Fins Read online

  “Sure, great,” he said, which wasn’t a lie exactly, but close.

  The truth was, he didn’t want to return to normal.

  On the desk facing Dr. Tamiko was a laptop computer. Luke stared at it for a moment. A bluish color floated into his head. In the first few days after being struck by lightning, the appearance of this smoky-blue circle behind his eyes had scared him. But now he had come to think of it as a sort of “lightning eye” that he could focus almost like a telescope. “Uh … do you want me to answer those questions now?” he asked, referring to the computer screen. “Or do I have to come back?”

  The look of suspicion on the woman’s face told him he’d done something wrong.

  “Were you snooping on my computer before I came in? Or … no,” she decided, “you couldn’t have. You don’t know the password.” This time her smile was sly and inquisitive. “I bet you cracked the door and listened while I was on the phone with the specialist. Am I right?”

  “Sorry,” the boy said. “It’s rude to snoop.”

  “Eavesdropping,” she said, smiling. “I thought so.”

  Luke didn’t have to eavesdrop to know about the list of questions. On the wall was a mirror. It showed a reflection of the doctor’s laptop screen. The list would have been a blur to most, and the sentences were reversed. But his lightning eye had unscrambled it all at a glance.

  “Sorry,” he said again, but didn’t mean it. He was growing accustomed to a surprising change in his ability to hear and see, and to recall details of what he chose to remember. Sometimes, not always, his lightning eye could snap a photo that was filed away in his memory. The change had something to do with colors that still flashed in his head.

  Luke didn’t understand how it had happened, but for the first time in his life, he wasn’t average. And he was no longer afraid of … well, just about everything in the world that was new or different. He didn’t want a bunch of doctors messing it up.

  “I’m in sort of a hurry,” he added. “I guess I was trying to move things along.”

  “I don’t blame you,” the woman said. “Someone your age, cooped up in a doctor’s office on a day as nice as this. You want to get outside and enjoy the first week of summer vacation, I suppose.”

  “No, ma’am,” he said. “I’ve got a job interview this afternoon.”

  “Oh?” Dr. Tamiko put on reading glasses and focused on the laptop. “Captain Futch—your grandfather—he told me that’s one of your other … uh, unusual qualities. That you’re very independent for someone your age. Even before the lightning storm. What sort of job are you applying for?”

  “Independent?” Luke asked.

  “You’d rather work than play, in other words,” the woman said, still focused on the computer. “He also said that you’re shy and prefer to work alone. Is that true? You don’t seem shy to me. There’s nothing wrong with a child your age having fun.”

  In the hospital, a few days before she died, Luke’s mother had told him, “Work hard, pay your own way, and you’ll never owe anyone anything but kindness. Even your stepfather. Understand?”

  Not at the time. But Luke was starting to get it.

  He said to the doctor, “There’s nothing fun about an adult deciding what I need—or if I deserve something I want to buy.” He said this politely, then forced himself to make eye contact, something a shy, troubled boy would not do.

  The woman was serious for a moment, saying, “A very good point,” then laughed and asked again, “What kind of job are you after?”

  “Tagging sharks and some other stuff,” Luke replied. “There’s a marine biologist who lives on Sanibel Island. My aunt Hannah, she’s a famous fishing guide, and they’re friends. I talked to him this morning, and we’re going out in his boat this afternoon. Do you want me to answer those questions now?” He was referring to the list of questions on the laptop.

  Dr. Tamiko was pleased by what she’d heard. She pushed the computer away. “I think you just did answer them, Luke,” the woman said. “I’ll have the front desk make a follow-up appointment. Let’s say in a month?”

  TWO

  SABINA AND MARIBEL

  When Sabina, who was ten, told the marine biologist, “I have no friends, no money—and the kids at school think I’m a witch,” the man only smiled and asked, “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “A witch?”

  “A brujita?” The girl glowered and touched a string of beads. They were tiny blue and yellow cowrie shells that she always wore around her neck. “People think witches are old and ugly,” she said. “Are you saying I’m ugly?”

