Free Peter and the Starcatchers by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

heart leaped as a gray shape flowed from the water, forming a graceful arc before disappearing again beneath the surface. The shape was fol owed by another, then another.
    Porpoises. Five of them, their sleek bodies keeping pace effortlessly with the lumbering ship.
    Mol y leaned over the stern rail and waved frantical y, then caught herself, feeling foolish.
    They know I’m here, she thought. They see everything.
    As if reading her mind, a large porpoise rose straight up, using its powerful tail to lift its head wel clear of the water, dancing on the churning water. It looked at Mol y, grinning, and said, “Hel o.”

    Not in English, of course. It spoke in clicks and squeaks. But Mol y had studied enough Porpoise to understand the standard greeting. Struggling to recal her lessons, Mol y squeaked and clicked (the clicks were the hardest) something back, which she hoped was “Hel o.” What she actual y said was “My teeth are green,” but the porpoise was too polite to point that out.
    Now the other four porpoises rose from the water, and, observing the protocol, also said “Hel o.” Mol y told them al that her teeth were green. With the pleasantries out of the way, the lead porpoise, whose name was Ammm, made a longer series of clicks and squeaks. Mol y knew just enough Porpoise to understand that Ammm was asking her if she was al right. She expected this question: it had been arranged that the porpoises would check in with Mol y tonight, and the assumption had been that Mol y would tel them yes, she was al right.

    “No,” Mol y said, struggling to get the sounds right. “Trouble.”
    This set off a chorus of chittering and chirping among the porpoises, al stil standing on their tails. Mol y understood none of it, but they were clearly concerned.
    Ammm turned to her again.
    “Tel me,” he said.
    Mol y had been thinking al day about how, with her very limited Porpoise vocabulary, she could say what she had to say. Leaning forward, speaking as clearly as she could—
    but not too slowly, as porpoises cannot understand slow talking—she said: “Message father.”
    “Say,” said Ammm.
    Mol y’s heart leaped: she was getting through! But now came the hard part.
    “Bad man hunt ship,” she said.
    “Again,” said Ammm.
    Mol y took a deep breath, then: “Bad man hunt ship.”
    More chittering among the porpoises. Then Ammm said: “What ship? Mol y ship?”
    They had understood!
    “No,” said Mol y. “Father ship.”
    Ammm paused, then repeated: “Father ship.”
    “Yes,” said Mol y, thril ed they were communicating.
    Urgent chittering. Then Ammm spoke again: “We go. Good-bye.”
    “NO!” shouted Mol y, so upset that she said it in English. But Ammm understood, and looked at her expectantly. The other four porpoises resurfaced, one by one.
    “More,” said Mol y.
    “Say,” said Ammm.
    Mol y struggled to form the sounds: “Box on Mol y ship.”
    “What on Mol y ship?” asked Ammm.
    “Box,” said Mol y. “Box. Box.”
    “What?”
    It was no use; the sound she was making for “box” clearly made no sense to Ammm. Mol y stamped her foot in frustration, trying desperately to think of another way to say it.
    Maybe she could …
    Her thoughts were interrupted by voices getting louder behind her; someone was coming her way! She gestured helplessly to Ammm, turned, and ran to the ladderway, ducking down it just as the two night-watch sailors arrived.
    “… somebody back here talking,” one was saying. “Slank says we’re not to al ow …”
    “There’s who was talking,” said the other, pointing over the side.
    “Wel , I’l be damned,” said the first. “Porpoises making al that noise! What d’you suppose has ’em so roused up?”
    “Probably saw some tasty fish.”
    “That’s the life, if you ask me. Eat and play, not a care in the world.”
    “Looky this big one here! He’s talkin’ to us! A right speechmaker, he is!”
    “Probably wants us to throw him a bite to