Maggie Malone Makes a Splash (5 page)

Zac pulls a couple of mops and buckets from a tiny metal closet. “Bow or stern?” he asks me and I figure we must have some really funny secret language because I have no idea what he's talking about.

“Zeep or chong?” I reply.

“What'd you just say?” Zac says with a sideways smile. He thinks I'm hilarious so I keep going, and this time I throw in some robotic arms.

“Dirp or tang?” I say, really getting into it this time with my robot moves.

“What the…” Zac looks really confused, and I can feel my face getting hot because I realize that there is no secret language and I'm a total ding-a-ling.

“Wait! I get it! You're doing the robot from that old
Lost
in
Space
episode we watched! Good one!” Zac continues. “But I think it was more like this: ‘Greetings, earthling. Take me to your leader.'” Zac does the robot arms and cocks his head to the side.

Seriously, Malone? You just got super lucky. You don't want to blow this before you even get to dip your little toe in the water!

“Okay, so
bow
?” Zac asks, motioning to the front of the boat with a mop. “Or
stern
?” he asks, motioning to the back of the boat.

“Oh!” I say, finally remembering that those are the weird names for the front and back of a boat. “Bow, please!”

“Good choice,” Zac says, handing me a mop. “You don't want to torture Skipper back there waiting on you. Are you sure he's not at least part golden retriever?”

“I know, right?” I say because that sweet little dolphin really does love me—er, Marina. Whatever.

We clean the deck of the boat, and Lexi comes up the stairs carrying a giant plastic bottle. “Have you kids put on your sunscreen yet?” she asks, setting it at the top of the steps.

Holy cannoli, I can only imagine all the shades of red I'd turn if I didn't lotion up. This Irish skin does not tan. It burns, peels, and freckles. Then does it all over again, in that order.

“No, ma'am. Thank you!” I say, pumping a huge handful from the bottle.

“Hey, Zac, when you're a world-famous oceanographer yourself, you're going to have to hire somebody to remind you to put this stuff on,” Lexi says with a laugh.

“You planning to ditch me or something, Aunt Lexi?” Zac asks.

“Never,” Lexi says, and I get little goose bumps all over my arms. I love that Zac's family is so awesome.

I take my time spackling myself with sunblock from head to toe. I'm still traumatized by the gnarly sunburn I got last summer when my family went to River World for the day. I was in such a rush to get into that wave pool that I missed about half of my body when I was putting on my SPF 70. I looked like a red-and-white zebra when we got home, and my mom made me soak in a bathtub filled with vinegar.
Pee-yoo!
It did take away some of the sting, but my skin stunk like salad dressing for a week.

“I'm ready for my swim!” I announce, but everybody has gone to work on their next chore. There sure seem to be a lot of chores on a boat.

I walk to the back of the boat—the stern!—lay my towel across the railing, and look at this dolphin that's going completely berserk. He's nodding his head, like,
Come
on!
And I think he may even be foaming at the mouth, he's so jazzed for me to get in the water with him. It's hard to tell. Don't get me wrong—he's adorable, but can I tell you? Up close, he's
huge
. And kind of looks like a shark. This really is like a dream come true to get to swim with Skipper, but…but what if he takes one dolphin whiff of me, realizes I'm not really Marina, and rips me to shreds? What? It could happen!

Just then, Skipper dives into the water, comes back to the surface, and sprays me with that butthole thing on his head.

Ewww! There has to be some kind of poop or snot mixed in with whatever he just hosed me down with.
As terrified as I am to jump in, the thought of being covered in slimy dolphin snot is even worse, so I gather up my courage.

“Okay, buddy,” I tell Skipper. “Here I come!” I pinch my nose with one hand, cross the fingers on the other—you know, for good luck—and plunge into the water.

As fast as you can say
salty
sardines
, Skipper tucks his nose under my right arm and we're off like a shot. Like, through the water really fast. This guy is massive and super muscular and his skin feels like rubbery silk, which I love. But I have to say I don't really see why this would be called “swimming with Skipper” since it's more like being dragged along like a forgotten bumper on a speed boat. It feels like somebody just opened up a fire hydrant. On my face. But I manage to crane my neck above the water for a gulp of air. Sweet, delicious air.

Luckily, before I swallow my weight in water, Skipper slows to a manageable speed, like only
half
the speed of light, and then stops.
Whew!
I catch my breath and see the buoy in the distance. Skipper nods at me.

“What is it, buddy?” I say, treading water and talking to this adorable dolphin that almost drowned me. If he did drown me, I'm pretty sure he'd save me too.

“
Eeee
eee
eee
eee
eee
!
” Well, that's what he says. Again, he motions toward the buoy.

“What? You want to race?” I ask, and those must have been the magic words because Skipper totally flips his wig. Well, not literally, because he's a dolphin and dolphins obviously don't wear wigs. What I mean is he goes crazy again like a dog waiting for somebody to throw a tennis ball.

I
guess
I'm going to race a dolphin
, I think to myself. And just to make it even more ridiculous, I'll try and do the butterfly—only the hardest stroke known to the swimming universe—because that's probably what Marina would do.

