I wanted to ask why he had never shown any interest in our methane experiment or the science competition.
But I didn’t.
Dad and I walked the pier at Dock Street Marina. Even if somehow I couldn’t find a sixty-five-foot research vessel named Olympus, I knew I’d be able to spot Morgan’s huge smile a hundred yards away.
I was buzzing with excitement—mostly about getting on the boat, but honestly, a lot of me was looking forward to spending the day with Morgan. This time I’d skipped the cologne, though.
My duffel bag bumped against my hip. I had packed my Tacoma Rainiers cap, a sack lunch, sunglasses, and an extra pair of shoes, which Mom had made me bring in case my sneakers got wet. And, of course, I had brought my logbook. I knew a lot of kids kept their writing on their computers, in digital diaries and online folders. But a real notebook, made of real paper—that was the way for me, just like scientists had been doing for decades. Plus, I couldn’t exactly have lugged my desktop PC onto the Olympus.
“Be sure to do everything you’re asked,” Dad said.
“Okay.”
“Show respect.”
I nodded. We walked in silence for several paces.
“So, you like this girl?”
“Morgan?”
“Mm-hmm. Do you like her?”
I swallowed. It felt as if a test tube were going down my throat sideways. My palm felt moist against the strap of my bag.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
We kept our faces forward, still walking.
“I—I like her okay.”
Dad’s eyebrow rose. A couple of nights ago, he’d come into my room and handed me a book called What’s Going On Down There? It wasn’t hard to figure out what it was about.
Sitting there, staring at the book, I’d felt as though I’d shrunk to the size of my green anole, and a basking lamp with too much wattage was cooking me.
“Let me know if you have any questions,” Dad had said before heading out the door.
I’d read the thing cover to cover and I had plenty of questions, but I’d chosen just to write them in my logbook. I could seek out answers later.
My eyes scanned the marina. I was about to say there was nothing to worry about—Morgan and I were just science partners—when I spotted the boat moored at the end of a dock. Morgan jumped onto the pier from the boat’s deck. “Hi, Brendan! Hi, Mr. Buckley!”
Dr. Belcher followed close behind. She and Dad shook hands. “I don’t think we’ve ever officially met. I’m Meg Belcher, Morgan’s mom.” I was surprised by how pretty she was. Taller than my mom, for sure, because she was taller than me, with long, wavy brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and wide-set brown eyes—exactly like Morgan’s.
“Sam Buckley. Glad to meet you.”
“You as well. Ready to join our crew, Brendan?”
“Aye, aye, Captain!”
“Oh, no.” Dr. Belcher shook her hands in front of her. “That would be that man over there. Captain Dennis!”
An older man wearing a fisherman’s hat and spraying a hose on deck waved.
“I presume you’re outfitted with life preservers and rafts,” Dad said.
“Survival suits … the whole nine yards,” Dr. Belcher replied. “We’ll do a safety demo for Brendan before we take off. And we’ve got two radios—one dedicated to channel sixteen for emergencies. The Coast Guard is just a call away. Your department has a boat, too, doesn’t it?”
“We do.”
“I thought I’d seen a Tacoma PD boat trolling the bay. Be assured, our captain has been piloting this vessel for thirty years—first as a commercial fisherman and now for us. He’s a pro.” Dr. Belcher looked up at the cloudless sky. “I think this past week’s rain went away just for us. So, what do you say we get to it?” She climbed on board. “We’ll have Brendan back around four this afternoon. Sound good?”
“That’s fine.” Dad raised his eyebrows at me. “You good?”
I nodded. I was more than good.
He slapped me on the back and I followed Morgan onto the boat.
A two-story enclosure sat at the bow of the boat. The only way to the second level appeared to be metal rungs, which led to the door of what I guessed was the cockpit, or whatever it was called on a boat. I’d have to find out. Captain Dennis had disappeared into there a minute ago.
Another ladder, directly across from where I stood, led to an upper deck—a narrow strip outfitted with a bench. Below that, on the main deck, was a sink area with a long metal countertop.
The deck was mostly a wide-open space, but with lots of stuff—I presumed research stuff—sitting around. Hoses and tethered ropes hung everywhere. Large metal hatches made me wonder what was down below. Three large spools of different types of cable lay anchored on their sides, and there was something that looked like a Mars rover but with jets instead of wheels. “That’s the ROV,” Morgan said. “Remotely operated vehicle. Suzanne is awesome at maneuvering it.”
A stocky, middle-aged woman wearing rubber overalls and boots appeared in the doorway of the enclosure’s lower level. Her cheeks looked sunburned. “I’m pretty darn good at Super Mario World, too.” She went to the side of the boat and pulled in the ropes keeping us tied to the dock.
During the orientation and safety demonstration, I learned that the left side of the boat as you face the front is the port side; the right side is called starboard. Kevin, the grad assistant doing the demo, told me the names came from early European explorers who sailed their ships around the coast of Africa. The left of the boat was the side closest to the ports as they traveled, and the right was the side from which they navigated by the stars. I would definitely record that in my logbook later.
“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.
Log
Entry—Saturday, December 1
Observation: The skin on the inside of a girl’s hand is as soft and warm as freshly made cotton candy.
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.
“Hey,” I said.
“Congratulations.” He held out his hand.
I shook it.
“It’s really cool that you and Morgan were chosen.” A smile crept onto his face. “Even if your experiment was totally nasty.”
I smiled in return. “Thanks.” I looked at my desktop, then back up at Khal. “Are you still mad … about your nose?”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “Thanks to you, I became a real chick magnet there for a few weeks.” It was true. Girls had waited on him hand and foot while his nose had been broken. “I kept those bandages on a whole week longer than I needed to!” He laughed. It looked like Khal and I could get back to being friends again.
Brendan Buckley's Sixth-Grade Experiment Page 14
