Changes in Latitudes

CHANGES IN LATITUDES

Books by WILL HOBBS

Changes in Latitudes

Bearstone

Downriver

The Big Wander

Beardance

Beardream

Kokopelli’s Flute

CHANGES IN LATITUDES

WILL HOBBS

SIMON PULSE

New York London Toronto Sydney

The author is grateful for permission to quote from the following songs:

Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes by Jimmy Buffett, © 1977 Outer Banks/Coral Reefer Music

Wastin’ Away Again in Margaritaville by Jimmy Buffett, © 1977 Outer Banks/Coral Reefer Music

Ripple: Words by Robert Hunter, music by Jerry Garcia; © 1971 Ice Nine Publishing Co., Inc.

Throwin’ Stones: Words by Bob Weir and John Barlow, music by Bob Weir; © 1984 Ice Nine Publishing Co., Inc.

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this stripped book.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First Simon Pulse edition September 2004

Text copyright © 1988 by Will Hobbs

SIMON PULSE

An imprint of Simon & Schuster

Children’s Publishing Division

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Printed in the United States of America

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The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows: Hobbs, Will. Changes in latitudes.

SUMMARY: A family trip to Mexico changes a cocky teenager’s attitudes as he becomes exposed to his brother’s consuming interest in saving endangered species, to his parents’ problems, and to his own selfishness.

[1. Brothers—Fiction. 2. Sea turtles—Fiction. 3. Wildlife conservation—Fiction. 4. Mexico—Fiction] I. Title.

PZ7.H6524Ch 1988 [Fic] 87-17462

ISBN 0-689-31385-3 (hc.)

ISBN 0-689-87069-8 (pbk.)

eISBN 978-1-439-11634-0

ISBN 978-0-6898-7069-9

For my father 1915-1984

There is a road

No simple highway

Between the dawn

And the dark of night

And if you go

No one may follow

That path is for

Your steps alone

Robert Hunter

CHANGES IN LATITUDES

WE WERE LEAVING for a week in Mexico, all of us except my father, that is. For years he’d been putting down Mom’s dream of vacationing in a tropical paradise, so she finally gave up on him and said we’d just go on our own. So here we are in the airport, milling around before the flight. Dad’s in his jeans, and Mom’s looking like she just walked out of a fashion magazine. Not exactly a matched pair. Jennifer and Teddy are sticking close together. Jennifer’s fourteen, your standard kid sister. Attractive? Sure, but who’d say that about their sister? Teddy looks like a normal nine year old, but let me tell you something: he isn’t.

I’m the one with the headphones and the shades, trailing behind like I’m only loosely affiliated with these people. I used to think I was the center of the universe, but by the end of the week down there I found out this wasn’t the case. I found out something about what’s really important and what’s not. I guess that’s why I’m writing this down, to let you know the price I paid and let you draw your own conclusions.

Back to the airport. Jennifer had just noticed some photographs of animals in a glassed-in display. Over the pictures it said in big letters, THINK BEFORE YOU BUY. I wish she hadn’t, but she pointed it out to Teddy. He was over there so fast he could’ve smashed his face.

He stood there staring with his mouth open. Over his shoulder I saw bloody elephants on their sides with their tusks sawed off, dead leopards, dead rhinoceroses, dead polar bears, dead whales, a mound of dead sea turtles, and on and on. I looked over to Teddy—he was horrified. I told you he wasn’t a normal kid.

Endangered feces, I said.

When he heard that blasphemy, Teddy glanced my way with a hurt and disbelieving look. Disbelieving, I don’t know why—I did it to him all the time. Lighten up, I told him.

Despite the one-sided evidence to the contrary, he wanted to believe that deep down I was as kind and idealistic as he was.

Look at all those sea turtles, Dad said.

I wish my father hadn’t done that. I don’t think Teddy had registered on that particular photograph. Now that Dad pointed it out, he took a long look.

While they talked about whether there would be sea turtles on the Pacific coast of Mexico, I checked out examples of illegal items tourists try to bring back into the States, like ivory, furs, curved daggers with hilts of rhino horn, even skin lotion made from turtles.

Ever seen a bottled sea turtle? I asked.

I wish I hadn’t done that. Teddy came over and had another long look.

Cut it out, Travis, my sister said. She harbored the suspicion that deep down I was truly twisted. She always was a better judge of character than Teddy.

