The Extremely High Tide! Read online

  “Please, call me Chrissy,” the librarian said. “You’ll find what you need in the seaweed section upstairs—three rows down to your right.”

  Hazel headed for the stairs. Jules was about to follow when a book caught her eye. “The Great Book of Boatbuilding,” she said. “My friend Talise read this!”

  Chrissy nodded. “Her mother returned it today.”

  Jules’s stomach twisted. She knew Talise was grounded because she’d gone diving to study shipwrecks. Talise truly believed the message in a bottle she’d found was telling her to build a boat.

  Factually, that still didn’t make sense to Jules—but she did feel guilty about being so dismissive. After all, as a reporter, she understood the importance of following a hunch. She had a hunch that the lighthouse keeper was trying to warn the town about something. Talise had a hunch that she needed to build a boat.

  Maybe their hunches had something in common.

  “Can I help you find anything, Jules?” Chrissy asked.

  “Oh!” Jules blinked. “Yes, please. I’m researching the lighthouse keeper. Do you have any books about her?”

  “Hmm.” Chrissy tapped her chin. “I believe we might have something in the biographies aisle. Right this way!”

  Jules followed her past shelf after shelf. Each had a label:

  COOKBOOKS

  BAKEBOOKS

  HISTORY

  ALTERNATE HISTORY

  POETRY (*For Spoken Word Poetry, Slam Poetry, and Rap, Please Visit People Checkout)

  FOREIGN LANGUAGES

  LOCAL DIALECTS

  BIOGRAPHIES

  (*For Living Memoirs, Please Visit People Checkout)

  “Here we are,” Chrissy said. “Biographies are organized by profession, so we need to find the Ls . . . ah, here! Lawyer, Leather Belt Maker, Lexicographer, Librarian!” She pulled a thick book with a purple cover off the shelf.

  “Is that your biography?” Jules asked.

  Chrissy nodded proudly. “Took me years to write, but it was worth it. Just look at how many . . .” She trailed off as she flipped to the back. “Oh. Only two people have ever checked it out. Well, that’s better than none!” Adjusting her glasses, she squinted. “Oh. That was me, both times.”

  Jules felt bad. “I’m sure it’s a very good biography, but—”

  “It is!” Chrissy wailed. “I spent all that time in the jungle, learning how to forage for paper. And I have a black belt in binding!”

  “But I really need to research the lighthouse keeper today,” Jules finished.

  “I understand. Lighthouse keeping is a fascinating pro-fession.”

  They kept moving down the row, past biographies for Lifeguards and Lightning Guards, Lion Tamers and Literary Agents, Lion Agents and Literary Tamers, Lockpicks and Locksmiths and Lock Mediators. . . .

  “Wait,” Jules said. “If there’s a Lighthouse Keeper biography, we must have passed it.”

  “You’re right.” Chrissy took a few steps back, her fingers trailing along the tops of the books. Then she said, “Aha!” and slid a book off the shelf.

  It had a pretty, shiny cover with a picture of a lighthouse. But there weren’t that many pages. “It’s so thin,” Jules said.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Short books mean less information. I was hoping for lots of information.”

  “I see.” Chrissy smiled. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Sometimes thin, short books have lots to say. And sometimes big, long books don’t have much of anything to say at all. This book might not have many words—but they could be the exact words you need.”

  Jules perked up. “That makes sense. Thanks, Chrissy!” Then she tilted her head. “Are your glasses . . . glowing?”

  Chrissy pushed the yellow frames up her nose. “They are! Helps me read even when I don’t have a light.” She winked, and Jules decided they were factually the coolest glasses in the world.

  Upstairs, Jules found Hazel at a table towering with thick, important-looking books, her star-pierced nose buried in 100 Mostly True Facts About Seaweed. She looked the way an investigative reporter was supposed to look.

  Compared to her stepsister, Jules felt foolish with her thin little book. She sat down across from Hazel and sighed loudly.

  “What’s wrong?” Hazel asked.

  “Chrissy helped me find the lighthouse keeper’s biography,” Jules muttered.

  “That’s great!” Hazel buried her nose in the massive book again.

