Chapter 1: The Houseboat An ear-piercing scream followed by a heavy splash shattered Jake Evans's sleep. He sat up and blinked in the houseboat cabin's early morning light. He wiped a droplet of water from his face. Then he threw off his covers and scrambled toward the open window. Had he been dreaming or had someone just fallen off the boat's deck into the lake? He had hardly stuck his sleepy head out the water streaked window and into the dry Arizona air when someone floating in the water immediately below him swept an armful of water into his face. "Argh!" Jake shouted as he pulled his head back inside and shook it. Peals of laughter sounded from the lake's surface. "Ha ha! Got you! Wakey, wakey, old buddy! Nothing like a cannonball into Lake Powell to start your day! Don't you love this desert air and warm water?" "It's not really that warm, Peter, especially when it's in my face!" Jake moved to the window again and made a face at his best friend, this time ready to duck if Peter Montpetit's muscled arm dared to aim at him again.
"You'll pay for that," he added in as threatening a tone as he could muster through a grin. "What time is it, anyway?" "Breakfast time,"' called a cheerful female voice from the next window, where the galley kitchen on the three-room boat was located. "Pancakes for our wakeboarders, if you're ready." "Pancakes? Awesome, Mom. Thanks!" Peter called, breaking into a vigorous stroke toward the houseboat's ladder. "Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Montpetit," Jake called, reaching for his wetsuit, then deciding he should probably wear real clothes to breakfast. "A Lake Powell five-star breakfast," Peter's tall, elegant mother was wearing her flightattendant smile and gesturing to the glassy, canyon-rimmed lake outside.
Her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed and she wore white jeans and a silk blouse. As she moved plates of steaming pancakes and bacon to the table, Jake's mouth watered. She smiled at Jake. "Way better than General Powell got when he came here in 1869," she said. "Darling, Lake Powell didn't exist then." Mr. Montpetit corrected his wife. "This lake was part of the Colorado River before Glen Canyon Dam flooded it in the sixties.
Mmm, those pancakes smell wonderful. Just the thing for growing boys." "Dad, we're fifteen, not 'growing boys,'" Peter corrected his father as his fork attacked a tall stack of golden hotcakes. "Thanks for having me on your spring break vacation," Jake offered politely as he dribbled syrup on his stack. "I've never been to Arizona before. Never been on a houseboat, either." "Well, it'll do for three days," Mr. Montpetit said with a grin as he folded his newspaper away.
"Though I doubt you boys will end up spending much time aboard this boat, what with all the wakeboarding around here." Jake had a forkful of bacon halfway to his mouth when the sound of a powerboat and a blast of heavy metal music jerked everyone's head toward the window. "Rock on with Rocky!" said a booming voice over the same sound system delivering the music at high decibels. Jake and Peter craned their necks to look out the window. Jake gawked at the shiny white powerboat that had pulled up near their houseboat. A buff-looking guy in his twenties with a red bandanna over an unruly mop of shoulder-length blond hair was jiving to the music. A golden retriever with a matching bandanna around his neck sat alertly in the passenger seat. Jake turned to see Mrs.
Montpetit cover her ears and Mr. Montpetit smile and shake his head. "Sign up now with the rockingest wakeboard school on Powell. Big air, big wake! Let the Wakeup Wakeboard School show you a good time!" The man paused and grinned at his stunned audience. His golden retriever lifted its paws to the dashboard and barked its own greeting. "Sweet boat," Peter murmured. "A tournament quality.