Hello from Renn Lake Read online

  Inside the store, Viv Alden lifted the crying baby and began to soothe her.

  I watched the woman as long as I could. Her silhouette gliding across my surface under the black sky, the paddle barely making a sound as it dipped below. She became smaller and smaller.

  In the end, Tru took her. I called out to my cousin, but either Tru didn’t hear or chose not to. And then the woman was gone.

  No matter how many times I’ve asked, Tru has never answered my questions about that night.

  The next morning, I drop the new coins into my jar, put the arrowhead and iKa’s autograph card on my dresser, then knock on my sister’s bedroom door. “You ready?”

  “I’ll come later.”

  “I can wait for you.”

  “No. I still have a stomachache.”

  “Listen…maybe I can talk to Mom and Dad about the audition.”

  “I don’t want you to. Just go.”

  I shake my head. “Fine.” I grab the cap and put it on. It worked yesterday. I’m not taking any chances.

  When I’m on Main, Toni waves to me from the door of Castaway and I wave back. There’s a banner below the movie theater marquee that says FREE POPCORN WITH TICKET PURCHASE! The long strand of ivy is dangling from the brick of the candy shop. Seems like it’s barely hanging on.

  I’m hurrying past Alden’s, doing my best not to look, but a burst of pink in the window catches my eye. It’s a flock of inflatable flamingo floaties with inner tubes. On their long necks, it says ALDEN’S GIFTS. They’re standing on fake grass but seem a little unsteady. One of them starts to lean, then falls over, knocking down the whole row in slow motion until they’re a messy pile of pink.

  Mr. Alden must’ve tried to do the display. Everyone in town always admired Mrs. Alden’s windows. Kites that looked as if they were really flying. A stuffed animal family having a Fourth of July picnic. A row of knitted mittens strung up during the holidays, each one with a face. If Mrs. Alden were here, she would’ve figured out a way to get those flamingos to stay in place.

  My heart speeds up and I start to get that feeling like I’m in a tunnel again, and being pulled inside. I tug the cap lower and race across the street. When I reach the lake, I go close to the edge and whisper “Good morning” to Renn. The shore is already getting filled up with people.

  Good morning to you.

  I stand there, my reflection flickering in the water, until my heart slows and I feel like I’m on firmer ground. I dip in my hand, then take it out, watching the water drip from the ends of my fingers and back into Renn. I do it a few more times, until Alden’s, behind me, loosens its grip and the shadowy space of where I came from floats away.

  “Thanks,” I whisper.

  When I come into the office, Mom says, “Where’s Jess?” and I tell her. Mom calls her, asking if her forehead feels warm or if she threw up. I can hear Jess saying no to both. “Rest and drink a lot,” Mom instructs, and says she’ll come home as soon as she can to check on her.

  Vera’s still not here, so I’m on bed-and-towel duty again, plus the official suitcase carrier, refunder of quarters eaten by the soda machine, and admirer of Thought Wall sticky notes. More have been added:

  Whoever invented Mountain Dew was a genius.

  Friendship is not a ship.

  Just keep swimming. Literally.

  I confess to nothing.

  Mom and Dad are constantly busy, taking care of little things (fixing the TV in cabin 5), big things (a clogged, overflowing toilet in cabin 9), and everything in between (a bee in the office, someone who dropped their key in the lake). We have a lot of extra bug spray and even more spare keys.

  I finally get a chance to check my phone in the afternoon, and there’s a long string of texts from Maya, who’s back in town and starting her summer babysitting job.

  “PLEASE come out to the lake when you can. I’m here and it’s not good. Henry has said poop-head 30 times, Tyler has said fart-face 50 times. They told me I’m the meanest babysitter they’ve ever had and they hate me. Is this seriously worth 10 bucks an hour?”

  I poke my head out of the office door and scan the shore. I spot her and the two boys, then ask Mom if I can take a break.

  “Of course,” she says, rifling through some papers.

