by Lisa Yee
“Let’s go swimming!” I shouted.
When my parents groaned and insisted they needed coffee first, I turned to Zac, who was barely awake. “Please, go with me to the beach,” I begged.
“Just ten more minutes, Cricket,” he mumbled. “Let me sleep ten more minutes.”
“Zac,” Dad said, his eyes still closed, “please take your sister to the beach.”
“Go with Lea,” Mom said, sounding muffled. It was a miracle that we could hear her at all since she was facedown in her pillow. “And be sure not to let her out of your sight, especially in the water.”
My brother had never been a morning person, and this, at least, hadn’t changed. As we crossed the street leading to the beach, he looked like a zombie. “This is my vacation, too, Cricket,” he grumbled. “I wanted to sleep in.”
I waved him off. I was too happy feeling the warm sand under my feet and noticing that the waves lapping the shore looked like the white peaks on the top of a lemon meringue pie.
This was the moment I had dreamed about. I took a step forward and let the waves lap my feet. I stopped and closed my eyes to smell the salty sea air. It was like a perfume, and it wrapped around me like a hug.
My heart swelling with anticipation, I looked out at the ocean and took a big step forward. My pulse was racing. At first I thought it was because I was so excited to see the ocean. But all at once, I realized that I was scared.
A memory flashed in my mind. I must have been only about six years old, but it felt as if it were yesterday. I was sitting on the dock at Mark Twain State Park, dipping my toes in the water, when I leaned down to look at my reflection—and fell face-first into the lake. I flailed around in a panic. The dock was too high above the water for my short arms to reach. I knew how to swim—I had reached level three in swimming lessons—but as I tried to swim toward a ladder a few feet away, my head went under and I accidentally inhaled water through my nose. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t shout for help, I couldn’t even cry. I had never been so terrified in my life.
I was probably underwater only a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. Luckily, Zac had seen me. He jumped in and pulled me to safety, and before long I was in Ama’s comforting arms.
“I was so scared,” I confessed to Ama. She had been eager to take us to the park, and I wondered if I had let her down. “I’m not like you,” I told her sadly. “You’re always so brave.”
My grandmother held me tighter. “Oh, Lea,” she said, “I’m not fearless, but I don’t let my fear stop me from doing the things I really want to do. You’ll swim again,” she assured me.
Ama was right, of course. For the next few summers I continued taking lessons at our local pool. I always tried to avoid putting my head underwater—and I never did try swimming in a lake again. But this was bigger than any lake—this was the Atlantic Ocean. And it had waves.
I shuddered at the memory and looked out toward the ocean. Then I remembered what Ama wrote in her journal: Now that I’ve gone to the trouble of traveling to a new place, I should see and do everything I can.
Well, I was seeing the ocean. That was step one. So far, so good. But if Ama was right, I should do more than just look at it. After all, I could do that from my hotel room—and Ama’s point was to get out there and do stuff.
I took a deep breath. Today was the day I was going to swim in the Atlantic Ocean!
The sand and water tickled my toes as the waves rolled in to the shore. Some were slow, others fast, thinning out by the time they got to me. I took another step. My feet sank until they were covered with soft, wet sand, and it was hard to lift them. Was this what quicksand was like? I took another step and then another until the water was up to my knees. So far, so good…
Zac ran past me, splashing and then diving into the water. When he surfaced, he waded back toward me with a mischievous grin and shouted, “Cricket, watch out, there’s a wave coming at you!”
I looked around, but could see no waves on the horizon. Then, without warning, Zac pushed a big splash of water at me.
“Surf’s up!” he called, laughing.
I opened my mouth to tell him to stop and got a huge mouthful of seawater. I began to choke and spit out the water. It was salty! Duh—of course, the ocean would be salty, but I hadn’t really planned on drinking it.
“Zac!” I screamed as he continued to splash me and laugh. “Stop it! It’s not funny—stop it!”
“Chill, Cricket,” he said, looking disappointed. “It’s no big deal, it’s just water.”
