Make a Little Wave

Chapter 1

Some people say when you lose one sense, your others kick in even stronger to make up for it. Since I was born with hearing loss, I can’t prove this from experience. But I definitely feel things more strongly than anyone else I know—not in a physical way, more like just knowing . And even though I have my cochlear implants to help me hear now, luckily I didn’t lose that extra sense of knowing after the CI surgery. I still definitely feel things before hearing them.

Which is why, even though I’m in the middle of an intense sand-volleyball game with Maisy and my parents, I feel the energy rise on the beach before I hear any commotion. Unfortunately, this happens just as I’m flying parallel to the sand, about to make an epic dig. The ball ricochets off my shoulder, flies through the air, bounces off a multicolored beach umbrella, and plops into the moat of some little kid’s sandcastle kingdom. The kid doesn’t even notice because he, like everyone else on the beach, is pointing at the ocean.

When I stand, I spot a fin. Make that two. People scramble out of the water, but I already know the animals are just dolphins. Soon, they’re skipping across the waves.

I’d give just about anything to swim with them—in an enclosed, clear, safe space, that is. But I never will because the whole keeping-wild-animals-in-captivity thing is a problem for me.

Maisy drags me toward the water. Let’s get closer!

I stake my feet into the sand at the water’s edge and watch Maisy push through the tumbling waves. Not too far out, a small dolphin’s floating motionless—the other dolphins suddenly circling it.

No, no, no! I mutter.

I can’t go out there. I can’t. But what if it’s hurt?

I can do this.

I wade in, even though my heart’s reached its maximum beats per minute and is about to totally clunk out. That’s when the little dolphin dives, springs from the water, and squeaks wildly.

Maisy laughs. It’s teasing us.

I freeze, suddenly noticing how far into the water I’ve gone. Up to my waist. Me. I’ve never, ever done this before. I’m positive that unknown creatures are swirling around my legs, ready to bite or pinch. The fear I’ve had all my life hits me like a tidal wave.

I bolt back to shore and collapse on the sand. For a second, I’m mad at the dolphin, then at myself. But once Maisy and Mom plop next to me, I feel better.

Pressing myself into the warm sand, I suddenly remember my ears. Ohmygosh. I could’ve ruined my CIs.

Mom says, You’re keeping your guardian angel busy. But Sav . . . She pauses for a second. "You heard it. How cool is that?"

I suck in salty air, thanking my Guy in the Sky. I never would’ve heard the dolphin if I still had my old hearing aids. Not with the wind and the people and everything else making noise. In the two years I’ve had my CIs, and especially in the couple of months since I got an upgraded processor, my whole world has opened up. Science is way cool.

I’m impressed you went in at all, Maisy says. That’s progress. Then again, you’ve always been a sucker for animals in need.

I only went because it tricked me. I’d never be brave enough to swim out just for fun like Maisy did.

There’s this totally false theory that the ocean is pitch black in its deepest parts. That’s one of the reasons I’ve always avoided it. Not just because of sharks and crabs and barracudas and every other creature that has ever hurt a human, but because I need light. For a long time, I’ve relied on seeing instead of hearing. Without enough light to guide me, to show me clues about what’s going on around me, my knowingness—POOF—disappears. In all the years we vacationed in the Keys, it’s why I never left the boat.

Of course, most water is shallow enough for sunlight to peek through. And it turns out that even deep in the ocean’s belly, deeper than most humans ever go, there’s a light source. Thanks to some enzyme that turns molecules into light instead of other kinds of energy, there’s this flickering, floating blue-and-green luminescence down there. I bet it’s beautiful—maybe even more beautiful than a night sky loaded with blinking stars. But I’ll never know for sure. I’m still too scared to go in, even at a normal depth. I almost wish that scientist, Mr. Beebe, hadn’t made his luminescence discovery at all, because now I’ve lost my best excuse for staying out of the ocean.

I just can’t shake the fear that once I’m under the surface, I won’t be able to see in the same way as usual, and I won’t be able to fully know what’s under there with me.

I depend on my knowingness.

