Chapter 3

The manta ray story made the news, national and local. I listened to the TV while cleaning the hall bathroom. Just because I was an Animorph didn't mean the ring in the toilet or the toothpaste in the sink were going to just disappear. Important jobs can't get in the way of little jobs - my dad has told me that since I was little. That's how things fall apart from the inside out.

I listened to the news story intently, waiting for information. We'd gotten the poor giant back into the water, where I guess he decided he wanted to live a little longer. Even then, he didn't shoot for the deep water like everybody expected - he'd skimmed along the coastline in shallow water for almost a mile before slowly angling away for the deep. It was bizarre. I'm not sure anyone but an animal lover would have noticed or cared, but there it was - the whole thing was just bizarre.

The news story ended and I heard my mom mutter, "You think they could have at least gotten a shot or two of Cassie and her friends helping the guy back into the water. That was so brave of them." I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Not that the Yeerks would have known we were doing anything but helping, but still. When you're undercover, attention is bad.

Even though it was only seven o'clock, I decided to get my shower and get ready for bed. My mind was troubled. I mean, my mind is always troubled, nowadays...but this was different. Somehow, it was worse. To me, anyway. I was almost certain the Yeerks had something to do with it. Animals are almost always predictable, especially in cases of survival. What that manta did was too close to a suicide attempt, and that just didn't make any sense. As I put on my pajamas and got under my covers, I was already thinking of ways to try to understand. The only thing I could really come up with was to morph the manta. Try to get an insider's understanding of how he thought and what could possibly drive him to do something like that.

Jake probably wouldn't like it. He thinks morphing for personal reasons is stupid, risky, and just plain selfish. But Jake and I...we were coming to understand each other better. I thought if I could talk to him alone, I could make him see how it related to our fight. I felt sure that he'd see it my way and agree with me before the end of the conversation. I fell asleep with that on my mind - not the manta, but a talk with Jake. Alone. Where we understood each other on a level that's hard to find in this world. He'd take my hand and smile at me - the crooked, goofy smile he seemed to save only for me - and tell me he understood and agreed. And then, maybe, we could kiss. Just a little one, almost like a handshake to seal the deal...

I woke up on Monday morning still thinking about Jake and the manta, but I pushed it to the back burner of my mind. Regular life had to come first. How many times had Marco pointed out that if we ever let it slip that we're anything more than ordinary teenagers, we'd be dead? So I went through a mental checklist of things to do before getting ready for school.

Three bandages would need changing. Fourteen medications doled out. Rake out the wood chips beneath the bird cages. I didn't even look at the clock as I crept down the hall, slipped on my rubber boots, and emerged from the house. I didn't need to. The way the sky was black as pitch up high but lightening toward the color of a fresh bruise on the horizon told me it was a little before six.

I went about my work thoughtlessly. That sounds weird, I guess, but it's very pleasant. It's peaceful. Oh, sure, when I had to change the raccoon's bandage on his foreleg, I paid attention. You have to. Wounded animals are often dangerous animals. Everybody says I have a way with animals, that they sense I mean them no harm, and it's true. But when a creature is badly hurt, sometimes the urge to lash out is too strong for them to control. So I took very special care not to give Mr. Raccoon an opportunity to gnaw off my nose.

For the most part though, I just existed. I calmly did good work while just enjoying the peace and serenity of the night turning to morning. When I was done, I turned my face to the sun filtering through the barn door. I closed my eyes, exhaled deeply, and smiled. When I opened them again, my dad was standing there beaming at me.

"It's nice, huh?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," I agreed. I didn't have to ask what he meant. He just meant life in general.

He went back into his office and came out with his "evidence bag." It was basically a camera, wire snips, and assorted tools for disarming animal traps. Poachers are smart, and they usually don't get caught. Sometimes they did, though, and my dad's photos of the poor animals they indiscriminately killed or wounded helped put them away in jail. He gave me a hug as he made his way out of the barn.

"Early call?" I asked.

"Yeah. Rangers on the ridge found some traps that aren't tagged. They staked them out to see if they could catch somebody checking them, but no sign after two days." My dad's normally peaceful, kind face tried to grimace before he was able to smooth it out. Poachers were one thing. Poachers that didn't check their traps regularly...well, it about drove my dad crazy. Me too. Picture a helpless animal with its leg caught it a trap, bones shattered, crying in pain and slowly dying of dehydration...well, its not hard to imagine why we hate people like that.

My dad smiled again. "They're going to hunt down and disarm all of the traps, and they asked me along in case we find any victims."

I grinned. "Plus you're the best in the world when it comes to finding hidden traps. You can smell them."

He laughed his booming, aw-shucks laugh. "Yeah, that too. I'm the Trap King. Anyway, I should be done by the time you get home from school, but there's no telling. Would you mind doing the afternoon rounds if I'm not back?"

"Of course. Be safe out there."

"I always am!" he said indignantly, even though he knew I was just worried. It was a little running joke we had. I heard his truck start up and guzzle out of the driveway and I headed back up to the house to shower up and get ready for school. I found myself wishing I could go with him. I had to fight down the feeling of resentment that tried to rise up whenever I realized that the Yeerk invasion was stopping me from doing my real work. I was a saver, not a fighter. I was a healer, not a soldier.

'It is what it is, Cassie, you know that,' I scolded myself as I stepped into the hot shower.

Change the things you can. Accept the things you can't.

That's another thing my dad has taught me since I was little.