Sharkbait

I never thought I’d look at school as a refuge, but it was. Our flight plan got leaked to the press, and a half-dozen cameras were waiting for us as we got off the plane at the Red Wing Airport. I didn’t have much more to say, so Leo moved me past the cameras and into the waiting cars for the ride home.

The first day back was nuts, with everyone wanting to talk about things I just didn’t want to discuss. The Principal called an assembly during the second period, during which he read an email from Amy’s Mom, and allowed me to say a few words. “I’m hurt, but nothing like Amy,” I said. “I’m famous now, but only because I got lucky and I had the training to help. Please, don’t treat me differently now. I’m the same person I was last week,” I said. I looked towards the back of the hall. “With armed security.”

By the end of the day, the novelty had worn off. I couldn’t swim with my face and ribs hurting, so I sat in the back as Colleen drove me to pick up Luke from school. He had a few buddies around, all who wanted autographs. I signed a few magazines and then we went home.

Mom had been busy while I was gone. She’d taken a few weeks of vacation, knowing that my life was going to be overwhelming. “We need to choose what photos we want to make promotional prints and posters from.” She had a dozen photos laid out on the table, mostly of me in and around the water. Three shots were ones Adrienne had taken on the dive trip, two showing sharks in the frame, the third with my free-dive gear after coming out of the water.

The two pictures from the beach party couldn’t be more different. I looked at the photo of me in my bikini playing volleyball, which showed off my athletic body. Another two were from after the near-drowning. One was taken during the television interview and showed me from the thighs up. I looked pretty good for being wet and exhausted. The other showing me on hands and knees after crawling onto the beach, breathing hard, wet hair plastered to my head, and my boobs pushing the tiny bikini top away from my body. “The teenage boys will love that one,” I said.

“It’s a great shot,” Mom said. “You worked hard to get in that shape, and that picture shows you as the hero you are.”

“My tits are practically falling out, Mom!”

She just laughed. “You picked out that suit, and it’s not like the world hasn’t seen you. Use those girls while you can, Vicki. All too soon, they can’t defy gravity anymore.”

I just chuckled and went back to the photos. The rest were from last year’s dive trip. My favorite was a shot looking down on the sand and coral bottom, with hammerhead and blacktip reef sharks were everywhere. Amy and I were free-diving among them, twenty feet down, wearing bikinis that showed off our muscular butts and legs. You couldn’t see our faces, but it was the shot that reminded me most of Ocean’s works when I was a kid. “Can we put Amy on a poster?”

“Susan said it would be all right,” she said. “I sent her a photo and got permission. You can’t even tell it’s her in this shot. When she wakes up, we’ll talk to her about being in more of your promotions.”

“How many do I need?”

“People like choices,” Mom said. “I think we need three posters and four photos. You can sell them at the appearances to be signed, and raise a lot of money that way.”

I went back to the photos, pulling one out from under a headshot, taken before the Pack Christmas party. I held up the picture of me in that ocean-blue ball gown I’d worn to the Scratch and Sniff. I had put on a brave smile and posed for it, not wanting to let my Alphas know I was falling apart inside. “Really? You have to remind me of that night, Mom?”

“You look beautiful, Vicki, and we needed a shot of you in something that is not beach or dive wear.” We talked through the options, settling on the photos. The two after the rescue, plus Amy and I underwater, were the three posters. Two underwater photos with sharks, the ball gown, and the volleyball photo were the choices for 8x10 glossies. “Do you have a website for donations yet?”

“Let me check.” We did; it was https://www.ocearch.org/?list , and it was awesome.

(Author’s Note: Since this is fictional and 13 years in the future, the link is to actual shark tracking data from satellite tags.)

“I’ll take this to the printer in the morning and get going on some runs. Have you decided what shows you are doing this weekend? It would be nice to have some available for that.”

“I’ll work on that tonight. I’d rather not travel, but it’s better to do it in person. Dateline wants to do an hour special on me for Thursday night. They said they would send a crew out here to do the interview Thursday after lunch. I wanted to talk with you first.”

“It gets a lot of viewers,” Mom said. “A whole hour?”

“I think they plan to interview other people as well; the crew is already here. They said they are doing the story regardless, but it would be better if I’d cooperate.” I said. “It makes me a little nervous to ask others to be part of this.”

Mom reached over and patted my hand. “Vicki, no one has to talk to them that doesn’t want to.” She sat back and thought about it. “I don’t want the interview done here; this house is enough of a circus already. Leo said you could film it in his man cave.”

I looked up, excited, because the big aquarium was down there. It would make a good background. “I can miss school?”