I stare at the dolphins diving in and out of the water, like they’re playing tag, as they make their way up the coastline.

Maisy shakes her wet hair. You’re so lucky that you get to live here now. You could come here after school and wait for dolphins every night.

Mom whips me playfully with her towel. And to think you didn’t want to move.

It’s true. When Dad got a fancy job offer from a bank here in Sandy Dune, I begged him to turn it down so we wouldn’t have to leave Orlando. But he said the opportunity was too good to pass up.

Having Maisy around makes it a lot more bearable, I say. She’s been visiting for the past two days, and I’m already dreading how lonely I’ll be when she leaves. Especially since my older sister, Arbor, is suddenly popular and barely hangs out with me now. She was like a friend-magnet at the beach the day after we moved in. Plus, she’s volunteering a lot at a retirement home to get the service hours she’ll need for graduation. She went there today instead of coming to the beach with us.

Dad walks over, waving to someone farther down the shore. Honey, he says to Mom, come with me. I want to introduce you to someone. They head toward a couple dragging chairs and a cooler across the sand.

I wish I could stay longer, says Maisy.

I lie back, tucking the volleyball under my neck. Me too. We’ve been here five weeks, and I haven’t made a single friend other than Tanner.

And Grant, she laughs.

Annoying people don’t count, I say.

"Well, it doesn’t hurt that the one person you’ve met who does count is pretty darn cute."

Stop! I give her a light shove. But she’s not wrong. I’m lucky that I ran into Tanner Markell on the beach last month. Bonus: we’ll be going to the same middle school, starting next week.

Maisy says, I can’t believe I’m not going to meet him.

It stinks that his dad made him fill in on the boat last-minute, I say. Tanner’s family owns a charter fishing business, and they’re also about to open a restaurant near the beach, so he spends a lot of time around water. I’m not too upset that he couldn’t meet up with us this weekend, though, because he doesn’t know about my . . . complicated relationship with the ocean. The first time I met him, he was surfing and offered me a lesson. I lied, saying my parents wouldn’t let me in the water without them there, and since they’re here now, well, I wouldn’t really have an excuse.

You’re lucky, Maisy sighs. I’m stuck with the same people we’ve known our whole lives. You get all these new things in this awesome place. She picks up a piece of brown seaweed. "Even this gross thing is beautiful."

It’s not gross. I take it from her, inspecting it. Look how interconnected it is. Did you know seaweed isn’t even a weed? It’s algae. Almost seventy percent of the world’s oxygen comes from it.

Maisy tilts her head. I know you love your YouTube videos, but when did you become an expert on seaweed?

I haven’t had much else to do since I got here. Some days, the beach is loaded with seaweed. Other times, there’s not a single piece. I was curious, so I looked it up. Apparently, there are thousands of different species. It’s actually one of the most important resources on the whole planet.

Maisy flips onto her back dramatically. Sorry I asked. I don’t know why you’re worried about fitting in at that marine science magnet school. I bet everyone there is into that stuff.

Ugh. We’ll see.

I don’t know how I’ll ever make friends on my own. Maisy and I were practically birthed together. She’s the best—like, seriously, I couldn’t ask for a better friend—but we’re total opposites. She’s better at school, even though I like school more. She’s kind of lazy, and I can’t sit still. She’s confident and instantly makes a good impression on strangers, while I barely get words to come out right most of the time, so lots of people think I’m weird. Which is why I’m nervous about starting eighth grade at a new school on Monday. I wish more than anything that Maisy could move here too—or that I could’ve stayed in Orlando.

Maisy holds the seaweed between us. Her freckled arm is bright pink next to my tan one. Well, even if we live far apart, we’re still interconnected, you know. Just like the seaweed or whatever. Always will be.

My breath catches. How will I survive here without her? I have a feeling I’ll be relying on my pets for company—but even the most lovable dog, cat, and bunny in the world are no substitute for Maisy.

Dad’s practically skipping when he and Mom come back. Guess what? That was my coworker. His buddy owns a company that does shark dives up near Jupiter. He’s going out tomorrow and invited us.