My mother was getting bored, I could see, and was about to open her mouth and get us moving, so I launched into a reading of the display’s big message in the same gloriously insincere style a game-show host uses to announce prizes:

If trends continue, within fifty years over half of the world’s wild animal species will be extinct. The seemingly harmless purchase, in any quantity, of products derived from these animals can only hasten their decline. The Endangered Species Act makes it illegal for anyone to bring such products into the United States, for personal as well as commercial use.

I can see this is going to take some time, my mother got in edgewise. Travis, would you stay with Jennifer and Teddy please? We’ll be over at the coffee shop. Your father and I need to talk before we go.

This was obviously news to Dad. She was still mad at him for not coming, I figured, and wanted to get off some parting shots. He went along without saying anything.

After awhile they were back and we lined up at the gate. Dad gave presents to everyone, mostly books. When he came to me he said, Travis, you’re the only one who doesn’t get a book.

That’s okay, I said. I can’t read.

He grimaced. He hates it when I put myself down, even if I do it for the comedy. He even goes so far as to say I’m as smart as Teddy.

Some tunes for your Walkman, he said, and handed me a cassette.

It’s dated, he half-apologized, but for a trip to Mexico, it’s essential.

What kind of stuff? I asked. We were all shuffling along, nearing the front of the line for boarding. The PA was announcing what we did and didn’t need, birth certificates, tourist cards, whatever. All of a sudden I realized my father was all choked up and about to lose it.

But he kept talking. Jimmy Buffett. You know, ‘Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes.’

I didn’t know what to say. Suddenly, we were squeezing through a little checkpoint and my father stepped to the side. It was happening fast but it was an awkward moment that seemed to hang up in time and still does. I remember a little of what we were like. Teddy was spooked, very confused. Jennifer was sniffing. Mom was impatient. She’d told us she was determined to have a good time, and we should too, even though Dad had done his best to sabotage the trip by not going.

Dad leaned toward us and whispered hoarsely, I want you to know I love all of you very much.

That was it. I was the last through the door out to the plane. At the last second I looked back toward my father, but he had already turned away. He had his head in his hands, and he was crying.

I DON’T WANT YOU to get the idea I left for Mexico with a heavy heart. I had no use for whatever it was that was going on between my parents: I was psyched about the trip. I’d been dreaming up some juicy scenarios for months, and here I was in the air and on my way. Within a few minutes of takeoff I lapsed into my fantasy about how I was going to meet a beautiful stranger. She’d be on vacation too. It was a conviction of mine that beautiful women on vacation are more accessible than they are at home.

Across the aisle, Teddy was submerged in the book Dad gave him. Next to him Jennifer and my mother were going over the airport scene, the latest installment in the family soap opera, their favorite show. Mostly I tuned out under my headphones.

Somewhere over Mexico, Teddy woke me up all excited about something he’d discovered in his book. There’s a nesting beach of the Pacific ridley just a few miles from Punta Blanca!

Oh?

There’s only a few nesting beaches along the whole Pacific Coast.

I’m not surprised. It sounds like a pretty rare talent for a beach to have.

Jennifer and Mom hissed. Nesting beach of the Pacific ridley, Jennifer insisted. Don’t you listen?

I couldn’t tell if Teddy was enjoying this or not. Mostly he liked it when I shoved sticks into his spokes. He was about to ask Mom something, but I intercepted him. Don’t tell me, I said. I think I know this. The Pacific ridley is a seabird, a distant cousin of the blue-footed booby. It lays its eggs on a nesting beach because it’s too lazy to make its own nest—right?

They’re sea turtles, he explained, only a little amused. Can we go to that beach? he asked Mom urgently. This is the time of year they’re nesting.

My mother’s the master of the non-answer, and she was never sure Teddy should be so hung up on animals. Let’s wait until we get there, she said.

HAVE YOU EVER taken a ride in a Mexican taxi? Well, it was a first for me, and I mean to tell you we got our money’s worth.

The airport at Punta Blanca is twenty miles out from the city. When we reached the curb out front, somehow we were funneled into a van with a bunch of other gringos. We all sat there for about twenty minutes and felt real stupid, not knowing what was going on.

Fortunately, my mother couldn’t handle the heat in there and decided we’d get our own taxi. As we