Tai sighs, then smiles. “I can deal with that.”
Dad promised he’d take us to Swirls & Scoops to celebrate. It’s definitely the best ice cream around, and it’s only open in the summer. If you don’t know what you’re looking for, you might miss the little hut set back in the trees, with picnic tables spread out in the grass.
Dad parks the truck and walks ahead of us so he can catch up with Mr. and Mrs. Lafayette, sitting at one of the picnic tables. Mr. and Mrs. Lafayette are really old, and Dad’s known them since he was a kid, hanging out with their grandkids.
While he talks, Tai and I stand off to the side of the line, checking out the menu, a list of flavors painted on a whiteboard.
“So I was asking my mom about Lake Tianchi,” Tai says. “I wanted to figure out if it was formed by a glacier too. If it was, I thought maybe the creatures might be similar. Like they came from the same kind of magic.”
“What’d she say?” I ask. I don’t even need to look at this menu. I know it by heart.
“Get this,” Tai says. “It used to be a volcano. So the actual lake is in this thing called a caldera. It’s this big hole that gets made when a magma chamber in the volcano gets emptied out.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s crazy. How did a volcano turn into a lake? I mean, with the glacier, it kind of makes sense—it just melted—”
“Yeah. So volcanic lakes get made when it rains and snows a bunch inside the hole left by the volcano,” Tai explains. “And boom, there you have it—Lake Tianchi. No pun intended.”
Amos loved puns. “Boom,” I echo. “Sounds intense. It kind of happened all at once—the hole anyway. That’s really different than a glacier.”
“That’s not the only difference,” Tai says. “The monster—or monsters—in that lake sound kind of mean. They attack boats and fight with each other and stuff.”
“The lake’s actually twice as deep as Maple Lake, so who knows what’s in there?” I say. “You should try to find some evidence of your own, next time you go visit your grandparents.”
“Maybe I will,” Tai says.
For just a moment, I picture myself on a different shore on the other side of the world, staring into a lake that used to be a volcano.
“So what are you getting?” Tai asks.
“My usual,” I say. “Lemon sherbet with rainbow sprinkles.”
Tai decides on Maple Moose Tracks. “Seems like as long as I’m in Vermont, I should try the most Vermont-y flavor available.”
Just then, I see someone farther up ahead in line turn around and look right in Tai’s direction: Darren. Then he looks at me. I can’t quite read his expression.
We grab our cones, piled super high as usual, and find a spot at one of the picnic tables, not far from the Lafayettes.
“Yum,” Tai says. “This is good stuff.”
“It was made right here in Shoreland County,” Dad says. “One of the bigger dairies started an ice cream business a few years ago.”
That’s when I see Darren standing up, moving slowly toward us.
“Hey,” he says when he reaches our table. “Hi, Mr. Lago.”
Dad pats the seat next to him at the picnic table. “Have a seat, Darren,” he says.
For a while, Darren doesn’t say anything, and it’s kind of awkward. For me, at least. Dad and Tai don’t seem too bothered; they’re concentrating on their ice cream.
But then Darren breaks the silence. “You won the Maple Derby,” he says to Tai.
“Beginner’s luck,” Tai says.
“Nice work,” Darren says. But it doesn’t sound quite like a compliment.
“Thanks.” Tai slurps his Maple Moose Tracks.
“You know,” Darren says, “that contest is supposed to be for kids who are from here. Kids who have been fishing the lake all year. I don’t know why you had to come up here anyway.”
Dad looks sharply at Darren. “Watch it,” he says. “Tai is a guest in Shoreland County. He’s living here for now, and he has every right to do the derby.”
Darren looks away, and I see his cheeks flush, his hands ball into fists at his sides. I can tell there’s more he wants to say, but he won’t. He knows he’s already said the wrong thing. Tai just watches him warily, calm but coiled tight.
“I guess when you’re spending all your time at the lake,” Darren says, sneering just a little, “you don’t have anything to do but practice fishing anyway.”
