Out of Season (2 page)

I wait until Dad and Saul are gone, then creep out of the house. My heart beats so fast I have to put my hand over my chest to still it. No lights turn on when I close the door. I take a deep breath and check my heart again. Without looking back, I sprint across the lawn. At the dock I slip into my life jacket and slide the kayak into the water. It hardly makes a splash. I edge into the cockpit and push off. I'm going to paddle to the sea otters and make sure they're okay and then kayak back. That's all I'm going to do. No one will miss me.

I see the sea otters as soon as I round the headland into Riley Bay. “Hey, guys,” I call. I smile, and my shoulders relax. Until I look up.

Someone is standing at the top of the hill.

Again!

My hands shake as I grasp the paddle harder and steer my kayak away from the kelp bed. Maybe if I paddle across the bay without stopping, the man on the hillside won't see the sea otters.

Or maybe he already has.

I have to find out. It's the only way to make sure the sea otters are safe.

It only takes me a second to paddle to shore and pull my kayak onto the rocks. What am I doing? I must be crazy. I have no idea what this man is doing up there. I turn around. But then I think of the sea otters.

What if he catches them?

Or worse, shoots them?

It makes me sick to think about it. There's nothing else to do. I start up the hill before I can change my mind.

The hill is steep, but there are lots of tree trunks to hold on to. As I climb, I think about what I will do when I reach the top. I'll just talk to the man, ask him what he's doing. We'll be two innocent people meeting on a hilltop.

Right. If only I can convince my breathing of that.

I'm about to rise over the crest of the hill when my foot slips, and I step on a twig. It cracks. I jump. My head hits a branch. I stuff my hand into my mouth before I cry out.

When my head stops hurting and my heart slows, I stand up and peer over the hilltop. The man is running along the crest of the hill. He turns into the woods. Without thinking, I scramble up the last steps to the top of the hill and follow him. There are huge footprints in the mud near the edge of the trees. I track them for ten paces into the woods. Then they disappear. I spin around. Where has he gone?

He's vanished.

The forest is dense. I can't see a path. I pace across the top of the hill. How could I let him get away?

I want to shout in frustration, but there is no point. Whoever it was is gone. If I don't leave soon, I'll be late.

That would not be good.

I don't want to learn what consequences Dad has planned for me. I take one last look around, then head back down the hill.

It's harder going down than it had been coming up. Each step is more like a slide. I have to grab tree trunks to stop myself from slipping down the hill and into the water. By the time I reach the bottom, my shoes are covered in dirt and my hands are sticky with tree sap. I rinse them in the ocean so Mom and Dad won't notice.

I pull my kayak into the water and paddle around the rocks for a last look at the sea otters. Today they're ignoring me. They don't move when I paddle close.

“Hi, guys” I say. “I can't stay today, but I'll come back tomorrow. I promise. I'm going to find out what's going on. You be careful, okay?” I count one, two, three sea otters before I leave.

I race home, letting my anger guide my paddle.

“How.” Stroke.

“Could.” Stroke.

“I.” Stroke.

“Let.” Stroke.

“This.” Stroke.

“Happen?” Stroke.

Each stroke works away a bit of frustration.

By the time I turn into Oyster Bay, I'm short of breath and my arms ache. I slow down.

I hope Mom isn't up yet, but in case she is, I hug the shoreline. The overhanging tree branches hide my kayak. When I'm almost home, Dad's boat roars into the bay. He shoots across the water to our dock.

He's driving too fast.

When he throttles down, he shoots a spray behind him. He almost hits the dock.

It's not like Dad to drive like that. What is going on? For a second I think he knows I was out kayaking. A huge sob fills my mouth.

What will he do?

I bite back the sob.

I stay under the branches while Dad and Saul get out of the boat. Neither of them speaks as they walk along the dock. They give me no clues.

When Dad and Saul are in the house, I come out from behind the tree branches. I don't pull my kayak onto the dock in case they notice it when they come back. Instead, I hide it behind the boat shed.

