Brendan Buckley's Sixth-Grade Experiment (21 page)

“Can you swim?” Kevin asked. He picked up an orange life jacket from the deck.

“I'm all right, I guess.”

Suzanne stopped and stared. “Just all right? Stop the boat!” she called out.

I froze.

Captain Dennis turned and looked from where he stood steering the boat.

Morgan whispered in my ear. “She's only kidding.”

“Sorry, Dennis!” Suzanne called again. “Just razzing our initiate!” She and Kevin exchanged smiles.

I took a deep breath and tried to smile, as well, but I was still a little shaken up.

“You won't fall in.” Suzanne fiddled with a circular contraption made out of ten pieces of PVC pipe standing on end. “But if you do, Kevin will jump in to save you.”

“Actually, I'll use my orca call to get a whale to do it,” Kevin said. “Don't you think that would make for a better story back at school?”

I smiled for real this time. “That would be cool.”

“Seriously,” Morgan said. “If that happens, I'll have to fall in, too.”

Kevin said we didn't need to wear the life jackets unless it got really rocky, which was unlikely given the clear skies. “Just don't go trying to walk the railings, and everything should be copacetic.”

After that, we toured the boat, starting with the “dry lab”—a bay filled with monitors and a couple of laptops right off the galley, which included a small kitchen and table with stools bolted to the ground. The bathroom (called the head for some reason—I was too embarrassed to ask why in front of Morgan) was smaller than a closet, and the bunk area was not much bigger.

Seeing the close quarters, I was glad I wouldn't be
spending the night. Turned out men and women bunked in the same small space. Only a sheet of plywood and twelve inches of air would have separated Morgan and me while we slept.
Way
too close for comfort. You couldn't even
whisper
in your sleep without having the whole crew hear you. Never mind something more embarrassing.

Finally, it was time to get to work. Captain Dennis slowed the boat to the point where I couldn't even tell we were still moving. Dr. Belcher showed us how to lower the PVC contraption—a rosette, she called it—into the water until it was at just the right depth. The pipes were fitted with lids that were open when we lowered the rosette, but with a push of a button, they snapped shut, trapping water inside to be analyzed later.

The really cool thing, though, was the instrument in the center of the rosette, called the CTD because it measured the water's conductivity (or salinity), temperature, and depth. Other sensors on the rosette could detect oxygen concentration, light levels, even fluorescence. All this live data was sent to the computers in the dry lab. Dr. Belcher said we were basically tracking the weather of the ocean.

“A lot of what I do is water sampling,” she said as we waited for the cable to bring the CTD back up to the surface. Morgan and I helped haul the rosette over the railing, then watched as Dr. Belcher and Kevin transferred the water samples into bottles. Morgan and I recorded
the bottle numbers into a logbook and then put them in a cooler that would keep them the right temperature until they could be unloaded at the onshore lab.

“I want people to understand the impact we make,” Dr. Belcher said, handing me another sample bottle. “Like right now, it's right after Thanksgiving, so we're probably going to detect spices—lots of nutmeg and cinnamon.”

“Cinnamon?” I said. “In the water?” I held up the bottle and looked at its murky contents. Looking at the water reminded me of an experiment I'd once done to observe how sediments form layers at the bottom of a lake or ocean.

“Yep. Whatever we put down the sink ends up out here. And that affects the creatures who live here.”

The other big thing Dr. Belcher did was study phytoplankton. Certain phytoplankton sometimes produce neurotoxins that build up in the shellfish that eat them. The neurotoxins can kill people who eat the shellfish. PSP, she called it: paralytic shellfish poisoning.

“So if you're having shrimp and your lips start to tingle,” Kevin said, “stop eating. Unless it's just the Cajun seasoning.”

How would you know the difference?
I thought. I made a note in my log. “Tingling lips = stop eating!”

Over the next few hours, we took four more samples in very spread-out locations. Then it was time for a quick lunch break on deck. On the sixth drop of the CTD,
Morgan and I went to the dry lab to watch the live data coming in. Suzanne explained what all the numbers and squiggly lines on the screen meant.

I was having a great time, but after a while, I started getting a little restless. The numbers and squiggles were all running together. While Morgan was engrossed in hearing Suzanne's answer to her latest question, I slipped outside. I climbed the ladder to the second level and looked out. Islands rose from the water to the west. It smelled like ocean—fishy, metallic, dense—lots of negatively charged ions hanging around. I took a deep breath. Ahhh … this was the life.

“Isn't it gorgeous?” Morgan came up and stood by my side. “I'd love to live on one of those islands someday.”

I'd seen only a handful of houses on any of the land we'd passed. “Wouldn't you feel kind of … cut off?”

“I like being by myself.” She gazed into my eyes. “Or maybe with one other person.”

Between the icy blast of wind and my heart fibrillating, I practically choked on my own breath. My legs started to shake. I clutched the cold railing and looked away.

I was about to say I needed to visit the head when Kevin came on deck. “Hey!” he called up. “We're going back to shore. You guys wanna play cards?”

“Sure!” Morgan moved toward the ladder.

Whew!
Saved by a card game. I took one last glance at the dark, mysterious waters, then followed Morgan
down the ladder. My heart still beat hard and my legs felt wobbly, but I made it inside.