  Jules slumped in her chair and glared at the biography. Finally, she opened it to the first page. Instead of words, there was a picture of a mermaid. She was small with long green hair, and wore a shell necklace.

  On the second page, Jules found another picture of the mermaid. Her head poked up out of the water, and she stared longingly at a distant shore.

  On the third page, the mermaid wore a glowing ring. The fourth page showed the mermaid walking onto shore with human legs. . . .

  “I don’t believe it!” Jules yelped, slamming the book shut.

  “Jules,” Hazel whispered. “You can’t yelp in a library.”

  “Sorry. My point is, this isn’t even the right book.” Jules pulled off the book jacket with the picture of a lighthouse, revealing a plain cover that said The Magic Ring. “See? It has nothing to do with lighthouse keeping—it’s just a silly story about a silly mermaid and a silly ring. It’s fiction.”

  “Not necessarily,” Hazel said. “Mermaids really did exist.”

  “But it isn’t helpful to my investigation at all.”

  “All I’m saying is, there’s almost always truth in fiction. You might have to work a little harder to find it, but it could be in there.”

  Jules wrinkled her nose. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “First, you read the whole book,” Hazel explained. “Then, you consider all of the facts about your case. Then, you look for connections.”

  Frowning, Jules opened the mermaid book again and forced herself to keep turning the pages. When she got to the part where the mermaid got her happily-ever-after—a peanut butter and pickle sandwich, which wasn’t available in the ocean—Jules rolled her eyes so hard they crossed.

  “It’s like one of Runa’s goofy stories,” she muttered.

  Maybe Hazel was right about finding truth in fiction sometimes—but now was not one of those times.

  Jules was on the wrong track. Factually.

  She gave up and headed downstairs, meandering aimlessly through the aisles. She followed a set of dirty footprints into the travel section, with books on all kinds of places outside of Topsea. She wandered through the wander section, with books on how to travel. She coasted into the isle aisle, with books on how to bury treasure.

  When she rounded the last shelf, she found Chrissy unpacking a box of books. “Can I help you find something else?” the librarian asked.

  “I don’t think so.” Jules stepped closer, furrowing her brow. “Is that box . . . wet?”

  Chrissy flicked a piece of seaweed off the box. It wriggled away down the row, disappearing into the bathymetry section. “Yes, this whole shipment of Everything Else You Need to Know About Topsea was six months late. The boat sank, can you believe it? Thankfully, the books were double-Bubble-Wrapped, so they aren’t water damaged.”

  “How did they get here, if the boat sank?”

  “They all washed up this morning, lucky for us!” Chrissy pulled another copy from the box, and a clump of wet sand landed in her lap. “Ick.”

  “But how?” Jules asked again.

  The librarian shrugged. “Ask the ocean.”

  Ask the ocean.

  Jules stared at the box. An urgent, funny sort of feeling flared in her middle, racing to her brain like a stick of dynamite.

  “Gotta go; thanks, Chrissy!” she exclaimed. Then she sprinted back to her stepsister. “Hazel! Hazel!”

  Hazel looked up, startled. “Are you okay? Were you in the ghost section?”

  “
No, listen—I think I had a breakthrough!”

  “Tell me!” Hazel grinned. “I’m about done, anyway. I thought this book would be helpful because it’s so big, but it seems like more of the same old seaweed propaganda.”

  “Okay.” Jules took a deep breath. “According to Chrissy, a boat sank six months ago. But its shipment only washed up this morning. And tons of other stuff has been washing up, too—all those old bottles, and teeth, and other peculiar things. Gaspard, the clam boater I interviewed, said that means—”

  “Something BIG is coming.”

  Jules beamed. “You read my report?”

  “Of course! So the lighthouse keeper’s warning involves something BIG—that makes sense. Do you know what it is?”

  “I have a hunch, but . . .”

  Jules trailed off. Her hunch was BIG. But it wasn’t factual—not yet. As a responsible reporter, Jules had an obligation to prove her hunch was right before she sounded the alarm.

  If she was right, her alarm wouldn’t be the only one.

  But if she was wrong . . . Jules could see the headlines now. Hasty Gazette Reporter Harms Town with False Alarm!

  “But first,” Jules continued, “I need to consult an expert.”