  The man laughed. “Your English is improving. But your attitude needs work.”

  It had been only a year since Sabina Estéban and her sister, Maribel, had left Cuba on a raft. It had been only ten months since an official in Miami had signed papers that made it legal for Mrs. Estéban to stay and work in Florida and for the girls to attend school. Sabina hadn’t had much time to learn a new language—plus, she hated studying. That’s why she’d misunderstood the biologist when he said something “needs work.”

  “I don’t like to work,” she replied in Spanish. “I’d rather read or write in my diary. If you’re offering me a job, I guess I don’t have a choice—but you’ll have to pay me. What kind of job?”

  Amused, the man removed his glasses and cleaned them with a towel. Nearby, several aquariums bubbled with color and life. There was a microscope on the table. On the wall, bottles of chemicals and test tubes were neatly lined in racks. The man was a biologist who studied fish and crabs and sea creatures of all types. He had helped Sabina’s family become legal residents in this new country, where everyone, it seemed, was rich.

  “You’re the third kid today to ask about that job,” he said in English. “I have something in mind, but it would require training—and a positive attitude. Are you willing to learn if your mom says it’s okay?”

  “I’m not a kid,” the girl said, “and my attitude is none of your business.” A moment later she added, “Unless I didn’t understand the words you used—it’s possible. What does attitude mean in Spanish?”

  “It means stop complaining and get busy.”

  “Busy doing what?”

  “That’s for you to decide,” he replied. “Follow me.”

  The man, Dr. Marion Ford, lived in an old house built over the water, with a view of the bay on all sides. They exited the room and went down the steps to a platform that was also a dock, where a boat was tied. A wooden walkway angled toward shore. A large, curly-haired dog named Pete slept in the shade there. In deeper water, nets created a sort of corral.

  “Are you interested in tagging sharks?” The biologist, peering down into the water, waved the girl closer to see. “There’s a new research program for kids your age. I’ve been asked to participate. While you’re learning, I could use some help around the lab.”

  It was a bright spring morning on Sanibel Island, on the west coast of Florida. Along the shore were coconut palms and tall white birds wading in the water. At the dock’s edge, Sabina stared downward and saw three dark shapes cruising beneath the surface—fish of some type. They resembled miniature rockets with wings. The fish had dark, sleek dorsal fins and long sweeping tails.

  “Tiburones,” she said in Spanish, taking a step back. Much, much larger fish called tiburones had circled their raft on the voyage from Cuba.

  “Sharks,” Dr. Ford translated. “I caught them last night so I could demonstrate what you’re getting into. You’re not afraid to learn, are you?”

  Sabina had a temper. That was why she was often in trouble with her mother and teachers, or Maribel, her superior-acting older sister. “I’m not a fool, either,” the girl said. “Play tag with sharks? Tag’s a game for children, not fish with teeth. I get teased enough at school without you teasing me about a job.”

  The biologist was a large, kind man with sharp eyes. Sometimes those eyes hid what he was thinking—even from Sa
bina, who had a gift for knowing what was in the minds of adults. It was not the only reason kids at school thought she was a witch.

  Patiently, the man explained, “Tagging sharks isn’t a game. You and your sister have more experience on the water than most adults. I’ve seen you handle rental boats around the marina. I think you’re qualified for the tagging program I mentioned.”

  “Maribel?” The girl frowned. “I should’ve known. Did she already take the job? She has to be first at everything.”

  “Maribel was the second person to apply,” the man said. “The first was a boy, probably a year or two older than you. I’m not sure. He grew up on a farm somewhere in the Midwest. Doesn’t know squat about boats and fishing, but he knows a little bit about engines. And he’s a strong swimmer. I tested him today at the beach. Maybe you three can work together.”

  “Doesn’t know squat? That can’t be good,” Sabina said. She sensed the word’s meaning but needed time to think. She didn’t want to work with her superior-acting sister and a boy she’d never met.

