谢莉和塔拉是好朋友,她们参加了普吉特海湾夏令营。谢莉是一个初级救生员,这天,谢莉想试试独木舟,这让几乎不会游泳的塔拉很紧张。不过,在谢莉的再三鼓动下,两人还是开始了划独木舟的训练。可要想加入独木舟小分队,她们还需要进行深水独木舟倾覆训练。然而,就在深水测试的那天,意想不到的事情发生了。在她们踏入刺骨的海水中时,发现自己被水母群围住,船桨也顺着水流越漂越远。经过一番紧张的挣扎之后,她们穿过水母群,拿到了漂走的船桨并且完成了独木舟翻转的动作。尽管她们觉得自己表现得很不尽人意,加入独木舟小分队的希望渺茫,但是因为她们在困难面前不放弃的精神,贝克小姐还是给她们每人发了一枚银质胸针作为邀请。谢莉最终成为一名独木舟队短距离赛手,而塔拉也完成了游泳课训练。
We were at summer camp on Puget Sound, and Shelly had an idea. “Let’s take canoeing,” she said.
I just giggled. “The way I swim?”
Shelly was a junior lifeguard. My best stroke was the doggy paddle.
“It’s a boat,” said Shelly. “You don’t have to swim. Besides, you’ll be wearing a life jacket.”
So we did it. We learned how to stroke, glide, and turn, and how to steer with a twist at the end of a pull. Miss Baker said we should join the canoe squad.
Sprint racing—us? Why not?
“Squad members have to pass a deep-water capsize drill,” said Miss Baker.
That was the why not. “I can’t do it,” I told Shelly.
“Sure you can,” she said. “With your life jacket on, you’ll bob like a cork.”
The next morning, shivering in sweatshirts over swimsuits, we trudged down to the beach. “I don’t like this, Shel,” I said.
She just grinned. “It’ll be easy. Capsize the canoe, flip it over, tow it back.”
It sounded easy. We watched Miss Baker toss safety rings into the rescue boat. The old ferry-dock pilings, encrusted with barnacles, loomed like shadows through the fog. I shuddered.
We pulled off our sweatshirts. With her long legs and sleek haircut, Shelly looked like an Olympic swimmer. I’m short. After weeks at camp, my hair was a curly, sun-streaked mop. In my bright-orange life jacket, I felt like a fat cocker spaniel.
We picked up the paddles.
“Ready?” asked Miss Baker.
“Ready,” said Shelly, climbing into the canoe. I plopped in behind her. Shelly gripped her paddle, ready to stroke. Waves shlupped against the hull of the canoe. I shoved off.
We skimmed the silver-gray water, paddles slicing black-tipped waves. Crystal droplets glistened on the blade of my paddle.
“Deep enough,” Shelly said. She looked back at me. “You OK?”
I wasn’t. “Just great!” I said.
“OK,” Shelly said. “Count of three. One, two . . .”
“Hold it!” I yelled. “Jellyfish!”
But it was too late. We tumbled into the freezing water, right into a pod of pulsating jellyfish. They looked like big fried eggs. Shelly shrieked and slapped the water.
“You two OK out there?” Miss Baker called.
Gasping from the cold, I gripped the downside-up canoe with both hands and hollered back, “Fine!”
Sure, just great! The icy water had numbed my legs, so I could barely feel the jellyfish stings. These jellyfish were harmless, I knew, but still annoying.
I looked around. The paddles were out of reach and floating farther away. “Shelly!” I yelled. “The paddles!”
She just pushed at the water. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I hate jellyfish!”
I shoved wet curls out of my face. I told myself I couldn’t sink. I was OK. Right! I pushed away from the canoe.
Nose up, I windmilled through the water doing the bobbing-cork stroke. Some jellyfish slithered across my legs. One paddle was just ahead. I grabbed it, then struggled after the other one and pulled it in. Tucking them under my arms like water wings, I whipped around and bumped into Shelly.
“You got ’em,” she said.
I coughed water and gasped. “You swam through the jellyfish!”
“Had to,” said Shelly. “My best friend can’t swim. Or so she says.”
Grinning, we splashed a wet high-five. Then I saw it.
“The canoe!” I screeched.
Caught in the current, our canoe was heading toward the pilings. Shelly raced after it.
Even though she was wearing a life jacket, her crawl was sleek and effortless. Clutching the oars, I churned after her.
Shelly caught up with the canoe and slung an arm over its side. “Hurry!” she yelled. “I can’t hold it!”
I splashed through the water, kicking furiously. Gasping, I grabbed the other side of the canoe and tossed a paddle to Shelly. Straining against the current, we coaxed the canoe away from the pilings and flipped it over. Partly submerged, the canoe rocked sluggishly.
“See?” said Shelly. “It was easy.”
I laughed. “Sure!”
We tossed the paddles into the canoe and tugged it to shore. Miss Baker was knee-deep next to the rescue boat. “Bit of trouble out there?” she asked.
Shelly spit on a reddish welt on her arm, and said, “I don’t like jellyfish.”
I pulled on my sweatshirt. Even my goosebumps were cold. Miss Baker held out two tiny silver pins shaped like paddles.
Shelly squealed. “You mean we can still join the canoe squad?”
Staring at the badges, I shook my head, soggy curls dripping saltwater. “But we messed up.”
Miss Baker smiled. “When things got tough, you didn’t quit.” Then she gave me a hug and whispered, “Tara, sign up for swim lessons.”
“Right,” I said.
Shelly’s still a sprint racer for the canoe squad, but I ended up joining the swim team. And I love it.
All because of those jellyfish.