The Shark Rider Read Online Free

light and odd glow inside the jungle wall made Tristan’s skin appear eerily zombie green. The ground was a checkerboard of grass and rocks. Tristan leapt carefully to the next sea creature rock, thinking about last year when he fell off. He had no desire to face another grab grass attack.
    Once past the jungle wall, Tristan stood transfixed in front of Sea Camp’s wide lagoon. It was just as beautiful as he remembered, like a commercial for a perfect tropical island getaway. He couldn’t wait to dive into the clear blue water. After a few more minutes admiring the lagoon, Tristan made his way past the Seasquirts’ raised bungalow to the next one along the sandy shore. It was for second-year campers—the Snappers. Tristan climbed the short flight of stairs and opened the bamboo door. Inside was a large open room with a high ceiling, dark wood beams, scattered overstuffed couches, a table, and some comfortable-looking chairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided a spectacular view of the sparkling lagoon. Tristan noticed a small refrigerator and opened the door. Stacked inside were bottles of slightly pink water. He grabbed one, twisted off the cap, and took a long swig. The tart flavor puckered his lips, but was also strangely comforting. It reminded him of Hugh and Sam and all the fun they had when they were together. Tristan put the bottle in the outside pocket of his backpack.
    There were two bunkrooms connected to the main room. Tristan went into the one on the left. He smiledand placed his things on a bed. Being at camp early came with at least one big advantage—a bottom bunk. He wouldn’t constantly step on Hugh’s head climbing into bed or regularly crash-land on the floor when just getting up in the morning. This summer was sure to be more bruise-free.
    After unpacking a few things, Tristan grabbed his backpack and headed for the Rehab Center. He hoped his palm print would still open the door at the side entrance and wondered if the trees there still had funky gray flowers that smelled like mashed potatoes.

3
    SHARK CHOW
    W HEN T RISTAN ARRIVED AT THE R EHAB C ENTER , he saw Director Davis standing with Ms. Sanchez. She was Sea Camp’s communication and camouflage expert. They were talking with Mark, the guy he met last summer who was in charge of the park’s seawater system. As Tristan approached, the conversation stopped abruptly.
    In his typically clashing plaid shorts, striped shirt, and yellow rubber boots, Mark nodded to Tristan and turned to the others. “It’s not a problem— yet .”
    Tristan wondered what he was talking about. He looked to the director and Ms. Sanchez, but they made no effort to explain. Ms Sanchez appeared unchanged since last year. She was short, thin, and had gray-white spiky hair. The reflection from her tight blue clothestinted her spiked hair and the slightly shaded square glasses she wore. It suddenly struck Tristan as a little funny because she resembled a giant skinny Smurf.
    Director Davis headed for the door. “Tristan, after you’re done here, come to my office if you would.”
    â€œOkay,” Tristan replied, figuring that’s when he’d get the lecture about the whole shark thing.
    â€œNice to have you back,” Ms. Sanchez told him.
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œAnd I hear your shark communication skills are still working quite well.”
    Tristan shrugged self-consciously and gazed at the floor. “Yeah, I guess you heard what happened.”
    Ms. Sanchez put an arm around him. “I hope I would have done the same thing. Glad you were there.”
    â€œReally?” he said, looking up.
    â€œOf course. No harm seems to have come from it, and you saved that shark. Maybe you even got people thinking about the morality of killing such a magnificent animal.”
    â€œGuess I never thought of it that way. I just thought it was another one of my screw-ups, like my parents thought. Hey, is