I bend toward the water and look closer. The start of a dead zone? Was that boy trying to scare us, like Maya said? Or does he really know what’s happening? I spot another dead fish, floating on its side. There are clumps of green on its silver scales, more than the last one had.
I walk away from the reeds and kneel by a clearer part of the water. “Renn? Everything okay?”
There’s a pause, then: I’ve been better.
“What’s wrong?”
Hard to explain.
“Do you feel sick?”
A little.
I dip my hand in. “You’re warm. When people’s foreheads are warm, they have a fever. Maybe you have a fever. Can that happen to a lake? Maybe you need, like, medicine?”
Maybe.
Renn is very still. I don’t see any ripples or waves. “That green stuff over there…do you know what it is?”
Some kind of algae. A bloom, I think.
“Is that where you feel sick?”
Yes.
“Has this ever happened before?”
I barely hear the answer. It’s just a tremble, really.
No. Not like this.
I stand, getting a glimpse of the dead fish again. Did it swallow the algae and choke? Or was it trapped and couldn’t swim away? My stomach rolls over. I need to find Dad. And I need to find that boy.
I rush toward the office, stepping around blankets and coolers and people. When I get there, Mom’s straightening up the front desk while Jess is reading aloud from a piece of paper.
“Option one: I can take a bus. I checked it out. The driver will watch a younger kid. I’ll sit in the first seat. It’s only, like, twenty bucks, and it’ll take me to downtown Madison, a couple of blocks from the audition. I can take the bus right back afterward. Option two: Amy’s mom can drive me and bring me home. They said it’s okay. Option three—”
“Who’s Amy?” I interrupt.
“My best friend. She wants to be an actor too.”
“I thought Emily was your best friend,” I say.
“Oh, we’re not friends anymore.”
Mom stops, puts down a stack of brochures. “Really? Since when?”
“Since the last day of school when she told everybody not to be friends with me anymore. But Amy didn’t listen. So we’re BFFs now.”
“You didn’t tell me,” Mom says. “What happened?”
Jess rolls her eyes. “Long story. There was a whole big scene at the three-legged race during the class party. Actually, not so long. Emily turned into a mean girl.”
Mom sighs. “Are you okay?”
She shrugs. “Yeah. I don’t want to be friends with her either.”
Mom puts a rubber band around the brochures. “Jess…I don’t know Amy’s mom, and I told you how busy we are right now, plus everything we talked about with you starting things, and then—”
“You don’t have to worry. Her mom’s super nice.”
I butt in. “Where’s Dad?”
“He went to get a part for the vacuum,” Mom answers. “It’s not working.”
“So, which option?” Jess asks.
An older man and woman come in, asking for restaurant recommendations. Mom mentions a few places, showing them a binder with menus that we keep at the front desk.
While she’s talking to them, I glance at the Thought Wall. More notes are tacked up: I flunked art. Ice cream makes everything better. Carly F likes Dylan G. If Cinderella’s shoe fit, then why did it fall off?
The couple asks if they can borrow the binder, and Mom says “Of course.” They take it outside and sit at one of the picnic tables.
I glance out at Renn. I don’t see any green from where I’m standing. It seems to be only down by the reeds, which makes me feel a little better. “Mom, can you tell Dad I need to talk to him when he gets back? I think something might be going on with the lake.”
“Who cares about some lake in the middle of nowhere!” Jess snaps.
“Um, I do.”
“Sure,” Mom says to me, then looks at Jess. “The yelling needs to stop. Dad and I will discuss it, but no promises. Understand? And I want to see all the information about the audition.”
“Done!” Jess tears out of the office and runs toward the water. I see her pick up a stone and throw it. An amazingly good throw, actually, for someone so small. It lands with a splash and Renn gobbles it up. Jess stands there, hands on hips, her back to the cabins.
Mom opens her laptop and sips her coffee. “This was warm at some point.”
“You need me to do anything?”
“Not right now. I have to catch up on emails.”
I walk outside, looking for the boy. Finally, I see him near the canoe tent, inspecting the bottom of a canoe with his magnifying glass. Does he carry that around with him all the time?
I jog over. I clear my throat, but he doesn’t look up. “Um, excuse me.”
Still stooped over, he peers up at me through the glass, which makes his eye enormous. It’s dark brown, the color of soil.
“Hi, I’m Annalise. My parents own the cabins.”
He lowers the glass, straightens up. “Zach.”
His shorts and shirt droop off him like they’re on a hanger. “You were just looking at that green stuff. The algae?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, how do you know it could be the start of a dead zone?”
