you hear the one about the sea turtle crossing the road?”
“No, no more! I can’t take it!” someone else yelled.
“Oh you love my jokes, I know it. It’s just not cool to show it. Anyways, we’re so glad you’re all here. This is a very unique camp and each of you has been specially chosen to come here. You all have some amazing and unusual talents that we’ll help you to explore and develop over the summer.”
Tristan looked skeptically at Hugh, whispering, “Yeah, I’ve got a talent all right. I can fall over anything you put in my way.”
“Coach Fred over there . . .” Director Davis continued, pointing to a burly man in the front right corner of the room. His dark hair was slicked back into a short stub of a ponytail and he stood ramrod straight with an expression on his face that seemed more appropriate for a military inspection than a summer camp welcome. “. . . he’ll work on your in-water skills and navigation. Ms. Sanchez, our linguistics and camouflage expert, will teach you how to relate to and communicate with marine organisms. And I’ll be teaching ocean geography and also coordinating missions.”
Tristan looked around, wondering if he’d heard right. The other Seasquirts appeared equally confused.
“Did he say communicate with sea creatures? And missions?” Tristan said to Hugh.
“Did he say in-water skills?” Hugh asked.
“To use your abilities for the best possible purposes, we have several rules here that must be followed. Each of you will have to agree to them before camp officially begins. There will be no photos taken, no cell phones, and no computer use unless in a prescribed area with permission.”
There was a collective groan from the two tables of Seasquirts.
“What is this place, a prison?” Hugh said.
As if on cue, a blue light began flashing over the doorway. There was an accompanying low rhythmic hum that they could hear as well as feel. Director Davis immediately looked to the back of the room.
“We’re on it,” Jade said as she and an older boy ran out the front door.
“Looks like we’ll need to cut this short,” Director Davis said. “Coach Fred will finish here. But before I go, does everyone have a glass of water?”
The older campers at the other tables all filled their glasses. There was a silent pause as everyone in the room stared at the Seasquirt tables. The young teens quickly filled their glasses from the pitchers on the tables.
Once they each had a drink in hand, the director continued, “Cheers! To a wonderful, productive, and safe summer at Sea Camp.”
Tristan could swear everyone was watching as they drank the water.
“Have a good night and I’ll see you tomorrow—I hope.” Director Davis then jogged out the door. Tristan noticed he had a distinct limp and was wearing two different colored sneakers.
“After dinner, Snappers and Squids go to the Wave Pool for practice,” Coach Fred said sharply. “Dolphins and Sharks assemble at the lagoon dock. And Seasquirts get your butts to the Poseidon Theater, no dillydallying or detours. I’ll meet you there. And be sure to stay well hydrated here at camp. Now fuel up!”
The Seasquirts all just sat there, looking bewildered, as if they’d just been told they’re at a camp for space aliens. So far, it was definitely not what Tristan had expected.
“Like, time for some chow,” Ryder said, getting up and joining the older teens already at the buffet.
Tristan and Hugh went to the back of the line. Fortunately for Hugh, conch was not on the menu. In fact, there was no seafood at all. The buffet contained only not-from-the-ocean choices, including pizza, pasta, something that vaguely resembled chicken pot pie, and bins of salad-making ingredients. While deciding what to eat, Tristan overheard the older campers talking. He didn’t catch the entire conversation, only a few words like “mission” and “accident.”
Tristan and Hugh met back at their table. Ryder had gone to eat with some of the other campers.
“Wonder what the blue light was for? An emergency or something?” Tristan said to Hugh. He wondered if there’d been an accident at camp and what kind of mission the other campers were talking about.
“I don’t know, but look at this food. If this is not an emergency, I don’t know what is.” Hugh stared at his plate as if it was teeming with ants and wriggling worms.
“I think it looks pretty good. What do you usually eat?”
“The other night chef made quail with roasted potatoes and truffle oil.”
“Quail? Is that some kind of duck? You have a chef?”
“Thank God we do. My mom can’t cook at all. She tried to toast some bread once, lit a towel on fire, and almost burned the house down. Hey, does this water taste funny to you?”
“Yeah, tastes kinda weird. What’s the word? It tastes . . . tart. That’s it and it looks sort of pink. Maybe it’s to go along with the room.”
The older teens nearly inhaled their food, finishing dinner quickly. The new campers at the Seasquirt tables were the last to clear their plates. Hugh sat down to examine his map.
“Let’s just follow them,” Tristan suggested, nodding toward the Seasquirt girls who also had their maps out and were heading for the door.
“Okay, I’ll just keep track to be sure we’re headed in the right direction.”
On the way out, Hugh was so focused on the map he missed a step down. Like cascading dominoes, he tumbled into Tristan who then stumbled into the two girls in front of them. One of the girls fell hard to the ground.
“Hey, watch where you’re going wet head. Are you an idiot, along with being all wet?” said the girl sprawled on the hard-packed sand. She glared at him angrily. Her shoulder-length hair was the color of dishwater and looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in days, if ever. She was wearing a black T-shirt and well-worn, baggy jeans with big blotches of dirt.
“Hey, it wasn’t even my fault this time,” Tristan said. “Are you okay?”
“Of course, I’m okay. Do you think I’m some prissy little girl who takes a tumble and gets hurt? It’ll take more than that, pal.”
She turned on her heel and strode off.
“Don’t pay any attention to her,” the other girl said. She was about Hugh’s height, thin but not skinny, and dressed in a frilly tan shirt and jean shorts. Her long, straight hair fell down her back. It was the color of wheat speckled with gold.
“Hi. I’m Sam. That’s Rosina. She’s not the most friendly sort, if you know what I mean. Are you guys going to the Poseidon Theater?”
“Yeah,” Tristan replied, staring at her large gray-blue eyes. They seemed to sparkle with curiosity and maybe a little mischief.
“Great, me too,” Sam said, walking in the direction the girl Rosina had gone.
Tristan
