Coincidence Page 8

  “Do you realize how many lines they expect us to memorize?” Nancy asked Melissa as they took a short break in the afternoon. They were sitting on the port side on a little bench just outside the mess hall, right next to a pin rail.

  “One hundred and thirty-four,” Nancy announced, before Melissa could answer. “I’ve counted them. Look at the pins on the rail right there. There are twenty-six on that pin rail alone! Buntlines, leech lines, clew lines, halyards, and jiggers. How are we ever expected to remember them all?”

  “We’ve only been at it for a few days. In another couple of weeks we’ll probably have them all down pat,” Melissa replied.

  She had a few doubts of her own, but goodness knows Mac was doing his best to drill the names into their heads as quickly as possible.

  “I’m still freaked about climbing the rigging,” Nancy was saying. “I don’t think I’m ever going to make it all the way up to the royal.”

  “I don’t know which is worse,” Melissa said. “Looking up or looking down!”

  She had made it to the top of the mast, the royal, but not without considerable wooziness. It was only her steely determination not to allow mere terror to stand in her way that had kept her going.

  “It’s funny,” she said. “When you’re on deck, the ship looks huge, but up there, looking down at it, it’s like the size of a sandbox. And then, when the ship rocks and you’re hanging out over the water—!”

  Nancy shrieked at the thought. Then she yawned.

  “I am so tired now I can hardly stand up!” she said. “How in the world are we going to be able to do all this and go to classes, too?”

  Being disturbed in the middle of the night for watch duty, combined with the unaccustomed hard physical labor, not to mention the air, sun, and wind during the day and the sheer newness of the whole experience, was taking its toll on all of the Floaties. They were thankful to have a couple of “lazy” days to nap, write letters home, and soak their aching muscles in the warm sunshine before schoolwork was added to their daily load.

  Dave Cameron, on the other hand, could hardly wait for classes to begin. He was elated about starting his first job as a certified teacher, and psyched about the opportunities being on a floating school would open up for learning about social studies and anthropology. He couldn’t imagine a better setup for teaching and learning than the Blue Water Academy program.

  Dave, Anika, and the three other teachers, Mary Wilson, Tom Michaels, and Sharon Rock, had met in Los Angeles earlier in the summer for five days of orientation and training. They had spent the time planning the curriculum and discussing, far into the night, their philosophies of education.

  Dave, a product of the Ontario school system and a fervent believer in equality of opportunity for all kids, was a firm proponent of public schools. They had served him well, after all, and how in good conscience could he—could anyone—deny that every child, from every income level, was entitled to a good education?

  Anika was just as convinced that private schools were the better choice. They only had to look at her if they needed an example, she told them. She would never be where she was—lead teacher and shipboard director for a prestigious educational program—if it hadn’t been for private schools.

  Growing up in Saskatchewan, she said, her schooling began in public school and had been in trouble almost from the first day. The class sizes were overwhelming—thirty or more kids in one room, presided over by a harried teacher trying to keep order, never mind accommodating so many levels of skills and experience. Anika had been shy and well behaved so she got virtually no attention. She was afraid of raising her hand in class—afraid of participating much at all. She was bored silly most of the time, with class discussions dragging along at a pace geared for the slower learners. The beleaguered teacher had no time for enrichment activities, or anything that might have sparked the interest of the brighter students.

  Anika had coasted along year after year, giving her teachers no problem, but learning very little and becoming more and more disengaged with every semester that passed. Because her teachers kept promoting her, never noticing her much one way or another, her parents had no idea how distressed she was, although they certainly could see that their once cheerful daughter was looking increasingly glum. They chalked it up to adolescence, and assumed the phase would soon pass.

  By the time she was ready for high school, Anika was fed up with the whole business, counting the days till she would be old enough to quit school and get on with her life. What exactly that life would be, with no high school diploma and no particular goal in mind, she didn’t know, but surely there had to be something better than wasting endless years of it trapped in a stultifying classroom.

  Then, the summer before she was to start grade nine, Susannah moved in next door. Susannah was Anika’s age. She was tiny—not quite five feet tall—and a bundle of animated curiosity about everything around her. They became instant friends.

  “You must be upset that you have to get used to a new school now that you’re in a new neighborhood,” Anika said to Susannah one day,

  Anika was surprised to hear that Susannah never had to change schools. She had gone to private school from kindergarten on and would continue there right up to college. What’s more, she enjoyed it. She was actually looking forward to the start of the school year in September.

  That feeling was foreign to Anika, who viewed the approach of the school year with the dread of a convicted felon facing serious jail time. And an innocent convict, too, she wailed to herself, unjustly accused and found guilty on the basis of purely circumstantial evidence. She was just marking the days until her parole, at age sixteen. What could Susannah possibly enjoy about going to school?

  Plenty, as it happened. The classes were small, for starters, rarely more than ten kids to one teacher. In fact, teachers got to know their students so well they often were able to integrate math and science and language studies into projects that dovetailed with the kids’ interests.

