The Light in the Lake

by Sarah R. Baughman

  “Ugh,” I say. I still see plants, but the slimy algal blooms feel thick on top. I pull the paddle away.

  Tai’s already taking out his phone, snapping a picture. “I’ll show my mom.”

  “We should put it on the map too,” I say. “It’s probably not a coincidence that those vacation condos are right across the lake, huh?” I look toward the shiny buildings, perched so close to the water they look like they could fall in.

  “When were those built?” Tai asks.

  “Last year,” I say. “And come to think of it, the Walmart’s upstream of the Pine River. My mom might really have been onto something.”

  “Seems like it,” Tai says. “But it’s also just two buildings. Do you think they really could’ve thrown the whole lake off so quickly?”

  “Maybe the logging that happened here before started it,” I say. “Then the construction pushed it over the edge.” Nobody’s logged the woods around Maple Lake in decades, not since it got turned into a state forest, but there could be logging somewhere else in the watershed that’s causing erosion. I shiver a little, realizing that just a few weeks ago I didn’t think there was anything wrong with Maple Lake. Now that I know about the problem, I really want to help fix it.

  I think Amos would too, if he could be here, though I wonder what he would have thought about Dr. Li’s evidence. Would he have believed it, or just seen in Maple Lake what he wanted to see?

  I point to the fields beyond the lake. “My cousin Liza’s house is up there,” I say. “See her barn? Top of the hill?”

  “Is it the red one?” Tai cranes his neck.

  “Yup. Her dad—my uncle Mark, my dad’s brother—is a dairy farmer.” I pull the steering wheel, letting the boat arc. “You know where milk comes from, right?”

  Tai rolls his eyes. “We’re not total idiots in the city,” he says. “I even went to a farm once, on a field trip.”

  I laugh. “Okay, okay. Bet you’ve never milked a cow, though.”

  Tai holds his hands up. “You got me.”

  “You should come over sometime,” I say. “We usually have a family dinner on the Fourth of July.”

  “That would be kind of awesome,” Tai says. “Could you take a video of me milking a cow?”

  “Uncle Mark uses machines,” I say. “You just fit them over the cows’ udders and they do the milking themselves. But I bet he could show you how to milk by hand too, if you really wanted.”

  “Okay, you’re on,” he says. “You’re so on.”

  “You can even meet the calf I’ve been helping my cousin raise,” I say.

  “You and your cousin have been raising a calf?” Tai asks. “What exactly does that mean?”

  Tai’s so easy to get along with, I sometimes forget how different our lives are in lots of ways. “It’s for 4-H,” I explain. “There’s a dairy show at the fair every summer. So we feed the calf, and brush it, and teach it how to be led with a halter, and to stand in a certain way for a judge.”

  Tai’s forehead wrinkles. “Sounds interesting,” he says, but it comes out like a question.

  “You’ll see when you get there,” I say. “You’ll love the calf. She’s super pretty, and… kind of annoying, but in a cute way, I guess?”

  “Annoying but cute,” Tai repeats. “Great sell. Just let me know what time I should be ready.”

  “The Fourth of July isn’t too long after the Maple Derby,” I say. “Which, of course, you’re totally ready for now.”

  “I mean… if by ready you mean ready to watch you fish?” Tai asks, then nods his head firmly, up and down. “Then yes, I agree.”

  The rest of the time we’re out on the water, it’s still and smooth as glass. Dad sends me a text: Mama asks how’s it going

  And I just write All good

  No need to tell him about the wave that almost threw us into Bear Rock. No need to tell him about the boat at all. If I did, he’d probably tell Mama and she’d haul me out of here so fast Mr. Dale’s head would spin. And then I wouldn’t be able to come out and breathe in the Maple Lake smells that fill me up to the brim with something I can’t name. I wouldn’t be able to hang out with Tai. And I wouldn’t be able to finish what Amos started.

  When we finally head back toward shore with a cooler full of sample bottles and a secret, I feel that pressure circling my arms again. That warmth. Hi, Amos, I whisper, so soft not even Tai can hear.

