He had been in Zanzibar only five hours, and already amazing things were happening. He couldn’t wait any longer to write to his buddy Nick back in London. After smoothing a sheet of lined notebook paper on the café table, he began to write: Dear Nick, Africa is awesome. First, you ride for nine hours on an airplane. Every time you push the overhead button, the stewardess comes and brings you a blanket or a pillow or a magazine. You can push the button all you want until your mom makes you stop. Then your plane lands in a city called Dar es Salaam. It’s nothing like London. You could get lost there, believe me. After your mom calls the police and they find you, you get on a— “Mom?” Splinter lifted his head. “How do you spell hydrofoil?” “H-y-d . . . oh, honey, just guess.” Splinter frowned. His mom’s hand was shaking as she stirred her tea. He’d never seen her face so white. The rest of her looked okay, though. She had on a blue blouse, a denim skirt, and a pair of sandals.
