Lea 3-Book Collection

by Lisa Yee

  “How does it feel to walk on the bottom of the ocean?” Zac asked.

  I shook my head in confusion. Was he teasing me again?

  “It’s low tide right now,” he explained. “In a few hours, when the tide comes in, this will all be covered with water.”

  Zac knelt down and motioned for me to join him. “Look,” he said, pointing into a shallow pool.

  A shell stirred and scampered away.

  “What was that?” I asked, reaching for my camera.

  Zac lit up. “Look closer,” he said.

  I leaned in. Other shells were moving, too. And they seemed to have legs. They weren’t just shells, but hermit crabs!

  Zac waved me over to another small pool of water. It was less than a foot around and only a few inches deep—and filled with a parade of pastel colors.

  “That’s coral,” Zac explained. “I learned about this in my oceanography class. It looks like rock, but it’s actually living and provides shelter for a lot of fish and other creatures.”

  “Look!” I exclaimed, pointing. A tiny black fish darted around quickly, before retreating behind some nubby pink coral.

  Instinctively, I started snapping pictures. But when I looked at the photos, I realized I was only photographing my own reflection on the surface of the water. That’s when I remembered that my camera was waterproof!

  The camera had been a gift from Ama for my tenth birthday. When I first opened the box, I was excited, but also confused—where could I possibly use an underwater camera in St. Louis?

  “Is this to use at the pool?” I asked.

  “The pool, the bathtub, streams, rivers, lakes, oceans,” Ama said, sneaking a taste of lemon buttercream frosting off my birthday cake. “You never know when you’ll need a camera that can shoot on land and sea. You’re an award-winning photographer, Lea—you should have a good camera!”

  “But Ama, how am I supposed to use an underwater camera without going underwater?” She knew that I preferred to swim freestyle with my face above the surface.

  “I didn’t even learn how to swim until I was twice your age,” she replied. “You’re capable of more than you know, Lea.”

  She saw the doubt in my eyes and gave me a hug. “We’ll work on it together,” Ama promised. “You’ll use that camera underwater someday when the time is right. There’s no hurry.”

  But Ama passed away before she had a chance to fulfill her promise.

  I dipped my camera lens into the water. Inches beneath the glassy surface of the tide pool I witnessed another world. My camera captured scenes I could not even see from the surface. Plants sprouted out of the bumpy, multicolored coral, where small fish and other creatures sought refuge.

  As I made my way across the tide pools with my camera, I marveled at this new world revealing itself to me. It reminded me of the dioramas we had made in third grade, each a scene from a story we had read. Inside each tide pool were hundreds of stories. I could have spent hours exploring. Maybe I did. I lost track of time.

  I stood up and looked around for Zac. He was on the shore sitting on some rocks, and his hair was wet.

  “Did you go in the water?” I asked as I made my way toward him.

  “Just a quick swim,” he said. “Mostly I’ve been sitting here and watching the waves. Did you get your pictures?”

  I nodded and sat down next to him. “Lots of them,” I said. “Want to see?” I was anxious to show off my photography skills.

  “Maybe later,” he said. “I’m starved. Are you hungry?”

  I pretended to look out at the ocean to disguise how hurt I felt that he wasn’t interested in my photos. Just when I thought things between us were getting back to normal…

  “Yeah, sure,” I said sullenly, making no attempt to hide my disappointment.

  “Great—I’ll go get lunch. You can wait here if you want.” He stood up and stretched before running down the beach toward a food stand.

  I sighed and decided to take more photos while I waited for him. There were lots of families around—some were sprawled on beach towels, others sat under the shade of umbrellas staked into the sand—and they were every kind of color and complexion I could imagine. It was as if people from every part of the world had all gathered on the beach in Brazil. I started taking photos for my blog. I took some photos of one family that all had the same red hair, same red sunburn, and same British accent. There were a lot of people in the water, including children much younger than me.

