The Shark Rider by Ellen Prager Page B

was skinny and low at the ends, but hilly in the middle.
    â€œThat’s Virgin Gorda down there,” the director announced. “Columbus thought the island resembled an attractive, pleasantly plump woman lying down, so he named it the fat virgin. Ha, that’s a good one.”
    They passed over a stretch of dark water, a cluster of rocky islets, and then a small, crescent-shaped island. It, too, was hilly and green at the middle, with rocky cliffs along one side and a long, white beach on the other. Tristan thought he saw some small huts behind the beach and what appeared to be a sprawling mansion atop the cliffs. He pointed it out to Sam and Hugh.
    â€œAll clear. Taking her down,” Coach announced.
    They headed west past a few more small islands and then began to descend. Tristan felt the plane slow. He knowingly held his breath this time as the ocean flashed by below. Just as the runway came into view, the airplane dropped steeply. It bounced once and then settled onto the asphalt. Coach hit the brakes. As he was thrown forward, Tristan exhaled and prayed they wouldn’t slide off the rain-slickened pavement.
    â€œA snap, Snappers,” Director Davis said, chuckling. “We’re making a tight turnaround here. Our contact should be waiting. I’ll be picking up a pilot and heading back to Sea Camp . . . things to take care of. But I’llbe monitoring your progress and staying in close communication with Coach Fred. Good luck and, above all else, stay safe.”
    The plane taxied down the runway, passing what looked to be the regular airport terminal where passengers were just getting off a commercial flight. As soon as they stopped, Director Davis opened the door, lowered the stairs, and ushered the teens off. Coach Fred led them toward a low, white, concrete building. Walking briskly toward them and waving was an athletic-looking woman wearing a tan baseball hat and a fire-engine red foul weather jacket that fell nearly to her knees.
    â€œWasn’t sure you’d make it in,” the woman announced. “That was one nasty squall that just went through.” She shook Coach Fred’s hand, smiling. “I’m Dr. Margaret Gladfell, but please just call me Meg. Guess I don’t need these anymore.” She took off her hat and the foul weather jacket. Underneath, she had on flowered shorts and a T-shirt that said Virgin Islands Institute over two circling fish in silhouette. Her dark blonde hair came to her chin in a perky bob. And when she smiled, small lines crinkled around her bright hazel eyes.
    â€œUh, just a little rough coming in. Not too bad,” Coach Fred said, running his hand over his dark, slicked-back hair.
    Tristan was expecting some bluster about how the storm hardly tested his amazing piloting skills, but instead, Coach seemed to almost stumble over hiswords. And Tristan could swear the man blushed when he shook the woman’s hand. That was a first.
    Before Coach could introduce them, Meg said, “Well, I’m just glad you made it in. No time to waste. We can save the rest of the introductions for the ship. It’s all set to go. I’ve taken care of the necessary paperwork and stocked up. It’s just a short way to the dock from the private terminal here.”
    The scientist turned and strode toward the low, white building. They had to jog just to keep up with her. A taxi van was waiting for them outside. They piled in. Coach then loaded their bags along with some bottles and several large jugs of Sea Camp water. The van left the airport, made two quick turns, passed through a parking lot full of beat-up, dusty cars, and pulled up alongside a wooden dock.
    Tristan stared at the boat tied up at the dock, thinking maybe they made a wrong turn.
    â€œWe’re going on that?” Rosina asked.
    â€œLike, this must be some sort of joke,” Ryder added.
    â€œI know she’s not much to look at,” Meg said. “However,