  “Florida’s new to him,” Dr. Ford said. “His grandfather’s a friend of mine. Same with his aunt, Captain Hannah Smith. You’ve met her. She’s one of the best fishing guides in Florida.” He pointed across miles of blue water to an island. “They live over there. You might have fun showing a new kid the area.”

  “I doubt it,” the girl said. “He must be rich to have a grandfather who lives on an island. Why does he need a job?”

  “You live on an island,” the biologist reminded her. “It’s not always about money. His name’s Lucas Jones—Luke. A few weeks ago, he got caught in a thunderstorm and … anyway, I have my reasons. The job’s not just tagging sharks, understand. Taking care of my dog and feeding the fish when I’m away, that’s most of it. Whatever work needs to be done around here, I’d rely on you.”

  “On me.”

  “That’s right,” Dr. Ford said.

  Secretly, Sabina liked the biologist. He was quiet and was absentminded in a way that made her worry he might fall off a dock or forget to eat if someone wasn’t around to take care of him.

  “In that case, I accept,” she said. “But don’t blame me for my bossy sister’s mistakes. Or for a farm boy who doesn’t know squat. Does he speak Spanish?”

  “He’s willing to learn. That’s part of the deal I made with him. He starts learning Spanish while you and your sister work on your English.”

  “Maribel’s English is perfect,” the girl replied. “That’s what the teachers say. Everything about Maribel is perfect. Just ask her.”

  The man gave the girl an affectionate look. “You’ve got to promise me something. If I hire you, no name-calling or squabbling with your sister. Not here, and especially not on the boat. I’ll warn you once, and only once. Understood?”

  Sabina felt her face warming. Maribel, with her long legs, her long black hair, and her quiet smile, was everyone’s favorite. Even the biologist, as wise as he was, didn’t understand how difficult it was to live with a sister who was pretty and smart and who never got into trouble.

  Sabina was tempted to fire back, No wonder you live alone with a dog, and no one to take care of you!

  Instead she nodded meekly. “I understand.”

  “Good.” Dr. Ford grinned at her for a second, his mind already on something else. “Come back here in an hour, dressed for fishing—but only if your mother says it’s okay.”

  * * *

  Maribel Estéban was thirteen but felt older because of the responsibility that came with being the eldest in a single-parent family. Her mother worked second shift at a restaurant a few miles down the road. Her sister, Sabina, when she wasn’t lazing around with a book or writing poetry, stayed busy irritating adults—which, Maribel knew, could lead to the worst kind of trouble.

  The worst had almost happened back in Cuba. That was why her family had had to leave Cuba in a rush, then spend weeks in Miami so they could live legally in the States. It had been a long, confusing process with a happy ending—so far.

  For Maribel, Florida was home now. She had worked hard at learning English and getting good grades because she feared disappointing her mother even more than failing in class. That was not the only reason. All her life, she had lived with a voice in her head that nagged and criticized and whispered that whatever she did wasn’t quite good enough. The voice was always there. It was a shadow that taunted the girl even at the happiest of times. It constantly reminded her that she wasn’t as smart or as confident as she pretended to be.

  This had not changed since Maribel’s earliest memories.

  And her sister was a constant worry. Sabina had a temper and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Worse, the girl had a spooky gift for knowing exactly what her enemies were thinking. And her enemies included just about anyone who didn’t agree with Sabina’s point of view.

  The one exception was Dr. Ford. Like everyone at the marina, her younger sister was fond of the biologist. At times she would listen to him when she listened to no one else. This was evident from her cheery mood on their boat ride across the bay that afternoon. Maribel knew that the biologist had warned Sabina to be on her best behavior by the sly way her sister greeted the new boy, Luke, who was waiting for them on a rickety old dock a few miles away.

  “How nice to meet you,” Sabina said, as if practicing a phrase from an English book. “I think it is a beautiful day. Do you think it’s a beautiful day?”

  Luke stepped down into the boat. He nodded to both girls without making eye contact and spoke to the biologist. “I brought water and gloves like you said. Need anything else from the toolshed? I can run and get it.”

