Waveborn

2

Cass dreamt of her mother again that night. She woke with a lump in her throat, heart pounding, reaching for-she didn't know what. She fell back against the pillow, trying to remember. Her thumb slid automatically across the smooth glass oval that was still held at her wrist by its thin leather cord.

It couldn't have happened, she reminded herself.

"So why does it feel so real?" she whispered.

In the real world, people didn't swim with orcas, her mother was dead, and she had an overactive imagination. Plus she was cold and hungry, and neither was going to improve until she dragged her butt out of bed.

"Jen?" She pushed open her cabin door, which banged against the stove; the head of her bed was just the other side of the wall from the tiny kitchen. Only the sounds of rain and ocean answered her, the steady tap-tap-tap against the Plexiglas windows, the soft swish of waves against the hull. The boat had an empty feel to it. Jen must have gone out for something. Being Jen, she hadn't noticed the air's damp chill and turned on the heat. It felt like February, never mind that it was June and supposed to be warm.

"Any chance you'd switch on the heater?" she asked Mr. Studley. The stuffed Magellanic penguin, a souvenir from their most recent research trip to Argentina, eyed her reproachfully from where he'd landed during the night, squashed between her mattress and the wall. She set him upright, smoothing his crushed fur. "I'll take that as a no."

The rain-streaked windows provided enough light for her to find the boat's thermostat and crank up the temperature, but when she flipped the light switch nothing happened. Maybe Jen had gone to the marina to get their power hooked up.

Then she spotted the note, propped on the table. Hey Cass, she read. Up early and didn't want to wake you. I'm hiking over to the Piper Center to check things out. Be back this afternoon to check your schoolwork.

Great. Cass folded the paper in half, then in half again, creasing each fold between thumb and forefinger. She should have figured Jen would want to check out the lab-and her research-first thing. Jen's research was what finally dragged them to Rodger's Island. Even then it had taken a crisis. Jen had been collaborating with the scientist here, Peter something, until he'd fallen off a ladder at the start of orca season. Now he was on the mainland, recovering from a compound leg fracture, a concussion, and short-term memory loss.

Since no one else knew how to use Jen and Peter's special monitoring equipment, Jen had two options: scrap the project for the year or travel to Rodger's Island and take over. They'd been working in Argentina, where orca season had already ended-so here they were, on Peter's boat instead of their own, on the island Cass had wanted to visit for as long as she could remember.

Of course, she hadn't expected to face it for the first time on her own. She'd expected Jen to be there, a safety net.

"A safety net for what?" she asked the note. "In case everyone knows who I am? Right." It had been more than ten years. No one would remember her. Even if they did, she wanted to talk to people who knew her parents. If she waited for Jen to get back and hold her hand, she'd be stuck without electricity for who knew how long. And without food, since they'd been in such a hurry to reach Rodger's Island the day before that they hadn't stocked the cupboards.

The penguin eyed her reproachfully. "I know," she said. "I'm going."

Outside, rain fell from a sky so dark it triggered a twist of déjà vu: it felt like Hawaii, which was two-no three-research trips back. Hawaiian rainstorms were these killer tropical downpours so dense you could hardly see your hand in front of your face, which was cliché but true. This might not measure up to tropical storm status, but rain fell steadily enough that the cold seeped through Cass's raincoat and slid beneath her hood. Fat drops painted spreading splotches on her jeans as she made her way toward shore.

The marina was small, with only two docks: the main one where they'd tied up and a temporary one with fuel and the pump-out station. The main dock jutted into the water without branching, turning to form something like a question mark. They'd docked the Andiamo near the question mark's tip, in the next to last slip. Cass was surprised to see that most of the other slips were occupied. More boats were dry docked on shore, everything from sailboats to motorboats to row boats. She hadn't expected to see so many, since most of the people who lived here would probably have their own docks

A two story building was built into the slope that rose above the harbor. She found the marina office, bathrooms, and a tiny laundry room on the ground floor, all empty, but a sign on the office door directed her "around back, to the Mercantile," where the second story sat at street level.

When she rounded the building, she found windows shining brightly through the rain. A white-railinged porch ran the length of the building, friendly-looking, crowded with slat benches and pots of rain-speckled red geraniums. Flyers covered a bulletin board beside the door, announcing a pancake breakfast to benefit the island's volunteer fire department; a book club meeting at the library; and everything from a dirt bike to fresh eggs for sale.

A green flyer fluttered at the board's center:

Vocalist needed for the awesomely amazing band: RIPTIDE!
Payment in fun and pizza. Sound cool? Text Jason, 360-555-2497

Cass swallowed a burst of hope so bright it burned. She checked the handwritten date at the top of the flyer. It had been posted over a month ago. They'd probably filled the spot already and, even if they hadn't, she wasn't going to be around long enough to be part of any band.

But she felt a goofy grin spread across her face, because none of it mattered. There were other kids on the island-she'd swear the flyer had been written by someone her age-and that meant there were kids here who liked music.

She had to find them. Heck, she'd haul amps or set up drums, anything, as long as she got to hang out with them. And if they did still need a singer, well, singing was as much a part of her as breathing. Once they heard her, they'd find a place for her. No one ever said no to her voice: singing was the one thing she did really, really well.