My stomach lurches. But we have to meet Maisy’s parents halfway to take her back, so you said no, right?

I did. He rubs his hands excitedly. So he set us up for a trip in a few weeks instead. Got us a really good deal too. It’s a hundred and fifty dollars per person, but you can’t put a price tag on that kind of experience. I even saved a spot for you, Maisy, if you’re free.

Before I can protest, Maisy squeals, Are you for real right now? I swear I could squeeze you, Mr. Braden!

He backs away. That’s quite all right. And there’s some paperwork your parents will have to fill out . . .

No problem. I’ll be here.

Great. I adjust my ponytail and pull my headband over my CIs. You can take my place.

We’re all going, Dad says.

No way! I feel boneless. Like my insides are a mess of crusty seaweed scratching underneath every part of my skin. "You’re the one who showed me Jaws, remember?"

Mom looks like she wants to roll her eyes but is restraining herself. You never let us forget.

And I never will. That shark ate . . . I snap my fingers, hoping the word will magically appear. Why does this always happen when I get nervous? I blank on the simplest words. It’s so frustrating. Help me out. You know what I’m trying to say.

They smirk. My parents are always way more amused by my word glitches than I am.

Ugh! I snap my fingers. He ate . . . young humans . . .

Kids. Maisy laughs. Children.

Yes! I point to her. Those. In one bite. Those scenes have scarred my brain forever.

It’s fiction, Maisy says.

"Well, yeah, but it could happen."

Mom tucks a piece of hair behind my CI. You live in the lightning capital of the United States. You have a greater chance of being killed by that than a shark. That’s a fact.

Ah. I wag my finger. "You say killed. But what about bitten? I bet there are more shark bites than lightning strikes, even if the person lives. And I don’t want to be a shark snack."

They laugh. At me. But it’s okay—I’ve got this. And there’s no way I’m going on that dive.

Change. Of. Subject. Are we going back to our volleyball game or what? It’s Maisy’s last day, after all.

All right, says Dad, heading toward the net. There’s plenty of time to figure out the dive.

Yes, plenty of time to find more reasons why I absolutely don’t need to swim with giant creatures sprouting double rows of razor-sharp teeth.

Chapter 2

No movie could’ve prepared me for how awful the first day at a new school really is. The classroom numbers on my schedule do not, at all, match the numbers above the doors. And trying to make sense of the faded, photocopied map is like trying to figure out sentence diagrams—impossible. The hallways are crammed, there’s not a single teacher around to ask for help, and I’m positive my first-day outfit of jean shorts and a plain purple T-shirt makes me entirely underdressed for the fashion show around me.

I dart into the media center, fighting back tears, already fifteen minutes late to first period. The librarian lets me sit in her office till I get a grip, while she inspects my schedule.

Mrs. Halston’s room is tough to find. See here? She points. It looks like it’s in the three-hundred building, but it’s actually a portable just outside.

I shake my head. That makes no sense.

I know, hon. She walks me outside. Go straight down this breezeway, turn left at the end, go past the building with the turtle painted on it, and you’ll see the portable there. Come back any time.

Thank you. I want to hug her, but instead I say, I’ll probably be back at lunch. Because that’ll be way less embarrassing than eating alone in the cafeteria.

Mrs. Halston’s room has almost as many books as the media center. She’s going through the syllabus when I walk in.

Sorry, I say. I couldn’t find the room.

She waves me in. Yes, yes. It’s a tricky one. I’m so glad to meet you . . .

Savannah Braden. Everyone calls me Sav. I lower my head and try to look around the classroom inconspicuously. Some kids are nestled into bean bags, others fill couches, and one sits comfortably inside an egg-shaped wicker chair.

Perfect. Welcome to reading class. Take any seat you like. It’s impossible to learn and enjoy a good book if you’re not comfortable.

I sit at the nearest desk. I hate reading. Like, so much. My test scores prove it, which is why I have to take this class in the first place. But at least Mrs. Halston doesn’t seem like the kind of teacher who calls kids out and embarrasses them.

I’m late for my next class too. I have no idea why the room numbers can’t match. This one’s my honors marine science class, which I’m taking as an elective on top of my regular science class. I already know from texting with Tanner that he’s also in it.

