The Thing About Jellyfish: Parts 6–7

Summarize your observations. Do your outcomes support your hypothesis?

Remember that science never actually “proves” anything; it merely contributes to a growing body of evidence about the way our world works.

Here is the last, most important thing about jellyfish.
I’ll bet you could never in a million years guess this one.
They are immortal.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that.

Theoretically, it can do this indefinitely: grow old, then young, old, then young, and never really die.

Theoretically, it can do this indefinitely: grow old, then young, old, then young, and never really die.

Imagine if we could have said, “Oops, this is too hard,” and shrunk in size, returned to a place of being just kids, the way we always had been.
And we could just stay there, tethered safely, forever.

When the shuttle arrived at the airport, passengers stepped out, one by one, at their different terminals.

Each time, the open door sent a blast of arctic air into the shuttle.

She tapped a few more keys, then frowned. “And it looks like you haven’t applied for a visa.”

I took a deep breath and spoke with as much dignity as I could muster.

I watched luggage roll past on a conveyor belt behind her.

I stared at the swirly pattern on the laminate countertop.

My hands, the index card, my expired passport, dissolved into ripples.

I saw a man with white hair and neon-orange sneakers. A woman soldier, all in camouflage. A mom with a toddler.

My eyes still closed, I listened to the boy crying, to the tapping of the airline keyboards, to the loudspeaker calling out that the luggage from the Toronto flight would soon be arriving on carousel three.

A cell phone had been found in the women’s restroom and could be retrieved on the lower level.

I am sorry I am just a dumb creature on a rock hurtling through space.

I must have fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes, there were blankets on top of me, several of those thin, fleecy airline squares.

A man in a suit jogged past, dragging a black bag that rolled behind him like a reluctant dog.

“I mean, maybe Franny got tossed by a wave and hit her head on a rock. Or maybe it was a medical thing—like a seizure, or she had a heart problem that no one knew about. Or maybe she was just a little too tired, and swam just a little too far from shore...”

On the cup was a picture of a green mermaid, long hair cascading over her chest.

Rocco placed a hand on mine. “You know, there are worse misdeeds than those that are done for a higher purpose.”

The newborn calf doesn’t have enough blubber to float, so it needs to be carried along in its mother’s slipstream.

Then she slowly stood and stumbled forward, her steps so stilted it was almost as if she couldn’t remember how to walk.

What did you learn from your research? Take a step beyond your own investigation to consider the implications for future questions.

What else is there to learn? Where might your inquiry take you next?

And here I was, in Massachusetts on a winter morning, shivering in my pj’s on the front stoop of the only house I’d ever known.

She raised one eyebrow and looked at me slyly. “Someone named Justin would like to speak to you, Zu.”

All the kids in their group clasped their hands together, moving their arms in a circle like they were churning butter.