The Disappearing Otters Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Half Title Page

  Title Page

  Dear Diary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Glossary

  Talk About It

  Write About It

  More About Otters

  Seaside Sanctuary

  Explore More

  Copyright

  Back Cover

  Dear Diary,

  The past few months have been crazy, and not just because I moved across the country. I never thought we’d leave Chicago. The city was home my whole life. I loved the rumbling above-ground trains, the massive skyscrapers, the sidewalks filled with people.… Believe it or not, I even liked my school. It was the type of place where it was cool to be smart.

  But then, right after school ended for the year, Mom and Dad announced we were moving. They decided to leave their jobs as marine biologists at the Shedd Aquarium and move the whole family to Charleston, South Carolina! They both got jobs running someplace called Seaside Sanctuary Marine Wildlife Refuge—jobs that were “too good to pass up,” as they put it.

  And at first, I couldn’t believe Seaside Sanctuary would ever seem like home. Everything was different—the humidity, the salty air, the palmetto trees, the old brick streets lined with massive live oaks. Not to mention the flat, quiet beaches with water warm enough to swim in all year—you don’t see that along Lake Michigan.

  But it hasn’t all been bad. For starters, I met my best friend, Olivia, on my first day at Seaside Sanctuary. She was sitting by the turtle pool, reading. By the end of the morning, I knew three very important things about Olivia:

  Her older sister, Abby, is the vet at the sanctuary.

  She doesn’t like talking to people she doesn’t know.

  She wants to be a dolphin researcher when she grows up.

  And I knew we were going to be best friends.

  I still miss Chicago. But between helping the volunteers with feedings, cleaning tanks, showing tourists around, and prepping seal food in the industrial-sized blender, I haven’t had much time to think about my old life. And one thing is for sure—at Seaside Sanctuary, I’m never lonely, and I’m never bored.

  Chapter 1

  “Elsa, don’t forget the emergency release forms,” Mom said. She bustled around the cluttered office of Seaside Sanctuary, gathering up stray clipboards.

  “Already got them.” I waved the stack of forms I just pulled out of the printer.

  Getting ready for a new group of volunteers always required lots of paperwork. Today we had five starting. My best friend, Olivia, and I had agreed to help with the orientation. Mom needed the assistance. My dad was at a conference, and Abby, Seaside Sanctuary’s vet and Olivia’s older sister, was off-site taking a pelican to a specialist.

  At least we didn’t have to get up too early—my house was just a few yards away from the Seaside Sanctuary office, and Olivia and Abby lived in the apartment right above it.

  “It’s nine, girls!” Mom called, disappearing out the office door. Olivia grabbed the clipboards, and together we trotted down the path to the main entrance.

  The volunteers were already gathered near the turtle habitat, waiting for us. I counted five in total: a middle-aged couple, an older-looking lady, a boy in a black sweatshirt with the hood up, and a lady in bright purple leggings.

  “Hi, everyone!” Mom greeted them. “We’re so happy to have you here at Seaside Sanctuary. We couldn’t survive without our volunteers. You’re all very important to our work. Why doesn’t everyone introduce themselves and then we’ll give you a tour?”

  The middle-aged couple went first and introduced themselves as Jeffrey and Rebecca. The older lady was Paula.

  “I’m Megan,” the purple-leggings lady announced in a loud voice. She flashed a huge smile at the group and a dimple appeared in her cheek. She ran a hand through her long, curly hair. “I’m so excited to be here. I love animals! I can’t wait to see all the adorable babies!”

  Mom smiled politely. “We don’t actually have any babies right now. But we are certainly glad to have you here, Megan.” With that, she turned to the boy in the black hoodie, who hadn’t said anything. “And what about you? Can you tell us your name?”

  The boy mumbled something. He kept his face down so that only his eyes and forehead were visible.

  Mom leaned closer. “I’m sorry, what did you say? It might be easier to hear you if you put your hood down.”

  The boy angrily shoved his hood off his head. “I said my name is Anson!”

  I stifled a gasp. Part of the boy’s face was badly scarred. A patch of shiny burn tissue covered one cheek and part of his mouth, extending up to his scalp. His greasy brown hair was long and stringy, hanging down over his forehead.

  Mom looked taken aback too. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She dropped the papers off her clipboard, and I quickly crouched to help her pick them up. Anson pulled his hood back up so it hid his face.

  “OK, it’s time for our tour!” Mom announced. She seemed to have regained her composure. “Elsa and Olivia know the sanctuary inside out, and they’re much more fun to listen to, so I’ll let them lead us.”

  “Oh, lovely!” Megan piped up from the front. “Do you happen to have any arowana fish? I understand they’re very interesting.”

  Mom frowned slightly. “No, we don’t have any arowana fish. We don’t keep exotic fish here. Arowana are mainly kept as pets. We only rehabilitate and house marine mammals native to this part of South Carolina.”

  “OK, let’s go!” I said. I led the group around the turtle habitat and past the freshwater birds—three ducks were in there now. Then I took them past the ocean birds, where one lone pelican was standing on a rock beside his pool.

