gives Dr. Mac a form to fill out. While she’s taking care of the paperwork, I look around. It’s only a parking lot, but it’s beautiful. Spiky plants with brilliant red and bright pink flowers grow along a low wall. Hidden insects whir and click, and seagulls cry overhead. The people walking by us are speaking Spanish, and a car radio somewhere plays salsa music. It couldn’t be more different from home.
I love it.
Zoe flaps her magazine in my direction. “You look hot,” she says. “What are you staring at?”
“I can’t believe I’m really seeing palm trees,” I say. “They look so weird. Don’t they remind you of David’s hair, the way the palm leaves stick out on the top?”
“Take a picture,” Maggie suggests.
“Good idea.” I take aim and shoot.
Click!
“What are those birds, Brenna?” Zoe asks as she points overhead.
“Oh, my gosh. Snowy egrets!” I adjust the camera lens to bring the elegant birds into focus. They have enormous white wings, S-shaped necks, and plumes on their heads—just like I’ve seen in Mom’s bird books. They look like soaring ballerinas.
Before I can get the shot, the egrets disappear behind a billboard.
Darn.
I’ll have to shoot faster.
The rental-car guy hands the car keys to Dr. Mac. “First time in Florida?” he asks with a friendly smile.
“First time anywhere,” I answer.
“Are you going to Disney World?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Way better than that. We’re going to Gold Coast Rescue Center.”
“Never heard of it,” he says.
Dr. Mac opens the trunk of the white sedan. “The girls are going to work with recuperating manatees.”
The attendant lifts the suitcases into the trunk. “You came all the way down here to do that?”
“We’re going to squeeze in a baseball game, too,” Dr. Mac says. “I got us tickets for the Bay City Stingers and the Hurricanes.”
“Yes!” Maggie pumps her fist in the air, almost smacking her cousin. “The Stingers have one of the best hitters in the league, Ronnie Masters. He used to play for the Philadelphia Phillies.”
“We can watch baseball at home,” I say, putting my suitcase next to Maggie’s. “I want to spend all my time with the manatees.”
The attendant closes the trunk. “It’s probably a good idea,” he says. “My girlfriend told me that manatees are dying off. There aren’t that many left, you know.”
The two-story stucco rescue center is bigger than I thought it would be, with a middle section and two wings that go off to the left and the right. A slow-moving river flows behind the center, shaded by tall oaks draped with spooky Spanish moss. Exotic birds screech from the top of thetrees. The insects here are louder than at the airport, and it’s hot and sticky, even in the shade.
“Welcome to the Gold Coast Rescue Center,” reads a faded sign on the front door. “Bay City, Florida.”
Dr. Mac told us that Gold Coast is a manatee critical-care center. It’s certified to rescue injured or sick manatees and to rehabilitate and take care of them until they are healthy enough to be released into the wild. It’s supposed to be a tourist spot, too, but we’re the only visitors I can see. The cars in the parking lot are all in the “Reserved for Staff” spaces.
Dr. Mac tugs on the front door. It’s locked. Maggie leans against the glass to peer inside.
“That’s strange,” Dr. Mac says. She knocks on the door. “Gretchen knew we were coming. I hope everything is all right.”
“Maybe they’re on a lunch break,” Zoe suggests.
“Wait, here comes someone,” Maggie says.
“Gretchen!” Dr. Mac exclaims.
A tall, muscular woman wearing a light blue sleeveless shirt and black shorts unlocks and pushes open the front door. Her blond hair is up in a bun. She looks like she’s around thirty years old, but there are dark circles under her eyes. I bet she works really hard.
“J.J.!” the woman exclaims. “I thought I heard a car pull in. Sorry about
I love it.
Zoe flaps her magazine in my direction. “You look hot,” she says. “What are you staring at?”
“I can’t believe I’m really seeing palm trees,” I say. “They look so weird. Don’t they remind you of David’s hair, the way the palm leaves stick out on the top?”
“Take a picture,” Maggie suggests.
“Good idea.” I take aim and shoot.
Click!
“What are those birds, Brenna?” Zoe asks as she points overhead.
“Oh, my gosh. Snowy egrets!” I adjust the camera lens to bring the elegant birds into focus. They have enormous white wings, S-shaped necks, and plumes on their heads—just like I’ve seen in Mom’s bird books. They look like soaring ballerinas.
Before I can get the shot, the egrets disappear behind a billboard.
Darn.
I’ll have to shoot faster.
The rental-car guy hands the car keys to Dr. Mac. “First time in Florida?” he asks with a friendly smile.
“First time anywhere,” I answer.
“Are you going to Disney World?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Way better than that. We’re going to Gold Coast Rescue Center.”
“Never heard of it,” he says.
Dr. Mac opens the trunk of the white sedan. “The girls are going to work with recuperating manatees.”
The attendant lifts the suitcases into the trunk. “You came all the way down here to do that?”
“We’re going to squeeze in a baseball game, too,” Dr. Mac says. “I got us tickets for the Bay City Stingers and the Hurricanes.”
“Yes!” Maggie pumps her fist in the air, almost smacking her cousin. “The Stingers have one of the best hitters in the league, Ronnie Masters. He used to play for the Philadelphia Phillies.”
“We can watch baseball at home,” I say, putting my suitcase next to Maggie’s. “I want to spend all my time with the manatees.”
The attendant closes the trunk. “It’s probably a good idea,” he says. “My girlfriend told me that manatees are dying off. There aren’t that many left, you know.”
The two-story stucco rescue center is bigger than I thought it would be, with a middle section and two wings that go off to the left and the right. A slow-moving river flows behind the center, shaded by tall oaks draped with spooky Spanish moss. Exotic birds screech from the top of thetrees. The insects here are louder than at the airport, and it’s hot and sticky, even in the shade.
“Welcome to the Gold Coast Rescue Center,” reads a faded sign on the front door. “Bay City, Florida.”
Dr. Mac told us that Gold Coast is a manatee critical-care center. It’s certified to rescue injured or sick manatees and to rehabilitate and take care of them until they are healthy enough to be released into the wild. It’s supposed to be a tourist spot, too, but we’re the only visitors I can see. The cars in the parking lot are all in the “Reserved for Staff” spaces.
Dr. Mac tugs on the front door. It’s locked. Maggie leans against the glass to peer inside.
“That’s strange,” Dr. Mac says. She knocks on the door. “Gretchen knew we were coming. I hope everything is all right.”
“Maybe they’re on a lunch break,” Zoe suggests.
“Wait, here comes someone,” Maggie says.
“Gretchen!” Dr. Mac exclaims.
A tall, muscular woman wearing a light blue sleeveless shirt and black shorts unlocks and pushes open the front door. Her blond hair is up in a bun. She looks like she’s around thirty years old, but there are dark circles under her eyes. I bet she works really hard.
“J.J.!” the woman exclaims. “I thought I heard a car pull in. Sorry about
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