  Chapter 14

  The morning of the Maple Derby, I wake up in the dark and dress in jeans and one of Amos’s cotton sweatshirts to cut the early chill. I had to rush to Liza’s last night to squeeze in some time working with Rascal, even though I was really distracted thinking about the derby and the harmful algal blooms. I did okay, but Liza kept chewing her lip while she watched me work. I probably wasn’t doing the best job of focusing, and Rascal was living up to her name.

  I tiptoe into Mama and Dad’s room and tap Dad softly on the shoulder. “Time to go,” I whisper. In the pale light brimming from the hallway, Dad sees my sweatshirt and smiles. I’ve already packed a cooler with Fluffernutters, apples, carrot sticks, and chips. Dad hooked our boat trailer up to the truck last night and I’ve got my rods and reels, life jackets and sunscreen, minnows and lines, nestled in one of the seat boxes.

  It’s still pitch-black when we pull out of our driveway and head to the cottage where Tai and Dr. Li are staying, not far from the biological station. Their place is surrounded by evergreens, perched on a hill that looks out over the lake. Tai’s still rubbing his eyes as he gets in the car.

  “Hi, Mr. Lago,” Tai says, sticking out his hand. “Thanks for the ride.”

  My dad’s smiles come and go fast, but he doesn’t waste them. So when he flashes one at Tai, I know he likes him right away. Tai’s all angles and blushes, but sweetness too.

  “You two ready?” Dad asks, pulling into the boat launch at Maple Lake.

  “Definitely,” I say, and Tai holds his fist out for a bump. It’s too early to head to our actual spot—we’re not allowed to start fishing until first light—but getting here ahead of time lets us slide the boat into the water and make sure we have everything ready to go. A few other boats have already arrived too.

  Dad’s jaw tightens when he gets out of the truck. I watch him carefully, but he doesn’t wipe his hand across his eyes like he did when he first saw the lake at the biological station.

  Tai’s on the other side of the truck, tightening his shoelaces, so I step a little closer to Dad. “Thanks,” I whisper, “for letting me do the derby.”

  Dad puts a hand on my shoulder. I heard him tell Mama that there were so many boats out it would be pretty impossible to get in trouble without someone being seconds away to help. Of course I couldn’t really explain that I’d been driving a boat by myself at the biological station for a while anyway.

  Dad helps me check the motor and gas, makes sure the cooler’s set snugly next to the seat box, and hands me two water bottles. He checks the straps on our life jackets, even though we’re twelve.

  “I told your mama I’d superglue that life jacket onto you if I needed to,” he says.

  “Instead you just tightened the straps so much I can barely move my arms.” I twist stiffly at my waist, from side to side, exaggerating the effect.

  “Perfect. That’s what I was going for.” Dad winks, then pats my shoulder. “Sorry I can’t cheer you on. You know how work goes. I’ll be here to pick you up, though.”

  “No worries, Dad.” If anything, I’ll feel less nervous without him watching me.

  On his way out, I see Dad almost run into Mr. Cooper, the Maple Derby organizer, who’s walking toward us.

  “Bruce,” Mr. Cooper says. They shake hands, and Mr. Cooper claps Dad on the back. “It’s good to see you out here. Real good.”

  “You too, Jerry,” Dad says.

  After Amos died, Mr. and Mrs. Cooper started bringing meals over to our house twice a week. They left them in an orange cooler outside our door and came b
ack the next day to get the cooler and refill it again. And again. For weeks. I think there were probably nights when if it hadn’t been for their chicken broccoli casserole or enchiladas or potato soup, we wouldn’t have eaten anything at all.

  “So glad you’re joining us this year, Addie,” Mr. Cooper says.

  “Thanks, Mr. Cooper,” I say. “And I brought my friend Tai too.”

  “Welcome to both of you,” he says, smiling and shaking our hands.

  Plenty of boats have gathered in the shallows by now. Littler kids have their parents with them, but a lot of the older kids, like me, are driving on their own.

  As the sun pushes its way up over Bevel Mountain, Mr. Cooper heads up to the dock with a megaphone.

  “Welcome to the Maple Derby!” he says, his voice muffled. “As in previous years, this is a small-fish competition. Whoever catches the biggest and heaviest out of five fish, wins.”

