Ben and Zoe raced along the rough bay road toward the wooden pier stretching out from the beach.

“I really wish I’d taken those sailing classes with you,” Ben said, panting as they ran. “But baseball seemed like more fun at the time.”

“Don’t worry,” Zoe said. “Just do what I tell you, and we’ll be fine.”

“Great!” said Ben. “Another excuse to boss me around.”

There was a worn sign in English and Spanish that read “boats for rent” with an arrow pointing down the pier.

A small, single-masted sailing boat was tethered at the end. Its green paint was peeling, and two narrow benches ran along the inside. A dark-haired woman waved at Ben and Zoe as they neared the pier.

“That’s our boat,” said Zoe. “La Gaviota.”

“Looks pretty basic,” said Ben, “but it’s just the right size for the two of us.”

“Boat for Erika Bohn?” the woman said in English. “Rented for one day’s hire?”

“That’s right,” said Zoe eagerly.

“Your aunt said you can sail,” the woman said. She looked at them doubtfully. “But you’re so young.”

Ben gulped nervously.

Zoe nudged Ben in the ribs. “I have taken sailing classes,” Zoe said truthfully.

“That is good,” the woman said. She handed them two life jackets. “You must wear these always. That is the rule.”

Ben and Zoe slipped on the orange jackets.

Zoe bent down, pulled in the rope attached to the boat, and held the pointed front of the boat firmly. She dropped their two backpacks into the bottom of the boat and nodded to her brother. “Go ahead, Ben,” she said. “Climb aboard.”

The boat owner folded her arms and watched. It was clear that she was worried about her craft being safe in the hands of two children.

It didn’t help that Ben stumbled as he climbed onto the dinghy, making it rock violently.

“Whoa!” Ben said, his arms flailing. He grabbed the mast and clung to it desperately.

“My brother likes to joke,” Zoe said quickly. Ben threw himself onto one of the benches and gave a sheepish grin.

Zoe noticed that the woman didn’t return the smile. But before she could say anything, Zoe swiftly untied the rope and boarded the boat. First she rigged the sails. Then she climbed to the stern and took hold of the tiller. As the sails caught the wind, she headed the boat out into the middle of the bay.

“Close one,” said Ben, looking back. “But she’s still staring at us. What can I do to show her how much of an expert I am?”

“Take that sheet and control the jib,” Zoe told him, nodding toward the small triangular sail at the prow.

Ben reached forward and grabbed the bottom of the front sail.

Ben wrestled with the flapping canvas. “I’m not sure I can hold on for long,” he said. “It’s pulling away.”

Zoe burst out laughing. “The sheet is the rope that controls a sail,” she said. “It’s down there, secured to the side. Release it from its cleat — or clip, to landlubbers like you.”

“Very funny!” Ben said. He freed the rope and grinned at her. “I’d like to see you explain the sacrifice fly rule from baseball!”

“Anyway, it’s time for business,” Zoe said. “We have to search this bay for Fingal. We’ll start looking around those fishing boats over there. Get ready to let go of your rope when I tell you, then move to the other side of the dinghy.”

Ben ducked around the boom.

“Oh, and watch your head,” Zoe warned. “The big wooden beam will swing across.”

“The boom, you mean?” said Ben. “I do know that one!” His feet kicked something under the seat and he pulled it out. It was a pail attached to a long piece of rope, which was tied to a hook. “A bucket?” he asked. “Is that in case we’re seasick?”

“It’s for bailing out water, silly,” said Zoe. “Hang our backpacks on that hook, too. Everything has to be battened down.” She looked ahead. “Okay, ready about?”

“Show off,” said Ben.

Zoe grinned. “Look out, we’re turning,” she said. She pushed the tiller away from her.

The boom moved over the boat. Ben raised the sheets on the other side. Taken by the gentle wind, the dinghy moved among the rocking fishing boats that were attached to buoys in the water.

Ben slipped his BUG out of his backpack, scrolled through the animal identification menu, and set it to pick up dolphin calls. Then he peeled the limpet from his BUG and reached over the side of the boat.

Ben attached the limpet to the hull just beneath the waterline. “Nothing yet,” Ben said, peering at the BUG screen.

“Let’s get farther out and try again,” said Zoe. She adjusted the mainsail to catch the light breeze.

As they reached the last buoy before they would reach open sea, a message appeared on Ben’s screen. “The limpet’s picked something up,” he said. “It’s a dolphin — and it’s close!”

They peered eagerly over the water. Just a few yards away, the surface erupted as a sleek gray dolphin leaped up in an elegant arc. Then it plunged back into the waves. They could see it streaking through the clear water close to the boat.

Zoe’s eyes went wide. “Could that be Fingal?” she said.

“It looks like an adult,” said Ben doubtfully.

As he spoke, more fully grown dolphins burst to the surface. “It’s a pod!” said Zoe. “Of course, now that we’re a ways out, we’re going to see lots of dolphins!”

The streamlined shapes shot along next to the dinghy, launching themselves out of the water and diving back with barely a splash.

“It’s like they’re racing us!” said Ben.

“Not much of a race,” Zoe said. “They’re a lot faster than this boat is. They’re just tagging along for the ride.”

The dolphins criss-crossed in the air in front of the boat. Then, as suddenly as they had come, they were gone.

“How amazing,” she said softly. “They were so beautiful!”

Ben grinned. “Cuteness overload,” he said with a groan. “Although I have to agree that they were amazing.”

“Wouldn’t it be great if Fingal was a part of a group like that?” asked Zoe.

Ben nodded. “That’s the goal,” he said. “But we’d better wait a while before we try to listen for him again. We’ll just end up locating that pod again.”

“I’ll head toward the bay,” said Zoe. “He must be there somewhere.”