201706 Jellyfish Tide來自英語沙龍00:0006:44

　　謝莉和塔拉是好朋友，她們參加了普吉特海灣夏令營(yíng)。謝莉是一個(gè)初級(jí)救生員，這天，謝莉想試試獨(dú)木舟，這讓幾乎不會(huì)游泳的塔拉很緊張。不過，在謝莉的再三鼓動(dòng)下，兩人還是開始了劃獨(dú)木舟的訓(xùn)練?？梢爰尤氇?dú)木舟小分隊(duì)，她們還需要進(jìn)行深水獨(dú)木舟傾覆訓(xùn)練。然而，就在深水測(cè)試的那天，意想不到的事情發(fā)生了。在她們踏入刺骨的海水中時(shí)，發(fā)現(xiàn)自己被水母群圍住，船槳也順著水流越漂越遠(yuǎn)。經(jīng)過一番緊張的掙扎之后，她們穿過水母群，拿到了漂走的船槳并且完成了獨(dú)木舟翻轉(zhuǎn)的動(dòng)作。盡管她們覺得自己表現(xiàn)得很不盡人意，加入獨(dú)木舟小分隊(duì)的希望渺茫，但是因?yàn)樗齻冊(cè)诶щy面前不放棄的精神，貝克小姐還是給她們每人發(fā)了一枚銀質(zhì)胸針作為邀請(qǐng)。謝莉最終成為一名獨(dú)木舟隊(duì)短距離賽手，而塔拉也完成了游泳課訓(xùn)練。

   We were at summer camp on Puget Sound, and Shelly had an idea. “Let’s take canoeing,” she said.

   I just giggled. “The way I swim?”

   Shelly was a junior lifeguard. My best stroke was the doggy paddle.

   “It’s a boat,” said Shelly. “You don’t have to swim. Besides, you’ll be wearing a life jacket.”

   So we did it. We learned how to stroke, glide, and turn, and how to steer with a twist at the end of a pull. Miss Baker said we should join the canoe squad.

   Sprint racing—us? Why not?

   “Squad members have to pass a deep-water capsize drill,” said Miss Baker.

   That was the why not. “I can’t do it,” I told Shelly.

   “Sure you can,” she said. “With your life jacket on, you’ll bob like a cork.”

   The next morning, shivering in sweatshirts over swimsuits, we trudged down to the beach. “I don’t like this, Shel,” I said.

   She just grinned. “It’ll be easy. Capsize the canoe, flip it over, tow it back.”

   It sounded easy. We watched Miss Baker toss safety rings into the rescue boat. The old ferry-dock pilings, encrusted with barnacles, loomed like shadows through the fog. I shuddered.

   We pulled off our sweatshirts. With her long legs and sleek haircut, Shelly looked like an Olympic swimmer. I’m short. After weeks at camp, my hair was a curly, sun-streaked mop. In my bright-orange life jacket, I felt like a fat cocker spaniel.

   We picked up the paddles.

   “Ready?” asked Miss Baker.

   “Ready,” said Shelly, climbing into the canoe. I plopped in behind her. Shelly gripped her paddle, ready to stroke. Waves shlupped against the hull of the canoe. I shoved off.

   We skimmed the silver-gray water, paddles slicing black-tipped waves. Crystal droplets glistened on the blade of my paddle.

   “Deep enough,” Shelly said. She looked back at me. “You OK?”

   I wasn’t. “Just great!” I said.

   “OK,” Shelly said. “Count of three. One, two . . .”

   “Hold it!” I yelled. “Jellyfish!”

   But it was too late. We tumbled into the freezing water, right into a pod of pulsating jellyfish. They looked like big fried eggs. Shelly shrieked and slapped the water.

   “You two OK out there?” Miss Baker called.

   Gasping from the cold, I gripped the downside-up canoe with both hands and hollered back, “Fine!”

   Sure, just great! The icy water had numbed my legs, so I could barely feel the jellyfish stings. These jellyfish were harmless, I knew, but still annoying.

   I looked around. The paddles were out of reach and floating farther away. “Shelly!” I yelled. “The paddles!”

   She just pushed at the water. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I hate jellyfish!”

   I shoved wet curls out of my face. I told myself I couldn’t sink. I was OK. Right! I pushed away from the canoe.

   Nose up, I windmilled through the water doing the bobbing-cork stroke. Some jellyfish slithered across my legs. One paddle was just ahead. I grabbed it, then struggled after the other one and pulled it in. Tucking them under my arms like water wings, I whipped around and bumped into Shelly.

   “You got ’em,” she said.

   I coughed water and gasped. “You swam through the jellyfish!”

   “Had to,” said Shelly. “My best friend can’t swim. Or so she says.”

   Grinning, we splashed a wet high-five. Then I saw it.

   “The canoe!” I screeched.

   Caught in the current, our canoe was heading toward the pilings. Shelly raced after it. 

   Even though she was wearing a life jacket, her crawl was sleek and effortless. Clutching the oars, I churned after her.

   Shelly caught up with the canoe and slung an arm over its side. “Hurry!” she yelled. “I can’t hold it!”

   I splashed through the water, kicking furiously. Gasping, I grabbed the other side of the canoe and tossed a paddle to Shelly. Straining against the current, we coaxed the canoe away from the pilings and flipped it over. Partly submerged, the canoe rocked sluggishly.

   “See?” said Shelly. “It was easy.”

   I laughed. “Sure!”

   We tossed the paddles into the canoe and tugged it to shore. Miss Baker was knee-deep next to the rescue boat. “Bit of trouble out there?” she asked.

   Shelly spit on a reddish welt on her arm, and said, “I don’t like jellyfish.”

   I pulled on my sweatshirt. Even my goosebumps were cold. Miss Baker held out two tiny silver pins shaped like paddles.

   Shelly squealed. “You mean we can still join the canoe squad?”

   Staring at the badges, I shook my head, soggy curls dripping saltwater. “But we messed up.”

   Miss Baker smiled. “When things got tough, you didn’t quit.” Then she gave me a hug and whispered, “Tara, sign up for swim lessons.”

   “Right,” I said.

   Shelly’s still a sprint racer for the canoe squad, but I ended up joining the swim team. And I love it.

   All because of those jellyfish.