Aurora and the Popcorn Dolphin

by Sarah Webb

“All set,” I tell him. “Oh, and Mattie said she’d see us at the barbecue.”

  “Everything all right, kiddo?” Dad asks. “You seem a bit … I don’t know, tense.”

  “I’m OK. Can we go now, please?” I stare straight ahead, but I can feel his eyes on me.

  “Rory, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “There’s clearly something up. We’re not going anywhere until you’ve talked to me.”

  I sigh. “I don’t really want to go to this barbecue tonight.”

  “It’ll be fun.”

  “That’s what Mattie said, but it won’t. Not without Mom.”

  Dad goes quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Rory, I know losing Mom was incredibly hard, but we have to move forwards, try to get on with our lives, start going to parties again. Especially ones that have been organized in our honour.”

  “Really? Alanna’s going to all that trouble for us?”

  He nods solemnly and I feel bad. It’s such a kind thing to do. “We have to go then, don’t we?”

  “We sure do. Now let’s get going.”

  As we drive down the road, he starts talking about the fields and how green they are. I’m only half listening. I’m thinking about Mom and our driving lessons. Mom started to teach me last October in a big out-of-town parking lot. But then winter came in and we had to stop because it got too icy. I guess we both thought we had all the time in the world. We were wrong.

  Suddenly something darts across the road. It’s a rabbit. We have to stop or we’ll crush it!

  In a rush of adrenaline, I reach over, grab the steering wheel and turn it, hard. We careen into the hedge at the side of the road.

  Dad swears and yanks up the handbrake. We come to a lurching stop. The jeep is buried up to the windshield in a green and pink bush. “Jeeze, Rory! What are you doing?” He turns off the engine. “Have you gone crazy?”

  My heart is hammering in my chest and I feel sick. “There was a rabbit. Did it get away?”

  “What rabbit?” he asks. “I didn’t see any rabbit. It must have run off. We were lucky it was a hedge we hit and not a wall. Let’s hope there isn’t too much damage to the jeep or to the hedge.”

  I feel a bit cold and shivery. I think it’s shock. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I was just trying to save the rabbit.”

  “It’s OK, Rory,” Dad says. “I’ll back out of here and we’ll keep going.”

  “I need to check the rabbit got away,” I say and open the door. I wish Mom was here. She would have congratulated me for saving the rabbit’s life. She wouldn’t have worried about the darn hedge or the jeep’s paintwork. “I’m sorry I made you hit the hedge.”

  After getting out of the jeep, I take a quick look up and down the road and under the car. No sign of a squashed rabbit, thank goodness.

  “We didn’t hit him,” I tell Dad, through his side window.

  “Good,” he says. “Are you getting back in, Rory?”

  I shake my head. I’ve gone off the idea of a drive with Dad. I need some space right now. “I think I’m going to take a walk instead if that’s OK. I’ll meet you at the cafe for the barbecue. Five, yes?”

  “That’s right.” He tries for a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Why don’t I drop the jeep back and come with you?” he asks. “You might get lost.”

  “It’s a tiny island, Dad. I’m not going to get lost. I won’t go far, I promise. See you.” I walk away, feeling Dad’s eyes boring into my back.

  After leaving Dad, I walk down the lane towards the harbour. Maybe Click is in the water. I keeping thinking about Mom today and I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone. The only person I want to see right now is Click and he’s not even human. How sad is that? Then I remember catching Mom talking to dolphins, not just once but heaps of times. She used to chatter away to them. She said they didn’t know what she was saying, but she was sure they understood tone and body language. She was convinced they could tell if she was in a good mood or a bad one. And if she was feeling down, swimming with them always cheered her up. I wish I’d brought my dive suit with me or even my swim suit and then I could slide into the water and swim with Click.

  When I reach the harbour, I sit down on the wall. It’s quiet down here, and cold. The sun has gone behind the clouds. Everyone must be at home, keeping warm, I guess. I scan the water for several minutes, looking for the sleek grey curve of Click’s back, but it’s no use − he’s nowhere to be seen.

