The Shark Rider (3 page)

“I know, I know,” Tristan said. “I just did it. You should have seen what they were doing to the shark. They wanted to shoot it or bash it over the head. And it was in pain.”

“Well, we can't turn back the clock. What's done
is done,” his father said, shaking his head. “But you have got to be more careful, especially out in public, if you want to continue training at Sea Camp and go on their so-called missions. This is not the way to gain our confidence. We'll see how things go, but any more
incidents
like this and that'll be it. No more Sea Camp. And no missions.”

Before Tristan could say anything else, his parents were out the door, still mumbling about his irresponsible and rash behavior. Tristan continued to gaze at the aquarium—so much for making his father proud. The confidence and pride he felt after last summer were gone. All his insecurities about being clumsy and not living up to his father's expectations came rushing back. Tristan could just imagine what Director Davis would say. Coach Fred would probably make him swim a gazillion laps around the lagoon or scrub out all of the aquariums in the Rehab Center.

Tristan got out his Sea Camp backpack, a duffle bag, and his T-shirt with the camp's shark and wave logo on it. It read “SNAPPER” on the back. At least he was going back. He wondered if Coach Fred would demote him to Seasquirt because of his day at the beach.

2

STRANGER AT THE WALL

T
HE ENTRANCE TO THE
F
LORIDA
K
EYS
S
EA
P
ARK
was just as Tristan remembered it. Water spouted from the blowholes of three stone dolphins at the center of a fountain. Behind it was a white stucco arch draped with bright pink and purple bougainvillea blooms. And just like his first time there, he heard laughter and screeches of joy as kids and their parents rode down the park's winding streams and snorkeled in its clear blue pools.

Director Davis was at the entrance when they arrived. He was wearing an impossibly clean, bright white polo shirt with the camp's logo and khaki shorts. His sandy hair was shorter than last year. Tristan noted a distinct scowl on the man's rugged, pockmarked face.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hunt, good to see you again,” he said and then eyed Tristan.

Tristan let his hair fall over his eyes and stared down at the man's sneakers, one blue and one red.

“Thank you for letting Tristan come early,” his father said.

“We really appreciate it, given what happened,” his mother added. “We just didn't know what to do. He could have lost a hand or been killed. And then all those reporters knocking on the door and the phone calls, and the photo of Tristan on the shark and what it . . .”

Director Davis took Mrs. Hunt's hand, interrupting her. “It's not a problem. You did the right thing.” He glanced at Tristan. “We're just glad it didn't get out of hand and that Tristan is here.”

Tristan looked up, his bright green eyes filled with hope. “I'm really sorry, but they were going to murder the shark.”

The director acknowledged Tristan's apology with just the slightest of nods and then turned to his parents. “Since you're here, I assume you're okay with your son's continued involvement and training with us?”

Tristan's parents exchanged anxious glances. His mother appeared ready to grab her son and bolt.

“It's all he's talked about the entire year,” his father answered. “Probably would have run off down here on his own if we'd said no.”

Tristan shrugged and smiled innocently at the camp director.

His father looked sternly at him. “We're not completely sold on the idea or sure that he should be here, given what happened. We'll see how things go. Maybe you can teach him to
think
before he acts.”

“Excellent!” Director Davis said. He grabbed Tristan's duffle bag, shook his parents' hands, and assured them he'd look after their son.

Tristan thought his parents seemed uncertain, expecting further discussion or something. Before they could change their minds, he thanked his father awkwardly, hugged his mother, and said good-bye. He then ran to catch up with the director as the man walked quickly into the Florida Keys Sea Park.

As they walked, Tristan prepared himself for the lecture that was about to come. But Director Davis said nothing. That almost made it worse. They walked in deafening silence for several more minutes.

“Head over to the Snapper bungalow to unpack, and then why don't you visit the Rehab Center. They've got some new patients and could probably use your help with at least one of them.”

Tristan stared at the man dumbfounded. “Okay.”

He waited for the director to yell or say something about how reckless he'd been or how his actions could have put the camp at risk. But the man just waved his hand in the direction of the bungalows. “Get a move on.”

Tristan turned and sprinted down the path, still thinking about the reaming-out that was sure to come. He nearly ran straight into one of the park's meandering streams. Stopping short and teetering at the water's
edge, he watched as twenty small golden cownose rays swam by like a flock of underwater birds. Each ray gracefully waved its velvety fins up and down. A school of fish trailed behind. It was a menagerie of color and size. There were several large turquoise parrotfish, a few smaller blue and yellow surgeonfish, and lots of skinny two-inch-long multicolored striped fish.

Everything in the park seemed somehow bigger and better than before. The streams, fish, and lush tropical plants were all larger, fuller, and more vibrant than he remembered. Or maybe it just looked that way because he was so happy to be there.

When Tristan came to the jungle wall, he thought about Jade. She was the one who showed him the secret way to pass through. It had been her last summer at camp. Jade was eighteen now, and, like most teens that age, her ocean talents had begun to fade. The director said it had something to do with changing hormones.

Tristan stood staring at the wall. The tangle of thick green thorny vines and smooth gray tree trunks was so dense it appeared almost solid. He now understood why they used the jungle wall to keep the park's regular visitors out of the campers' more private areas. After a few minutes of searching, Tristan found the sea turtle–shaped stone. He was about to jump onto it when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone approaching. He turned to the stranger.

