Free Treading Water by Laurie Halse Anderson Page A

on the school’s computer, I head to the bathroom. I can’t believe how clueless Najla is. First, she doesn’t think to tell me that the room has been changed. Then she’s mad that I’m late because of it. Plus she is irritated that I didn’t assume I would need to bring different equipment. I guess not all high school kids are cool. I look at the time. I’ve already lost a half hour of presentation time. I’m going to have to cut it short. How?
    When I get back from the bathroom, the faculty adviser is there. She and the students are sitting and looking at the screen. I glance at the screen, and instead of the first carefully selected presentation slide, it’s a photo of the dead duckling. Oh no.
    â€œUm, wrong file,” I say to the helpful boy whose name I still don’t know. I feel my face redden. What will they think of me? Sunita is a friend, and even she thinks I’m weird for taking it.
    â€œHold on!” a girl with a long skirt and giant earrings says. “That is an amazing shot. It tells a story.”
    â€œA sad story,” I say. “The duckling had just died because someone bought it and then abandoned it. We’re pretty sure it was meant to be an Easter gift for a child. There was plastic grass in its throat when we found it.”
    â€œThat’s terrible!” she says.
    â€œIt really is,” I agree. “Dr. Mac at the vet clinic tried to save it. But it was too fragile and dehydrated when we got to it.”
    â€œSo sad,” I hear a few people around the room say.
    â€œWe actually found four ducklings right here in the parking lot of the high school,” I tell them.
    â€œOh yeah,” a boy who seemed to be sleeping says. “I heard about that. Do you think somebody from here just dumped ’em?”
    â€œWell, probably not a high school student,” I suggest. “Most likely, a parent bought them for their kids, and when they saw how messy they were—and ducks are sooo messy—they decided to get rid of them. It’s really terrible that whoever did this didn’t at least find a place they could be cared for. The animal shelter, or Dr. Mac’s clinic. This one didn’t have to die.”
    Everyone is quiet for a moment. Have I said too much? The Outdoor Club was a lot easier to talk to. My stomach hurts, and I’m still way too hot.
    â€œStill, it’s a good shot,” Najla says.
    â€œCrazy good,” a boy in the second row says. “What did you use to get that moody lighting?”
    I look at the picture and try to remember. “A red-bulb heat lamp about four feet away and eighteen inches high off the surface gives it that apricot glow.”
    â€œCool,” he says. “I’ve never used a heat lamp bulb before.”
    I am about to tell him that I didn’t set up the shot, that it was unintentional—almost a reflex—taking that photo. I am about to explain that the red bulb was a source of heat for the nearby healthy ducklings, but then my real first slide is projected, and I begin my wildlife photography talk.
    I have to flip through quicker than I intended. But it’s going okay. My stomach settles down, and I’m not wishing I had said no any longer. I wish they would crack a window, though.
    We talk about wildlife. We talk about lighting. We talk about shutter speeds and specialty lenses. We talk about safety, and we talk about luck.
    As the students ask questions, I flip to my last couple of slides. They’re about the Environmental Club and Save Our Streams Cleanup Days. I have a sign-up sheet and handouts just like I did for the Outdoor Club, in case anyone wants to volunteer.
    One girl—in head-to-toe black—asks me about joining the Environmental Club.
    â€œWe’d love to have some more members. My blog and e-mail addresses are on the handout. You can get in touch with me.”
    â€œSo this club,” she continues.