Escaping the Giant Wave Read online

  We all cracked up at the idea of Dad getting his award as he floated around in the ocean.

  “This will be the best vacation ever,” I said.

  “The best vacation in the whole world,” BeeBee agreed.

  The Saturday of our departure for Oregon finally arrived, and even though we had to leave the house at five o’clock in the morning to get to the airport on time, I woke up before my alarm went off. Our family had never taken this kind of trip before. Usually we camp at a state park or visit relatives. I tried to look nonchalant at the airport, as if I flew somewhere every week, but I was so excited I couldn’t sit still while we waited to board.

  I was standing at the big windows, watching planes taxi down the runway, when someone punched me from behind.

  “Hey, Kyle. I hear you’re heading for Oregon too.”

  I recognized the voice, and the punch. Daren Hazelton.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked as I rubbed my shoulder.

  “Same as you,” Daren said. “Going to Oregon with my mom and dad for the real estate convention.”

  No! I thought. Say it isn’t so.

  I said, “I didn’t know your parents sold real estate.”

  “There are lots of things you don’t know,” Daren said.

  “Where are you staying?” I asked.

  “Some new hotel.”

  “The Frontier Lodge?” I crossed my fingers. Please say no, I thought. Please, please stay anywhere except at my hotel.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Daren said. “The Frontier Lodge.”

  My plans for a carefree vacation flew away faster than the jet outside the window. With Daren on the scene, I would spend my time trying to avoid getting punched, or tripped, or shoved into the pool, or worse.

  One of Dad’s Oregon brochures showed a picture of some loggers beside a huge cedar tree. An image of Daren with a chain saw buzzed across my mind.

  I backed away from Daren toward my parents, knowing he would not hit me again in front of them.

  Mom and Dad were talking with another couple. Mom waved me over to them, then introduced me to Mr. and Mrs. Hazelton, Daren’s parents. “Mrs. Hazelton works for the online branch of our company,” Dad said. “She’s the Virtual Salesperson of the Year.”

  “Congratulations,” I mumbled.

  “I understand my son is a classmate of yours,” Mrs. Hazelton said.

  I nodded.

  “Isn’t that the best luck?” Mom said. “You’ll have someone to pal around with on the beach.”

  I imagined Daren sneaking up behind me and shoving me into the water, or pushing me face first into the wet sand.

  I forced a smile. “I’m not planning to spend much time at the beach,” I said.

  Mom looked surprised, since I had been talking for days about searching for shells or unusual driftwood that I could take home, to show my friends that I’d been to the Pacific Ocean.

  Before Mom could say more, the airline announced that passengers in rows thirty to forty-five could begin boarding the plane. We quit talking and waited for our row to be called.

  Daren and his parents sat three rows ahead of us.

  I played cards with BeeBee during the flight, used the earphones to listen to music, and ate everything the steward brought.

  “Free soft drinks,” I said to BeeBee as the steward handed each of us a glass of crushed ice and a can of 7-Up. “This is great.”

  “They aren’t free,” BeeBee said.

  “Sure they are,” I said. “You only have to pay if you want wine or beer.” I pointed at a man across the aisle who was handing the steward money in exchange for a glass of wine.

  BeeBee said, “The cost of soft drinks is figured into the price of our ticket. We’ve already paid for them in advance.”

  “Oh,” I said. I knew she was right, but it was more fun to think they were free.

  After the plane landed in Portland, we took a special convention bus to Fisher Beach. Daren and his parents rode the bus too, but I took the seat farthest from the door and BeeBee sat next to me, so I was temporarily spared any more contact with Daren.

  As we rode along, I gave myself a pep talk. This vacation was the perfect opportunity to make Daren quit bullying me. If I stood up to him the first time he bothered me on this trip, then I’d be able to enjoy the rest of my time in Oregon. But if I let him get away with anything, I’d spend the whole week wondering where he was and what he was up to. I didn’t want to spend the first really good vacation of my life hiding from Daren, so I knew I had to take some action.

