The wind-whipped raindrops stung our skin, and every thunderclap sounded like a bomb. As hard as I tried, I couldn't stop my knees from knocking against the hull. I didn't want Abbey to know how frightened I was, or how much danger we were in. If a lightning bolt struck the dinghy, we'd be roasted like crickets on a radiator.

I wiped off my wristwatch and checked the time: twenty minutes to one. Mom and Dad were home by now, probably going nuts trying to find us. I felt like throwing up.

“Hey, Noah?” Abbey said.

“What?”

“My butt's underwater.”

“Mine, too,” I said glumly.

“Shouldn't we, like, do something?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

We spent the next two hours bailing the boat, which is a major pain when all you've got are empty food-dye bottles that hold one measly ounce of liquid. Lucky for us, the storm blew through swiftly, the rain quit, and the dinghy didn't sink.

No sooner had the stars come out again than I heard Abbey snoring. I wasn't sure how far offshore we'd drifted, but I could still see the faint string of lights that marked the coastline. I stretched out on one of the seat planks, staring up at the moon and wondering how long it would take for somebody to spot us. I was determined to remain awake, in case a boat passed close by; then I could signal for help with the flashlight.

But my eyes didn't stay open very long. The next thing I remember was the sun warming my cheeks, a seagull squawking overhead-and something moist splatting in my hair.

One lousy little juice box.

“That's all we've got?” I said to Abbey. “What happened to the Gatorade?”

“I drank it,” she said. “I would've brought a whole cooler if I'd known we were getting lost at sea. Want some juice or not?”

She was still red in the face from laughing after the seagull crapped on my head-I thought she was going to have a total coronary. Then I almost fell overboard while dunking my hair in the water, trying to wash the poop out. Abbey thought that was really amusing, too.

And I guess it was. At least it kept our minds off the situation, which was getting more depressing by the minute.

I was happy to share the juice box, even though I usually can't stand fruit punch. When you're thirsty enough, you'll drink just about anything. It was only eight in the morning, and we were already damp with sweat. That's your basic July in the Florida Keys. By noon, I knew, we'd be in rough shape.

I was ticked at myself for not saving some of the rainwater we'd bailed from the boat. “Remind me not to try out for Survivor,” I grumbled to Abbey.

She arranged the backpack on her head like a fat bumpy hat. “I used to think Dad was the psycho in the family, but look at us!” she said. “No water, no shade, no food, not even a fishing rod so we can catch something to eat.”

A small airplane passed overhead-the third one of the morning-and we both stood up to wave. The plane circled once and then flew off, dashing our hopes again. From that altitude the dinghy must have looked like a blue dot on blue paper.

“Noah, when am I allowed to get scared?” Abbey tried to make it sound like she was kidding, but I could tell she was partly serious.

“At least we can still see the shore,” I said.

“So how deep's the water here?”

As we'd floated east, past the reef line, the color had changed from turquoise to indigo. I didn't know the exact depth, but I guessed low on purpose.

“Fifty, maybe sixty feet. Not real deep.”

“Not for a tuna maybe,” said my sister, “but way too deep for me.”

“Were you planning on taking a swim?”

“Yeah, me and the hammerheads.” She scanned the horizon and frowned. “You said there'd be charter boats all over the place. You promised somebody would find us by nine o'clock.”

“Yeah, and there's still an hour left on my prediction.” I was trying not to sound as bummed as I was.

Miles away, we could see the blocky shape of a freighter steaming south, and a few deep-sea boats trolling back and forth. None of them were heading our way.

Not even close.

I tried to pull-start Rado's engine again, but it was no use. When I closed my eyes to take a break from the sun, I realized I was already thirsty again. My father says the summer heat in Florida is like the devil's oven, and that's about right.

Something started whining like a rusty hinge, and I looked up to spy another seagull circling the dinghy.

“Betcha five bucks he takes a dump on me, too,” I said.

Abbey managed a giggle. “I'm safe under the backpack.”

It was amazing how calm and good-natured she was, considering the trouble we were in. Lots of people I know, grown-ups included, would've freaked out.

“I just thought of something,” she said. “If we're stuck here on the boat, who's gonna call the Coast Guard on Dusty Muleman?”

“Good question.”

“Know what? This really bites.”

“Yeah, it does. I'm sorry, Abbey.”

“What for? We tried to stop something bad, and it didn't work. Doesn't mean we were wrong to try-Noah, are you listening to me?”

I wasn't.

“What are you staring at?” Abbey demanded.

“A boat,” I said, “unless I'm so whacked out that I'm imagining things. I swear it's coming this way.”

My sister shot to her feet.

“You see it, too?” I asked anxiously. “Or is it a mirage?”

“Nope, it's the real deal.”

“Outstanding!”

We started waving and hollering like a couple of dweebs. This time, though, it actually worked. Pushing a frothy wake, the boat headed straight at us.

It wasn't a big one, maybe a twenty-four-footer, but it might as well have been the Queen Elizabeth. Abbey and I had never seen a more glorious sight.

Two figures, both of them hatless and wearing wraparound sunglasses, stood at the console under the T-top. As the boat drew closer, it slowed down and banked slightly, revealing large orange lettering on the side.

TROPICAL RESCUE, it said.

“Noah, is that who I think it is?” Abbey asked weakly.

“The one and only.”

“You want me to start sobbing and shaking?”

“Not yet,” I told her. “First let's see how pissed off he is.”

“Is that Mom with him? Please tell me it's not Mom.”

“No, Abbey. Mom usually wears a shirt.”

We quit waving and cupped our hands to our eyes, trying to see the bare-chested person through the glare.

With relief Abbey said, “Oh good, it's a man.”

“Yeah, but guess who.”

“Who?”

“Check out the scar, Abbey.”

She gasped. “This is so insane.”

The man riding with my father was the old pirate.

We were speechless as the towboat idled up to the dinghy. Dad tossed a rope, which I hitched to the bow cleat.

“Hey, guys,” my father said. “Long night?”

We nodded lamely. The stranger stood next to Dad, smiling and fingering the gold coin on his neck. He seemed to be studying us closely.

Dad helped me and Abbey aboard the towboat. Then he pulled us close and squeezed like he might never let go.

“Are you two okay?” He examined us from head to toe, and seemed pleased to find no bullet holes, shark bites, or missing limbs.

“We're good,” I told him. “Just a little thirsty, that's all.”

The old pirate guy handed each of us a cold bottle of water.

“Who are you?” Abbey asked him without even saying thanks. “I'm sorry, but it's driving me crazy.”

The stranger took off his sunglasses and glanced over at Dad. It wasn't exactly a sad look, but there was something heavy about it.

“Kids,” said my father, “say hello to your Grandpa Bobby.”