“Excuse me,” the man said a little too quickly. “Could you tell me where the, uh, Wave Pool is? I was
on my way there with my daughter and seem to have gotten turned around. Can't find her or the pool.”

Tristan stared at the man. He wasn't anywhere near the Wave Pool. He was about Tristan's parents' age and wore a T-shirt that read
I “heart” Dolphins
along with a pair of flowered, poop-brown shorts. Other than his truly ugly sportswear, there wasn't anything abnormal about his appearance. But for some reason, something just seemed off about the guy, and Tristan didn't like the way he was looking at him. Besides, he didn't seem very upset about losing his daughter. Tristan's mother would already have called in the FBI.

Tristan pointed down the path. “The Wave Pool is back that way on the other side of the park. Look for the signposts with colored arrows on them. The Wave Pool is the light blue one.”

“Oh, must have missed that. Thanks.”

The stranger hesitated and peered suspiciously at Tristan and the jungle wall. He then abruptly turned and went the way Tristan suggested.

Tristan watched the man go. Feeling uneasy, instead of going through the jungle wall he took a trail that paralleled it. After a few minutes, he doubled back and scanned the area. The man was nowhere in sight. Tristan swiveled around one more time to be sure he was gone and then hopped onto the sea turtle rock. The wall's interlocking vines began to wiggle and squirm. Like big green snakes, they withdrew into the wall, revealing a shadowy entrance. He leapt onto the fish and then the whale-shaped stone. Soon he forgot
about the stranger looking for the Wave Pool. The dim light and odd glow inside the jungle wall made Tristan's skin appear eerily zombie green. The ground was a checkerboard of grass and rocks. Tristan leapt carefully to the next sea creature rock, thinking about last year when he fell off. He had no desire to face another grab grass attack.

Once past the jungle wall, Tristan stood transfixed in front of Sea Camp's wide lagoon. It was just as beautiful as he remembered, like a commercial for a perfect tropical island getaway. He couldn't wait to dive into the clear blue water. After a few more minutes admiring the lagoon, Tristan made his way past the Seasquirts' raised bungalow to the next one along the sandy shore. It was for second-year campers—the Snappers. Tristan climbed the short flight of stairs and opened the bamboo door. Inside was a large open room with a high ceiling, dark wood beams, scattered overstuffed couches, a table, and some comfortable-looking chairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided a spectacular view of the sparkling lagoon. Tristan noticed a small refrigerator and opened the door. Stacked inside were bottles of slightly pink water. He grabbed one, twisted off the cap, and took a long swig. The tart flavor puckered his lips, but was also strangely comforting. It reminded him of Hugh and Sam and all the fun they had when they were together. Tristan put the bottle in the outside pocket of his backpack.

There were two bunkrooms connected to the main room. Tristan went into the one on the left. He smiled
and placed his things on a bed. Being at camp early came with at least one big advantage—a bottom bunk. He wouldn't constantly step on Hugh's head climbing into bed or regularly crash-land on the floor when just getting up in the morning. This summer was sure to be more bruise-free.

After unpacking a few things, Tristan grabbed his backpack and headed for the Rehab Center. He hoped his palm print would still open the door at the side entrance and wondered if the trees there still had funky gray flowers that smelled like mashed potatoes.

3

SHARK CHOW

W
HEN
T
RISTAN ARRIVED AT THE
R
EHAB
C
ENTER
, he saw Director Davis standing with Ms. Sanchez. She was Sea Camp's communication and camouflage expert. They were talking with Mark, the guy he met last summer who was in charge of the park's seawater system. As Tristan approached, the conversation stopped abruptly.

In his typically clashing plaid shorts, striped shirt, and yellow rubber boots, Mark nodded to Tristan and turned to the others. “It's not a problem—
yet
.”

Tristan wondered what he was talking about. He looked to the director and Ms. Sanchez, but they made no effort to explain. Ms Sanchez appeared unchanged since last year. She was short, thin, and had gray-white spiky hair. The reflection from her tight blue clothes
tinted her spiked hair and the slightly shaded square glasses she wore. It suddenly struck Tristan as a little funny because she resembled a giant skinny Smurf.

Director Davis headed for the door. “Tristan, after you're done here, come to my office if you would.”

“Okay,” Tristan replied, figuring that's when he'd get the lecture about the whole shark thing.

“Nice to have you back,” Ms. Sanchez told him.

“Thanks.”

“And I hear your shark communication skills are still working quite well.”

Tristan shrugged self-consciously and gazed at the floor. “Yeah, I guess you heard what happened.”

Ms. Sanchez put an arm around him. “I hope I would have done the same thing. Glad you were there.”

“Really?” he said, looking up.

“Of course. No harm seems to have come from it, and you saved that shark. Maybe you even got people thinking about the morality of killing such a magnificent animal.”

“Guess I never thought of it that way. I just thought it was another one of my screw-ups, like my parents thought. Hey, is Snaggle-Tooth still around?”

“Once he got used to his new teeth, we released Snaggle-Tooth into the lagoon,” Ms. Sanchez answered. “But he does like to come back now and then to visit and show off his pearly whites.” She smiled and stepped onto the mat to decontaminate her sandals, leading Tristan into the room full of aquariums.