But it wasn’t just water. It was salty, and it was in my nose and my eyes. The more I rubbed my eyes, the more irritated they became.
“That wasn’t very nice,” I told him.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’re upset over a little water?”
Just then I saw my parents coming toward us. “So, Lea, how do you like your first swim in the ocean?” Mom called as she stepped into the water. Her short, sandy brown hair and the spray of freckles marching across her nose made her look years younger than she really was.
I shrugged. I didn’t want anyone to know how upset I was.
“Lea? Is everything okay?” Mom asked. She turned to Zac. He just shrugged.
“I’m fine,” I muttered through gritted teeth. Mom frowned, concerned. I let go of a sigh. “Really, I’m fine,” I assured her. The last thing I wanted to do was ruin everyone’s vacation.
“I’m just going to take a break,” I announced. There was sand in my mouth and it crunched between my teeth when I spoke.
“Hey, Cricket?” Zac called after me.
I ignored him and headed to a beach chair, plopped myself down, and crossed my arms.
From the shore I could see my parents splashing in the water, acting like kids. Dad picked up Mom and whirled her around while she splashed him. He didn’t seem to mind getting water in his face.
My eyes still stung from the salt water, and I squeezed them shut. Then I sensed something blocking my sun. I squinted and saw Zac standing above me.
“What’s up, Cricket?” he asked. “You’re not mad at me, are you? I’m sorry if I got you upset.”
“I’m not upset,” I lied.
“Good!” he said. Smiling, Zac shook his head like a dog and showered me with water coming off his hair. Though he might have thought this was funny, I certainly didn’t. “How do you like the beach?”
I wanted to say, You try choking on salt water and getting it in your eyes and nose, and see how you like it.
“It’s amazing,” I said. And it was—amazing to look at.
“Isn’t it?” Zac said, shading his eyes. “I wish we could stay longer, but Dad says we need to check out of the hotel soon.”
“Aw, too bad,” I said, secretly relieved.
“Don’t worry,” Zac assured me. “If you like this beach, you’re going to love Praia Tropical. It’s one of the most beautiful beaches in Bahia.”
Great. Another beach where I can make a fool of myself.
“And get this,” Zac continued. “There’s a big sea turtle sanctuary nearby.”
I perked up. “Turtles?”
“Hey, that reminds me,” Zac said. “How’s old Ginger?”
“Ginger’s good,” I said, thinking fondly of my own little turtle back home. “Abby’s babysitting her.” I hoped I had left enough dried shrimp for Ginger’s daily treat. “It was so funny—last week Ginger climbed between her two rocks and it looked like she got stuck, but—”
“That’s nice,” Zac said. He was looking at a sailboat on the horizon.
“So, is the Amazon rainforest very far from here?” I asked, changing the subject. Clearly, my Ginger story had bored him. Maybe I could convince my parents to cut down our beach time and go to the rainforest sooner! I was eager to see the wild animals—and not too eager to swallow any more salt water.
Zac turned to me and raised his eyebrows in a way that made me wonder whether I had asked a dumb question. “Well, yeah, the Amazon rain
forest is practically on the other side of the country,” he said, as if this was something everyone knew. Well, everyone but me. “Brazil is huge—larger than the United States, not counting Alaska. Right now we’re in Bahia, one of twenty-six states here in Brazil. It’s famous for soccer, and seafood, and…”
As my brother rambled on, I felt like I was back in school listening to someone’s geography report. My eyes began to glaze over as Zac continued to lecture me. “Okay, okay! I get it,” I interrupted, annoyed. “The Amazon rainforest is far away.”
Zac’s mouth snapped shut and he nodded. “Fine. Just trying to be helpful,” he said curtly. “You asked me a question, remember?”
For an awkward moment we just looked at each other, and neither of us had anything to say.
Something about Zac was different. Every time Ama used to come home from a trip she’d joke that Zac and I had grown so much she hardly recognized us. But this time, it wasn’t just that my brother looked different. He acted different, too.