  I trained my camera on a swimmer making her way toward the shore with long, strong strokes. What I would have given to be able to swim like that! As she pulled herself out of the water, I realized that she was the same girl who had been at the restaurant the night before. The one who had waved to me. She caught me staring at her, and a flash of recognition shone on her face.

  “Olá!” she shouted. She broke into a jog, heading straight for me.

  “Olá?” I said tentatively. Did she remember what a fool I had made of myself with the super-spicy stew?

  The girl’s brown eyes were shining. She wrung out her wet hair and fashioned it in a tight bun without even using clips or a rubber band.

  “Olá, meu nome é Camila! Você está visitando?” she said in a rush.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. “Um…I don’t speak Portuguese,” I said apologetically.

  The girl let go of a bright giggle. Her smile was kind, and I could tell that she wasn’t laughing at me. “I can speak English,” she said with a lilting Brazilian accent. “You are from the United States, correct? I think we should be friends, don’t you?”

  Before I could answer, she exclaimed, “Yes! Let’s be friends!”

  And that’s how I met the whirlwind named Camila Cavalcante.

  By the time I spotted Zac heading back with lunch, Camila had already told me all about herself. She had been talking so fast that it was hard to follow her, but from what I could understand, she was ten years old like me, and her mother owned a clothing boutique.

  Camila had lots of relatives in Chicago and she visited them every year, which explained why her English was so good. School was out, and she was on her summer vacation.

  “I like to swim while my mãe, my mother, eats lunch,” she explained, waving to someone sitting on a nearby bench. When the woman waved back, I recognized her from Moda Praia, the clothing store where I had seen the beautiful dress.

  Camila was so animated when she spoke. Her hands were in constant motion and she thought nothing of leaning close to talk as if we were sharing secrets. Back home, it usually takes me a long time to make friends since, unlike Zac, I can be kind of quiet around new people. But with Camila, quiet wasn’t an option. She asked me a thousand questions, and soon I found myself laughing along with her as if we had been friends for life.

  “Olá!” Camila greeted Zac as he came toward us.

  “Olá!” he called back. He had his hands full with fresh fruit, savory snacks wrapped in brown paper, and smoothies.

  “This is my new friend, Camila—” I started to say. But before I could finish introducing them, Zac and Camila were chattering away in Portuguese. Every time I tried to get a word in, one of them would speak louder or start laughing at something the other said. I couldn’t understand either of them. It was as though Zac and Camila were the friends, and I was just some stranger standing awkwardly nearby. When they laughed, I tried to laugh along, too. But it was frustrating not to understand what they were saying.

  Suddenly Zac’s stomach growled so loudly that Camila and I burst out laughing. He blushed and excused himself as he took a big bite of pastry. Now that his mouth was full, I was finally able to continue my conversation with Camila.

  She pointed to my wrist. “You have a wish bracelet,” she noted. “Orange is for courage.”

  I tugged at the ribbon, hoping to accidentally-on-purpose loosen one of the three knots. “I’m really hoping it starts working soon,” I told her. I thought about my failed attemp
ts at venturing into the ocean. So far, the bracelet had given me nothing but false hope.

  I swallowed back the tightness in my throat and bit into a banana. It was smaller than the ones at home and much sweeter.

  “You have to have patience,” Camila explained. “Sometimes your wish comes true before you even notice it.”

  I nodded, grateful for Camila’s encouragement.

  Zac offered Camila some fruit, but she was content just to keep talking. I bit into the other pastry Zac had brought. He told me it was called pastel de forno. The tender golden piecrust was folded and crimped so that I could eat it with one hand, and it was stuffed with a deliciously spiced meat that left me wanting more.

  Zac polished off the last of his lunch and washed it down with an açaí berry smoothie. “Ladies,” he said, “if you don’t mind, I’ll go for a swim while you chat.”

  Before we could reply, he went off sprinting toward the water.

  “You’re a really great swimmer,” I told Camila as we watched Zac doing the backstroke. “I wish I could swim like you.”

