Out of Season Read online

  Out of Season

  Kari Jones

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  Copyright © 2012 Kari Jones

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Jones, Kari, 1966-

  Out of season [electronic resource] / Kari Jones.

  (Orca currents)

  Electronic monograph.

  Issued also in print format.

  ISBN 978-1-4598-0098-4(PDF).--ISBN 978-1-4598-0099-1(EPUB)

  I. Title. II. Series: Orca currents (Online)

  PS8619.05328098 2012 JC813’.6 C2011-907789-2

  First published in the United States, 2012

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011943723

  Summary: Fourteen-year-old Maya uses her kayaking skills to save a family of sea otters from poachers.

  Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council®.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Cover photography by Getty Images

  Author photo by Ryan Rock

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO Box 5626, Stn. B PO Box 468

  Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA

  V8R 6S4 98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  15 14 13 12 • 4 3 2 1

  To Wyatt, in welcome

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter One

  I hear Dad’s motor roar off across the bay, and I know it’s time. I close the back door with a click and wait to make sure I didn’t wake Mom, then tiptoe across the yard to the dock. My life jacket fits easily over my head. I slide the kayak into the water. In the early morning gray, the boat looks like a seal slipping off a rock.

  I dip my paddle into the water and glide away from shore, keeping to the shoreline to hide under overhanging tree branches and behind rocks. When I’m far enough away from the house that I can make some noise, I dig my paddle into the water harder. The kayak surges forward. On a calm day like today, I can be out of Oyster Bay and around Rugged Point in ten minutes. Then it’s only another ten minutes to Riley Bay, where the sea otters live in the kelp beds. I can spend an hour with them before Mom notices I’m missing.

  Mom would have a fit if she knew I was doing this. She’d worry I’d get hurt. She’d imagine rogue waves carrying me out to sea or angry sea lions biting my boat in half. She’s like that, my mom. Dad’s not. He taught me to kayak. I’ll tell him about these trips soon, but for now, this time with the sea otters is all mine.

  I round the headland, leaning into the sudden wind. I curve the boat tightly around the rocks and into Riley Bay. As soon as I’m in the bay, I relax and paddle more slowly.

  I’ve been coming out here for five days now, and every morning I wonder if the sea otters are still going to be here. So far, I haven’t heard anyone at school or in town mention them. I hope I’m the only one who knows about them. If someone finds out, the sea otters could die.

  Last year a fisherman shot a sea otter farther up the coast. He said it was destroying the catch. That’s what happens to animals that eat fish around here. No one has time for them.

  Having sea otters is a gift. They’re so beautiful, and rare.

  There is no way I’m letting anything happen to them, even if I have to check on them every day for the rest of my life.

  Riley Bay is full of rocks and tiny islands and a long kelp bed. The sloping hills block the sun, so I don’t see the sea otters until I’m almost on top of them. Their black heads look like bull kelp bulbs. Their flippers are like waving seaweed. Most people wouldn’t notice them at all. They are the most beautiful animals I’ve ever seen. They have black eyes and teddy-bear snouts, and they curve and twist in the water like acrobats when they play in the waves. They’re smart too. They use rocks to crush sea urchins.

  Today they’re resting in the kelp.

  “Hey, guys,” I say. They know I’m here. I’m sure of it. They’re relaxing, so I relax too. I balance my paddle across my cockpit and lean forward.

  Two of the otters swim toward me. They lie on their backs, looking up. One is bigger than the other, almost as big as me. They’ve wrapped their flippers together like they’re holding hands.

  “Hi, Gertrude. Hi, Oscar,” I say. They look at me but don’t swim any closer. “How’s the fishing?” I want to reach out and stroke their cute noses, but I know better than that, so I splash the water next to the kayak instead. Lilly, the smaller otter, slaps the water with her tail.

  I could stay here forever watching these guys play, but it’s not long before a shot of sunlight sprays over the hills of Riley Bay, and I know I should head home.

  But Gertrude is eating another sea urchin. I have to watch her smack open the shell against a rock on her tummy, then scrape out the flesh by holding it to her mouth with her flippers. She uses her teeth as fingers to grab the meat inside. When she’s done, I look up to see the sun is too high in the sky.

  If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late.

  I put my paddle in the water and take a stroke. The otters back away and watch me. I take one last look, then turn the kayak toward home. As the kayak glides forward, I glance up to the hillside, and my stroke falters. Someone is standing at the top of the hill. I can’t tell who it is, but they’re watching me play with the sea otters.

  Chapter Two

  What have I done? With two strokes I move behind the shelter of a rock. My heart races. Who was that? What did they see? I pray that it’s not the same fisherman who shot the sea otters last year.

  I can’t leave now. I sneak between two rocks in the middle of Riley Bay so I can get a better view of the person on the hill. I’ve never seen anyone up there before. Why would someone be at the top of the hill early in the morning? We’re far from town, and no one lives around here. There are no roads. The only access is by boat. There is nothing out here except trees and rocks—and sea otters.