  “This guy was found on the beach with a damaged wing,” Olivia explained. “But we think he’ll heal enough to be released.”

  We headed to the wild pen with the dolphins next. “This is one of the few wild pens in the country,” I told the group. “We had to get a special federal permit to build it. Seaside Sanctuary is a perfect fit for a coastal pen because we have a natural cove; the other side has netting to keep the dolphins in. This is healthier for them than a pool.”

  I also explained the feeding process—that we used only fresh fish from a restaurant-supply company and that they were all inspected before being fed to the dolphins—before moving on.

  “And these are our river otters,” I said, stopping at the big habitat we’d built for them. “They just arrived a couple of weeks ago. Their mom was hit by a boat and killed. The boatman brought us her pups.”

  I motioned to the five little otters swimming in their pool, diving and doing somersaults. One of them pushed a big red ball around in the water.

  “Oooh,” the group said, swooning over the otters.

  I had to agree. The otters were insanely cute. They looked like furry old men with their little eyes and big soft noses and long whiskers. But in the water, they transformed into swimming machines, streaking through the pool like sleek brown torpedoes.

  “These are otters, but they’re not sea otters,” I explained. People often made that mistake. “Sea otters live in the
sea—obviously. They’re the ones with big eyes who lie on their backs and swim. These are river otters. They live in either freshwater or brackish water, like in the intracoastal waterways here in Charleston. They’re really smart and really playful. They eat all kinds of fish, crabs, and crayfish. We give them smelt, trout, and herring here, and they get live crabs twice a week.”

  As we watched, two of the otters climbed out of the pool onto their rocks. Everyone ooohed again.

  “They get out of the water quite a bit, as you can see,” I went on. “They actually spend a lot of time on land, resting and sleeping and eating. And then they get back in the water.”

  “Oh, how sweet!” Megan exclaimed. She tottered forward on white platform sneakers and bent over, her bottom sticking out toward us. “Babies! Here! Over here, babies!” She tapped the fence with a long pink fingernail.

  “Ah, please don’t tap the fence,” Mom said. “We try not to treat the animals here like pets. It’s important to remember they are wild creatures and should be respected as such.”

  I wasn’t sure how much of this little speech Megan took in, because she continued to croon at the otters, who were ignoring her.

  “They’re not stupid either,” Anson muttered from the back of the group. “Unlike you.”

  I gasped before I could stop myself. He glared at me from under the edge of his hood. Luckily for him, no one else seemed to have heard except for Olivia, who gave me a What the heck? look.

  “Why is he being so mean?” Olivia whispered as the volunteers crowded around the habitat. Anson stood back, hands in his pockets. “He’s here to volunteer, isn’t he? He doesn’t seem like he wants to be here at all.”

  “I know,” I whispered back. “It’s weird. He doesn’t even seem to like the animals.”

  So why was he? I didn’t know, yet, but I was sure going to figure it out.

  Chapter 2

  “Brownies, everyone!” a voice called the next morning.

  Olivia and I looked at each other. She turned off the hose she’d been using to clean algae off the pelican’s pool, and I set down my scrubbing brush. We headed toward the otter habitat to find Megan taking a plate of brownies out of a larger plastic tub. It was one of those big twenty-gallon bins, the kind you’d use to store balls or tennis rackets in your garage, and almost comically large.

  Maybe she had more than one thing of brownies in there, I thought as I watched Megan arrange the brownies on a rack next to a pile of feeding tubes.

  The other volunteers, all clad in their gray Seaside Sanctuary T-shirts, were clustered around Mom. She was explaining how to sort the fish for the river otters. Anson stood at the back, like yesterday. He’d pulled his T-shirt over his black sweatshirt, which gave him a lumpy look. Plus he must have been hot. It was like eighty-five degrees.

  “Thanks, Megan,” I said, stuffing a brownie in my mouth. “That’s really nice of you.”

  “Oh it’s nothing!” She waved her hand in the air. Today her leggings were aqua with big swirls of purple. “Just a little something I whipped up!”

  “Elsa!” Mom waved Olivia and me over. “I moved the otters to their holding area.” She motioned to the small, fenced-off section we kept the otters in if we needed to be in the habitat. “I want you two to lead the group in cleaning the habitat, OK? Then Anson is going to help you with some training. Abby is over at the West Side Clinic today, so it’s just you guys.”

  “Mom, not Anson!” I did not want to work with that grumpy guy. He was scary.

  She bent over. “I think Anson needs a little extra attention to feel welcome here. And you’re a great teacher. I’m sure he’ll enjoy the training.”

  “All right, all right,” I muttered.

  “Maybe he’ll have cheered up from yesterday,” Olivia whispered hopefully.

  “Doesn’t look like it,” I whispered back, shooting a glance at Anson.

  Back at the enclosure, I let the group into the habitat, which was filled with everything otters like: lots of rocks, logs, shrubs, sticks. The otters had already made a den in a rock crevice. The pool was lined with rocks and surrounded by clay and rocks so the otters could scamper in and out of the water.