  I lean over to Tai. “I know the best perch spot on the lake,” I say. “We have a good chance.”

  The sun bathes Maple Lake in gold. We put on our sunglasses. Mr. Cooper gives the green light, and people start their motors. The water churns, and it’s a little chaotic watching everyone scramble to start, but this is a big lake. Before long, we’re scattering in different directions.

  I point toward the spot where Tai and I found the harmful algal blooms, because it’s always been Dad’s secret spot and I’m not giving up on it yet. Out of the corner of my eye I see Darren steering in the same direction, but then he veers off to the right, a splash of white curving in his wake.

  After dropping anchor far enough from the blooms that I don’t have to stare at sludge, but close enough that I know it’s still the right spot, I open my minnow bucket and remind Tai how to hook a little silver minnow so it will stay.

  “It’s so weird that fish eat fish,” Tai says. “Can you think of another animal that does that?”

  “Not off the top of my head, I guess,” I say. “But minnows aren’t really the same as perch.” Minnows are tiny and silver, like slippery nails. Perch are pale green, with dark green stripes and sharp, tall fins.

  “Still weird,” Tai mutters, but he easily hooks a minnow onto his line.

  I’ve never jigged at this spot without catching perch. But Tai and I sit there for an hour, trying worms, different-colored jigs and speeds, and slightly different spots, and—nothing.

  “Think it’s the harmful algal blooms?” Tai asks.

  I look up at the Pine River, spilling all the way from high up past the mountain in the fields by Uncle Mark’s farm.

  “Maybe,” I say. “But how can it be this bad? How can they just be gone?”

  Then, all of a sudden, the boat starts to move. I feel the anchor scrape and pull against the bottom. “What the—” Tai says, grabbing the side of the boat.

  There’s no time to think; everything’s moving too fast. It’s like we’re the minnows on a line and some giant on the opposite shore is reeling us in. The boat skids so fast toward the middle of the lake, far from the mouth of the Pine River, that I can barely breathe until, without warning, it stops. And everything stills.

  I turn around, look at the other boats dotted across the lake. Did anyone see that? Nobody seems alarmed. Tai and I just stare at each other, breathing hard.

  “What. Just. Happened.” Tai’s voice feels as heavy as a stone.

  I just shake my head. My throat feels so dry, when I finally speak, it’s more of a croak. “Anchors don’t just—move like that.”

  “I figured.” Tai reaches out to put his hand on mine, and I realize I’m shaking. “What do you think it was trying to do?” he asks. “Why would it pull us away from that spot?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know yet. But there’s no it, Tai. We still don’t have proof.”

  Amos never wrote about anything like this in the notebook at least. This clue is all our own.

  “Well, proof or not,” Tai says, “it’s something. Aren’t you going to write it down?”

  I pull Amos’s notebook out of my back pocket and begin writing. Something pulled us away from the harmful algal blooms. It even moved the anchor. I eyeball the distance to our old spot: two hundred yards, maybe?

  I lean over the side of the boat and look down in the water. I can only see so far before it disappears into mystery. Bits of sunlight swirl just below the surface. Gentle waves glisten. Yet I keep looking down, down, as deep as I can, then deeper. For one second, I imagine I’m there at the bottom, sitting on soft sand, watching water plants wave dreamily, where all sounds fade, where quiet fish slide past.

  Then I’m back up, staring at a surface that twinkles so brightly it’s like stars fell right into it.

  Tai starts baiting another hook. “Well, I don’t know about you,” he says, “but I’m ready to try this spot.”

  I can’t exactly argue.

  Tai casts his line and jigs like I showed him. “It feels deeper here,” he says.

  Then I see his rod jerk. He flinches back, starting to reel. “Got one!” he says. “I mean, I must have one, right? Right?” The rod bends hard, curving over the water. I leap up and race to help him, but he doesn’t need it. He’s reeling steadily, and when he pulls the fish out of the water, my jaw drops.

  It’s huge. I help Tai unhook it and grab my hanging scale. “Two pounds!” I yell. “Whoa, Tai!”