  When I reach Maya, she’s glaring at the two boys with her hands on her hips. Her bun is a mess, loose strands everywhere, and she’s got a smear of something on her cheek. Dried banana, maybe?

  She collapses into a hug, pulls back, and clutches my shoulders. “Annalise! What was I thinking? That stupid babysitting class didn’t prepare me for anything!”

  I laugh as she lets go. “Classes never teach you what you really need to know, right?”

  One of the boys says, “Hey! We’re not babies!” He thumps the other boy’s chest with his fist and Maya quickly grabs his arm. “Henry! Don’t do that! Didn’t I tell you, no hitting. Be nice to each other. Haven’t you guys heard of kindness and all that stuff?”

  “You’re not the boss of me, Maya Levine!” Henry says. “You can’t tell me what to do!” Tyler sticks out his tongue. “Yeah! Me either.”

  I point to Maya’s face. “You’ve got some…”

  She wipes her cheek. “Now I see why Mrs. Olsen hired me on the spot. They’re seven-year-old twin monsters. She couldn’t wait to get rid of them.” She takes two plastic bottles of juice from a cooler and holds them above the boys’ heads. “If you sit on the blanket and drink these nicely and quietly, I will give you back your lightsabers later, okay?”

  The boys plop onto the blanket and Maya hands them the juice. “Nicely!” she repeats. They rip off the caps and slurp noisily.

  “If every day’s going to be like this, I don’t know how I’ll survive, Annalise. My brother’s so lucky he got to go to sleepaway camp.”

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  “Um, it can.”

  I smile. “As bad as a blimperfly?”

  She smiles too. “Now, that was bad.”

  In third grade, right after we met, we teamed up for an art assignment. We had to use papier mâché to create something that could fly, but it had to be half animal, half machine. We designed a cross between a blimp and butterfly. We called it a blimperfly. Our papier mâché mixture was full of clumps and the wings wouldn’t attach. Calling it a disaster would be kind. Since then, we tell each other that nothing’s ever as bad as a blimperfly.

  “That reminds me,” she says, digging in her backpack and pulling out a giant multicolored gummy butterfly. “Sorry I missed your birthday.”

  “Ha! This is great.” I rip open the package and take a bite. “Thanks.” I offer it to her.

  She takes a bite too, then tucks a few strands of hair into her bun. “Well, at least we can hang out here a lot. That should take up some time.”

  I stuff the gummy into my shorts pocket and notice a dad and little girl near us. He’s helping her step into a flamingo floatie, like the ones in the Alden’s window. She toddles down to the water, one flamingo leg dragging behind her.

  “Why do flamingos stand on one leg anyway?” I say aloud, not sure if I meant to.

  Henry burps. “That’s how they rest their muscles and keep warm, don’t you know anything?”

  Maya and I stare at him. “Is that true?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

  “Yeah. I read it. In a book about flamingos. I did a report for school.”

  Tyler’s nodding. “Henry’s smart. Smarter than anyone in the whole world.” Tyler’s got a purple juice mustache that makes him look like a cartoon villain.

  The little girl reaches the lake, shakes her head, shouts “No!” and steps out of the floatie. Her dad kneels down, pats her shoulder, gestures to the water. She shakes her head again and tosses the flamingo aside. A curly-haired boy picks it up and the girl points a
t him, then starts wailing. Her dad retrieves the flamingo and when he brings it back, she hugs it like it’s a long-lost friend, pulls it up around her middle, and wades happily into the lake.

  Henry stands, burps again, and gives Maya his empty bottle. “We want our lightsabers back.”

  Maya holds up the bottle. “After you put this in the recycling can.”

  Henry actually does it, then comes back and sticks out his hand.

  “I’m going to regret this.” Maya takes two lightsabers from her backpack. “Okay, now listen—”

  The boys grab them and run toward the lake, slashing the air and jabbing each other.

  “I know you have to get back to the cabins, but please stay with me a little longer,” Maya pleads. “I’m begging you. I might go insane.”

