Bernie coughed and spluttered as water went up his nose and into his mouth. Had he fallen off the ship? Was he drowning?

Bernie opened his eyes. He was spread out on the sofa in the observation deck. He wasn’t drowning. So, why was he wet?

A girl stepped into his line of sight. She wore jeans, a stripy T-shirt and a stern expression on her face. Her hair was a rainbow-coloured mess of short floppy strands. And in her hand was an empty glass.

‘Did you throw water on me?’ he spluttered.

‘Yep.’

‘Why?’

‘Why not?’

That didn’t seem like a good enough reason to Bernie. But the thought didn’t linger. He gasped. He’d been discovered. So much for stealthily following his mum.

Bernie jumped to his feet. The observation windows were dark but daylight filtered down from the skylights. The windows must auto-tint during the day, he thought. He could barely see anything through them. And then he noticed how tall the girl was. She glared down at him, and then laughed.

Why the sudden change? wondered Bernie.

She pointed at his chest. ‘I approve!’

‘Huh?’ Bernie was confused.

‘Your T-shirt.’ The girl was glaring again.

T-shirt? Bernie glanced down. Oh! It had an illustration of an atom, along with the words Never trust an atom, they make up everything. It was a science joke about how atoms were the building blocks of matter. Maybe this girl was okay, after all.

‘Who are you and why are you here?’ the girl demanded.

‘Um . . .’ Bernie looked around trying to think of something to say.

‘These are not difficult questions,’ said the girl.

‘They aren’t?’ They actually were for Bernie. He tended to freeze up in situations he wasn’t prepared for. And he wasn’t good with confrontations or being questioned.

The girl rolled her eyes. ‘Okay. How about you start with your name?’

‘Ah . . . Bernie.’

‘Bernie?’ The girl pulled a face like she’d sucked on a lemon. ‘What kind of name is Bernie?’

‘It’s short for Bernard.’

‘That’s not much better.’

‘I’m named after Bernard Heuvelmans.’ He was feeling rather indignant that this tall girl with silly hair was making fun of his name.

‘Who?’ The girl’s expression remained resolutely fixed on sour lemon.

‘The father of cryptozoology,’ explained Bernie.

‘Cryptozoology has a father?’ asked the girl.

‘Huh? What? No!’ Bernie was taken aback by the response. ‘It’s . . . well . . . it’s an expression. He’s not literally the father of cryptozoology. But he’s the guy who’s, like . . . associated with founding it as a form of scientific study.’

‘I know it’s an expression.’ The girl sighed theatrically. ‘I was being sarcastic.’

‘Oh.’ The bluster drained out of Bernie.

‘But I did manage to get you talking.’ She walked over to the kitchenette, put down the glass and jumped up to sit on the bench. ‘So, are you just Bernie, like Madonna or Bono or something? You’re not a pop star or some sort of celebrity, are you?’

Bernie shook his head.

‘Well, then, do you have more than one name?’

‘Bailey.’

The girl burst into giggles.

‘What?’ demanded Bernie.

‘Bernie Bailey?’ she snorted. ‘Are you serious?’

Again, Bernie didn’t know how to respond. He’d never had anyone laugh at his name like that before. What was it with this girl?

‘Your initials are B.B.,’ she said, after the giggles had subsided. ‘You know that I’m gonna call you Bee-Bee.’

Bernie really wanted to protest, to tell her that he did not want to be called Bee-Bee, that he liked his actual name. He opened his mouth, ready to tell her all this, but all he managed was another: ‘Oh.’

‘Given that your surname is Bailey,’ the girl continued, all serious again, ‘I assume that you’re Doctor Rachel Bailey’s son. And, as far as I know, you are not supposed to be here. Your mother had to sign a non-disclosure agreement, so she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about where she was going or what she was doing, let alone bring someone along for the ride. You being here puts her in violation of that agreement, which means that my father could fire her, sue her and generally turn her life into a living nightmare.’

Bernie’s mouth hung open. He’d never even considered that following his mum could cause her this much trouble. ‘It’s not her fault,’ he stammered. ‘She didn’t say anything. I followed her. I hid in the car that brought her here. I was worried. All the secrecy and stuff. And, hey . . .’ A thought suddenly struck him. ‘I remember her saying that there were no kids allowed where she was going.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘How come you’re here?’

‘I’m not a kid!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m fifteen. And besides, my father pays for all this.’

Fifteen! That was only two years older than Bernie, and still classified her as a kid as far as he was concerned.

‘That means you’re . . .’ prompted Bernie.

‘Ivy Meier! Daughter of billionaire environmentalist Hugo Meier.’

That’s a pretty conceited way of introducing yourself, thought Bernie. And isn’t Hugo Meier a ruthless businessman first, and an environmentalist second? But he decided it probably wasn’t a good idea to say this, given that he needed this odd girl’s help to keep his presence here a secret.

‘Sooooo,’ continued Ivy. ‘Now that you’re here, what do you intend to do?’

‘Well.’ Bernie hesitated. The truth was, he had no idea. His planning had only extended as far as following his mum to the island. ‘I’m not really sure.’

‘Hopeless.’ Ivy shook her head slowly, giving him a pitying look.

Bernie felt his cheeks flush.

‘I guess I’m going to have to help you,’ she said, jumping down from the bench.

‘You’re going to help me?’ Bernie was dumbfounded.

‘That’s what I said,’ said Ivy. ‘Try to keep up.’

‘But why would you help me?’

‘To annoy my dad, of course.’ She gave him an evil grin, then headed for the stairs. ‘Follow me.’