I run around the house and to the porch. I smooth down my hair and straighten my clothes, then lower myself into Mom's chair and wait for someone to call me to breakfast.

It feels rotten to be sneaky.

It doesn't take long before Mom's voice calls out, “Maya, breakfast.” I'm about to open the door when I remember my wet shoes. I take them off and throw them onto the mat, hoping no one will notice them until they've dried. I take a deep breath and head inside.

Saul is in the hallway. “Stop,” he says as I try to squeeze past.

“What?” I ask.

He looks at his feet and shrugs, “Mom's worried about you. You should stop.”

“Stop what?” I say, looking right at his face.

“You know what.”

“No, I don't. Tell me. What should I stop?”

“You know. Kayaking.”

How did he know? My clothing is dry. I took off my wet shoes. I smoothed down my hair. “What makes you think I've been kayaking?” I ask.

Saul huffs. “Just stop it, okay?”

“What I do is none of your business, Saul,” I say, and I try to squeeze past again.

Saul grabs my arm and pushes me against the wall. “Stop kayaking, Maya, or I'll tell Dad.”

I yank my arm away from him and shove past. “Mind your own business, Saul,” I say. My voice sounds strong, but inside, my whole body is shaking.

The whole morning has been freaky. Who was the person on the hill-side? Why did he run away? And most of all, why is Saul acting so strange?

Chapter Four

I have to figure out what's going on. There are so many questions chasing each other in my mind that I can't concentrate at school. In science I almost walk into the skeleton hanging by the window, and in socials I drop a pile of books on my toes. In English I can't remember what
onomatopoeia
means.

I'm too busy thinking about what to do about the sea otters. Usually, I'd talk to Dad about this.

Obviously that's not going to work.

I'm concerned about him too.

At lunchtime I spill apple juice all over myself. I give up trying to act normal and sit in a corner to make a plan.

At dinner I say, “Mom, I have some extra work to do at school tomorrow. I'm going in early, so don't expect me for breakfast.”

Everyone at the table stares at me. They're not convinced. I put on an extra-innocent face.

Mom says, “Okay, honey. It's about time you started concentrating on school again.”

My face burns. I have to look at my plate so no one will notice. Saul kicks me under the table, but I move my leg and pretend I didn't notice. After dinner, I go to my bedroom to get ready. I throw binoculars and my cell phone into my backpack. Before I fall asleep, I set my alarm for 4:30 am.

When the alarm rings, I almost turn it off and go back to sleep.

Then I remember my plan.

I lie still to make sure no one else in the house is moving.

The house is silent.

Without turning on the light, I dress and grab my backpack. I have to feel my way along the hall and down the stairs. At the door I fumble for my shoes. I open the door an inch at a time. I don't want to make any noise.

My kayak is still behind the shed. I pull it to the water and slide it in. It makes a small splash when I let go of the stern.

I freeze. Nothing moves. My hands shake as I climb into the kayak, but nothing is going to stop me now. In ten strokes I'm under the trees and on my way.

Dawn is just breaking. There's barely enough light to distinguish sea from land. My heart thumps. I force my hands to keep calm on the paddle. The kayak glides through the water, slick as a seal. I'm quiet but not fast.

I glance behind me. In the dark, there's nothing to see. I lean forward and put on the speed. My stomach muscles tense, and I breathe deeply to give myself more power. I have to get there before anyone else does.

When I reach Riley Bay, I head straight for the kelp beds to check on the otters.

“Hi, guys,” I whisper, even though no one is around. “I'm on a mission today, so I can't stay and play.” I splash water in their direction. They ignore me and keep eating sea urchins. “Silly,” I say, but I'm glad they're okay.

There's enough light now to see the shore. I climb out of the kayak and drag it past the rocks, then arrange branches over it. You'd have to look closely to see it was there. I brush my tracks in the mud with a pine branch to mask them. As fast as I can, I hike to the hilltop and hide behind a tree.