  I look up when I hear someone walking towards me. It’s Alanna. “Looking for Click?” she says. “Stand on Whale Rock and whistle for him. It always works for me. I can show you, if you like?”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  She hands me a rolled-up towel. “There are swimming togs in there in case you want to go for a dip. They’re brand new, a present for you. Wild dolphins don’t always take kindly to humans in their water − they see it as their space, as I’m sure you know − but Click’s different. He’s a gentle soul.”

  “My mom used to swim with him when she was a teenager,” I say, surprising myself. I hadn’t meant to tell Alanna that. I don’t normally talk about Mom with strangers. “She went on to be a marine biologist. She researched bottlenose dolphins like Click.”

  Alanna smiles. “She must have been a very smart woman. And no wonder you’re so good with Click. You must have learned a lot about dolphins from her work. Drop into the cafe after your swim, if you like. You might need a hot chocolate to warm you up. And I’ll keep an eye out the window in case you need a hand getting out of the water or anything. The rocks can be slippy.”

  Alanna’s offer makes me feel safe. I don’t know these waters − there might be currents or something. Also, the idea of someone watching out for me when I’m swimming alone would make Dad happy. I nod gratefully and give her the best smile I can manage. She’s so kind. A lump forms in my throat and I swallow it down. “Thanks,” I whisper.

  “You’re welcome, pet. Enjoy the water. I’ll go and call Click for you.” With that, she jumps down off the pier and makes her way carefully towards Whale Rock. Once there, she cups her hands around her mouth and whistles loudly.

  Within seconds Click appears in the water, and then his head pops up just beside Alanna. She turns round and grins at me. I give her a wave.

  When Alanna’s back inside the café, I find a secluded spot and change into the emerald green swimsuit. After leaving my clothes wrapped up in the towel, I walk across the pier, the stone smooth under my feet, and lower myself off the edge. Then I walk to Whale Rock just like Alanna did.

  “Wait for me, Click,” I call over to him and he looks at me, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times. Then he ducks his head under the surface, squirts water out his blowhole and pops back up.

  I recognize the gesture immediately. “You want to play, do you, buddy?” I smile and give a long continuous whistle that rises at the end. Mom taught it to me years ago. It means “play”.

  Click tilts his head and gives the same whistle back. Then he bobs his head under water.

  “That’s right, play, buddy,” I say. “You understood me, didn’t you? Clever Click. Let’s play then.”

  I lower myself into the water, squealing as the iciness pricks my skin.

  “I’ll be with you in a second,” I say. “I need some of your blubber to protect me from the cold. OK, here I come.” I kick away from the rocks and dive under. Then I open my eyes. They sting at first, and it takes a few seconds for them to adjust, which is why I feel Click beside me before I see him. When my vision clears, I get a fright and gasp, taking in a mouthful of salty water, because he’s right in front of me. His beak − or rostrum (Mom taught me that word when I was three!) − almost touches my nose. Choking, I swim to the surface to breathe. I’ve been this close to hundreds of dolphins, but usually I’m fully suited up, with a mask over my face, an oxygen tank strapped on my back and swim fins on my feet. Right now I feel exposed.

  Click surfaces w
ith me. He makes a long chirping noise as I cough and splutter, almost as if he’s saying sorry for frightening me. Then he flicks water at me with his flipper. I hear Mom’s voice in my ear saying, “Pectoral fin, Rory, not flipper”, and it makes me smile.

  “Let’s try that again, buddy,” I tell him after I’ve recovered. “How about playing the seaweed game with me?” I grab a long rope of slimy brown seaweed from the rock. “Mom used to call this stuff Deadman’s Bootlaces,” I tell Click with a grin. “Nice name, huh?” I loop the seaweed over my right arm and dive under the water.

  Click follows me and I swim hard, pulling my arms through the water and letting the seaweed float behind me like a dark ribbon. Then I stop, remove the seaweed from my arm and hold it out towards Click. He takes it from me and balances it on his beak.

  I nod and then swim away from him. He follows me and then tilts forward so that the seaweed drops off his beak towards me. It’s the dolphin version of “Fetch” and it’s something Mom and I did a lot with dolphins on our research trips. It’s a great way to explore how they interact with each other and with us – plus, it’s fun.

