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  Saul laughs. “As if. It’s not that easy, Maya. You saw what they’re like.”

  I can see from their faces that this is what they all believe. I stand up and walk to the other side of the boat. There must be something we can do.

  Chapter Eight

  Mom freaks out. About everything.

  “Poachers!” she says. “What are they looking for? Why would they steal the boat? What are we going to do?” She doesn’t forget to ask, “What were you doing out there, young lady? You were supposed to be at school.”

  I’m about to confess. She’s so upset, and Dad still looks like a zombie. I can’t bear to lie to them anymore. I’m about to tell them everything when Saul walks in.

  “Dad, what are we going to do without a boat?” he says. He slumps into the sofa and drops his head into his hands.

  Dad closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then says, “The coast guard will get the boat back in no time. We’ll be fine.”

  None of us believes it. Not even Dad. He shakes his head and sinks down beside Saul. Mom and I don’t move. Dad worked hard to afford that boat, and I don’t want to think about what will happen if the coast guard can’t find it.

  Dinner is so quiet, we can hear the tide lap at the shore. Mom eats slowly, as if she’s thinking. Dad slumps against the table and hardly eats at all. Saul stares at the candle in the center of the table. He shovels his food in without stopping. I eat, but I can’t taste anything.

  When we have finished with dinner, Mom clears the table and returns with four bowls and a tub of ice cream.

  “We need this tonight, I think,” she says.

  Dad sighs. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. I put everything into that boat.”

  “Maybe I can get a job at the library,” Mom says with a smile. We all know she won’t make enough money to support the family and buy a new boat.

  “You can’t give up yet,” Saul says to Dad. “There has to be something we can do.” He flings his spoon into his bowl and sinks back into his chair.

  Dad says, “I’ll talk to the coast guard. I’ll head over there right now. Maybe they’ll find the boat.” He leans over and puts his arm on Saul’s shoulder. “It’s a start, eh?”

  Saul nods but doesn’t look up until after Mom and Dad are gone. Saul and I sit and listen to the car drive away. When we can’t hear it anymore, Saul pushes his chair from the table and leaves the room.

  I go to my room and lie on my bed. I stare at the ceiling. This morning I was worried about the sea otters, and that was all. I’m still concerned about them, even more now that I know there are poachers out there. But now I’m also anxious about my family.

  How are we going to survive without a boat? What’s Dad going to do? I’m sure that Dad’s upset for Saul too. He was so excited that Saul was going to work with him this year. Now they’re both out of work. Dad must feel terrible about that.

  I roll over and bury my face in my pillow. I drift in and out of sleep. At some point, I dream I’m playing with sea otters and Dad’s beside me in his own kayak. I wake up.

  For a moment I’m happy. Then I remember what’s happened. I wonder if I should tell Dad about the sea otters. It might make him feel better. But why should I make him feel better when he doesn’t trust me?

  He’s lost everything. The truth hits me in the stomach. I lean over the bed and retch. The stench fills the room.

  We’ve all lost everything.

  When my stomach settles, I get a rag from the bathroom and clean up my mess. A million thoughts run through my head, so many I can’t hold on to any of them.

  Except one.

  All night, the thought grows in my head. When I get out of bed in the morning, I have a plan.

  It could backfire. I’m not sure if I should tell everyone about it. I walk down the stairs still undecided.

  It’s strange to eat breakfast with Saul and Dad. Usually they’re long gone by now. Dad hasn’t shaved. He sits in his housecoat and shovels in eggs. He doesn’t look at me when I walk into the room. “Good morning,” I say.

  He looks up and grunts. Saul sits in his sweatpants and stares across the room.

  “What did the coast guard say?” I ask Mom, since she actually smiles at me. She shakes her head. “Nothing useful.”

  “As usual,” says Saul.

  Dad gives Saul a stern look. “Enough. Mark works hard.”

  There’s no other conversation at the table. The silence sits on our shoulders.

  By the time I’m finished my eggs, I’ve made up my mind. I can’t let my family go on like this, even if they don’t trust me. It’s unbearable.