  I remembered my summer goals. Here it was, the middle of July, and my batting average was stuck at .220, my scooter had a broken wheel, and my raise in allowance was still in the “we’ll see” category. It was time to deal with Daren.

  The bus dropped most of the passengers at hotels in the town of Fisher. When we finally arrived at the Frontier Lodge, my family, the Hazeltons, and one other couple were the only people left.

  By then I had resolved to put an end to Daren’s pranks. The next time he punched me, or pushed me, or did any of his revolting tricks, I was going to speak up. With both of our parents nearby, I should be able to talk back to Daren without getting maimed.

  The Frontier Lodge didn’t look much like the drawings in the brochure. Instead of a driveway lined with fir trees, there was a plywood sidewalk of the kind that’s used around temporary construction sites. The word “LOBBY” and an arrow had been spray painted with red paint on the plywood.

  A yellow bulldozer rumbled back and forth, scraping the area where the nature trail should have been. A flatbed truck held containers of shrubs to be planted.

  I saw Mom look uneasily at Dad, who was frowning as he followed the red arrows toward the lobby.

  “Welcome to the first-class hotel,” I told BeeBee.

  “We should ask for a refund,” BeeBee said. “There isn’t any water in the swimming pool.” She pointed at a large concrete hole in the ground that was surrounded by a six-foot wire fence.

  We walked beneath scaffolding and finally reached the lobby, where three workers with staple guns were noisily laying carpet. A too-cheerful person greeted us: “Welcome to Frontier Lodge!”

  “We have reservations,” Dad told the woman behind the desk, “but we didn’t know the hotel was still under construction.”

  “We were delayed by a labor dispute,” the woman said. “You’ll be staying across the street at the Totem Pole Inn. I’m sure you’ll be most comfortable there.”

  “Why weren’t we notified?” Mom said. “We’re supposed to attend a convention here.”

  “Our convention and dining facilities are ready and your meetings will be held as planned,” the woman said, “but our guest suites didn’t get finished. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. We were lucky to find rooms for all of the convention registrants who had planned to stay here. Many of them are at hotels in town; at least you are within walking distance of your meetings.” She said it as if we should be grateful rather than disappointed.

  “We ought to get a discount on the room,” BeeBee said. “Being across the street from the convention is not as good as being in the same hotel. What if it rains?”

  The woman behind the counter leaned forward and glared at BeeBee.

  “There’s no nature trail,” BeeBee said, “and no water in the swimming pool. That’s false advertising.”

  “She’s right,” Dad said. “The rate we were given was for a brand new hotel, with the convention meetings on site. We shouldn’t have to pay the same rate for older, less convenient accommodations.”

  By now Daren and his parents, and the other couple from the bus, were in line behind us. The woman at the counter lowered her voice and said, “I can give you a special rate of two hundred fifty dollars per night.”

  “That will be fine,” Dad said.

  BeeBee grinned. I knew she was figuring out how much the discount had saved Dad’s company. One hundred twenty-five dollars per night times
five nights equals seven hundred twenty-five dollars!

  I gave BeeBee a thumbs up.

  A bellhop piled our bags on a luggage cart and pulled it down the plywood walkway. As we left the lobby, we heard Mrs. Hazelton yelling at the desk clerk, demanding to stay at the Frontier Lodge. Daren’s voice joined his mother’s. “I want to stay here]” he whined. “You promised!”

  I hoped the clerk would give in and find a room for the Hazeltons. That way Daren would be across the street from me rather than in the same hotel.

  “This situation must be hard for you,” Dad said to the bellhop.

  “Most people are understanding,” he said. “A few get obnoxious and insist they’re going to stay in the new hotel whether the rooms are ready or not. When they find out the beds haven’t been delivered yet, they change their minds.”

  We crossed the street to a much older hotel that was only three stories high.

  “The Totem Pole Inn will be torn down as soon as the construction is finished on the lodge,” the bellhop told us. “This land will be used for a parking garage, a restaurant, and some shops. There’ll be an overhead walkway across the street to the hotel and conference center.”

