I don’t usual y interrupt his interviews because he’s pretty intense about the process, but I can’t help asking, “What about the effects offshore?”

“What do you mean?” Miss Molina asks, turning to face me.

I glance at Brody, expecting a dirty look for stealing the focus, but he looks intrigued.

“Um, I mean,” I stammer, “if we felt the quake so strongly on land, then surely it was felt in the ocean, too.”

“Most likely,” Miss Molina answers.

“Then what kind of effects wil it have on ocean geology and sea life?” I feel a little self-conscious, especial y since I already know the answers. The students of Seaview probably don’t, though. And maybe they should. “Do earthquakes cause the same kind of destruction underwater as they do on land?”

“Not usual y,” she responds, speaking directly to the camera. “The vibrations, which cause so much damage up here, are absorbed by the water.”

“How interesting,” Brody says, wresting the interview back into his control while sticking to the new direction. “Tel us more about underwater quakes.”

I smile behind the camera, content to watch Brody go after the topic with his usual determination. For the next ten minutes, he quizzes Miss Molina about earthquakes and plate tectonics and undersea land shifts with the agility of a seasoned reporter. I throw in a couple more questions, when the interview slacks, but for the most part Brody is masterful.

With only a few minutes before the bel , he cal s the shoot a wrap. I hand him the video disk, and he heads to the editing station with Ferret to pul together the final cut. I shut down the camera and start to strike the teleprompter.

“Can I have a moment, Lily?” Miss Molina asks.

Her serious tone makes me a little nervous, but I say,

“Sure.”

I careful y coil the cable that connects the teleprompter to the computer.

“I was very impressed with your knowledge of under-water geology,” she says. “You plan on going to col ege?”

“I do,” I answer. “If I get in. My grades aren’t great and I stil have to take the SATs.”

She reaches into her purse and pul s out a green paper.

“Do you know what school you’d like to attend?”

“Whichever one wil take me,” I say. Slacker mer princesses can’t be choosy.

“You should think about Seaview Community,” she says, handing me the paper. “Their admission requirements are not as stringent as at the four-year col eges, but their classes and professors are first-rate. I’m actual y a graduate of the marine biology program.”

“Real y?”

“Don’t tel anyone earth science is only my second love.” She nods at the paper. “They offer a summer internship program for incoming first years. Unpaid,” she explains,

“but terrific experience.”

I skim over the paper. According to the bul et points, students accepted into the program are set up with internships at the aquarium, the zoo, or a local scientific firm. That’s a huge opportunity for anyone who wants to go into marine biology. Which I just might. I need a career now, and that one seems like a perfect fit. The program has a special concentration in marine ecology and conservation.

That would give me a chance to help Thalassinia, even if I’m not the queen.

The paper also says that students must demonstrate sufficient interest and aptitude for the field, as wel as having both practical and educational experience.

Wel , that takes me out of the running.

“I don’t think I have enough experience,” I insist. “I’ve only had one year of biology, and I haven’t been in Environmental Club since freshman year.”

“That’s more than most of their applicants wil have,” she argues. “I can guarantee you a good chance at acceptance into the program and a tuition scholarship.”

“How?”

“Because I can see you have a passion for the field,” she says. Leaning back, she smiles. “And I have brunch with the program director every Sunday.”

“That’s—” I shake my head. “Wow.”

“If you’re seriously interested,” she says, “I could set up an interview for you.”

“That would be awesome, Miss Molina.”

“How about next Saturday?” she suggests. “Denise is free in the mornings, and you could swing by her office on campus.”

I do a quick mental calendar check. “Next Saturday would be perfect.”

“Great,” she says. “I’l set it up. Meanwhile, you go online and research the school and the program.”

“Absolutely!”

I shake my head in awe as Miss Molina walks away. Talk about a perfect situation. Me studying marine ecology.

Working to protect the oceans from up here on land. I shove the paper into my backpack, promising myself I’l go online tonight and check out the program’s website.

The school bel rings, sending me scurrying to clean up. I finish with the teleprompter and then help Ferret put away the sound gear. We’re just locking the sound cabinet door when Brody finishes his edit.

“Done!” he announces as he clicks the send button, shooting the digital video to Principal Brown’s email account for approval so it can run during homeroom Monday morning.

We give one another a round of high fives and then grab up our bags. I flung mine farther than the rest, so I’m the last one left in the classroom.