  “I have a plan,” I say.

  Everyone looks at me. I take a deep breath and start. “There are sea otters around here. They’ve been there for a week. I’ve gone out every morning to make sure they’re okay.” Mom and Saul both lean forward. “What if we let it out that there are sea otters around that are eating from a bed of sea urchins bigger than any other on the coast? The poachers will come looking, but we’ll be there.”

  Dad and Saul exchange glances. Dad gets up and walks around the table. None of us speaks as he paces around us.

  Finally he says, “It’s an excellent idea, Maya. We’ll hide under the tree branches and wait until they come. It’s brilliant. We’ll let the coast guard know and all the fishermen. We’ll have a whole fleet of boats nearby in case they try to run for it.”

  My heart sinks. Dad thinks this is a good plan. That’s great. But now I know for sure I’ve put the sea otters at risk. The thought of Gertrude and Oscar and Lilly getting hurt makes my skin prickle.

  “Wait,” I say. “Before I tell you where the sea otters are, you have to promise to take care of them. I don’t want anything happening to them.”

  Dad and Mom both nod. “Of course we will,” says Dad.

  “Don’t you trust us?” asks Saul.

  I look him in the eye. “Now you know how it feels,” I say.

  Mom says, “She’s right, you know.”

  We all look at her in surprise.

  “They didn’t tell me either, Maya, so I know how you feel.” She catches Dad’s eye. He turns away. Then Mom asks, “Where are the sea otters, Maya?”

  “They’re in Riley Bay, where Saul was standing sentry.”

  Dad laughs. Saul says, “So that’s why you were there.” He shakes his head.

  Dad rubs his hand along his chin. “Time to shave. I’ll go to the coast guard office and tell them the plan. Then I’ll go to the docks and talk about the sea otters.”

  “You should get to school, Maya. You can let people know about the sea otters there,” says Mom. “I’ll go grocery shopping and talk about the sea otters in town.”

  Saul looks at me with a frown on his face.

  “What?” I ask, but he shrugs and walks away.

  I stay at the table. It feels good to have a plan, but I’m still worried that I’ve done the wrong thing. What if something happens to Gertrude or Oscar or Lilly? I’ll never forgive myself.

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning, two coast guard boats arrive at our dock before the sun rises. Dad and Saul step into one boat. I bend down to my kayak.

  “No way, Maya,” says Dad.

  I pick up my life jacket and paddle, and I drag the kayak into the water.

  “Maya,” says Dad. “No way. You stay here. It’s going to be dangerous out there.”

  “Like yesterday?” I ask.

  “Like yesterday.”

  “Yesterday when I rescued you.”

  He opens his mouth and closes it again.

  “She’s right,” says Saul.

  “You keep out of this,” says Dad. “Maya, you are a fourteen-year-old girl, and they are mean and dangerous men.”

  “He’s right,” says Saul, which is not at all helpful.

  “I’ll stay out of the way. I promise. I’ll paddle along the shore like usual, and then I’ll land and watch from there.”

  D
ad shakes his head.

  “I’ll take my cell phone and my radio.”

  He shakes his head again.

  Mom comes down to the dock with a thermos in her hand. Once she hears both of us, she says, “Have these men ever seen you, Maya?”

  “No.”

  “Then they’ll think you’re just another kayaker. Let her go, Gerry.”

  Saul and I stare at her. Is this my mom speaking? She hands the thermos to Dad. “I thought about what you did yesterday, Maya. It was brave,” she says.

  Dad steps off the boat and pulls her away. They argue. I try not to listen.

  I’m going, whether Dad wants me to or not. I have a promise to keep to Gertrude and Oscar and Lilly. But I want Dad to say I can come. I bite at my fingernails as I wait.

  When Dad comes back, he says, “Stay out of the way. Promise?”

  “Yes.” That’s a promise I can keep.

  The coast guard boats roar off into the bay. I secure my cell phone in my pocket and my radio on the shoulder strap of my life jacket.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say as I slip the boat into the water.