  “How old is the Totem Pole Inn?” Mom asked.

  “It was one of the first luxury hotels in Oregon,” the man replied. “Built in 1928. Three American presidents have stayed here, and so have many movie stars. It’s always been popular with celebrities because it’s so far away from town. If you like quiet, this is the place to be, especially now when the inn is officially closed. The only guests are the few whose rooms weren’t ready at the Frontier Lodge and who couldn’t get rooms at one of the hotels in town.”

  “We weren’t told when we registered that the hotel’s being torn down,” Dad said.

  “You should have asked for a bigger discount,” BeeBee said.

  We entered the dimly lit lobby. I could tell it had once been an elegant facility, but it looked as if no upkeep had been done in several years. Wallpaper curled at the edges, and the frayed carpet had bare spots between the door and the elevator.

  “It’s not exactly what we were expecting,” Mom said.

  “We don’t have to do anything here except sleep,” Dad said, but I could tell he was disappointed too.

  “We could have slept at a Motel 6,” BeeBee said, “for a lot less money.”

  The bellhop pushed the “up” button on the elevator, and we all looked expectantly at the doors. They stayed closed. He pushed the button again, but it didn’t light up.

  “Looks like the elevator is out of order again,” he said. “Do you mind walking up to the third floor, or do you want to wait in the lobby while I call the repair service?”

  “Are there any first-floor rooms?” Dad asked.

  “None that still have furniture.”

  “We’ll walk up,” Mom said.

  The bellhop couldn’t take the cart full of luggage up the stairs, so he carried Mom and Dad’s bags while BeeBee and I each carried our own.

  Two full flights of stairs later, we puffed into our room.

  BeeBee ran to the window to look at the ocean view, Mom checked out the bathroom, Dad tipped the bellhop, and I stood in the doorway watching Daren and his parents walk toward me.

  They stopped at a room three doors down the hall. My dream vacation was beginning to seem like a nightmare.

  3

  The next day we saw the warning sign.

  We got up early, partly because we were too excited to sleep late and partly because our bodies were still on Kansas time, which was two hours later than Oregon. The construction noise from the new hotel hadn’t helped either.

  After breakfast at the Frontier Lodge, Mom, Dad, BeeBee, and I headed for the ocean. Wooden steps zigzagged from the hotel parking lot down to the beach.

  “Twenty-seven steps,” BeeBee said when we reached the bottom.

  “It’ll seem like more when we go up,” Dad said.

  The Pacific Ocean was awesome, stretching into the distance as far as I could see. A wide sandy beach, dotted with shells deposited at high tide, invited us to explore. Waves lapped the shore, sandpipers scuttled along just beyond the water’s reach, and gulls swooped overhead.

  The water was too cold for swimming, but BeeBee and I took off our shoes and socks, rolled up our pant legs, and waded along the edge.

  BeeBee carried a plastic bucket; she began collecting shells and pretty stones.

  “Be selective,” Dad said. “You can’t keep every rock you find.”

  “I don’t plan to keep any of them,” BeeBee said. “When we get home, I’m going to sell them to the other kids. Genuine Pacific Ocean souvenirs: ten cents each.”

  I saw Dad roll his eyes at Mom, and I was pretty sure they wouldn’t let her sell the stones to her friends, but they didn’t scold her now.

  The tide was low, exposing wide outcrops of rock. Tide pools held tiny crabs, sea anemones, and even one starfish. I was tempted to put the sea creatures in BeeBee’s bucket to take home, but I didn’t do it. I wanted them to live more than I wanted to show them to my friends.

  We walked and walked and saw only four other people. Each time a person approached, I looked to see if it was Daren and was relieved when it wasn’t.

  Mom said, “It’s so beautiful here; I’m sorry to see a big hotel built. By next summer, this beach will probably be crowded.”

  “There’s a sign sticking out of the sand,” BeeBee said. She ran ahead to see what it said, then rushed back to report, “It’s a warning sign! It says the Oregon coast might get hit by a t-s-u-n-a-m-i.” She spelled out the word.