And now I realized that I didn’t even know how to talk to him.
efore we left for Praia Tropical, Mom and Dad took us to visit Pelourinho, Salvador’s historic district. In the more modern area of the city near our hotel, the streets had been paved and the buildings were clean and new. But here in Pelourinho, I felt as if I had stepped out of a time machine. Old stone churches towered up toward the clear blue sky. Inside, some even glistened with gold. Real gilt paint and gold leaf! I took lots of photos to show Abby.
My mother is an architect who restores historic buildings, and as we walked, she pointed out the different kinds of architecture and explained what the buildings were made of. Dad’s a history professor at Washington University in St. Louis, so whenever there was a plaque on a building or it was featured in his guidebook, he’d get all excited.
Each of the colonial buildings that lined both sides of the gray stone streets was drenched in bright colors—green, yellow, blue, red, orange—and the way the colored roofs and gables slanted up, one on top of another, reminded me of an open box of crayons. As we maneuvered down the narrow sidewalks, Dad tried to walk and read his guidebook at the same time, and he would have fallen twice had Mom not been there to steer him.
Dad pointed to the page that he was reading and said, “It says here that much of the food, music, and culture around us was influenced by African heritage that goes back centuries.”
I trained my camera on a group of dark-skinned women who all wore white, layered dresses with frilly sleeves, white headscarves, and colorful beaded necklaces. They stood behind tables that held several trays of delicious-looking snacks. One woman carried a handful of rainbow-colored ribbons. Was there a festival going on? I was about to ask Dad if it said anything in his guidebook about some sort of event when I heard a rumbling in the distance.
“What’s that sound?” I asked Zac.
“Drums. Wherever you are in Salvador, you can hear them,” Zac answered. “To the Brazilian people, music is like air. It’s just a natural part of life.” He playfully drummed on the top of my head.
When I was younger I would have loved this. But I wasn’t a little girl anymore. I pushed him away.
Across the town square we came across a church with an iron gate guarding the entrance. You had to look closely to see the gate, because every inch of it was covered with colorful ribbons just like those I had seen the woman in white carrying by the handful. I pulled out my camera and took a photo of the ribbons fluttering in the breeze.
“It’s beautiful,” Mom said with a gasp.
“Are the ribbons for decoration?” I asked.
“Those are wish ribbons,” Zac explained. “Senhor do Bonfim, the savior of Bahia, grants the wishes of anyone who ties a ribbon around their wrist or something like a church gate.”
Wish ribbons? I loved the idea! “Can I get one?” I asked. “I saw a lady in white holding a ton of them!”
Zac nodded. As he led us across the square, he explained about the ladies wearing white. “They’re called Baianas, or women of Bahia. You’ll see them all over Salvador, selling traditional Afro Brazilian food and, of course, wish bracelets.”
The woman in the white dress greeted us with a big smile and asked me which color I would like. Zac explained that each color has a special meaning. Red was for strength and passion, yellow for success, turquoise for love and peace, pink for friendship, and so on. I selected orange for courage.
Dad dug into his wallet and gave the woman a couple of colorful Brazilian dollar bills, which Zac had told me are called reals.
I held out my wrist for Zac to help me tie on the ribbon.
He began knotting it. “Um, dois, três,” he counted in Portuguese. “You’re supposed to have a friend tie it on using three knots. Then you make a different wish for each knot. Wearing the ribbon reminds you of your wishes, and when it falls off your wishes have been granted.”
I closed my eyes and thought of a wish that I wanted to come true so badly that I wished it three times:
I wish for the courage to swim in the ocean.
I wish for the courage to swim in the ocean.
I wish for the courage to swim in the ocean.
I looked down and admired my bracelet. “What if I just cut it off to get my wish?” I asked.
“That would bring bad luck,” Zac said. “The bracelet has to fall off on its own.”
“How long will that take?” I asked, examining the ribbon. I really needed it to fall off immediately, because we’d probably visit the beach again when we got to Praia Tropical.
“It could take a while,” Zac explained. “A week, a month, maybe several months.”