There are about twenty kids in here. The lady up front is wearing jeans, a white long-sleeve T-shirt that says Get Salty, flip-flops, and a stretchy black headband pulled low on her forehead. She looks barely older than my sister, but she must be the teacher, because she’s using a PowerPoint presentation to explain what we’ll learn in class this year.

Welcome. We’re sitting alphabetically the first few weeks, just till I learn who everyone is. What’s your name?

Before I answer, Tanner yells, That’s Savannah Braden, Ms. Porter! He waves, and my cheeks get hot; I hope no one can tell. One girl spins quickly in her seat. She looks from Tanner to me and then back to him. Her expression isn’t mean, but it’s . . . something.

Great. You’re right here. Ms. Porter points.

I thank her and slide into my seat while Ms. Porter clicks to her next slide. It’s a picture of her laptop cover.

These stickers—she points to her real laptop in front of us—are like badges. Every time I do a training or complete a course or do an educational tour, I add the appropriate sticker to my collection. I’ve earned each one of these, and my goal for you this year is to earn a handful yourselves.

I recognize a few, like the Earth-shaped one that says News-y—that’s a website we used a lot at my last school. There’s a Vineyard Vines whale, and I can’t help wondering what Ms. Porter did to earn that. Does buying a T-shirt count?

The girl who stared at me earlier says, Like Girl Scout badges.

Exactly! Ms. Porter holds up a wave-shaped sticker that says Loggerhead Marine Club: Ride the wave. This is for Marine Club. If you join and participate all year, you’ll get your own sticker. We meet after school the second Tuesday of each month. We’ll plan beach cleanups, other service projects, and two potential field trips that I’m trying to pull off.

I’m definitely joining that! I type the meeting information into the calendar in my phone.

Our first meeting’s a week from tomorrow, Ms. Porter continues. You can get club updates from our Click’d account.

I open the social media app and request to follow the club’s account. For the first time since I moved here, I’m actually excited. This club sounds awesome, and I’m already wondering what the field trips will be. One of Mom’s yoga students—this scientist from some local college—told Mom about a turtle rescue place near Jupiter. I’d love to go there on a field trip.

Wait a minute, Jupiter’s where Dad said the shark dive will be. Maybe I can just go to the turtle place that day instead. My family can drop me off and then pick me up when they’re done.

The only thing bad about Ms. Porter’s class is that it ends way too soon. When the bell rings, Tanner comes over to my desk. Want to sit with me at lunch?

Oh, thank goodness. I won’t have to hide in the media center after all. Yeah, that’d be great!

We both brought our lunches, and he leads me to a table right in the center of the cafeteria. Grant’s already there with a bunch of other kids.

When we sit, some girl I haven’t seen yet looks at Tanner, picks up her tray, and says, Dude, not cool. She and a couple of other girls, including the one who looked at me funny earlier, move to a table near the doors, and I’m left alone with five boys.

Awkward. What’s that about? I ask Tanner.

Grant nudges him. Yeah, what’s that about? Grant laughs like a hyena, or what I think a hyena would sound like.

Nothing, says Tanner. Their loss. More room for us now.

Grant casts an imaginary fishing line toward me and pretends to reel me in. I’m happy to make room for this new catch. Sit riiiiight here, Sav. He pats the spot next to him. Ugh.

You know what . . . Tanner packs up his lunch. Let’s eat outside, Sav. I bet you haven’t seen the picnic table area out back. There’s a great view of the water, and it’s cool to sit out there and watch the boats and stuff.

I look around, not sure what to do but knowing I don’t want to make waves on my first day. Having lunch with Tanner one-on-one might cause drama I’m not prepared to handle. Actually, I just remembered I have to go to the library. I left my . . . water thing in there this morning when I got lost.

Yeah, okay. He walks me to the door. Hey, what are you doing this weekend?

The answer is nothing, but he’s been inviting me to surf, and there’s no way I’ll say yes to that, so I proceed with caution. "I’m not sure. My parents talked about a day trip to