No Time To Waste

By Carolyn Armstrong

Twins on a mission. Talking with animals. Tackling the greatest threats to animal habitats.

A SEA OTTER. 

Fresh from their Arctic adventure of saving polar bears, eleven-year-old twins Sydney and Sierra visit a sea kelp habitat off the coast of California. While scuba diving, Sydney meets her animal

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carolyn Armstrong Books
• Release date: Jun 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9798218392383

Carolyn Armstrong

Carolyn Armstrong is the author of Earth-friendly middle grade fiction. A former educator and now an imperfect environmentalist, she blends her love of travel and animal well-being into her stories. She encourages everyone to become advocates for Planet Earth. It's as easy as picking up trash and refusing a plastic drinking straw! Head to www.ckabooks.com for free activities, monthly newsletters, and blogs about writing, books, and sustainability.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

THE SURFACE OF THE OCEAN at low tide was flat, calm, blue. But not perfectly still. Sydney followed one particular wave as it gained a little momentum coming to shore. When the small wave rolled and broke, it splashed over some rocks and spread across the wet sand.

How does the ocean say hello? Sydney asked Sierra, then hopped out of the way so her shoes wouldn’t get splashed. In between a wave coming in and the one that went out, the sand made little sizzling and popping noises as it took in the salt from the sea.

No idea, her eleven-year-old twin sister said, shifting her bag so it didn’t get wet. How does the ocean say hello?

Duh, Sydney said, smiling, then jumped back farther to avoid the water. It waves.

Ba-da-bum. Sierra drum rolled on her leg. Good one.

Sydney would have loved to spend the rest of the day dodging waves and would have loved telling ocean jokes—like, What did the ocean say to the beach? She wasn’t shore. But Sydney didn’t come for them. She was on a mission, and it involved the world underneath the water.

A secret seaweed forest—an entire sea kelp habitat—was submerged just over there, beyond the little beach where they were standing, over the craggy rocks coated in barnacles, past the knee-deep water, and on the other side of the small cresting waves. Right where those pieces of driftwood floated.

Towers of swaying kelp grew from the ocean floor toward the sunlight while countless fish, tiny crabs, urchins, sea otters, and even a sea lion or two swam around, doing their thing. Hopefully one of those animals was expecting her arrival.

The problem was—well, there were a lot of problems—but the main problem right now was that Sydney wasn’t 100 percent sure which species of animal she was supposed to meet. She was in the correct location—at the beach at Monterey Bay—because A) sea kelp habitats thrived along this part of California’s coastline, B) keystone species were her specialty, and C) an Arctic bird had told her so.

Her mom and dad had been so impressed with what Sydney had learned about climate change affecting polar habitats on their last photojournalist assignment, they let her choose the habitat to focus on next. Little did they know the animals had selected it for Sydney, not the other way around.

A red crab, the size of a golf ball, scooted across the tip of her shoe. Sydney lifted it carefully, keeping her fingers away from its ridiculously sharp pinchers. Hello, friend. Ringo sent me.

The crab made little clicking sounds as he wriggled his legs, trying to get free. Eek! Eek! Eek!

No need to freak out, Sydney said as she placed him on the wet sand. I just wanted to ask—

Gotta scoot! The crab let the rush of receding water pull him back into the surf.

You’re no help. A soft breeze tickled her face, leaving a salty mist on her cheeks. Sydney brushed her hands to shake off the sand and looked out into the water. The waves continued to do what waves always did. They rolled in, spread out, and pulled themselves back. Rolled. Spread. Pulled. But where was the contact animal? It should be here by now.

Sydney, Sierra!

Sydney turned around at the faintest calling of their names. Her mom and dad waved, signaling them to come back up the beach where all their gear was.

Be right there! Sydney yelled even though she had no intention of leaving. Sierra pointed out into the water. Sydney cupped her eyes with her hands, making pretend binoculars. The driftwood logs had grown in numbers.

Sierra pulled out a real pair from her bag. These will probably work better.

Yeah, thanks. Sydney lifted them to her face, adjusting the focus as needed. She counted five floating and bobbing logs. She smiled when the image came in crystal clear. They weren’t dead wood at all. The group, five sea otters, were very much alive.

I think they’re the contact animals, said Sierra. All of your signs point to them.

The binoculars bounced up and down a little as Sydney agreed. Sea otters were a keystone species. Keystone species were plants or animals that played an important role in the way the ecosystem functioned. Check! Sea kelp was a keystone species in an ocean habitat. Check! Check! If they’re not, then we’re in big trouble. She handed the binoculars back. Here, see for yourself.

"What do you mean, we? Sierra raised an eyebrow. This is your thing."

It was two months and one day ago in an icy bay near the North Pole when Sydney was appointed an impossible task. Life before the sea ice incident, she’d only watched wildlife from the sidelines, talking with them and wishing they understood. During the sea ice incident, she was flying out of a rubber raft and hitting her head on a slab of Arctic ice. After the sea ice incident, Sydney was hearing the animals speak back and was having real conversations with them.

Ringo, the cutest ringed seal in all the Arctic, had spoken first, and he had wasted no time. His assignment for Sydney: save the animals. Besides the Arctic melting, other ecosystems needed help too. The only instructions that Ringo and PB, his polar bear pal, had given Sydney were that she had to do her part. She didn’t have to fix everything. She just had to do something.

Just do something, Sydney pondered as she reached for the binoculars again. Well, back in the Arctic, she had done something. She activated PB’s tracking collar even though she didn’t want to. The polar bear would have been much happier without it. But somehow her mind got changed and she had flicked the switch.