“I’ll call the Principal now. You’re working on your Senior Project, after all. I’m sure there is some wiggle room in your scheduling.” She picked up her phone. “I think you should ask your Faculty Adviser to be part of the interview. It will help you to be taken seriously in this.”

I snorted. “We all know a blonde with nice tits can’t be smart, right?” We bumped fists and made the call.

The Dateline producer was thrilled, and spend part of Wednesday and all day Thursday doing interviews and background. The TV crew filmed some of my classes, talked to my teachers, and even interviewed Ocean Ramsey about the project. Of course, no one told me what they talked about, so when I sat down in front of the cameras, I was a little nervous. They lit up the basement for the cameras, and they loved the aquarium. They let me take a few minutes on camera to show them the fish and talk about my early love for sharks and the ocean, despite being so far away from it.

I was sitting on a stool, facing the reporter, with the camera on my right side so my swollen face wouldn’t be so distracting. The makeup could only do so much to cover the bruising and swelling.

We spent over an hour talking about different things, with my Mom and my Alpha watching from behind the cameras. I relaxed as we went on, talking about how my life had changed recently, and what I was doing with my newfound fame. I talked about my dreams for shark research and conservancy and how the new tags would provide far more information on sharks than ever before. Researchers tended to tag the largest sharks due to expense, but it was important to track the young sharks as well. Great White Sharks changed their diet significantly as they grew, which meant different feeding grounds.

I thought we were wrapping up when the reporter looked to the camera and started talking. “We’ve all seen the video of the rescue. Tonight, for the first time, we get to reunite the rescuers and the rescued. We’ve got a young man here who wants to thank you.” A door opened, and a boy ran towards me as I got off the stool. He ran to me as I knelt, his arms going around my neck as we clung to each other.

I forgot about the camera as his Mom joined us in the hug. “Thank you for saving my baby,” she said.

“I’m glad I was there to help,” I said. I got another shock when Terry Foster and Karen Volkov came down the stairs and joined the group hug. I couldn’t believe the Dateline team had brought together everyone involved in the rescue!

Leo invited Denise Chalmers and her son David to dinner, along with her new boyfriend, Terry, after the crew left. They didn’t know our nature yet, but they didn’t think it weird to have dozens of coworkers and friends over for a party. I sat next to the three of them during dinner. “Why were you in Pensacola,” I asked Denise as she filled her plate with pasta and Italian sausages.

“To visit my husband’s memorial marker,” she said. “Rick Northard was a junior at the Naval Academy when we met and fell in love. We married during June Week, and I was pregnant with David before he started pilot training. It was October twenty-fifth when his plane went down in the Gulf of Mexico. He and his instructor pilot died in the crash. They recovered the instructor, but never found Rick’s body.”

“Oh, god,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I moved back in with my parents in Pittsburgh, so I’d have help when our son came. I started working at General Electric as a product designer, and now I’m a freelance inventor.”

“She’s brilliant,” Terry said proudly. “Of course, you’ve probably never heard of any of her patents.”

Denise just laughed. “Most of my inventions are in the manufacturing area.” She was a nice woman, her boy was having a great time with the other kids, and Terry was smitten with her.

The Dateline show was ratings gold. The production team did a great job of editing, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house as the Pack gathered to watch the show that night. I was happy they spent so much time talking about my tracking project, and the website was prominently featured. Ocean texted me during the show, telling me people almost crashed the site, and donations were through the roof.

I set up more interviews for the weekend, and the World Wildlife Federation helped with setting up events at aquariums. I was leaving the Today Show set when a woman asked if she could buy us lunch. “My name is Mercedes Reeves, and I’m the Director of Marketing for Bodyglove Activewear,” she said as she handed me her card. “I’d like to talk to you about an endorsement deal.” Lunch AND money? Sure.

“Why me?”

“You have youth, looks, and talent,” she replied. “Add to that your love for the ocean and the active lifestyle. We’d like to design a whole line of clothing and swimwear around you as we try to make inroads on that market.”

She laid out a contract for us; we would have six photo shoots a year, appear at trade shows and events as a Bodyglove representative, and wear their products exclusively. I would get to work with their designers on the line named for me. “I don’t want to give up what I’m doing for shark conservation for this,” I said.

“We don’t want you to. Your work is part of why we want you,” Mercedes said.

I told Mom I liked the idea, while she wanted to see if there were better offers. “I’ll need our lawyer to review this,” Mom said. “We are interested.” It took a week to close the deal, and the next weekend I was to be in the Bahamas for a shoot.

Amy woke up as I was posing in the surf, and I wasn’t there for her.