Now that I'm still, I think about what might happen if Dad finds out I'm here. He'll be furious, that's for sure. It's tempting to head home and go back to bed and forget about all of this. But then I remember the sea otters. They need me to keep them safe. Until I find out what the man on the hill is doing, I'm not going anywhere. I sit up straighter and wait.

The sun is still hiding behind the hill when Dad's boat motors into the bay.

What's he doing here? Does he know I'm here? Oh no! Dad stops the motor, and Saul hops onto shore. Dad waves and takes the boat out into the bay.

I sink back into the tree trunk. Honestly, this was the last thing in the world I expected.

What are they doing?

Are they spying on me?

Chapter Five

Dad and Saul! How can it be? I'm so shocked, I can hardly make my arms and legs move. Spying on me. How could they?

Anger rises up my face like a red tide. I clench my hands. I'll show them what it feels like to be spied on.

When Saul reaches the top of the hill, he's disguised in the oversized hoodie he was wearing yesterday. Did he think he could hide from me in that?

Saul sits on a stump. He stares out to sea.

Waiting for me, I bet.

I stand up and push off the tree. I'm going to demand an explanation.

Then I get a better idea. I'll watch him for a while. Then when I do confront him, he'll know what it's like to be watched.

I creep closer to Saul, staying behind trees so he can't see me. Saul doesn't move. I can see the sea otters clearly. He doesn't seem to have noticed them. Maybe I can only see them because I know they're there. Maybe he's not here about the sea otters at all.

Maybe he's only here to spy on me.

Something in my stomach hurts when I think that.

Saul doesn't move at all. Is he waiting for me? How many days has he been doing this? How did he and Dad know I was coming here? That hurt in my stomach grows and grows.

Then Saul stands up and shouts into his radio, “Dad, they're here.”

What?

My head whips around. What's he looking at?

A motorboat roars into the channel across from Riley Bay and Rugged Point. What does this mean? Whose boat is that?

You mean he's not looking for me? The question pushes at the space in my stomach where the hurt is. I turn the vhf radio on my life jacket on low.

It's hard to see. I pull my binoculars out of my backpack and focus. The boat moves across the water until it's in the middle of the channel, then stops. There are two men on board. I put the binoculars down.

What is going on? Why would Saul want to tell Dad about this boat?

Then Dad's boat,
Storm Tide
, comes into view. He pulls up beside the other boat. I put the binoculars back up to my eyes to watch.

Dad walks to the back of his boat. He leans forward and points at something on the other boat. The other man waves at him. It's weird, why is he waving at Dad when Dad's right there? Dad says something, and the man shakes both his arms.

Something is wrong.

“Careful, Dad,” I whisper.

The man steps toward Dad and pushes him in the chest. Dad staggers back. The man jumps onto his boat. Both Saul and I take a sharp breath. You never ever step onto someone else's boat without an invitation. That doesn't stop the man. He lunges at Dad. Dad shoves him away.

He comes back, arms swinging, and hits Dad in the jaw.

Dad spins. He looks like he's going to fall. He regains his balance and swings at the man.

He misses.

The man bends down and shoves his head into Dad's stomach. He pushes Dad backward until Dad trips over the gunwale of his boat.

Dad falls headfirst into the water.

His boat roars off. The other boat follows.

Dad is alone in the water.

“Dad!” I shout. I can't help it. The word slips out. My mind whirls in confusion. The binoculars in my hands shake.

Saul spins around. “Maya, what…?” He leaps up from the stump. “Go away, Maya. You shouldn't be here.”

I know I shouldn't. But Dad's in trouble. I charge down the hill.

“Maya,” Saul yells behind me. The two of us speed down the hill.

“What are you doing?” I know Saul's confused. He wants to know what I'm doing here. But I have only one thought on my mind. The water is cold. A swimmer only has five or ten minutes before hypothermia sets in. Dad's a long way out in the channel.

What if he's hurt?

We reach the bottom together. When we slide to a stop, we both have radios to our mouths. Saul says, “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is
Storm Tide
calling. We've got a man overboard. We need help.” He's babbling and not following proper Mayday protocol at all.

I can hardly move. “Please, please, please answer,” I whisper.