  She shrugged. “I grew up at the beach. My mother jokes that I could swim before I could walk.”

  Camila was surprised when I told her that I had never seen the ocean before, and even more surprised when I revealed that I was afraid to put my face in the water. “I got hit by a wave and I thought I was going to drown,” I confessed. It was so easy to talk to her.

  Instead of laughing, Camila confided, “I am afraid of…” She paused, then whispered, “I’m afraid of heights.”

  “Lots of people are,” I assured her.

  I thought about Ama hang gliding in Australia. In her journal she had written that she was nervous at first, so she signed up to hang glide in tandem—with someone else. After a successful, and fun, flight, her nerves melted away, and she couldn’t wait to go solo.

  “Camila,” I asked, “is there someplace near here where the waves aren’t quite as big? I really do want to swim in the ocean, but, well—”

  Just then, Zac ran up to us and grabbed a towel to dry off. “We’re late!”

  “Late for what?” I asked.

  “Turtles. Remember the turtle sanctuary?”

  I had forgotten. Still, as excited as I was to go to the sanctuary, I was sad to leave my new friend. I turned to Camila. “Can we meet again later?”

  “Claro que sim—of course! I’ll be at Moda Praia all afternoon,” she said. “Come by when you’re free.”

  I was startled when Camila gave me a huge good-bye hug, but then I hugged her back and we both grinned.

  As Zac and I headed back to the hotel, I asked him, “How do you say ‘friend’ in Portuguese?”

  “Amiga,” he said.

  “Amiga,” I repeated. I had made an amiga in Brazil!

  om and Dad were waiting for us at the hotel. Both looked slightly sunburned and majorly happy.

  “We had a great time kayaking!” Dad enthused.

  “He wanted to bring a kayak home, but couldn’t figure out how to fit it in a suitcase,” Mom said, laughing.

  “Who’s ready to see turtles?” my father asked. “Get it? Sea turtles…”

  Zac and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes.

  The sanctuary was about a mile away, and we decided to walk. Zac and Dad led the way as Mom and I followed and I told her all about Camila.

  We made our way down a closed-off street, and in the distance I could see the entrance for the turtle sanctuary with a big sign overhead that read “Amigos do Oceano Santuário das Tartarugas Marinhas.” Dad paid and we got our hands stamped with a cute turtle design.

  As the tour guide led us into the sanctuary, I took in all the sights, snapping pictures whenever I could. First we walked through an acrylic walkway cut through the center of a giant aquarium. All around us were turtles, fish, and other sea creatures. It was so cool. Is this what it’s like to swim underwater in the ocean? I wondered. Is this what I have been missing?

  We continued down the path, where life-size wooden cutouts of sea turtles towered over me. We passed pristine pools that held the biggest turtles I had ever seen. On the other side of the path, tiny baby turtles waddled around smaller pools. I couldn’t wait to write about this in my blog!

  The guide stopped and spoke in Portuguese as I took photos for my blog. Zac translated: “Until about thirty years ago, little was known about the sea turtles. They used to be hunted for their meat and eggs and their beautiful shells. We didn’t realize that it takes thirty years for them to be old enough to reproduce and that they were becoming endangered. Now there are laws against poaching them and organizations, like Amigos do Oceano, that help them.”

  I looked at the turtles of different colors and sizes, and couldn’t help thinking of Ginger. My heart ached at the thought of them ever becoming extinct.

  “What about these?” I asked, pointing to the small pool that held the baby turtles. “Is this where they’re born?”

  Zac turned to the guide and began speaking in Portuguese. As they talked, Zac’s voice rose and he looked like he had just won a prize.

  “What?” I asked, tapping his shoulder. “Zac, what is he saying?”

  At last, my brother and the guide parted. “Guess what!” Zac began excitedly. “Tonight is one of the nights the baby turtles hatch and make their way to the ocean.”

  My eyes grew big. “Tonight?”

  Zac nodded. “The volunteer says we can watch as long as we’re respectful of the turtles and don’t get in their way.”