Kevin and I sat on one side of the table in the galley. Morgan and Suzanne sat on the other. Kevin told us the rules for rummy as he passed out the cards.

A half hour later, the girls were beating us bad. Kevin was tallying up the score after a hand when Morgan's mom came into the room carrying her laptop.

“Morgan, I got an email from Dad I think you'll want to see. Brendan, too.” She set the computer in front of Morgan. I came around and stood near her—not too close, just close enough to see the screen. What would Morgan's dad have sent that would involve me?

“What is it?” Morgan looked up at her mom. She grabbed my wrist and guided me to the stool beside her. Suzanne had gotten up for a coffee refill.

“Just read.” Dr. Belcher crossed her arms and smiled. Suzanne peered over Morgan's shoulder.

I quickly scanned the email. “Mr. Hammond called the house … the kids' project … only sixth graders from Washington … regional FINALISTS!!!”

My eyes stayed glued to the word
finalists
. My whole body felt spring-loaded, as if I might shoot from the table and ricochet around the room. If I hadn't been in front of a bunch of people I didn't really know, I would have jumped up and down and yelled at the top of my lungs. We'd done it!

Morgan threw her arms around me and squeezed so
hard she almost knocked the air out of me. My head bobbled as she bounced.

“Eeeeeeee!”
Her screech sent a shooting pain through my head. I would have covered my ears, but my arms were locked to my sides. “Can you believe it? Can you believe it?” She jiggled some more, but she still didn't let go. “We're finalists in a
national science competition
!”

I pulled away to get some distance between her mouth and my eardrum. Finally, she jumped up and transferred her vise grip to her mom.

Kevin reached across the table and slapped my shoulder. “Congratulations! That's quite the accomplishment.”

I kept reading the email. “Your dad says the national winner will be announced in a couple of weeks.”

“Mom, can you believe it? I feel like a real scientist!”

Morgan's mom put her hand on the side of Morgan's face. “You've
been
a real scientist since the days when you sat in your high chair throwing things to the ground to hear what kind of sounds they would make.”

Something about the way Morgan's mom looked into Morgan's eyes made my heart feel as though it were in one of those taffy-pulling machines. Dr. Belcher put her cheek against the top of Morgan's head. “I'm so proud of you, honey.”

If only …

My Adam's apple suddenly felt about twice its normal size. I sucked up the snot that had started to flow
and gulped hard. I wasn't about to
cry
again, was I? What was my problem lately?

Morgan's mom put her hand on my shoulder. “You too, Brendan. I'm very proud of both of you.”

My eyes roamed the tiled floor. “Thanks.” The word came out more garbled than I meant it to. My throat still felt kind of thick.

“We need to celebrate this,” Suzanne said. “Root beer, anyone?” She went to the minifridge.

“Yes!” Morgan said. “Do you want one, Brendan?”

The taffy machine in my chest stopped pulling. I looked up. “Sure.” I cleared my throat. “That's my favorite.”

“I'll take one to Captain Dennis,” Kevin said, “and tell him the good news.” He winked as he took a bottle and climbed the ladder to the pilothouse.

We stayed at the table. Suzanne and Morgan's mom sat across from us. When Morgan's hand slipped into mine, I didn't pull away. I observed the warm softness of it.
Nice
.

Kevin returned and sat at the end of the table. He may have seen us holding hands because his lips turned up in a sort-of smile, but, thankfully, he didn't say anything.

I sipped my root beer, listening to the adults tell stories of times they'd been out on the
Olympus
—drifting through glowing algae, glimpsing the glistening moonlit bodies of killer whales, working hard to keep this watery
home safe for its inhabitants. To me, these people were the superheroes.

The word
finalist
kept repeating in my head. I felt more excited than when Khal and I had made our first belt promotion in Tae Kwon Do, or even when Mom told me I was getting Einstein for my birthday.

And I kept my hand in Morgan's as long as I could—until the last story was told.

On Sunday, Gladys and Grandpa Ed came for dinner, as usual. Mom made my favorite meal—fried shrimp and baked potatoes—to celebrate the finalist announcement.

I'd told Dad our good news as soon as I'd stepped off the
Olympus
. He'd seemed surprised and shown some enthusiasm, but he hadn't gotten nearly as excited as everyone on the boat—people I'd just met that day.

“To my grandson,” Grandpa Ed said, raising his glass of sparkling cider, “a chip off the old rock!”

Gladys clinked her glass against mine. She narrowed her eyes and looked at me intently. “Your Grampa Clem would have been
busting
his buttons.”

I took a quick gulp of cider to get the lump in my throat to go down. If only Grampa Clem
were
there with us. Maybe somehow he knew.…

I glanced at Dad. He frowned into his plate.

“Your dad and I are very proud of you, as well,” Mom said, filling in the silence that had followed Gladys's words. “Whether you win or not, you've already achieved something huge. Right, Sam?”

Dad looked up. A fault line ran across his forehead.

“What? Oh, right. Good work, Bren.”

Why was it so hard for me to believe that he meant that?

The next day at school, Principal Salinas made an announcement during homeroom about Morgan and me being regional finalists. After homeroom, Khal came up to me at my desk. “Hey,” he said.