The Shark Whisperer by Ellen Prager

Author:Ellen Prager [Prager, Ellen; Caparo, Antonio Javier]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781938063459
Publisher: Scarletta Press

12

THE OCEAN LIGHTS UP

A VEHICLE SPED DOWN THE RUNWAY TOWARD THE group getting off the plane. It may have been a pretty nice van at one time, but now the only recognizable part was the front end. The rest of it was covered with rust and holes, the roof had been cut off the back half, and the seats had been replaced with wooden benches. A red and white striped canvas top hung from four poles over the bed of the vehicle. Across the top someone had painted “Island Mama” in red lettering.

When the oddly remodeled van came to a stop, a dark-skinned Bahamian man got out. He was tall, muscular, and had deep-set wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. His khaki shorts and T-shirt with “It’s Better in the Bahamas” on it were well worn. He shook the director’s hand. “Director Davis, so nice to see you. Glad we could make this work on such short notice.”

“Campers, this is Mr. Marvin Walker, the lab manager. Though we like to call him the island dictator, since the only thing on this island is the marine lab.”

The man smiled. “Yes, forgot my sash and riding crop today. Nice to meet you all, everyone just calls me Mr. M. Jump in and I’ll take you to the dorms.”

Coach Fred and Ms. Sanchez shook hands with Mr. M and helped the campers climb into the back of the Island Mama. Director Davis sat up front with Mr. M, talking quietly.

“Like, nice ride,” Ryder said sarcastically.

“You should have seen it before,” Ms. Sanchez said. “This is a huge improvement. The salt air out here eats away at everything. Before they cut off the roof and replaced the seats, pieces of it were falling off every day.”

Just then they heard a loud scraping noise. Moments later the vehicle’s bumper crashed to the ground behind them.

“See what I mean,” Ms. Sanchez said as they continued on.

“Are they just going to leave it there?” Tristan asked.

“Someone will come get it later. As the Bahamian’s say—mañana—tomorrow.”

They drove off the runway onto a hard-packed sandy road, swerving around potholes and rocks. Each turn of the truck generated a rising cloud of dust.

“This thing needs seatbelts,” Hugh said, hanging on and trying not to breathe in the fine white particles that were now swirling around in the back of the truck.

“Just hold on, Haverford. You’ll be fine,” Coach said, clearly enjoying the rough ride.

They drove over a small hill, the back end of the vehicle fishtailing on the way over.

“Yeehaw!” Coach Fred shouted.

“Now he’s a cowboy?” Tristan whispered to Hugh.

They passed several small wooden buildings before coming to a stop at a dock where three small boats were tied up. Director Davis hopped out. “Coach Fred and Ms. Sanchez, if you could get the campers settled. I’ll check in at the office and meet you shortly.”

The truck turned around in the small space between the dirt road and the dock. One tire came close to going over the edge of the dock’s wooden planks.

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