  “We can go, right?” I asked Dad. “Please, please, please, please?”

  “Hmm,” he said, wrinkling his brow. “I’m getting a vague feeling that you want to see the hatchlings?”

  “Can we?” I held my breath.

  He pointed to Mom. “Ask the boss,” he said.

  Mom gathered me in her arms. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she assured me.

  Back at the hotel, Zac was antsy. He tapped his fingers on the desk and sighed a lot. He had always hated being cooped up indoors. I ignored him as I wrote my first blog post about the turtle sanctuary. Finally Zac nudged Dad, who had just spread out on the couch. “What are we going to do between now and the turtle hatch tonight?”

  “All that kayaking this morning has worn me out,” Dad said, yawning. “I think I’ll take a nap.”

  Mom nodded. “I’m going to relax and read.”

  “Didn’t you say you wanted to try surfing?” Zac asked hopefully. “There’s still time for the beach before the sun sets.”

  Mom looked like she was deep in thought. “Maybe later,” she mused. “I’ll just read for now.”

  “I’m almost done with my post, and I told Camila I’d drop by her mom’s store this afternoon,” I said. “Will you take me, Zac?”

  “There’s an idea,” Mom said, winking at me. “Zac, go with your sister, all right?”

  “Do I even have a choice?” my brother asked.

  “No,” Mom and Dad said at the same time.

  “You owe me, Cricket,” Zac sighed as he grabbed his sunglasses.

  Just as she had said she would be, Camila was helping her mother at Moda Praia. I grinned when I saw what she was wearing.

  “I love your dress,” I said. It was the one that I had admired earlier.

  Camila smiled and spun around to show it off. “Me too!” she said. “It just came in this week.”

  I knew what I would be spending my birthday money on.

  After introductions, Senhora Cavalcante said that Camila could spend the rest of the afternoon with us.

  “Let’s go!” Camila said to Zac and me. “There’s something I want to show you.”

  She led us through the streets of Praia Tropical, and soon we came upon a cheering crowd that had gathered in the town square. Two men were circling each other, kicking and spinning.

  “It’s a fight,” I gasped, alarmed.

  “Actually, it’s capoeira,” Camila explained. “Hear the music?
It’s a tradition that African slaves brought to Brazil. It’s really martial arts, but it looks like a dance, and it’s very popular here.”

  We watched the young men move to the beat of the music and cheered along with the rest of the spectators. It was like kickboxing and ballet, and the two men sparred to the music like athletes on a dance floor. I took out my camera and shot a video to put up on my blog later.

  The young men finished with a bow, and the crowd cheered and started to disperse. I had just turned to Camila to ask where she was taking us next when Zac suddenly advanced in my direction and pretended to take a swing at me.

  I backed away and yelled, “What are you doing?!”

  “Capoeira?” Zac said, like it was something I should have known.

  I felt myself turn red.

  Okay, I thought, I can play this game, too. So I advanced toward him, then backed away, and he did the same as we circled each other, pretending to land punches and kicks. To be funny, Zac kept tapping me on the top of my head and laughing. Camila laughed, too. But not me. The more he did it the madder I got, until I shoved him hard.

  “Hey!” Zac yelled. “What are you doing? I thought we were just playing around!”

  “Sorry,” I grumbled. But I wasn’t.

  Camila was bouncing up and down, practicing capoeira with an invisible partner. When Zac turned from me and started sparring with her, she didn’t hesitate to duck and take fake swings at him. She was like a whirlwind! Unlike some of the girls in my class who try hard to act cool and not get too excited about things, Camila sparkled with enthusiasm. I wished I could be more like her.

  And yet, here I was, upset with Zac for trying to have fun with me. I tried to tell myself to lighten up. But Zac had embarrassed me, and I couldn’t shake off my hurt feelings.

  “Where are we going now?” Zac asked Camila. They had stopped with the capoeira and were walking together, while I followed along, alone.