  In grade six, Susannah said, her class had volunteered to make cages for the local Humane Society. It had been her idea, she confided, which came as no surprise to Anika, who knew how keen Susannah was on animals. The kids had spent one whole semester researching and planning the design, calculating the required amounts of materials, writing letters of inquiry to suppliers, figuring out the best deals, and building the cages. They’d kept a journal of the experience, with photographs and other student artwork documenting the whole process. Students in the grade seven class, who had chosen to spend their semester learning how to produce a television news program, filmed the presentation of the cages to the delighted animal shelter officials.

  Anika had never even imagined school could be like that. She would have loved working on such a project herself, seeing some practical application for the lessons that usually just droned on around her while she retreated into her daydreams. Maybe she should look into this amazing school.

  And then Susannah told her that many of the kids in her school would be applying to something called Blue Water Academy for grade eleven or twelve. Susannah said she was going to be one of them, for sure.

  By the time Susannah had finished describing the program, Anika’s mind was made up. She was going to do whatever it took to get herself accepted at Susannah’s school and then into the Blue Water program. A prairie girl who had never even glimpsed an ocean, she was bowled over by the idea of going to sea for a year and using the whole world around you, wherever you went, as your classroom and curriculum.

  It wasn’t easy for Anika’s parents to persuade the administrators at Susannah’s school to admit her, given her late application and lackluster grades, but they persevered, and Anika was accepted—on probation.

  “You can see that I made it through okay,” Anika said. “That was the turning point for me. Once I discovered that school didn’t have to be boring, I set out to become a teacher myself, to try to keep other kids like me from giving up on learning. Eve
n if I hadn’t gone on to Blue Water, just the change in atmosphere from public to private would have made all the difference.”

  “Oh well, yeah,” Dave said. “That’s a nice story—and we’re all certainly very glad you didn’t drop out! But not all private schools are as innovative as that one. And what about the kids who can’t afford to go to a private school? Is it all right just to write them off?”

  “But almost all private schools do have a better teacher/student ratio than the publics,” Sharon said. “I’ve taught in both. No matter how motivated you are as a young teacher, no matter how committed to helping every child in your class succeed, you can’t do it. The system simply doesn’t allow for it.”

  Trying to balance the pros and cons in her own mind, Mary said, “Don’t you think there’s something to be said for the diversity you find in the public schools? I mean, some private schools are so insular, aren’t they, with most of the students coming from the same background? I’m not sure that’s the best education for learning to get along in the real world.”

  “But there’s an accountability factor, too,” Tom said. “In a private school, most parents are highly involved in their kids’ education and hold the school accountable. It’s much rarer for a child to slip through the cracks the way Anika did. And you can’t get along well in the real world if you drop out.”

  “Plus there’s the money private schools generally have to fund innovative projects, or field trips, or lab equipment, or whatever the kids need,” Anika added.

  “That’s great for the kids whose parents can afford it,” Dave said. “Look, I agree, that ought to be the model for every school. But I just can’t see limiting it to the affluent and sticking the rest of the kids—who might be just as bright—with a second-rate education. We just have to do better for all kids.”

  “In any case,” Mary said, “the Blue Water program must surely be the best of all possible worlds for both teachers and students. We’ve got it all—small classes, diverse students, dedicated teachers, supportive parents, the world as our learning lab, plenty of time to get to know the students—”

  “Aye, there’s the rub,” said Sharon, who taught Shakespeare. “That’s the only drawback I can see with the program. We’re on duty twenty-four hours a day for a semester at a stretch and have to be perfect role models all that time. I find that just a little bit daunting!”

  On that they all could agree.

  On their second day at sea, just before lunch, all hands were called amidships.

  Mac arranged students and teachers in a line and peered over his shoulder at Dr. Williams, who held a stopwatch in his hand.

  “In thirty seconds, when I say ‘jump,’ ye’re all to jump up in the air—both feet off the ground, mind. Are ye with me?”

  “Aye!” they shouted, having no idea what he was up to.

  Dr. Williams counted down the seconds: five, four, three, two, one.

  “Jump!” Mac yelled.

  “Congratulations, mateys!” he called when they landed. “Ye’ll now be able to tell your grandkids that, in your youth, you jumped right over the Tropic of Cancer!”

  Just after lunch on the twenty-seventh, the ship approached Puerto Vallarta. About eight miles from land, a large green mountain range could be seen. The offshore wind carried the sweet rich scent of a tropical forest. As they got closer, the water turned from dark blue to crystal-clear turquoise. Large luxury hotels dotted the skyline.

  At 1400 hours the Inspiration arrived at its first port of call.

  12

  Puerto Vallarta. Melissa found just the name of the place intoxicating. The warmth that enveloped her, the softness of the breeze, the exotic plants, the bright colors—it was all so dazzling. She was itching to explore.

  She wished she could have gone exploring just with Pierre, but the rule was that students must go in groups of at least four. Pierre and Dan and a couple of other Floaties who had brought along roller blades had decided to skate their way along the Malecon, the boardwalk that skirts Banderas Bay, so Melissa set off with Nancy, Kathy, and Trudy to play tourist for the afternoon. They wanted to call home, mail letters and postcards, and check out the shopping.