He opens his book and taps a picture. It’s a lake with a green coating—similar to the one by the reeds, except much bigger—covering most of the surface.
“Blue-green algae,” he says. “Technically, cyanobacteria. This is an algal bloom.”
My mouth gets dry. A bloom? That’s what Renn said.
Zach closes the book. “We learned about these in science last year. Never thought I’d see one up close, though.”
“But this isn’t like that. In the picture, the bloom is huge. Here, it’s just one little area, if that’s what it is. The rest of the lake is fine.”
“For the moment.” Suddenly, Zach starts blinking crazily, covering one eye with a hand. “Not again,” he groans, then peels something from his eye. “I just got contacts. I’m failing miserably at keeping them in. I suspect my corneas are rejecting the foreign objects.” He walks away, stumbling a little.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“To get my glasses.”
I follow him to cabin 8. He takes a key from his pocket and opens the door.
“Oh, you’re staying in this cabin?”
He gives me a little smile. “No, I stole the key from the front desk.” He disappears inside and comes back out a minute later, wearing glasses with square black frames. “I’m here for a month with my dad. He thinks this is the perfect place to finally write his novel. We arrived two days ago and he’s been staring at a blank screen ever since. So, you know, lots of progress.”
“Where do you live?”
“Chicago.”
He takes off the glasses and cleans them on his shirt, then slides them back on. I bet Zach’s really bored and he’s pranking us, like we’re dumb small-town kids.
I cross my arms. “I don’t believe you. The bloom—or whatever it is—will evaporate or sink or go away on its own in a few days, and the lake will be fine.”
He shakes his head slowly.
“I’m sure it’s not bacteria. Something probably just got in the water.”
“Cyanobacteria.”
“Okay, cyanobacteria. Our lake, my lake, doesn’t have that.”
He doesn’t reply, but walks toward a picnic table, then grabs a clear plastic cup someone left behind. He heads to the water.
I run after him. “What are you doing?”
“There’s something else I want to check.”
I follow him down the shore to the reeds. Zach kneels, holds the cup with the edges of his fingers, then drags it through the gunk. He places the cup on the ground.
“What are you checking?”
“I’m looking for an indicator. The contents need to settle.”
The slimy liquid swirls slowly in the cup. “So the bacteria’s going to magically appear?”
“Sort of.”
I glance at him. “Do you want to be a scientist or something?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. What about you?”
“Possibly something to do with bedding.”
“Bedding?”
I sigh. “Never mind.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Tiny green flecks start to emerge in the water inside the cup. Sort of like floating particles of dust. Zach lifts the cup, holds it in front of his face and turns it around.
I stare at the little bit of Renn, trapped in the plastic. Suddenly, it doesn’t seem like Zach’s making this up or pranking us. Something did appear.
He puts the cup down next to me. “I’m sorry.”
“This is bad?”
“I mean, it’s just a jar test, but…”
“But what?”
“It could be very bad.”
“But I’m sure there’s a way to clean this up.”
“From what I remember, there isn’t an easy solution.”
His shoelaces are still untied. One of them has a spilled drop of the greenish water. “You learned all this in science? Are you in high school?”
“Next year. I just finished eighth.” He pulls out his phone, looks at it, then shoves it back into his pocket.
“You must miss your friends. And you won’t see them for a whole month.”
“Oh, yeah, for sure. We’ve been texting nonstop.” He stands, brushes off his shorts. “Well…my dad’s probably wondering where I am. I should go.”
He walks toward the cabins. I glance at the cup, then at the reeds. It’s so…quiet. Not like in winter, when the surface of the lake is covered with ice and snow. That’s a restful, peaceful quiet. Even though I miss talking and listening, I know Renn is hibernating during those months. This is different. This feels like the kind of quiet where no one knows what to say.
“Renn?” I ask.
A murmur comes from the clear water, where the bloom ends. I go over there. “Don’t worry. We’ll clean this up, or get medicine, whatever you need.” I sit, draw up my legs. “I promise.”
Another murmur. Then a soft, weak Thank you.
I think about how I wore that armor hat with the pom-pom and tassels every day for almost a year. Then, one boiling hot summer afternoon when Mom, Dad, Jess, and I were at the Milwaukee Zoo, I took it off. We were eating lunch and my head was unbearably sweaty and itchy. I put it on the bench. As we were leaving to go to the reptile house, I forgot to take it. We went back, but it was gone. I looked at every single kid walking around the zoo but didn’t see anyone wearing my hat. When we got back to the cabins, I ran out to Renn and sobbed as I told the story. “What’s going to protect me now?” I wailed.
And Renn said, I will.