  “Remember your promise,” she says.

  “I will.”

  The coast guard boats disappear around the headland, and I’m alone in the bay. It’s like any other morning.

  The sun hasn’t risen above the horizon, but there is light. I can see the silhouettes of the hills around me. I paddle to the center of Riley Bay and search the water for the sea otters. It’s hard to see in the dim light. I hear splashing to my left and head toward the sound. The sea otters ignore me as I paddle up to them. They play several feet away. I settle in to watch them. I place my paddle across my cockpit and lean into it. My radio crackles, and Dad’s voice says, “You promised to stay out of the way, Maya.”

  I look around. The boats are well hidden under the trees. I can barely make out their shapes. With all the rocks and tiny islands in this bay, the poachers will never notice them.

  The sea otters splash and twist in the water.

  I long to stay with them.

  But I did promise, so I paddle to shore and climb out of the boat. I hide it and find a tree to crouch behind.

  As the sun rises, I stare through my binoculars. Like everyone else, I’m waiting for the poachers. When it’s bright enough, I turn my binoculars to look at Dad and Saul in the coast guard boat. They seem nervous. Both of them are looking into the bay. They’re both more still than usual. I watch them as much as I watch the bay.

  When the sun’s fully up, the coast guard boat slips out from under the trees and slowly motors to me.

  Dad calls out, “They’re not coming, Maya. Not now that the sun is up. It was a good plan. Too bad it didn’t work.” He shrugs. It’s all over now.

  “Go home now, please. Mom will be worried,” is all he says.

  The coast guard boats leave, and I’m alone in the cove. I paddle out to the sea otters, tears pouring down my cheeks. Everything has backfired. We didn’t catch the poachers, and now everyone in town knows about the sea otters. What have I done?

  The sun breaks over the treetops. Gertrude is eating a sea urchin. She cracks its shell and rolls over to clear the shell bits out of her fur, then nibbles on the flesh inside. Oscar and Lilly hang out nearby. My tears have dried. Watching the sea otters has that effect.

  I’m about to head home before Dad or Mom regret letting me come out here when I hear an engine. It’s not unusual, so I don’t pay attention. Then the sound changes. I recognize the boat motoring into the bay.

  It’s the poachers.

  Chapter Ten

  Without thinking, I put my paddle in the water and sprint for shore. The poachers must have seen me. I was sitting right in the middle of the bay, far from any rock or island. My thoughts spin about. Are they following me? What will they do when they catch me? Should I radio for help? My mouth is dry and my breath is sharp. My arms push the paddle faster and the boat glides through the calm water. When I’m almost at shore, I risk a glance over my shoulder.

  They’ve stopped in the bay.

  They’re not paying attention to me at all.

  I let the kayak slow. I take a deep breath to clear my mind. Of course they haven’t followed me. Why would they? As far as they know, I’m a kayaker out for a morning paddle. I drift closer to land. I’m shaking. I need to get to shore. Then an idea hits me.

  I paddle around the headland, as if I was passing through. When I can’t see the poachers’ boat anymore, I pull my kayak up onto shore and walk to the other side of the headland, where I can see the poachers.

  I search for a place to hide. I push aside a pine branch and crawl into the space behind it. It’s like a nest. I’m surrounded by tree branches and small shrubs. I brush away twigs and branches on the ground to smooth out a place to sit. I can see the poachers’ boat clearly through the branches.

  They have anchored in the middle of the bay.

  Right where the sea otters hang out.

  A sea otter watches them from the far side of the kelp bed. I bite my lip, then whisper a message, “Stay away from them. Stay away.”

  There are three men on board. One looks familiar. Even though it’s a small bay, they’re too far away for me to be sure of their faces. I fumble for my binoculars but remember they are in the kayak.

  Two of the men are wearing dry suits and oxygen tanks. The other one stands near the motor. He keeps checking the water. The men in dry suits have long metal instruments that look like rakes in one hand and a mesh harvest bag in the other. They step to the edge of their boat and dive overboard.

