Didn’t think so. That mouthy six-, I mean seven-year-old — with a will of iron and all the calm reasoning power of your average rabid squirrel. Between that and her occasional bids to become the flock leader, she — was cruisin’ for a bruisin’.

John and Dr. Akana pointed off into the distance and started to swim in that direction. Fang and I followed, because we sure didn’t have any other options. Ahead of us were hills of coral or rock or something and a zillion fish swimming in and around and darting in and out of shallow cavelike places. Dr. Akana had told us that there were some volcanic caves in the waters around Hawaii, and I guessed that was what we were looking at.

But no Angel and not even a trail of bubbles to follow. We were all carrying powerful flashlights and now shone them into the caves, watching as fish startled over and over again. We saw lobsters, too many different kinds of fish to identify, corals, sponges, a couple of moray eels poking their heads out of their holes. But no Angel.

I was starting to get really mad, and this tank on my back made me feel awkward. The fact was, when it was just the six of us, Angel really listened to me and wanted to stay close by me. Now that we were surrounded by grown-ups who were giving us food and taking us on adventures, Angel didn’t seem to need me as much. It hurt.

I flicked my light around a cave, saw nothing bird-kid-like, and started to back out. I glanced around for the others… and realized I was totally alone.

And way, way deep inside a cave.

I’d been caught up in my musings and had not seen the group moving off somewhere else. Backpedaling quickly, I looked right and left, searching the dark water for flashlight beams. I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t even see the cave entrance. I must have wandered in there and gone around corners without realizing it.

Crap.

I deliberately slowed my breathing and tried to calm down. I got into this cave; I could get out. I had enough air in my tank for about half an hour, I thought. I’ve been in worse situations. I just needed to settle down and backtrack.

Of course, backtracking works best when there are footprints to follow, or when the terrain has landmarks and is therefore recognizable. It does not work when the only trail is bubbles, and every single rotten cave wall looks exactly like every other single rotten freaking cave wall, and there are only surprised fish to ask for directions and — oops! — I’m not a freaking telepath!!!

An underwater scream is so much less satisfying and effective when it is done into a regulator, I discovered.