  My stomach clenches. Have I given the sea otters away? Are they in danger now?

  What should I do?

  I’m going to be late. If I’m late, I might be grounded, and I won’t be able to watch out for the sea otters. I look up again. The person walks along the ridge to the crest of the hill, then disappears into the trees.

  “Arghh…” I shout into the bay. I turn my kayak and race home.

  When I get close to the house, I see Dad’s boat at the dock. Mom must have called Dad and Saul home. That means she noticed I was missing. There isn’t any point in pretending. I pull my kayak up onto the dock, take off my life jacket and walk in the back door.

  I’m not happy when I see everyone sitting around the table. There’s no doubt about it, I’m in trouble. Da
d and Saul only come in for breakfast if there are no fish, or if something bad has happened. I guess I’m the something bad today.

  Saul smirks when he sees me. He’s four years older than me, and now that he’s out of school, he’s Dad’s fishing partner. He thinks that makes him better than me. Dad lifts his eyebrows. Mom says, “Where have you been? I thought you were still in bed.”

  Before I can answer, Saul says, “Kayaking.”

  Thanks, Saul. Sometimes having an older brother is frustrating. I was going to say, “Out walking.” Too late now.

  “Kayaking? Alone? Maya, how could you? You know how I feel about you being out there alone. Anything could happen. Gerry, did you know about this?” Mom turns to Dad. So do I.

  Dad will understand. He taught me how to kayak so I could explore. He gets why I kayak in the mornings. I want to say, “Tell her it’s okay, Dad.”

  Before I can open my mouth, Dad lifts his fork and waves it at me. “You stay away from that kayak, Maya.”

  “But…”

  “No buts. Your mother doesn’t want you out there. You stay off the water or there will be consequences.” He lowers his fork and spears some egg.

  Tears hit the back of my eyes. “Dad?” I say.

  He doesn’t look at me as he eats his eggs. I glance at Saul, but he’s nodding like he agrees with Dad.

  “Stay away from the kayak, Maya,” Dad says, glancing up from his food. There’s something funny about his face. This is so unlike him. It’s so unfair. My face burns, and I have a lump in my throat from trying not to cry.

  “What were you doing out there anyway?” asks Saul.

  I don’t want to answer, but Mom and Dad are watching me. I would have told them about the sea otters. I would have. But now I’m not going to. “Looking around. There are seals on Princess Rock,” I say.

  It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth.

  My voice cracks as I say, “I need to get ready for school.”

  For the rest of the morning I have to think of other things, or I want to cry. Why did Dad turn on me? I know Mom worries. I’m okay with that. But I thought Dad was on my side. Why did he betray me?

  Chapter Three

  I lie awake. Why did Dad tell me to stay away from the kayak? He’s being such a jerk. It’s not fair. He’d never say something like that to Saul.

  He taught me to kayak. He knows how much I love watching animals. With each thought, my breath grows sharper. I want to f ling my pillow across the room. What will happen to the sea otters if no one watches out for them?

  Nothing. I won’t let it.

  By morning I’m worn out, but I’ve made a decision. I can’t abandon the sea otters now that someone knows about them. I can’t stop now, no matter what Dad says. Dad’s wrong. That’s all there is to it. I’m going to have to be more careful, that’s all.

  I wait until Dad and Saul are gone, then creep out of the house. My heart beats so fast I have to put my hand over my chest to still it. No lights turn on when I close the door. I take a deep breath and check my heart again. Without looking back, I sprint across the lawn. At the dock I slip into my life jacket and slide the kayak into the water. It hardly makes a splash. I edge into the cockpit and push off. I’m going to paddle to the sea otters and make sure they’re okay and then kayak back. That’s all I’m going to do. No one will miss me.

  I see the sea otters as soon as I round the headland into Riley Bay. “Hey, guys,” I call. I smile, and my shoulders relax. Until I look up.

  Someone is standing at the top of the hill.

  Again!

  My hands shake as I grasp the paddle harder and steer my kayak away from the kelp bed. Maybe if I paddle across the bay without stopping, the man on the hillside won’t see the sea otters.

  Or maybe he already has.

  I have to find out. It’s the only way to make sure the sea otters are safe.

  It only takes me a second to paddle to shore and pull my kayak onto the rocks. What am I doing? I must be crazy. I have no idea what this man is doing up there. I turn around. But then I think of the sea otters.

  What if he catches them?

  Or worse, shoots them?

  It makes me sick to think about it. There’s nothing else to do. I start up the hill before I can change my mind.

  The hill is steep, but there are lots of tree trunks to hold on to. As I climb, I think about what I will do when I reach the top. I’ll just talk to the man, ask him what he’s doing. We’ll be two innocent people meeting on a hilltop.