Tai looks right at Darren, his muscles still tense, his jaw set. “There’s actually a lot of other things to do,” he says. His voice is low, measured, completely strong. “There’s something wrong with Maple Lake, and people like my mom and Addie and I are trying to keep it healthy enough to still even have events like the Maple Derby.”
I open my mouth to show Darren whose side I’m on, but Tai gets there first. “We’ve been researching pollution in the lake,” he says. “Have you ever seen a harmful algal bloom?”
Darren looks away. “I don’t know what that is,” he says. His eyebrows wrinkle in confusion. He unclenches his fists and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “But how can the lake be polluted?”
“It just is,” I say. “We’re trying to figure out why. And by the way, a harmful algal bloom sort of just looks like green slime on the water.”
“I don’t get it,” Darren says, looking at Tai. “You haven’t even been here a month. How could you know anything about our lake?”
When Darren first started talking to us, there was a sharpness in his voice. Now that’s gone, replaced with something else. Something uncertain and maybe kind of sad.
“Well, you just haven’t met my mom,” Tai says. “She knows about all bodies of water. Everywhere. I’m not kidding. We’re talking serious nerd alert here.” The words Tai says sound like him, but the voice doesn’t. There’s an edge I’m not used to hearing. He’s shifted over to the end of the bench, his shoulders hunched, on guard.
Darren’s face shifts. The pinched look melts away. “I guess I should look for those blooms,” he says quietly.
“I know we just got here,” Tai continues. “I’d never been to Vermont before this summer. But now we’re just trying to figure out how to help Maple Lake.”
It’s easy to tell when someone’s being totally honest. And Tai just always is. Maybe even Darren sees that.
“Look,” Tai says. “I didn’t even like science when I got here. Thought I was in for the boring-est summer ever. Is boring-est a word?” He hooks his finger and thumb around his chin and purses his lips, thinking. Darren’s lips turn up at the corners.
Tai shrugs and smiles. “Anyway, now even I’m kinda roped into this Maple Lake stuff, thanks to Addie. It’s practically as addicting as this ice cream.” Tai crunches into the cone and closes his eyes. “Mmmm,” he says. “Science.”
Then Darren laughs, and I have to hand it to Tai. I’m not sure anybody else could have made Darren Andrews go from half mad and super confused to laughing in less than five minutes. Maybe not even Amos.
Dad, who’s been licking his ice cream, keeping a close eye on Darren, looks off in the distance, toward the mountains.
“Sometimes,” he says to nobody in particular, “you just have to look past your own nose.”
Chapter 15
When I get to the biological station, Tai’s waiting at the door, rolling a soccer ball around under his foot. “Mom wants to talk to us,” he says. “She wants to explain about that chemical that’s polluting the lake. Starts with an f?”
“Ph,” I say. “Phosphorus. But where’s Mr. Dale?” Usually he’s the one who walks us through the science of what we’re doing on Maple Lake.
“He’s around,” Tai says. “Mom just said she wanted to tell us some stuff too. Be ‘involved’ in our ‘education’ or something.”
Tai stays behind me as we walk inside. I can hear the soccer ball spinning on his finger and feel him lunge to catch it when it falls. Just before we get to Dr. Li’s office, he stashes it behind a chair i
n the hallway.
I can feel nervousness, like a current, coursing through Tai as we open the office door. But whenever I see Dr. Li, I feel calm inside. Her voice is so steady, even when she’s explaining complicated things. She moves quickly, but smoothly and quietly too, like there’s a clear purpose for everything she does. I’m pretty sure there is. For someone who just got here, like Darren pointed out, she sure is working hard to help Maple Lake.
“Your next research assignment will build directly off our recent water sample results,” Dr. Li says. “Repeated analyses distinctly show high levels of phosphorus, particularly after rainstorms when a lot of sediment has washed into the lake.”
“That makes sense,” I say.
“We’ll be working hard to determine some root causes,” Dr. Li continues. “There are many possibilities.”
“I’ve read about some of them,” I say. “How are we going to figure out what’s causing the problem?”