  “Sure.”

  We sprint after them, Maya yelling, “Would you guys chill?”

  We’re far down the shore when I stop to catch my breath. That always makes me think of literally trying to grab a handful of my breath as it blows out and hold on to it. Shouldn’t it be more like, stop to slow your breath?

  Something bright green is on top of the water by the reeds. Like a clump of leaves. But when I get closer, I see that it’s a slick, syrupy coating, so thick I can’t make out the water underneath. Almost like wet paint.

  Henry and Tyler are suddenly next to me. “Slime!” Henry cries. “Awesome!”

  Tyler pinches his nose. “It smells yucky, like our basement!”

  “What is this?” I say. “I’ve never seen something like this in the lake before.”

  Henry’s about to dip his lightsaber into the green stuff but Maya reaches over to stop him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Henry crosses his arms. “How come you won’t let us do anything?”

  “Deal with it,” Maya snaps. “Safety first, that’s how I roll.”

  I giggle, covering my mouth. “That’s how you roll?”

  “You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve been coming up with. ‘This is for your own good.’ ‘I’m not going to say it again.’ I even called them meshuggeners.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Crazy, in Yiddish. My aunt spoke Yiddish the whole time I was there. She said it won’t be a dead language if people use it. I guess it worked because now I’m saying the words!”

  I laugh. “It’s a great word, though.”

  “And you know what else? My parents handed out dental floss to the entire family! Apparently, it wasn’t enough to give it out at Halloween and embarrass me in front of everyone I know.” She sighs. “It’s not easy being the daughter of not one but two dentists.”

  “Hey, at least you have great teeth.”

  She groans.

  A twig snaps behind me and I turn around. The boy with the ponytail is standing there. Even though he’s really tall, his face looks around my age.

  He walks toward the water. “Just as I suspected.” He takes a magnifying glass from his shorts pocket, crouches, and examines the green covering.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “This mat of blue-green algae,” he says. “Could be the start of a dead zone.”

  “A dead zone?” Maya repeats, taking hold of Henry’s and Tyler’s shirts and pulling them back. “What the heck is that?”

  “An area depleted of oxygen, unable to support life.” He gets up, takes a small book from his other pocket. It says Field Guide to Southern Wisconsin on the cover. He opens it to a page with the corner folded over.

  I swallow. “What do you mean exactly, ‘unable to support life’?”

  The boy runs his finger down the page, then closes the book. “I think that’s pretty self-explanatory.” He slides the magnifying glass and book back into his pocket, then picks up a long stick from the ground. He dips it into the water and lifts it out. The stick has a green tinge.

  “Well, that settles one question. It’s not filamentous. You’d see long pieces attached.”

  Maya stares at him. “What?”

  “I’m very sorry to say that it looks like things are happening here. Bad things.”

  I feel a flutter in my chest.

  “You mean bad guys?” Henry shouts. “Like Darth Vader?” He tries to poke his lightsaber into the lake but Maya stops him again.

  The boy squints at us. “I need to go look something up. I don’t have a signal out here.” He turns away and starts walking down the shore. His shoelaces are untied and flapping on the ground.

  “Just a second!” I call. “What are you talking about? What kind of bad things?” The boy doesn’t stop or look back.

  “Weirdo,” Tyler says.

  “You don’t get to call him a weirdo,” Henry replies. “I do. Weirdo.”

  The boy zigzags through blankets and chairs, then heads toward the cabins. He must be staying in one of them.

  “That guy is completely, one hundred percent creepy, trying to scare us like that,” Maya says. “Nice act, with the magnifying glass. Dead zone, gimme a break. That’s right out of a horror movie.” She nudges me. “Don’tcha think?”

  “Maybe…I don’t know….”

  “Wait, you believe what he said?”

  “Well, he seemed to know what he was talking about, with the algae and the filamen—whatever.”