  Right. If only I can convince my breathing of that.

  I’m about to rise over the crest of the hill when my foot slips, and I step on a twig. It cracks. I jump. My head hits a branch. I stuff my hand into my mouth before I cry out.

  When my head stops hurting and my heart slows, I stand up and peer over the hilltop. The man is running along the crest of the hill. He turns into the woods. Without thinking, I scramble up the last steps to the top of the hill and follow him. There are huge footprints in the mud near the edge of the trees. I track them for ten paces into the woods. Then they disappear. I spin around. Where has he gone?

  He’s vanished.

  The forest is dense. I can’t see a path. I pace across the top of the hill. How could I let him get away?

  I want to shout in frustration, but there is no point. Whoever it was is gone. If I don’t leave soon, I’ll be late.

  That would not be good.

  I don’t want to learn what consequences Dad has planned for me. I take one last look around, then head back down the hill.

  It’s harder going down than it had been coming up. Each step is more like a slide. I have to grab tree trunks to stop myself from slipping down the hill and into the water. By the time I reach the bottom, my shoes are covered in dirt and my hands are sticky with tree sap. I rinse them in the ocean so Mom and Dad won’t notice.

  I pull my kayak into the water and paddle around the rocks for a last look at the sea otters. Today they’re ignoring me. They don’t move when I paddle close.

  “Hi, guys” I say. “I can’t stay today, but I’ll come back tomorrow. I promise. I’m going to find out what’s going on. You be careful, okay?” I count one, two, three sea otters before I leave.

  I race home, letting my anger guide my paddle.

  “How.” Stroke.

  “Could.” Stroke.

  “I.” Stroke.

  “Let.” Stroke.

  “This.” Stroke.

  “Happen?” Stroke.

  Each stroke works away a bit of frustration.

  By the time I turn into Oyster Bay, I’m short of breath and my arms ache. I slow down.

  I hope Mom isn’t up yet, but in case she is, I hug the shoreline. The overhanging tree branches hide my kayak. When I’m almost home, Dad’s boat roars into the bay. He shoots across the water to our dock.

  He’s driving too fast.

  When he throttles down, he shoots a spray behind him. He almost hits the dock.

  It’s not like Dad to drive like that. What is going on? For a second I think he knows I was out kayaking. A huge sob fills my mouth.

  What will he do?

  I bite back the sob.

  I stay under the branches while Dad and Saul get out of the boat. Neither of them speaks as they walk along the dock. They give me no clues.

  When Dad and Saul are in the house, I come out from behind the tree branches. I don’t pull my kayak onto the dock in case they notice it when they come back. Instead, I hide it behind the boat shed.

  I run around the house and to the porch. I smooth down my hair and straighten my clothes, then lower myself into Mom’s chair and wait for someone to call me to breakfast.

  It feels rotten to be sneaky.

  It doesn’t take long before Mom’s voice calls out, “Maya, breakfast.” I’m about to open the door when I remember my wet shoes. I take them off and throw them onto the mat, hoping no one will notice them until they’ve dried. I take a deep breath a
nd head inside.

  Saul is in the hallway. “Stop,” he says as I try to squeeze past.

  “What?” I ask.

  He looks at his feet and shrugs, “Mom’s worried about you. You should stop.”

  “Stop what?” I say, looking right at his face.

  “You know what.”

  “No, I don’t. Tell me. What should I stop?”

  “You know. Kayaking.”

  How did he know? My clothing is dry. I took off my wet shoes. I smoothed down my hair. “What makes you think I’ve been kayaking?” I ask.

  Saul huffs. “Just stop it, okay?”

  “What I do is none of your business, Saul,” I say, and I try to squeeze past again.

  Saul grabs my arm and pushes me against the wall. “Stop kayaking, Maya, or I’ll tell Dad.”

  I yank my arm away from him and shove past. “Mind your own business, Saul,” I say. My voice sounds strong, but inside, my whole body is shaking.

  The whole morning has been freaky. Who was the person on the hill-side? Why did he run away? And most of all, why is Saul acting so strange?

  Chapter Four

  I have to figure out what’s going on. There are so many questions chasing each other in my mind that I can’t concentrate at school. In science I almost walk into the skeleton hanging by the window, and in socials I drop a pile of books on my toes. In English I can’t remember what onomatopoeia means.

  I’m too busy thinking about what to do about the sea otters. Usually, I’d talk to Dad about this.

  Obviously that’s not going to work.

  I’m concerned about him too.

  At lunchtime I spill apple juice all over myself. I give up trying to act normal and sit in a corner to make a plan.

  At dinner I say, “Mom, I have some extra work to do at school tomorrow. I’m going in early, so don’t expect me for breakfast.”

  Everyone at the table stares at me. They’re not convinced. I put on an extra-innocent face.

  Mom says, “Okay, honey. It’s about time you started concentrating on school again.”