to work.
Only then do I remember my backpack with the report. I look to the shore, but it’s not washed up anywhere that I can see.
It’s gone.
Fact is, I don’t even remember putting it down. I wait for the dismay to hit over the loss, but it slides past without touching me. Of the two treasures lost at sea today, I saved the one that mattered.
Auntie’s arm cradles me against her side, her wizened heart bending low with the storm. I buoy her up, standing tall as I can, a young tree clinging to the rock with all my might. Each of us lending strength to the other.
And when they lift Uncle to carry him away from the sandy beach he loves, we rise together and follow.
Weightless.
I drift at the edge of the reef, where fine white lines creep up dark purple coral. Beyond that, baby pink and purple coral lean away from yellow brain coral—all of them, bright spots between the brown.
Here a reef trigger fish, there a wrasse with brilliant blue and a red bands around its middle.
How had I ever thought the reef was all dark?
Facedown in the water, I float over an entire world, and air fills my lungs as if I have gills—but really it’s a snorkel. My prescription goggles bring each tiny fish into focus, but best of all . . . there are turtles!
Saisei was not alone out here. Turtles soar through the eel hole, over the reef, and on to Hukilau and beyond. Sometimes we swim together for a while, but never too close.
She has her family with her, and so do I. All of them.
My face breaks the surface and I scan the shore until I spot the one I’m looking for: Mom.
With my widest sun hat on her head and a lavalava draped over her legs, she waves from her chair on the beach, and I wave back. If I were a dolphin, I’d do flips to show her how much I love seeing her there, waving at me. She laughs at something Dad says, and I dive, carrying her smile with me into the sea.
With open-heel fins, I kick along the edge of the reef while butterfly fish and convict tangs swoop out of my path to hide in the coral.
I’ve kept an extra close watch for shadowy holes in the reef, but I haven’t seen a single viper moray eel. Not one! Baby eels no bigger than licorice whips wiggle through the open spaces in their dash for the other side, but comparing those babies to a viper moray is like comparing earth worms to anacondas.
The hidden life below the surface is amazing, but the real magic runs deeper than that: I haven’t had a panic attack since the day I pulled Uncle to shore.
The ocean is wild, fierce, and dangerous—same as always—but it’s also exciting, beautiful, and wondrous. A reckless sort of majesty.
Where I used to see shadows lying in wait, now I see a world waiting to be explored. If I ever do see a viper moray eel again, I’ll just be patient and let it swim on by. And should a riptide take me, I know to swim parallel to the shore as long as it takes until it lets me go. It’s not near as scary now that Uncle and Dad taught me how to read the codes that make up life in the ocean.
An odd bump on the sand catches my eye and I swim closer to check it out, but before I can reach it, it moves. A fist-sized octopus scurries into the rock and changes from gray to brown, hiding from the scary monster floating overhead.
It still stings a little that my history report prize went to Lowen, even if the librarian did give me an honorable mention from the preview she saw before my whole project sank into the sea. The written report was good and all when I printed it off again, but my display was what made it really stand out, and after Uncle and Mom came home, it sort of fell through the cracks.
Something wriggles in an anemone perched on the reef, and I watch as a clown fish sneaks out, then darts back into the safety of those swaying tentacles.
I think, if I had to make a trade—an award for all of this—I’d let Lowen keep the award. I’d rather stay here with my ohana by the ocean.
A boogie board bumps into me, and I surface, nose to nose with Malia. “It’s getting close, you better come.”
“Oh, yeah!” I kick toward shore, but Malia calls after me.
“What’s the deal? You trying to make up for years of staying out of the water all at once?”
Make up for my lost time? No. Even though things were hard,