Out of Season Read Free Page B

fit.”
    Dad built this boat just for me. Saul is fifty pounds and six inches bigger than I am. He’d tip over the minute he took a forward stroke. Frustration flickers in his eyes. Finally, he lets go. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he says.
    I settle into my boat and paddle. Fast.
    From the water, I can’t see where Dad is. There are rocks and small islands between us. There’s no splashing, no flash of moving arms, nothing. Tears blur my vision. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. The only thing I have to go by is what I saw from the hilltop, so I point my boat in that direction and hope.
    Each stroke takes me faster than the one before. Soon I’m flying across the water.
    I hope I’m fast enough.
    Dad’s a good swimmer, but he doesn’t have a survival suit on.
    What if he’s hurt? I can’t think about that.
    At the mouth of the bay, the current changes. Instead of pushing me toward Dad, it pulls me away from him. I shift my butt back on my seat and lean forward. I push with every muscle, but the boat feels like it’s slipping backward. Push, push, push. Each stroke makes my stomach clench and my arms sting. My mouth is dry. All I can think about is getting to Dad.
    The boat inches forward. I feel like I’m not moving at all. Sweat pours down my face.
    With all of my strength, I pull that paddle again. Suddenly I’m free of the current and in the main channel. Once again the current is working with me.
    The boat surges forward.
    There’s so much water in the channel and no way to tell where to go. It’s choppy out here. I don’t know where the current has taken Dad. My head spins around, left, right, left, right. I can’t see anything to help me locate him. My mind whizzes in a million directions—what if he’s drowned? What if I never find him? My stroke falters. Tears blur my vision.
    Then my radio crackles. Saul’s voice says, “Head west, Maya. I can see him. I’m at the top of the hill. You’ve got to go to your left.”
    I’ve never been so happy to hear Saul’s voice in my life.
    I angle the bow of my boat left and pull my paddle through the water with all my strength. The kayak turns toward the far shore. After a few strokes, I still can’t see anything.
    â€œFarther left, Maya.”
    I angle the boat more. I still can’t see anything. “Saul,” I call into my radio. How many minutes has it been?
    â€œYou’re almost there, Maya,” says Saul.
    Then I hear Dad. “Maya, over here.”
    â€œWhere are you?” I scream.
    There’s no answer. I can’t see anything. My mouth turns dry. Did I imagine him calling me? I take another stroke and look around. The chop hits the side of my kayak, threatening to change my angle. I have to look straight ahead again and pay attention.
    â€œVeer right,” comes Saul’s voice. “You’ve almost got him.”
    I change the angle of my boat again and yell, “Dad, are you okay?” My voice is hoarse.
    I paddle on, scanning the sea for his head.
    â€œHere,” he says. Then I see him. His head is above water.
    He hasn’t drowned.
    All my energy rushes out of me, and I shout in relief, “Saul, I see him!”
    The current pushes me west, away from Dad. I gather my energy and shift the angle of the boat. Dip the paddle. Pull. Dip. Pull. He raises his arm so I can keep track of where he is.
    In ten strokes I’m alongside him. “Dad, I thought you’d drowned.” I am crying, and I can’t see anything but my own tears.
    â€œMaya. Thank goodness you ignored me. I have never been so happy to see someone as I am to see you.”
    I laugh through my tears. “Can you climb onto my stern?”
    Dad grabs hold of my boat. With a mighty “hhhffff,” he hauls himself up so that his chest lies across the stern. His legs dangle in the water.
    The kayak is tippy with