  The city was an amazing blend of traditional Mexico and cosmopolitan resort. Near the marina, many of the buildings—hotels, restaurants, nightclubs, and shops—were new and ultramodern, having sprouted up during the past forty years as the town blossomed from a remote colonial-era fishing village into a major tourist destination.

  As the girls made their way into the center of the city, however—up the hills toward the red-brick bell tower of Guadelupe Cathedral, its ornate crown-shaped top supported by a ring of angels—the scene changed dramatically. They walked along narrow, winding streets of cobblestones lined with lovely colonial architecture—white stucco buildings with red tile roofs. Flowers spilled from pots and window boxes and balconies: watermelonpink bougainvillea, geraniums in hues from white to scarlet, hibiscus plants the size of dinner plates, the stunning gold of copa de oro, all interspersed with waving fronds of ferns.

  Not far from the cathedral, they came across an outdoor market. Here, too, they were delighted by the profusion of colors, scents, and sounds that greeted them. Stall after stall was piled with fruits and vegetables: fresh and dried peppers in a riot of green and yellow and orange and red and purple; fragrant melons, mangoes, and papayas; rows of multicolored corn; and baskets heaped with beans.

  There was much bantering between the vendors, and a constant babble of languages in the crowd of locals and visitors from all over the world. Occasionally a burro sauntered through the crowd, its back laden with baskets of produce to replenish a stall. There were vendors selling an array of souvenirs, too: trinkets, hats, blankets, and jewelry. There were no prices on anything.

  Nancy picked up a pair of earrings in the shape of curving fish and held them to her ears.

  “Oh, look! I love these!” she said.

  “Muy bonita, Señorita!” the vendor said.

  “Very pretty!”

  “How much?”

  “Two hundred fifty pesos.”

  “That’s way too much.”

  The man quickly amended the price.

  “For you, two hundred.”

  Nancy put the earrings back on the table. She was crestfallen at having to leave the little fish behind, but the price was way out of line with what the earrings were worth, no matter how smitten she was with them. The four started to leave, but the vendor called after them.

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “How much you want to pay?”

  Want to pay? This was a new concept for Nancy. She looked at her friends in amazement, then offered one hundred pesos. The vendor shook his head sorrowfully and said, “I have to make a living here, Señorita. Give me one hundred fifty pesos and the pretty little fishes are yours.”

  He held them up. The scales on the fish sparkled in the sunshine.

  “Well … how about one twenty-five?”

  She was sure they couldn’t be worth more than about ten dollars. That was about a hundred and twelve pesos—or was it? Nancy did some quick calculating in her head. Yes, more or less. Still, one twenty-five wasn’t so very much more than that, and the man had come down a lot … And they were so cute …

  At that point the haggling stopped. Nancy was thankful to be able to afford the earrings after all, and even more thankful that she hadn’t agreed to the first price, which had been only a starting point in the negotiations. Now they knew.

  The four of them found a McDonald’s and had a burger and fries. Her mother, Melissa reflected, with only the tiniest smidgen of guilt, would be appalled at their choice of restaurant when they could have had their pick of interesting local places, but they were hungry for a taste of home.

  What was unlike home, and in the most wonderful way, they agreed, was the weather.

  “I’m almost too hot,” Kathy said as she took a large swig of her soft drink. “I’m not complaining, though. It won’t
be too long now before everyone at home will be digging out their heavy coats and boots and mittens.”

  “Let’s take some pictures to show them what they’re missing,” Melissa said with an evil grin on her face.

  Even though the ship was docked, everyone had to be back by 2000 hours for watch. Now, instead of keeping an eye out for danger at sea, they were to make sure no unwanted guests boarded the ship.

  Melissa, unlike the other girls, was glad to have the curfew; she was eager to get back and find out all about Pierre’s day and share her adventures with him.

  The following day held more adventures, beginning first thing in the morning. The Honorary Canadian Consul in Puerto Vallarta had arranged for a group of children from a local orphanage to have breakfast on the ship. This was the first time the Floaties had hosted any visitors, and most took proprietary pride in showing the workings of the Inspiration to the children. The children looked around at the sails, the masts, the ropes, the anchor, the tiny cabins, and the heads in awe.

  Melissa watched as one little boy, who had regarded everything with wide-eyed solemnity, shyly put his hand in Pierre’s. She was touched at how gentle Pierre was with him, how he smiled, then knelt down to be at the child’s level as he explained what was happening at colors.

  The Canadian and the Mexican flags were raised. A little later, Melissa caught sight of the little boy sitting on Pierre’s shoulders, laughing as Pierre loped along the deck like a burro.

  This was also the day the Floaties were to have the first of their home stays. Melissa, true to form, was both excited and nervous at the prospect. She wanted so much to get to know someone her own age who actually lived here, someone who could tell her what it was like to go to school and work and do ordinary, everyday things in a place so different from her own home. At the same time she worried about whether she would feel comfortable spending the night with total strangers.