  “Tsunami,” I said. “It’s a giant wave, usually caused by an earthquake.”

  BeeBee scowled at me. “How do you know that?” she asked. It always bugs her when I know something she doesn’t.

  “We did a disaster unit in fifth grade. Remember my report on volcanoes, when I made the model of Mount Saint Helens?”

  BeeBee nodded.

  “Gary gave his report on tsunamis. He enlarged some pictures that he had found in a book. They showed an area where a tsunami had hit. There were collapsed buildings and uprooted trees, but the photos were all taken a long time ago in Hawaii. I didn’t know tsunamis ever happened in Oregon.”

  “Neither did I,” said Mom. “The one I remember reading about was years ago in Alaska.”

  “Tsunamis sound scary,” BeeBee said.

  We gathered around the sign while Dad read it out loud. It said that tsunamis are dangerous, have struck the Oregon coast many times, and can follow within minutes of an earthquake.

  “Minutes!” Mom said. “That doesn’t give much time to get away.”

  Dad continued to read. “Most tsunamis are not one giant wave, but a series of large waves that strike the shore over the course of several hours.”

  “It had better not happen while we’re here,” BeeBee said. “I’d hate to think Dad’s boss paid all that money for our vacation and then we can’t stay because of a tsunami.”

  “We aren’t any more likely to have a tsunami while we’re here than to be caught in a tornado back home,” Mom said.

  “I wonder if they have tsunami drills in school here,” BeeBee said, “the way we have tornado drills.”

  “Probably,” Dad said.

  The sign had a map showing that the offshore earthquake-prone area ran parallel to the coast of Oregon.

  “Where’s Fisher Beach?” I asked.

  Dad pointed to the center of the map. “Here’s the town of Fisher, and here’s Fisher Beach.”

  “Great,” I said. “We’re right in the middle of the danger zone.”

  Dad read the instructions for escaping a tsunami: “Protect yourself during the earthquake. As soon as it stops, go inland and uphill. Do not go to the beach, even after a tsunami wave hits. Wait for official notice that it’s safe before returning to the beach.” He quit reading and looked at us. “You got that?”

  We all nodded.

/>   “Okay. Let’s forget about giant waves and enjoy ourselves.”

  We walked awhile longer, then turned back toward the hotel. When we reached the zigzag steps again, Mom and Dad sat on some driftwood and watched the waves while BeeBee searched for shells.

  I decided to make a “sea picture.” I gathered stones, bits of seaweed, pieces of driftwood, two bird feathers, and some broken shells. I drew a rectangular “picture frame” in the sand with a stick and then used all the other materials to create my artwork. It turned out so well that I was sorry I had made it close to the water, where the tide would come in and wash it away. I decided to take a photo of the sea picture.

  I went back to our room, got my camera, and was waiting for the elevator when Daren came out of his room. “What’re you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m meeting my folks down on the beach.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  I couldn’t very well tell him no. It’s a public beach. Still, my palms got sweaty at the idea of going anywhere with Daren.

  When the elevator came, Daren got on first. Being shut in an elevator alone with him did not appeal to me, so I blurted, “I’ll meet you downstairs. I need the exercise.”

  The elevator doors closed. I clumped down the stairs, reminding myself that this was my chance to fulfill one of my summer goals. Stand up to Daren. Put him in his place, once and for all.

  Dream on.

  I wanted to do it—but not now.

  When I reached the lobby I looked at the elevator, expecting Daren to step out. The doors remained closed. Had he already gotten out and was hiding somewhere, waiting to pounce on me? I glanced nervously behind a large potted plant.

  Then I noticed the arrow over the elevator that showed which floor it was on. The arrow was between two and three, and not moving. I pushed the “down” button but it didn’t light up. The elevator was stuck.

  I ought to leave him there, I thought. Payback for seven years of punching me. I could pretend I thought he was ahead of me and go on down to the beach, and then when I saw him again, I’d ask why he hadn’t come with me and act surprised when he said the elevator had stopped.