“Well, one of the tricky things about science,” Dr. Li says, “is that even though we can try our best to figure out the exact answer, sometimes we have to make some guesses too. It’s a little bit of a mystery.”
I’m definitely with her on that, even though I never realized it before.
“I’d like you to do some research specifically about possible causes of phosphorus pollution based on what you know about industry and activity in this area,” she says, “and present hypotheses to me. Mr. Dale can help as needed. Of course, Jake, Tasha, and I will be doing our own work with this, but it’s good practice for you to give it a try also.”
“Sounds good,” I say. Tai looks at the floor.
“Tai?” Dr. Li says. She looks at him sharply. “You need to be involved as well. You’re more than capable.”
Tai nods, but he doesn’t look at his mom. I watch his cheeks redden, and I think of the soccer ball hidden out in the hall.
I clear my throat. “Um. Dr. Li?” I ask. “Tai’s been super involved. I’m—glad he’s helping.”
Tai looks up at me, surprise flashing in his eyes.
Dr. Li looks a little surprised too. “I’m glad to hear that,” she says.
“He’s really smart,” I continue. “He was researching Maple Lake on his own the other day. He keeps track of all the water samples and helps me find testing sites on the GPS.”
Dr. Li looks at Tai, and I see the beginnings of a smile around the corners of her mouth.
“Plus,” I say, “did he tell you he won the Maple Derby? He caught the best fish of anyone on the lake.”
“He did not tell me that,” she says, obviously startled. “But… keep up the good work.” She puts her hand on Tai’s shoulder, just for a moment, before walking out.
“Thanks,” Tai whispers as we head to the break room to talk about our plan. “You want me to go give your mom a speech about your awesomeness? I totally could.”
His words pierce a little. He probably doesn’t realize how useful that might be. “I might hold you to that,” I whisper back. “Why didn’t you tell your mom about the Maple Derby?”
Tai shrugs. “I didn’t think she’d care.”
“I think she kind of did,” I say.
In the break room, instead of discussing causes of phosphorus pollution, like we’re supposed to, we end up deciding we need to plan our investigation of clue number one first.
Tai’s pretty excited about it. When I think about my first glance at him—hopping around in freezing Maple Lake when most people wouldn’t dare go in—I can kind of see why. This clue is all about adventure.
“Are you good at sneaking out at night?” he asks.
“Well… I don’t know,” I say.
“C’mon, you know everything,” Tai says.
I laugh. “I guess I don’t have enough evidence to draw a conclusion.”
“Is that your fancy scientist way of saying you’ve never tried?” Tai asks.
“Um, okay, yes.” I’m definitely a little nervous about that. But clue number one has to happen with a full moon, and thanks to Mr. Dale and his charts, I know we’re finally coming up on one tonight.
And I need to know whether Amos was right.
I look over the dates, times, and locations for each of my observations and review our data about harmful algal bloom sightings. If there really is a creature, why would it suddenly try to be seen after hiding for so long? And why by me?
I wonder: Is magic evidence the same as scientific evidence? Could there really be some magical creature trying to tell us what science can’t? Or help us understand what we’re seeing? If Maple Lake stays polluted and we can’t figure out how to fix it, will the creature die?
The day at the biological station seems to drag on while Tai and I wait for darkness and the full moon and clue number one. We make a plan to meet on our bikes at eleven p.m., and I promise Tai a headlamp. Apparently you don’t really need one in Brooklyn, because of all the lights even at night. Finally, after dinner’s over and I’ve washed and dried the dishes and Dad’s moved away from the stack of bills on the kitchen table and Mama’s left for work, I lie in bed, watching darkness settle outside the window. I’m too excited to fall asleep.
I have no idea how Amos snuck out as quietly as he must have when he researched this clue; maybe he did it on a night I was sleeping over at Liza’s.
When I’m sure Dad’s asleep, I push the window up, then carefully remove the outside screen before pulling the window back down. It squeaks—shoot—and I pause, holding my breath, waiting for Dad to rustle around, call my name. He doesn’t. Everything’s silent, except for the crickets singing their tinny songs.