  My lungs are starting to sting, so I surface again and gulp in air. Once I have my breath back, I say, “Good boy, Click. You’re one smart dolphin.” I give him a wide, toothy grin. He opens his mouth wide too. It’s almost like he’s grinning back at me.

  I laugh. “You sure are something, Click. I can see why Mom loved you.”

  When I get back to Harbour Cottage after playing with Click and popping into the cafe to say thank you to Alanna (and drinking one of her delicious hot chocolates), I sneak into my room through the French doors so Dad doesn’t catch me and ask why my hair’s wet. He wouldn’t be thrilled about the idea of me swimming alone. I strip off my clothes and stand in the shower, letting the warm water wash the salt off my skin. It takes several minutes to stop shivering. I stayed in the sea far too long − until my fingers were numb and my teeth were chattering − but it was worth it.

  After my shower, I get dressed and sit on the bed, pulling my brush through my wet hair. Drops of water fall onto the white bed linen, making damp splotches. I grab a towel and twist it into a turban on my head, like Mom used to do. Then I spot Mom’s dolphin journal on my bedside table. I open it up, dying to read more about Click.

  7 August

  Today I was watching Click from Whale Rock when he did something really strange. He was swimming just outside the harbour when a small pod – 3 female bottlenoses and 2 babies, the same species as Click – appeared. He kept his distance from them until a small fishing boat approached the harbour and then he went crazy. He jumped out of the water and curved his body into an S shape. I’ve never seen him do that before. Then he whistled loudly – four short ones that he repeated over and over. It was like he was trying to catch the other dolphins’ attention.

  Sure enough, they seemed to listen to him. They moved away from the fishing boat, anyway, and swam back out into the bay.

  Afterwards, I asked one of the fishermen if he had seen Click do the S shape before or give that double whistle. He said Click always did this around boats if there were other dolphins in the water. He reckoned Click was letting other dolphins know that boats could be dangerous because Click got that crescent mark on his back when he got too close to a fishing boat. Its propeller cut into his skin.

  So I now have a second listing for my Dolphin Dictionary:

  Danger: When Click senses or sees a dangerous situation, he repeats two short whistles over and over.

  This has been witnessed by me, Margo Finn, but also by a Little Bird fisherman.

  Sometimes the whistle is accompanied by an S-shaped body posture.

  “Rory!” I hear Dad’s voice outside the bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

  I look at the clock beside my bed. Oops, it’s almost five and my hair’s still wet from the shower. “I’ll be out in a minute. I’m just getting ready.”

  “We’re going to be late for the barbecue,” he says. “Mattie and Cal have already left.”

  “I said I’d meet you there, Dad. I’m not quite ready yet,” I say.

  There’s a long pause. “Okey-dokey.” His voice sounds a bit flat. He’s probably worried about going to the barbecue on his own. Dad is really shy. Mom was the loud, outgoing one.

  “I’ll walk down with you,” I say. “Give me ten minutes.”

  Lame Irish barbecue, here we come.

  When Dad and I arrive at the cafe, Alanna is just inside the door. I think she was waiting for us. “Howdy, American friends and honoured guests,” she says. “Ready for our rootin’ tootin’ Fourth of July barbecue?” She’s wearing a brown cowboy hat and a T-shirt with George Washington on the front that says “May the Fourth be with you”.

  “Great T-shirt,” I say, meaning it.

  She grins at me. “Thanks. Amazing what you can find on the Internet. We’re all in the backyard.” She’s still talking in a terrible American accent. It’s so bad it makes me smile.

  “Are you supposed to be from Texas?” I ask her.

  “Correct, little missy,” she says, then turns to Dad. “And is my grill chef all primed and ready?”

  “At your service, ma’am.” He salutes playfully.

  I stare at him in surprise. He’s not usually a fun, jokey kind of guy.

  There are about twenty people in the yard behind the cafe. They’re all sitting around wooden picnic tables that are covered in jaunty red gingham tablecloths. There’s cute American-flag bunting strung over them, and a large old-fashioned charcoal grill is smoking away in the far corner, sending wafts of spicy, meaty cooking smells into the air. I wrinkle my nose.

  “There are plenty of veggie burgers and salads too if you’re not a carnivore,” Alanna says, reading my mind. “And lots of cakes, if you have a sweet tooth like me.”