  Hazel laughed. “I respect that! What kind of expert?”

  “One who knows more about the ocean than any kid in Topsea.” Jules smiled. “And all the grown-ups, too.”

  BREAKING NEWS: EXTREMELY HIGH TIDE IS COMING

  by Jules, Fifth-Grade Star Reporter

  This reporter thought she’d hit a wall on her investigation. After all, it’s hard to learn about lighthouse keepers when their biographies are just silly mermaid books in disguise. But thanks to a soggy shipment of sunken books, this reporter finally figured out what the lighthouse keeper has been trying to warn us about.

  You heard it here first, Gazette readers—an Extremely High Tide is nigh!

  Of course, this reporter would never cry wolf unless a wolf was factually there. That’s why she consulted with Topsea’s leading bathymetry expert, Talise Villepreux. After studying her moon and tide charts extensively, Talise concluded that there is no doubt: the tides are turning in Topsea, in a BIG way.

  Everyone in Topsea—with the exception of new students and stepsisters who just visit occasionally—knows Extremely High Tide is only dangerous if you don’t follow safety protocol. The Town Committee for Lunar Consequences hasn’t issued their standard preparation notifications yet, but this reporter is confident they will follow her lead and sound the alarm soon.

  PRINCIPAL’S PRINCIPLES

  Learning to work with tools is an important and fun part of any child’s education. Students who wish to build things like tables, shelves, or even boats are encouraged to go for it! Whatever floats your boat.

  Your Pal,

  Principal Josephine (Jo) King

  NOTIFICATION: THERE IS NO EXTREMELY HIGH TIDE

  From the Town Committee for Lunar Consequences and Everything’s Going to Be Okay

  We are aware of the rumors that an Extremely High Tide might be on its way. Rumors are not news, and to report them as facts is very irresponsible. That type of propaganda can lead to panic and hysteria—all for nothing! According to our very reputable observations, razor-sharp analysis, and overly educated guessing, we assure you an Extremely High Tide is NOT on its way. If it was, you’d hear it from us first! Right? Don’t worry! Be hungry. Bring this ad to Nico’s Taqueria for 50% off on a “clam” quesadilla. Everything will be just fine.

  Quincy woke up in a brand-new mood.

  Between the unpredictable flu and all the talk about unpredictable tides, he’d felt especially anxious all week. As a result, he’d baked six pies, two dozen cookies, and a giant loaf of seaweed-banana bread.

  But everyone had long since recovered from the flu. And despite the Gazette’s report, a committee of grown-up experts said an Extremely High Tide was not on its way. (By the time Quincy had seen the notification, he and Roxy had already strapped on a dozen life jackets each.)

  (Quincy still slept with one on, just in case.)

  This morning, all Quincy’s anxiety had vanished. He didn’t know the name of his new mood yet. But he liked it.

  He also liked salted caramel swirl pancakes. As he started a batch, his crème brûlée torch suddenly sneezed a stream of flames onto his butter. Normally, Quincy would have panicked. But instead, he scooped up the butter with a pan and let it brown, then poured the pancake batter on top.

  His parents were impressed with the result.

  “Salted caramel swirl pancakes are good,” his mom said around a mouthful. “But brown butter salted caramel swirl pancakes are amazing.”

  “You should take more risks with your recipes, Quincy!” his other mom agreed, pouring syrup onto her stack. “This is delicious.”

  After breakfast, he headed to the boardwalk to meet his friends.

  Normally, Quincy walked with his head down. He wanted to make sure he didn’t trip over a stick or a crack. But today, he kept his head up. Topsea was so pretty! Sometimes Quincy forgot. The ocean was so blue, and the sand was so sparkly, and the rock cats were so smiley.

  Smiley—maybe that was the name for this mood?

  Quincy smiled all the way to the boardwalk. When he saw Davy, Jules, Nia, and Earl Grey, he smiled even bigger. “Hi!” he called.

  “Hi, Quincy!” Davy said. “Wow, you look different today. You look . . . merry!”

  “No, he looks jolly!” Nia argued.

  “Nah, he looks radiant!” Davy argued back.

  “He looks buoyant!”

  “Sunny!”

  “Moony!”

