Coincidence - Alan May [34]
“Plus there’s the money private schools generally have to fund innovative projects, or field trips, or lab equipment, or whatever the kids need,” Anika added.
“That’s great for the kids whose parents can afford it,” Dave said. “Look, I agree, that ought to be the model for every school. But I just can’t see limiting it to the affluent and sticking the rest of the kids—who might be just as bright—with a second-rate education. We just have to do better for all kids.”
“In any case,” Mary said, “the Blue Water program must surely be the best of all possible worlds for both teachers and students. We’ve got it all—small classes, diverse students, dedicated teachers, supportive parents, the world as our learning lab, plenty of time to get to know the students—”
“Aye, there’s the rub,” said Sharon, who taught Shakespeare. “That’s the only drawback I can see with the program. We’re on duty twenty-four hours a day for a semester at a stretch and have to be perfect role models all that time. I find that just a little bit daunting!”
On that they all could agree.
On their second day at sea, just before lunch, all hands were called amidships.
Mac arranged students and teachers in a line and peered over his shoulder at Dr. Williams, who held a stopwatch in his hand.
“In thirty seconds, when I say ‘jump,’ ye’re all to jump up in the air—both feet off the ground, mind. Are ye with me?”
“Aye!” they shouted, having no idea what he was up to.
Dr. Williams counted down the seconds: five, four, three, two, one.
“Jump!” Mac yelled.
“Congratulations, mateys!” he called when they landed. “Ye’ll now be able to tell your grandkids that, in your youth, you jumped right over the Tropic of Cancer!”
Just after lunch on the twenty-seventh, the ship approached Puerto Vallarta. About eight miles from land, a large green mountain range could be seen. The offshore wind carried the sweet rich scent of a tropical forest. As they got closer, the water turned from dark blue to crystal-clear turquoise. Large luxury hotels dotted the skyline.
At 1400 hours the Inspiration arrived at its first port of call.
12
Puerto Vallarta. Melissa found just the name of the place intoxicating. The warmth that enveloped her, the softness of the breeze, the exotic plants, the bright colors—it was all so dazzling. She was itching to explore.
She wished she could have gone exploring just with Pierre, but the rule was that students must go in groups of at least four. Pierre and Dan and a couple of other Floaties who had brought along roller blades had decided to skate their way along the Malecon, the boardwalk that skirts Banderas Bay, so Melissa set off with Nancy, Kathy, and Trudy to play tourist for the afternoon. They wanted to call home, mail letters and postcards, and check out the shopping.
The city was an amazing blend of traditional Mexico and cosmopolitan resort. Near the marina, many of the buildings—hotels, restaurants, nightclubs, and shops—were new and ultramodern, having sprouted up during the past forty years as the town blossomed from a remote colonial-era fishing village into a major tourist destination.
As the girls made their way into the center of the city, however—up the hills toward the red-brick bell tower of Guadelupe Cathedral, its ornate crown-shaped top supported by a ring of angels—the scene changed dramatically. They walked along narrow, winding streets of cobblestones lined with lovely colonial architecture—white stucco buildings with red tile roofs. Flowers spilled from pots and window boxes and balconies: watermelonpink bougainvillea, geraniums in hues from white to scarlet, hibiscus plants the size of dinner plates, the stunning gold of copa de oro, all interspersed with waving fronds of ferns.
Not far from the cathedral, they came across an outdoor market. Here, too, they were delighted by the profusion of colors, scents, and sounds that greeted