  He was already wearing gloves when he motioned to an old house built on a hill among trees on the bay.

  The new boy seemed eager to please, as obedient as Dr. Ford’s dog, a retriever they’d left back on Sanibel. And Luke was quiet, not at all like the loud, clumsy boys at school. Maribel was relieved.

  “Take a seat and hang on,” the biologist instructed the boy. He indicated a spot next to Sabina, then changed his mind. “Keep Maribel company, and stay seated until I say you can move. When we stop, I’ll go over the safety rules. Then we’ll try to catch some sharks. Any questions?”

  “Not from me,” Sabina replied in a way meant to irritate.

  Maribel glanced at Luke. She wondered if she should warn him that her sister, although often sweet and caring, had a sharp tongue.

  When the boat was moving fast, the boy spoke, his voice just loud enough to hear over the noise of the engine. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I will.”

  “Will what?” Maribel asked.

  “Ignore her,” Luke said.

  That’s exactly what Maribel was about to say: Ignore Sabina. How had he known?

  Before she could ask, the boy turned to watch seagulls trailing the boat across the water. “I ignore everyone when I’m learning something new. For some kids, learning new stuff is easy. Not me. My grandpa says I’m not the sharpest hook in the box.”

  Maribel didn’t understand a lot of American slang. She took it to mean the boy was slow to learn—not a mind reader. That, too, was a relief.

  Her eyes moved from Luke to her sister. Sabina was never without her necklace of blue and yellow beads. She’d bought it in a strange little shop outside Havana. There, the santeras—the women dressed in white, as they were sometimes called—had treated Sabina with rare affection and respect. The santeras were revered by many in Cuba. They practiced the healing arts, which, it was whispered, included magic.

  One witch in the boat, Maribel decided, was trouble enough.

  THREE

  SHARK-FIN SOUP

  The Estéban sisters, Luke realized, knew a lot about boats. He could tell by the comfortable way they moved, opening a hatch and coiling rope when the biologist told them, “Get the anchor ready.”

  “Want me to do anything?” he asked the man.

  A simple shake of the head was the reply.
r />   It was hot, but the sun felt good on this, the second day of summer vacation. What made it feel even better was that it was sleeting and cold back in Ohio, according to weather reports. Luke had checked that afternoon while waiting for Dr. Ford and the sisters to arrive.

  Now here he was, in Florida, a strange land, in a boat with a couple of girls who knew a lot more than he did, which was okay. He was determined to learn.

  When the engine was off, anchor line taut, the biologist placed a block of frozen fish called chum in a bag. He tied it to a cleat and hung it over the side. The bag sank in a cloud of scales and fishy oil that created a slick on the water. Slowly the oil slick broadened behind the boat. The slick drifted with the tide toward deep water at the mouth of the bay.

  Fish of all types, the man explained, are equipped with sensory organs that can detect the odor of food from far away. And none are better equipped than sharks.

  “I want you to understand why tagging young sharks is important research—not just in Florida, but around the world,” the biologist said. He waited to make sure he had the attention of Luke and Sabina before adding, “You kids can help with that research. You really can. Look around: What do you see? Water, right? Same with most people. But this bay is a lot more than water. This is one of the state’s most important nursery grounds for all sorts of fish—especially young blacktip sharks. If we catch one, you’ll see why they’re called blacktips.”

  Every winter, he continued, schools of blacktip sharks migrate south from the Carolinas to warmer water along the Florida coast. For them, shallow bays became nurseries. In summer, many blacktips return north.

  “Sort of like birds,” he said. “Thousands of sharks in packs so large they look like black clouds in video shot from airplanes. Most people are afraid to go in the water during the migration. I’m not saying it’s safe, but if you spend enough time on a boat, you’ll learn that sharks—especially blacktips—eat fish, not people. On the rare occasion a person’s bitten, it’s not an attack. It’s an accident—a case of mistaken identity.”