  Quincy giggled. He felt like all of those things. But Jules scowled. “Would you two stop bickering already?”

  Nia put her hands on her hips. “Well, I’d rather bicker with my best friend, but all she can talk about is the Town Committee for Lunar Consequences and—”

  “—and Everything’s Going to Be a Disaster?” Jules finished. “They totally ruined my reputation as a reporter! They don’t understand the definition of propaganda. And worst of all, they’re wrong. Talise is way more of an expert than those guys, and she’s positive an Extremely—”

  “Hi, Runa!” Quincy bellowed, waving both hands. Everyone turned as Runa walked up, arms wrapped around her art supply bag. She didn’t wave or smile.

  “Where’s Finn?” Nia asked.

  “He’s busy,” Runa replied.

  The other kids waited for her to tell them about Finn’s plans to fly over the Bermuda Triangle, or go on a jungle safari, or an equally colorful Runa-tale. But she didn’t say anything else.

  “What about Talise?” Davy asked at last.

  “She’s been grounded all week,” Jules reminded him. “That’s why she’s had so much time to consult her charts and confirm my hunch about Ext—”

  “Extremely delicious clams,” Davy cut in, glancing at Quincy.

  Quincy just smiled. Davy didn’t need to worry about him. There was no Extremely High Tide. Everything was fine. His cheeks ached.

  “It also means Talise can’t work on her boat!” Runa sniffled. “The whole reason she’s grounded in the first place. She cared so much about building it, she put her entire life at risk in the deepest, darkest parts of the seaweed-infested ocean. . . .”

  Quincy had never seen Runa look so gloomy. When he was worried about something, his parents always came up with a fun way to distract him.

  “What would you like to do today, Runa?” he asked. “Maybe play a game?”

  “I’m not in the mood for a game,” Jules grumbled.

  But Runa’s face began to brighten. “Ooh, I like games. Which one?”

  “Truth or Dare?” Davy suggested.

  Truth or Dare usually made Quincy anxious. After all, it was an unpredictable game. Someone might ask him about his favorite crabcake recipe, or they might dare him to let a crab pinch his finger. But today, an unpredictable game actually sounded fun.


  Even Jules perked up a little. “I do like a good dare.”

  Nia jumped up and down. “Yes, Truth or Dare! I want to go first!”

  “Okay,” Davy said immediately. “Truth or—”

  “Dare!”

  Davy crossed his arms and looked around. Then his eyes lit up. “I dare you to run to the end of the endless pier!”

  “No problem,” Nia said.

  The kids followed her to the beginning of the pier. She stretched one leg, then stretched the other. Then she took off running. Earl Grey trotted after her, but he only made it a few steps before he stopped, panting.

  Quincy smiled at Earl Grey. Earl Grey shrugged.

  They watched as Nia ran farther and farther down the pier, her long brown braid streaming behind her. Finally, she disappeared on the horizon.

  “How will we know if she actually made it?” Davy asked.

  “She’ll make it,” Jules said. “Nia can run forever.”

  The kids continued down the boardwalk toward the really old rides. There was the old Ferris wheel with creaky bucket seats, and the older carousel with faded, eyeless horses, and the oldest teacup ride probably in the whole world, with giant chips and cracks in all the teacups.

  “It’s Davy’s turn!” Runa said. “Truth or Dare?”

  Quincy knew his best friend very well—well enough to know he’d pick dare. But to his surprise, Davy blushed and said: “Truth.”

  Maybe everyone was in a different mood today?

  Runa tapped her chin thoughtfully. “If you could have any pet you wanted, what would you have?”

  “A dog,” Davy said right away.

  Quincy giggled, and Jules rolled her eyes. Everyone knew dogs were just mythical creatures. But Runa beamed. “Awesome! I’d want a dragon. But a dog would be cool, too.”

  Davy grinned. “A dragon would definitely be a cool pet.”

  “Now it’s your turn,” Quincy told Runa. “Truth or dare?”

  “Truth!”

  Jules snorted. “Do you ever tell the truth, Runa?”

  “Sometimes I tell the truth,” she replied, “and sometimes . . . I tell extra truth.”

  “Have you ever seen a mermaid?” Quincy asked.