  “Annalise, it’s probably just lake gunk. Or maybe someone poured something into the water. Who knows. I’m sure it’ll go away.”

  Henry and Tyler tug on Maya’s hands, chanting “We want a snack! We want a snack!” They race each other to the blanket and Maya tears after them, calling over her shoulder, “Text you later if I’m still alive!”

  I look at the green coating and my heart flutters again. It seems plastered to the surface. Lake gunk? Something about it doesn’t feel right.

  There are a couple of cigarette butts, several brightly colored cans, and a jagged metal piece rolling about in Tru’s waters. A shopping cart is lying on its side, two wheels spinning in the wind.

  My cousin catapults a can into the air. It sails a long distance, lands in me with a plunk, then floats aimlessly. Normally, I would be mad—that wasn’t very nice—but I don’t have enough energy to be mad.

  Tru’s been in moods a lot lately. I try calling out. Doubt I’ll get an answer. Tru never was much of a talker, or a listener. More of a foot-stomper, like Annalise’s sister. But I hear a rumble.

  “Tru?” I say again.

  Another rumble, then a sort of growl. “What?”

  “I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Ask.”

  “Remember when we were little?”

  “What about it?”

  “When it was different here. When we were different.”

  Tru glares at the shopping cart. “I remember.”

  “When boats didn’t have grimy engines that spit out gas and oil. When Marked Tree Trail was the way people went places, not speeding cars down rows of asphalt.” My water feels heavy. Still, and warm. No breeze today. “Asphalt is not our friend, Tru. And neither is all this rain. Too many storms.”

  My cousin slaps her bank. “No use looking back. Things change. This is the way it is now. People’s hearts have gone sour.”

  I think of Annalise. “There are still good hearts.”

  “Can’t say I agree.” Tru thrashes for a while, then quiets to a gray rippling. “Remember that game we used to play? With the fish?”

  I part my water into a slow smile. “Who has more?”

  Tru smiles too. “Who has more fish? I always won.”

  “You’re longer. Wasn’t really a fair matchup. But it was fun to try to count them.” I picture the dead, young fish. “Sometimes, I can’t breathe right. Not enough air. Do you ever feel that way, Tru?”

  “Sometimes.”

 
It’s as though my heart is being smashed, pushed deep down to the layers of sediment at the bottom. “What’s happening to us?” I ask softly.

  Tru becomes as motionless as the solid rock beneath us. “I’m not sure, Renn. But I don’t think things will ever go back to the way they were when we were little.”

  Algae has been around forever. But not like this. Closed-up and dark and oozing. Mean around the edges. A musty odor. When I try to shift it, break it apart, it doesn’t budge. Like what people use to repair things at the canoe tent. Glue. That word doesn’t bounce or echo, it sticks.

  “Remember,” I whisper to Tru. “Remember when we were looked after? When we were really loved?”

  Tru doesn’t answer.

  I bend toward the water and look closer. The start of a dead zone? Was that boy trying to scare us, like Maya said? Or does he really know what’s happening? I spot another dead fish, floating on its side. There are clumps of green on its silver scales, more than the last one had.

  I walk away from the reeds and kneel by a clearer part of the water. “Renn? Everything okay?”

  There’s a pause, then: I’ve been better.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Hard to explain.

  “Do you feel sick?”

  A little.

  I dip my hand in. “You’re warm. When people’s foreheads are warm, they have a fever. Maybe you have a fever. Can that happen to a lake? Maybe you need, like, medicine?”

  Maybe.

  Renn is very still. I don’t see any ripples or waves. “That green stuff over there…do you know what it is?”

  Some kind of algae. A bloom, I think.

  “Is that where you feel sick?”

  Yes.

  “Has this ever happened before?”

  I barely hear the answer. It’s just a tremble, really.

  No. Not like this.

  I stand, getting a glimpse of the dead fish again. Did it swallow the algae and choke? Or was it trapped and couldn’t swim away? My stomach rolls over. I need to find Dad. And I need to find that boy.