Mask on the Cruise Ship by Melanie Jackson

intended to say that the Narrows used to be lethal as well as cramped. Ships kept crashing into huge Ripple Rock, smack in the middle of the passage. Finally, in the 1950s, the British Columbia government hired an engineer to blow it up. Ka-boom!
    It’s still tricky to get through. The tide builds to sixteen knots — translation, ultra-strong — so ships have to time their passage very carefully.
    Lavinia cackled, “I was going to return this tester. Didn’t mean to walk off with it! But,” she showed it to us, “now it’s empty!” And she tossed it into the Narrows.
    â€œA gift to Neptune, the god of the sea,” remarked Mother, literary as always.
    â€œThat stench is being sent to Neptune?” coughed Jack. “In that case, we’re probably in for a few tidal waves.”
    â€œWait! There are 126 buffet items left for me to try!” I protested as Jack and Mother forcibly led me away.
    They had other plans for me. I’d thought it would be a lazy day, since the Empress wouldn’t be putting into port until tomorrow: Juneau, our first stop.
    Cruises, I soon learned, are packed with activities. Sure, there were lots of comfy-looking deck chairs where I could have stretched out with the latest Deathstalkers comic book —
    â€œDon’t even think about it,” warned Mother, who’d noticed me eyeing the chairs. She unfolded the ship’s daily newsletter, Hundreds of Happy Events , filled with lists of what was going on. Is there an event we don’t have that you’d like us to include? the newsletter asked. If so, pop your idea into our Helpful Hints suggestion box, just outside the Captain’s cabin!
    Mother browsed the newsletter. “There’s a bridge tournament, bingo, swing and ballroom dance classes, volleyball, yoga … I think I’ll check out the yoga.”
    â€œDi and I will go for volleyball,” said Jack, with irritating enthusiasm.
    â€œWe can play volleyball anywhere,” I told him. “I mean, here we are, on an Alaska cruise! We should be taking in British Columbia’s rugged scenery.” I started reading aloud from the back of the newsletter. “ ‘Her dark forests jutting out to the edges of her craggy cliffs … ’ ”
    â€œDinah, we’re fogged in .”
    It was true. A mist had plumped itself over the ocean. A few optimists were leaning on the railing, binoculars propped on their noses to look for whales. But most passengers were either shopping or indulging in one of the hundreds of Happy Events.
    â€œVolleyball it is,” I sighed.
    POW!
    I serve a mean volleyball, if I do say so myself. It sailed high over the net, beyond the eagerly reaching fingers of the other team, to the back row.
    Where Jack punched it back over. Dang. That was the problem with having a natural athlete in your opposition.
    But, in the front row of our team, Julie was ready. She sprang at the ball and slammed! it down on the other side of the net. Somehow Julie had lengthened herself in mid-jump, the way our cat Wilfred did when stretching to catch a fly.
    I was used to Wilfred behaving like a Slinky — but Julie! Housecleaning must keep Julie in great shape, I thought.
    Julie’s fashionably untidy hair fell over her forehead, threatening to block her view. I loaned her a hairclip, shaped like a sleeping cat, that Madge had made for me. With smiled thanks, Julie used it to shove her hair back.
    Jack grew extra cunning, and slammed my next serve well out of Julie’s reach. When it was my team’s turn to serve again, I shifted to the front row, ending up beside Julie.
    â€œIs the Raven safe?” I asked her.
    Julie laughed and pinched my cheek. Exercise and being outside — and not brooding about her sister, I thought — were good for Julie. Her brown eyes were sparkling; her complexion, rosy.
    She replied, “The mask is locked in a formidable steel safe in my