Sierra couldn’t hear the animals speak, and at first didn’t even believe Sydney had a gift. Then, on their last day in Svalbard, Sierra had surprised Sydney. She used her book smarts and tech-savvy skills to create a super-cool YouTube video showing the effects of melting ice on polar habitats. Sierra had even hacked Erik’s phone so they could follow PB’s movements with the activated collar. Sydney felt guilty—like she was invading PB’s privacy—every time she peeked at his location on her sister’s tablet. But at the same time, Sydney was able to see that the polar bear was still covering a lot of ground—oops, she meant, sea ice. He was covering a lot of sea ice. Roaming free. Doing polar bear stuff in and on and around the ice. Her sister’s video had gotten lots of views, too, but it wasn’t magic. They still had lots of work to do.

Girls!

Just a minute! Sydney tucked the binocs into her backpack. She was soooo close to doing a meet and greet with these otters. But assisting her mom and her environmental photography always came first. Well, homeschooling came first. Then traveling. Then supporting her parents with whatever they needed. Then, Sydney could address her animal assignment.

I know I’ve suggested this before, Sierra said, tugging on Sydney’s sleeve. "If you just told Mom and Dad why we’re here at this sea kelp habitat, then maybe—"

No way. Nope. Sydney twisted out of her sister’s grip. Not going to happen. Go distract them. Before Mom gets mad.

Okay. But you owe me. Sierra turned on her heel and made the mad dash back to her parents. From the looks of things, Sierra was being introduced to the two other adults who had arrived while Sydney was watching the otters. Her sister helped the lady unfold a table and set it up. Her dad followed the other person back up the path to the parking lot. Sydney assumed to get more stuff.

She turned and faced the otters again. Hello, friends! she called out to them. I’m here! Swim closer. Tell me what you need.

The otters stayed exactly where they were. Out of reach. Maybe they were out of earshot? Sydney stomped her foot, splashing herself in the process. She was supposed to save them—but from what?

Syd! Her mom called again. Now!

Ugh! Sydney groaned, her head hanging low. The otters made it clear they wanted nothing to do with her. Which meant she was back to square one—no idea of her mission and no contact animal. Fine, be that way. She gathered her stuff, removing her shoes to get the sand out, and trudged up the beach.

Ouch! Sydney winced, then jerked her foot away. Squatting and digging to investigate what had poked her foot, she found a red plastic ring, the kind that goes on top of a milk jug.

Where did you come from? she asked the trash. Why would someone bring milk to the beach? Warm milk on a hot day? Eww.

She carried the plastic ring to where her parents stood, already in their black wet suits, snapping the cameras into their waterproof shells. What took so long? her mom asked, double-checking the camera cases. A habit of hers. Snap cameras into cases. Recheck. Check one more time.

Sorry, Sydney said, then tossed the plastic milk ring onto a beach towel where a smooshed water bottle, several blue lids, three plastic straws, and a pink flip-flop lay. Her dad tossed a blue plastic thing right next to it. The blue plastic thing, Sydney realized after examining it on all sides, was an old toothbrush minus the bristles.

Did you know, her dad asked her, that every plastic toothbrush that’s ever been made still exists on this planet?

Jeez, Sydney said, shaking her head. If that was true, where were all the other toothbrushes? She let her mind wander, imagining a mountain of used toothbrushes. There were like nine million people who lived in New York City. Since the bristles didn’t last very long, that meant there were a lot of people buying new ones. Maybe each person bought two per year. Two multiplied by nine million. Eighteen million? Eighteen million toothbrushes?

But wait. She scrunched up her nose, trying to imagine the unimaginable. Eighteen million toothbrushes were bought. Used. Thrown into the garbage. That means last year eighteen million toothbrushes were sent to the landfill, she mumbled to herself. Eighteen million. Last year. And the year before that. And all the years before that! For New York City alone! What about the toothbrushes in California? Or Australia? The whole world?! She raised her arms toward the sky. Information overloooooad!

Are you ready to join us, Syd? her mom asked. I want to introduce the rest of the team. This is Derrick, he’s the—

Scuba instructor? Sydney interrupted, dropping her arms. She didn’t want to sound rude, but his wet suit gave it away. Derrick kind of reminded her of Jon, the high school guide she had met in Svalbard. This guy also had blond hair. Except Derrick was a real adult. Hi.

Hi there, Derrick said as he fist-bumped her, just like Jon had, and then went back to checking the equipment. Three oxygen tanks. Three pairs of fins. Three masks. Three vests that looked like the life jackets they had worn in the Arctic, but these had tubes attached for breathing underwater. Her parents and Derrick, the lucky ones, got to go scuba diving to explore the sea kelp habitat. There had been a promise of a potential dive for Sydney later in the day if the water conditions were still favorable. No guarantees. But she had to scuba dive. How else was the contact animal going to reach her?

Her mom looked around and motioned toward the lady and Sierra. Dr. Ally, would you mind coming over here for a sec? I want you to meet our other daughter, Sydney.

Yes! The lady said something to Sierra and then hopped up from her seat and came over with her sister right on her heels.

Sierra, her dad said. Stop hogging the scientist. She’s got work to do.

Daaaad, Sierra protested. She works at a real laboratory! It’s called the Hodgens Marine Pollution Lab. Can we go see it? She told me it’s okay with her!

Hi, I’m Dr. Ally Marcos, she said, nodding in agreement with Sierra and holding her hand out for Sydney to shake. You can call me Dr. Ally. Thanks for assisting with our Citizen Science Project. We love it when volunteers partner with our lab to answer real-world questions.

The lady looked younger than Sydney had imagined a scientist would be. It was hard to guess her age. If she were as old as her mom and dad, she would be in her thirties. She was also very tan. Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail like the way Sierra always wore hers. She was wearing pants and a long-sleeved shirt—the kind of clothes that protected a person from the sun.

Where’s your white lab coat? Sydney asked.