  She’s not kidding about there being a lot of food. The trestle tables along the back wall of the cafe are covered in plates of burgers, chicken wings, potato salad, coleslaw and corn on the cob, as well as cupcakes with stars-and-stripes icing, red-white-and-blue fruit platters (strawberries, baby marshmallows and blueberries) and chocolate brownies decorated with tiny American flags on cocktail sticks. The sight of the brownies reminds me of the ones Mom used to make. They were amazing − all moist and chewy and not too sweet. I take a deep breath. Try not to think about her, I tell myself.

  I take back everything I said about this barbecue. I thought it would be terrible, but it’s not − it’s awesome.

  “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble, Alanna,” Dad says, echoing what I’m thinking.

  “I love parties,” Alanna says. “Any excuse. And here you go, MasterChef.” She takes a sky-blue Songbird Cafe apron and a tall white chef’s hat from one of the trestle tables and hands them to him.

  He puts them on, and I laugh. “You look like a real pro, Dad.” Then I remember that we haven’t had a barbecue since Mom died and the smile drops off my face.

  “You going to be OK while I help Alanna and Mattie grill, kiddo?” he asks me.

  “Cal’s over there with Landy and the girls,” Alanna says, pointing at a table. “You should go and join them.”

  My stomach clenches nervously. Will they want me to sit with them? But Dad’s looking at me so hopefully and I don’t want to let him down. I know how much he wants me to join in and “have fun”.

  “OK,” I say. “See you later, alligator eater.” It was something Mom used to say.

  “In a while, crocodile,” he says back.

  Our eyes meet and I know Mom’s on his mind too.

  I walk slowly towards the picnic table where Cal and the others are sitting, wondering what reaction I’ll get.

  “Rory, over here!” Mollie says, shuffling down the bench to make room for me. She’s wearing an “I Love New York” T-shirt. “This is Sunny.” She introduces the dark-haired girl next to her. “Sunny lives on the island too. Sit down with us.”

  “Hi, Rory,” Sunny
says with a shy smile. Her voice is quiet, and I have to strain my ears to hear her. I think she’s Chinese, like my friend Wei back home. She looks at me for a moment, then blinks a few times, glances down at the table and adds, “I’ve heard lots about you from Mollie.”

  They’re being so friendly that I start to feel better. Then Cal looks at me and I go all awkward again. He’s sitting with Landy and they’re both wearing cowboy hats − small black ones with white fringing, like you’d get in a toy store.

  “Sorry about yesterday,” Landy says. “We didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome.”

  “Especially on your first day,” Cal adds. “What you overhead yesterday in the cafe… We’d like you to hang out with us, honestly.”

  Mollie nods. “We really would.”

  I think about this for a second. I have two choices here. I can tell them all to go take a hike or I can swallow my pride and accept their apology. And even though I’m still a bit annoyed with them for talking about me behind my back, I pick option number two – let it go. “Be the bigger person,” Mom used to say.

  So I shrug and say, “Sure. I was a bit jet-lagged yesterday, like you said, Mollie.”

  “How are you feeling today?” she asks kindly.

  “Better,” I say. “Ready to hang out with my cousin, even if his mom is forcing him to be nice to me.” I turn towards Cal, who looks sheepish.

  “Ouch, I deserved that,” he says. There’s a slightly awkward silence for a second, then he asks, “So this whole Fourth of July shindig is in your honour then?”

  I shrug again. “I guess.”

  “Way to go, Rory,” he says with a grin. “I can’t wait to get stuck into the food.”

  Mollie rolls her eyes. “Boys. Always thinking of their stomachs.”

  Sunny and I smile at her.

  “So you’re from New York, right?” Sunny asks in her soft voice.

  “Long Island,” I say. “New York State. A town called Stony Brook.”

  “And you’re staying with Cal?”

  I nod. She meets my gaze for a moment, and it’s clear Mollie’s told her all about Mom. I start to tense, waiting for her to say, “I’m sorry about your mom”, or something like that, but she just gives me another shy smile and stares down at the table again. “It’s nice to have you here, Rory,” she says and leaves it at that.