  I handed out brushes, small shovels, and buckets. “OK, guys. We’re going to be picking up all the droppings, plus any litter you see, and putting them in the buckets,” I explained. “And then we have to scrub the algae off the stones. They’re too slippery for the otters otherwise.”

  Without a word, Anson grabbed a bucket and a shovel and went off to the far corner of the exhibit, pulling his hood up to shield his face again. The others got to work—except for Megan, who wandered off to the otters’ holding area. The five of them clustered at the fence, watching us with their bright little eyes.

  “Oh, they’re so beautiful!” Megan wiggled her fingers at them. “How old are they?”

  “Um, five months.” I raked through a section of dirt and tossed a pile of droppings into the bucket Olivia held out for me. “They’re weaned now, but we bottle-fed them when they first got here.”

  “Are they males or females? You’re sure they’re river otters?”

  “Yes, they are, and I can’t remember if they’re males or females.” I edged away, hoping she’d get the hint and get to work. “Well, it’s time for scrubbing.”

  Megan absently picked up a brush from the pile, but her eyes were still fixed on the otters.

  “She really loves otters,” Olivia said quietly.

  “Tell me about it.” I nudged her. “Hey, look.”

  The other volunteers were scrubbing, working slowly as they chatted and looked around, talking about the animals. But Anson was on the other side of the pond, alone. He was scrubbing deliberately, not looking up, cleaning each stone all over before he moved on to the next one.

  We watched him in silence for a few minutes. “Well, at least he’s not a slacker,” I said finally.

  “OK!” Mom called from outside the pen. “Thank you, everyone! If you could all gather over here, I’d like to go over a few items from yesterday. Olivia, could you help me, please? Anson, I’d like you to assist Elsa.”

  I sighed and secured the habitat gate as the other volunteers filed out. Anson slouched up and stood silently beside me. I tried not to look at his scarred face.

  “You’re a good cleaner,” I said, trying to break the ice.

  He shrugged. So much for that.

  I picked up the bucket of fish Mom had left for me and opened the enclosure gate. The otters tottered out, running all around us.

  “We have to handle them every day,” I told him. “It helps us check them for any sickness or injuries. Plus it keeps them used to us, so we can move them around and the vet can see them.”

  Anson didn’t respond. I didn’t know why I was bothering to explain any of this. It was like talking to a lump.

  I held a fish out to the nearest otter, a female I’d been calling Little Sister. She sniffed it and took a delicate bite, then I drew my hand straight up. That was the signal to stand on her hind feet.

  “Why are you doing that?” Anson asked. I jumped. I’d almost forgotten he was there.

  “Oh, it helps their muscles get strong. And I can see her belly to check if she has any cuts or anything.”

  “Cool.” Anson drew closer. He gazed at the otter and reached a tentative finger toward her damp, thick fur. “I had a dog once.” He spoke so quietly that I had to lean down to catch his words. “Buddy. His fur was almost this exact color.”

  I held the fish in my hand out to him. I don’t know why I did it. But he took the fish and held it out to the otter.

  “Break off a little chunk and hold it right up to her mouth,” I said quietly.

  He followed my directions, and Little Sister took a dainty bite and nibbled. “She ate it!” Anson looked over at me, his face lit up.

&nb
sp; I grinned despite myself and nodded. “You did great. You were quiet—they like that. Some people get all giggly and nervous. But you were calm.”

  Anson seemed to grow about three inches. “Thanks.”

  “Elsa!” Olivia called to me. “Paula scraped her arm. I can’t find the first aid kit. Do you know where it is?”

  “Hang on, I think it’s in the office.” I opened the gate. “Oh you should come out too. I can’t leave you alone in the exhibit.”

  “Could I sit here just for a minute?” Anson asked, gazing at the otters. “I won’t touch them, I promise.”

  “Elsa!” Olivia called again.

  “Um… OK,” I said. It was probably fine. I’d be right back after all.

  I hurried off, almost bumping into Megan on my way out the gate.

  “Oops!” She giggled. “Just looking for the bathroom.”

  “Um, it’s way over there,” I said, pointing. Mom had told all the volunteers where it was earlier, so either Megan hadn’t listened or she had a terrible memory.

  “Got it, thanks!” Megan chirped, hurrying off.

  In the office, Olivia and I got Paula patched up. Just as we were putting the first aid kit back, I saw some kind of commotion happening through the office window. Megan was by the gate now, gesturing wildly toward the parking lot. My dad was trying to talk to her. He must have come down from the office—I hadn’t seen him all morning.

  We ran outside just as Dad was walking away. He came toward us, looking flustered. “Can you girls keep an eye on everyone down here, please? Megan’s car won’t start. I need to call roadside assistance.”

  Just then Anson appeared beside me. “What’s going on?”

  I did a double take. “I thought you were with the otters,” I said quietly, not wanting Dad to overhear that I’d left a volunteer alone.

  Anson cleared his throat. “I, uh, overheard you guys talking about a car problem. I could look at it. Maybe. If you want, I mean. I work on my dad’s car sometimes.”

  “Well, thanks,” I said slowly. Olivia and I looked at each other, both clearly surprised by the offer. He didn’t seem as mean or scary as yesterday.