Hero of Hawaii (8 page)

Mom ran out.

She shouted something, her words muffled by the wind.

Streak barked and barked as the current grabbed the boat. I fumbled with the oars.

Ahead, Willy still clung to the branch. Moving closer to the bridge. Closer, closer.

Three feet separated the bottom of the bridge from the surface of the river. Willy was low in the water. He could make it under.

But could I?

T
he closer the river got to the ocean, the faster it ran.

The wind howled in my ears, but the muddy water was eerily silent. I could see Streak running along the shore.

Just as the skiff reached the bridge, I dove
onto the floorboards, flattening myself to make it under. The oars fell into the water. The current spun the skiff around, the stern thunking one of the bridge pylons.

I popped up on the other side.

Willy bobbed ahead of me.

“Willy!” I called.

He looked back, still clinging to the branch.

“Hang on! I’m coming!”

I grabbed the cables and dragged the oars into the boat. The skiff spun. I got the oars into the oarlocks and tried to turn the skiff around and head straight out so I wouldn’t cross the sandbar sideways and flip over.

Three boys onshore spotted us and ran through the trees at the top of the sandy rise. Streak ran with them.

I tried to row, but the skiff kept spinning in the current.

Right where the river emptied into the ocean, the water sank into itself, then rolled back up and over in a wild mud-water wall.

Willy hit it head-on. It sucked him under. Pieces of the branch he was hanging on to shot up above the surface, then vanished.

The boys onshore jumped up and down, yelling, pointing.

I dug my right oar in to turn the boat. If I hit that wall sideways it would tip me over and I’d get sucked under like Willy.

The skiff turned just as I hit it.

Boom!

I let go of the oars and grabbed the sides of the boat, hanging on as the skiff shot into the air. It came smashing down on the other side, swirling in the foamy confusion.

But I was still in it!

I dragged the oars into the skiff.
“Willy! Where are you?”

Nowhere.

I caught a glimpse of Clarence and Stella racing down onto the beach.

I started rowing, looking for Willy. I gave it all the muscle I had, but the raging current sucked the skiff out toward Flat Island, a
pancake-shaped piece of land, the only solid ground between the beach and a few thousand miles of open ocean.

Onshore, I saw Streak race into the waves.

“No!” I shouted. “Streak, stay!”

“Calvin!”

I whipped around.

Willy!

He raised a hand. “Help!”

He was behind me, just beyond the swirling wall of the muddy river. I squinted, my eyes stung by the wind that spat needles of white water off the sea. Willy’d lost the branch.

He sank, came back up.

And went under again.

“I’
m coming! I’m coming!”

I struggled to keep the oars in the oarlocks, then put my back into it, trying to dig deep and pull with all my strength. When you row, you sit backwards. You can’t see what’s in front of you. I had to keep looking over my shoulder.

Find Willy!

The wild whitecaps slammed me around, waves banging the hull.

Somehow I got the skiff headed back toward Willy, and now Streak, who was swimming into a mess she might not survive.

On the beach, Clarence ripped off his shirt. It was crazy, but he was coming in. I hoped he was a strong swimmer. We were a long way out.

“Cal—”
Willy called.

One second I could see him, the next he was lost in the chop. But he was struggling to swim to me.

The muscles in my arms burned. I was barely managing to keep the skiff from blowing out to sea.

Inch by inch, we closed the gap.

When I got close enough I stopped rowing.

Willy was losing it; his arms barely made it out of the water. “
Just a little more, Willy!
” I knelt and reached over the side.

But the wind pushed the skiff away.

I sat back and rowed again, looking over my shoulder.

“
Stay up! Willy, stay up!
”

I threw down the oars and hung over the side, reaching out.

Willy looked at me … and sank.

“
No!
”

I jumped overboard and dove down. I
grabbed him and dragged him to the surface. He gasped and clawed at me, pulling me down.

“No, Willy! Don’t!”

But he was desperate.

I went under and he let go.

I came back up and grabbed him from behind. “I got you, Willy, I got you!”

The wind had taken the skiff away from us. Too far to reach.

My arm banged something hard.

An oar!

I grabbed it and hung on with one hand, my other hand gripping Willy’s T-shirt.

“Okay, listen. I’m going to let you go. Hang on to my back! ”
I shouted.

Willy nodded and grabbed my shoulders.

With both hands, I pulled us toward the skiff by the cable attached to the oar. I gripped the stern and hung in the water a second, breathing hard. Willy let go and tried to pull himself aboard. But the skiff tipped toward him, taking on water.

“Willy, no!”

But Willy wouldn’t let go.

I pulled him away, but the skiff was half sunk. It was still floating, but all we could do now was hang on and wait for help.

I couldn’t see Streak in the chop.

Or Clarence.

If I couldn’t see him, would he see us?

W
illy and I hung on as the wind and the current took us farther out to sea.

We were closing in on Flat Island, but it was so small we would miss it unless we could somehow break free from the current and change course. With a half-sunk boat that we
couldn’t even get into, that would be almost impossible without help.

Flat Island was close enough to swim to. But did Willy have the strength to try?

I turned back toward the beach. I saw Mom and Darci, other people, Willy’s parents, and two police cars.

“Willy!” I shouted. “You doing okay?”

He nodded.

Then I remembered Streak!

I kicked to get higher in the water.
“Streak!”

She was close, bobbing in the chop, swimming toward us. She looked like a wet rat.