By the time the full moon comes, night isn’t really even itself anymore. It’s kind of blue instead of black, and it glows. I’d forgotten how much I can see under a full moon. It doesn’t feel too scary to tiptoe with my bike through the grass in the opposite direction of the Jensens’ yard, praying their German shepherds stay quiet. For some reason, luckily, they do. Maybe they can’t hear me over the crickets.
Tai and I meet at the corner where Route 3 intersects with my road, just up from Maple Lake. We don’t say much at all, pedaling as fast as we can toward the beach.
I’m glad I brought my sweatshirt; it’s always chillier by the water. Tai and I stand side by side on the sand, looking out at the dark lake. The moon hangs over our heads, a silent jewel. Waves splash at our feet. We wait.
“So, clue number one,” Tai says. “The drum sound. Not sure on your thoughts here, but so far it kinda still sounds like water to me.”
“Shhh,” I say. “Wait a little longer.”
I close my eyes. That warm feeling spreads again, and then comes the pressure against my arms, reminding me he’s there. I hold the warmth. Listen, says a voice inside, maybe mine or maybe Amos’s. Listen closely. The waves tumble in one after the other.
A snatch of memory comes: Amos and I, when we were maybe eight, in the boat with Dad. We’d been holding our rods over the sides while Dad rigged up some jigs, hoping to catch a trout or two. Suddenly Amos’s rod jerked down, and Dad rushed over to help him stay steady and reel in.
“I’ve got it, Addie, I’ve got it!” Amos yelled. “It’s really big too!”
I set my rod down and went over to Amos’s side. Silver fins flashed under the surface—a fish, fighting hard. Why does Amos always catch the good ones? I remember thinking.
Dad braced his feet against the boat, supporting Amos’s back. The rod bent, then snapped up. “More drag!” Dad shouted. He fiddled with the rod as Amos pulled. Then the line popped up and the rod straightened. Amos ricocheted back into Dad’s arms. I looked into the water and saw a silver tail, flickering away into the deep.
“I lost it,” Amos said, his voice full of hurt and wonder. “It’s gone.”
Dad patted Amos on the shoulder. “It happens, son. It’s okay.”
“That was such a big fish too.” Amos’s voice started to crack. “I could really tell.”
Inside, I f
elt sour relief creep through my chest. “You pulled up too fast,” I said.
Amos wiped his hand across his eyes. His top lip quivered.
For one horrible second, I wanted him to cry.
But when he looked at me, I couldn’t stay so mean. “It’s okay,” I said. “Don’t feel bad.” I wrapped my arms around him and, as the evening chill set in, felt surrounded by warmth.
I wrap my arms around my own waist now and pull, trying to lift myself off the ground like he used to. But it doesn’t work. I squeeze until my fingernails pierce my sides and still my feet stick, stone-heavy, right where they are. Amos and I didn’t get along perfectly all the time. But now that he’s gone, I’d rather think about the times we did, instead of what I wish I could change.
I didn’t mean to be jealous, I think now. I want to reach back into that memory, reset the drag on Amos’s rod, keep that fish. Watch him lift it out of the water, thrashing and shimmering. Let Dad’s pride drown everything else out, even me. If I’d known how little time Amos would have, I would have done that. I’d have done so much more.
The waves roll in. I’m listening, I think.
Another sound, then the smash of cymbals. I open my eyes. The waves look the same. But I’m positive there’s something else in their sound.
I hear the low pound of a drum, hollow and round. There’s a rhythm to it—first the splash of water, followed by those clanging cymbals, then a deep beat.
Tai pokes me. “I hear it.” His eyes are wide open, staring at the water. “Look,” he says, pointing.
Out in the middle of the lake, silver sparkles rise and fall. A shape seems to emerge—a tail?—then scatters apart and slips underwater. My breath catches in my throat.
Tai just shakes his head. “Wow.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. All I can do is watch.
Until, all of a sudden, it stops. The water goes perfectly still. Even the waves fall silent, frozen in midair. I’m frozen too, waiting to see if it comes back.
The Light in the Lake Page 12