  I can hardly breathe. This is the worst thing that could happen. The poachers are hunting sea urchins. The sea otters are nearby, and they don’t know how dangerous these men are.

  If I got into my kayak and paddled out to the poachers, what would I do? I remember what happened to Dad. A wave of weakness travels down my legs at the thought. I’m not brave enough to go out there on my own.

  I’m helpless, crouching here under the trees.

  I can’t see the sea otters clearly, but I can see when they roll over and their flippers splash. One moves closer to the divers.

  Oh no!

  I hold my breath until the sea otter swims away.

  I can’t believe I’m watching this, and there’s nothing I can do.

  Maybe there is something I can do. I have a cell phone with me. I can take pictures. They won’t be great, but they will be something.

  I shuffle closer to the water’s edge. I’m still behind branches, but I can see more clearly. It’s hard to get good photos with a cell phone, especially when the boat’s moving on the water. I snap three of the man in the boat, but his back is turned.

  “Turn, turn,” I whisper.

  One of the divers surfaces. I point my phone at him and wait. He raises a bag heavy with sea urchins. I wait until the right moment, then click. I take another picture, then another. Eventually the man in the boat turns, and I take a picture of his face.

  After the diver hands over his bag, he dives back down. I wait for the next diver to surface. The sun is high now. It sparkles off the water. It’s hard to see. That must be why I don’t see the diver coming toward me until he is almost at the shore.

  Something catches my eye close to shore. Bubbles. My brain can’t make sense of it.

  Bubbles?

  Then I understand. The bubbles mean that someone is swimming underneath with an air tank. One of the poachers is heading to shore.

  How does he know I’m here? Did he see the sun glint off my cell phone?

  I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from crying out. I back into the undergrowth. There’s no time to run. He’s almost at the shore.

  The diver steps out of the water onto the sand right next to where I’m hidden. I hold my breath, but I’m sure he’ll hear my heart thump or see me trembling. I hold on to a branch to steady myself.

  The picture of Dad falling out of his boat is clear in my mind. />
  The poacher stands on the shore. He lays his rake and bag on the sand. He pulls off his air tank, tears off his hood and unzips his dry suit. He kicks off his flippers and turns toward me.

  “Argggh,” I say as I bite into my hand. His eyebrows crease, but he’s still glancing about. He looks for me, but doesn’t know where I am. I don’t breathe. He shakes out his hair, and looks around again.

  The man’s eyes find what they are looking for. He thumps right toward me.

  I have to take a breath. I move my hand and open my mouth to breathe in. I want to gulp air, but all I do is take a couple of quiet breaths, then clamp my hand over my mouth again.

  He walks past.

  Can he see me from behind? I don’t dare look.

  I hear nothing for a minute. The sound I hear next almost makes me laugh in relief. The man has come to shore to take a pee.

  He hasn’t seen me.

  I breathe again but don’t move my hand. He’s still nearby.

  When he finishes peeing, he walks back to his air tank. He zips up his suit and struggles into his air tank and flippers. He grabs his bag and rake and walks into the water.

  The bubbles move away from shore. I flop to the ground. My hand shakes. I put my cell phone in my pocket so that no one will see the sun glint off it.

  When I feel calm enough, I walk back to my kayak. I make it home in record time. All I want to do is get away from those men.

  Chapter Eleven

  By the time I get home, I can hardly crawl to the sofa. It feels soft on my exhausted body. I close my eyes and let my arms and legs flop. They weigh a ton.

  Saul walks into the room carrying a plate of sandwiches and a glass of milk.

  “What happened to you?” he asks.

  I tell him.

  He sits with a sandwich halfway to his mouth and listens. His face turns redder and redder as I talk. When I tell him about the poacher coming to shore, he drops his sandwich onto his plate.

  “That’s it,” he says when I’m finished. “You’re staying home from now on. What if he’d seen you?”

  “Whatever,” I say.

  “I mean it. You’re staying home.”