“Now, now,” Fran said gruffly.

Before Rio could question either of them, Marina jumped down onto the jetty and started chattering away to her. He watched them, amazed. Because in Marina’s presence, it was as if his grandmother was a photograph that had just been filtered with a stronger, brighter color. Now she was even laughing! Not just polite laughing, but proper belly laughing at what Marina said. And in that moment, Rio felt the teeniest sliver of guilt because he had never stopped to consider that there might be a different side to his grandmother.

“You made it, then,” Birch said, materializing next to them with a warm smile of welcome.

“I trust you’ll take good care of him,” Fran said, gripping Rio’s shoulders tightly.

“You know full well the Spyhopper has the best safety record in Ocean Bay,” Birch stated.

She nodded. “I wouldn’t let him go out with anyone else.”

“Come with us, if you’d like?” Rio said impulsively, turning to his grandmother. “I mean, if there’s space?”

Fran looked startled, and if the sunlight hadn’t been so bright, Rio would have sworn she was blushing. “Thank you, Rio. But . . . but not for me. Not because I don’t want to. But boat travel and I have never been the best of friends.”

Rio nodded, unsure if he felt relieved or not.

“Well, be safe.” She smiled awkwardly at him. “And have a good time.”

Birch ushered Rio up on deck, where a small huddle of eager tourists awaited them. Today, he was wearing a black T-shirt that on the front had silvery handstitched lettering saying “Spyhopper Whale-Watching Tours” above a picture of a whale. As Marina jumped back on deck, Rio noticed that under her red dungarees, she wore the same.

Among the tourists were the young couple, who were from Philadelphia, a trainee marine biologist named Fernanda from just over the border in Mexico, and a pair of twins who had traveled all the way from Finland. Birch positioned himself at the wheel while everyone sat on the bench seating, chattering excitedly.

Rio was about to take a seat—somewhere safe and secure in the middle of the boat—when Marina hurriedly beckoned him to the bow, the pointy bit at the front.

“It’s the best place to be!” she said excitedly, instructing him to lie flat on his tummy with his head poking over the very end of the boat. “Means we’re the first ones to see anything.”

The bow might be the best place to be, but Rio gulped nervously, especially when the boat slid away from her moorings. He wasn’t the strongest swimmer—he hated being out of his depth in the local pool. And even though Marina had reassured him that the Spyhopper was perfectly safe, he couldn’t help but worry. What if they capsized or sunk or got lost out at sea? Luckily, he had left the picture of White Beak at home for safekeeping.

But it was too late for second thoughts now.