  “Is that good?” Tai says. “I mean, it looks big, but—”

  “Uh, yeah,” I say. “That’s really good for perch.”

  I toss the fish in the boat’s live well, where it can swim until we get back to shore.

  We fish for the next hour, and I catch a few, but it’s Tai who’s on a real roll this morning. He catches six more perch, none as big as that first one, but all good size. I have to say, even on our best days, I’m not sure Amos and I ever had this great of a haul, that fast. I wish Amos could have been here to see it happen. I can almost hear him clapping Tai on the back and whooping into the air.

  When we pull in to the dock, I see Dad, grinning, his hands stuck in his pockets.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “I thought you were supposed to be at work.”

  “A dad has his reasons.” Dad puts his arm around my shoulders. “You did good out there, honey girl,” he says.

  If Dad was watching me, does that mean he saw us race to the middle of the lake?

  “Um… so, how’d the water look?” I ask.

  “Like glass,” Dad said. “Must have been a smooth ride.”

  There’s no way Dad would be standing here so calmly if he’d seen what just happened. So he must not have seen anything. I look over at Tai, and he’s looking at me too. He raises his shoulders in a little shrug, but my heart’s pounding.

  If nobody else saw it, did it happen? In science, it wouldn’t be right to claim that something was true if other people didn’t see it too. I don’t know how to explain this. But I know what I felt, and so does Tai.

  After getting everybody’s attention, Mr. Cooper shakes Tai’s hand and declares him the winner of the Maple Derby. He not only caught the biggest perch for sure out of five, but his others were heavier than pretty much everyone else’s too, mine included. Tai’s blushing, and his smile stretches all the way across his face. He looks in my direction, and I give him two thumbs-up. It feels like the sun sparkles aren’t just shining on the lake; they’re in me too.

  I start packing up our gear and hosing off the boat while Dad goes to the truck. But then I look over my shoulder and see Darren, his hands on his hips, his eyes stormy.

  I glance back at Tai, try to concentrate on the pride filling my chest like a balloon. He holds up his winning fish and the ribbon Mr. Cooper gives him as I snap a picture he can send his friends, who are “definitely not going to believe this, like no way, not ever,” he tells me.

  Turns out Tai’s pretty great at fishing. But I think whatever force brought us out to the middle of the lake ended up helping too. Today’s clue makes s
ix total. If we investigate clues one, three, and four and find they’re real too, I’ll feel like I’m doing what Amos wanted me to do when he was alive. I’ll be tracking his evidence. But will I believe in his mystery? I still haven’t seen a creature yet. I haven’t experienced anything that anybody but Tai can see.

  I shiver, looking back out over the lake. Tai and I both know what we felt. And if it was Amos’s creature that pulled us away from the harmful algal blooms and toward the cleaner, deeper water, maybe there was a reason.

  So why didn’t it help Amos? If it has enough power to pull us halfway across the lake, how could it let him drown?

  I don’t understand everything I’m seeing. But looking for Amos’s clues, and finding my own evidence, also makes me feel that what I can’t know for absolute certain isn’t exactly scary. The closer I get to it, the more I feel it’s just a part of things, a mystery that needs to be there.

  “Oh man,” Tai says, coming up behind me, waving the ribbon he got from Mr. Cooper. “I’m starving. I could really go for some jiaozi right about now.”

  “Jiaozi?” I ask. “What’s that?”

  “They’re these amazing dumplings,” Tai says. “I look forward to eating them whenever I go back to China, especially where my dad grew up in Beijing. I mean, there are great dumpling places in New York too, but there’s something about the ones I get there that’s just extra delicious.”

  “What do they taste like?” I don’t think I’ve ever had a dumpling.

  “So, there’s this dough,” Tai says. “It’s kind of thick and really good, and it’s wrapped around these pickled vegetables and meat, and boiled or steamed. Then there are sauces for dipping.”

  “Sounds great.” Tai’s description is making my stomach growl.

  “Oh, it is,” Tai says. “The food in China is my favorite by far.”

  Thinking about all the dishes I’ve never tasted makes me itch to go far away. Not forever, just long enough to taste new foods and see new places. “I think right now, you’re probably going to have to settle for ice cream.”