“All right, boy! Let's
go
!” I announce, throwing my arms over my head, and the most amazing thing happens: I glide through the water like an Olympian. For real. Up and over, down, then up again. It's like nothing I've ever felt before, and at the same time, it's like I've done this every day of my whole, entire life. I look to my right and there's Skipper beside me. I know, from experience, that he can go a lot faster, but he's choosing to stay by my side.

This
is
like
a
dream.

We reach the buoy in record time, and when we do, Skipper leans in and gives me a gentle nudge, like a dolphin hug. It makes me realize that I'm for sure not dreaming and that this just might be the single most fantastic moment of my life.

I sense it before I feel it, and I feel it before I hear it: another boat. Skipper and I are splashing around, playing this game he must play with Marina where I hold my arms over my head in a giant V, and he dives really deep and then comes shooting to the surface before bursting through the half circle and flipping in the air. It's cooler than one of those shows at Ocean World, probably because I'm
actually
in
the
show
. I clap and wave my arms, and he does it again and again and it's out-of-this-world awesome.

I squint and try to scope out the approaching boat. At first I figure it's Finn—my dad for the day—coming back from his reef exploration, but this isn't any dinghy. This boat is
enormous
, bigger than the
Sea
Angel
by two times at least.

Pirates!
I think with alarm, looking around frantically and realizing there is nowhere to hide. Still, I duck my head behind the buoy and peer around the side.
Pirates
aren't real, you dodo
, I tell myself, trying to forget Auntie Fi's story about the time she was kidnapped by pirates on the high seas. Fortunately she got away—apparently she was wearing a fabulous gold-and-ruby ring an Egyptian king had given her and she was able to buy her freedom with it—but still. I don't think my rainbow swimsuit is going to buy me much of anything if a boatload of pirates scoops me up.

The huge boat is about to reach the
Sea
Angel
, and from my perch behind the buoy I can see it's some sort of official-looking boat with lights on the top, almost like a police boat. Just then I see Captain Jack and Lexi rushing to the back of the trawler. Captain Jack's got his hands full of some sort of equipment, and Lexi is waving her arms at him and whisper-yelling at him. Even from here I can see she's all red in the face. I see Captain Jack shove whatever was in his hands into one of the lockers that's hidden under the big cushions on the back deck, like he's hiding something. What would he be hiding, I wonder, and why?

I feel like I'm watching a movie, only without the delicious buttered popcorn and supersize Sprite. I watch as the big boat ties itself to the
Sea
Angel
and slowly swings to the side. When it does, I can make out the words “Coast Guard” on the side. I want to cry with relief. They're the nice guys who come to help you when your boat is sinking or tell you when a big storm is coming. Grandpa Winston was in the Coast Guard—that's where he fell in love with the “Great Big Blue” as he liked to call the ocean.

I watch as three uniformed men step from the Coast Guard boat onto the
Sea
Angel
. Lexi and Captain Jack rush to greet them, and now they're all smiles. Maybe I watch too many movies. I mean, why does my brain always race straight to the dark side? I should probably work on that. Captain Jack and Lexi were probably just cleaning up the place for unexpected guests.

I give Skipper the arm wave I've already learned means “Let's go!” and we race back to the
Sea
Angel
. Again, I'm amazed by my grace and skills. (I can say that because they're technically not “mine.”) I really am incredible! I sure wish Coach King—better yet, his bratty daughter Brianna—was here to see me!

“Do you folks have any idea how lucky you are?” one of the uniformed guys is saying as I reach the boat. “I mean, there are exactly two permits in the whole world to be anywhere
near
this reef, and you guys have one of them. Do you know who has the other one?”

Lexi and Captain Jack shake their heads.

“The Coast Guard!” The guy laughs. “Us! That's it. Just you and us, the only two boats who are allowed to be here for any reason, under any circumstances. We trust you won't abuse that privilege, right? Because it is a privilege. A pretty incredible one.”

“Good morning, gentlemen,” I say, pulling myself up the little ladder that hangs off the aft deck. (That's a dive platform attached to the back of the boat. I heard Zac call it that before. I'd have surely called it “that little wooden-deck-thingy-on-the-back” so I was happy to have this information.)

“Miss Tide,” one of the men says, nodding in my direction, obviously aware of who I am. I nod back and give him my best Miss Universe smile.

“As I was saying,” the other man says, clearing his throat. “Command is doing some maintenance on our radio communication this week, so we're switching call signs. You can get us on 1111 if you need anything.”

Eleven-eleven—that's my favorite time of day. Stella and I make a wish every time we catch it on a clock. Speaking of Stella, I make a mental note to thank her for sending me the link to those Flynn Tide videos. I spent a whole weekend watching them, and I know the Tide family legacy inside and out, back to Great-Great-
Great
Grandpa Milton “the Marlin” Tide who was a First Sea Lord—that's like the tippy-top guy—of the British Royal Navy. It feels great to be prepared when you're put in a sticky situation.

The thing is, I have no idea how sticky this particular situation is about to get.