Several months?! We were going to be at the beach all week. There was no way I could wait that long.
he drive from Salvador up the coast was going to take more than three hours, and I was already bored. “So how are you?” I asked Zac as we sped toward Praia Tropical in my parents’ rental car.
“Sleepy,” he said, stretching his arms.
“I was hoping we could talk,” I said as I lowered the window. The warm breeze was soothing. “You know, catch up with each other.”
“Okay, sure, Cricket.” Zac stifled a yawn. “You start.” He slipped his sunglasses on.
There was so much I wanted to tell him—about my teacher Ms. Swain, and my photography, and Ginger, and…Zac fell asleep before I could say one word. I didn’t have much time to feel insulted, though, because I fell asleep shortly after him.
My brother and I woke up at the same time, just as we were pulling into Resort Castelo de Areia, which Zac said means “Sand Castle Hotel.” As I gazed at the lush tropical beauty of the beach unfolding before me, I felt as if I had wandered into a dream. The golden sand seemed to stretch for miles, and tall palm trees bowed toward the water. The sea was a deep, translucent shade of turquoise blue and looked as if it were lit from below. A rainbow of worn wooden rowboats rested on the sand with nets and barnacled cages tossed haphazardly onboard, while local fishermen laughed and swapped stories in the shade. I touched my compass necklace. Ama would have loved it here.
“We’d better hurry if we want to get in some beach time before the sun sets,” Mom said as soon as we dropped off our suitcases in our room.
Gulp. We hadn’t even been here for five minutes and already my family was ready to hit the waves. Trying to stall, I slowly opened my suitcase and pretended to dig around for my swimsuit. Then I saw my camera and had an idea. While the thought of swimming in the ocean still made me nervous, looking at it was something I was happy to do.
“I’ll race you to the water,” Zac said. “And I promise not to splash you this time.”
“Um, no. I need to take some photos.”
Zac spun around. “Photos? Now?”
“Yeah,” I said. But I could tell he needed a better excuse. “They’re for, um…a homework assignment,” I said weakly.
“Seriously?” Zac snorted. “You’re in Brazil. At the beach. O
n vacation. Come on, Cricket! Your homework can wait—let’s swim!”
I bristled. Before Zac went off to college, I was happy to do whatever he wanted to do, and I loved any attention he gave me. But now I wished he’d leave me alone.
I noticed that he had a glob of sunscreen on his face where he hadn’t rubbed it all the way in. I didn’t tell him about it.
“Zac,” I said sweetly, “I know it’s summer here and you’re on vacation, but back in St. Louis school is in session. Not only do I have to keep up with my homework, but I have to do an extra-credit assignment about Brazil.” I picked up a math book, along with Ama’s first journal. I was almost halfway through it, and it was giving me some ideas for my extra-credit assignment. I slipped the books into a light backpack, along with my camera, and followed Zac out the back door of our room and onto a path to the beach.
My parents were walking hand in hand way ahead of us, but my mother did her mom thing where you think she can’t hear you, but she can. Teachers have this skill, too.
Mom turned around and gave me a warm smile. “I know we promised Ms. Swain that you’d do all your assignments, but we’re also here to have fun, Lea. There will be plenty of time for homework at night.”
I nodded and clutched my camera. Maybe I could just take a few photos. After all, with the sun hitting the water, it looked as if someone had tossed a million jewels across the surface of the sea. “I’m going to take some pictures first,” I announced. “Abby is going to want to see this!”
My parents shrugged and threw our towels down on some beach chairs before running into the foamy white waves with Zac close behind. Mom and Zac swam so far out that all I could see were their heads bobbing in the water. Dad stayed closer to shore near me.
Will I ever be brave enough to swim in the ocean? I wondered as I hit the zoom button on my camera to frame a shot of Mom and Zac.
So I got some salt water in my eyes and nose, and sand in my mouth—that’s not a big deal, right? Zac once ate dirt when he was little. And that was on purpose.
Maybe I could try it again.
