Willa and the Whale

by Chad Morris

  “What terrible choice?” I asked, still scratching a few notes in my journal.

  “She swam too close to shore and got caught in a trap,” he said, gesturing toward the small pool of water.

  “Maybe she swam here to escape something big chasing her,” I said. “This could be a sanctuary.” Marc gave me an I-hadn’t-thought-about-that face. “Plus, she’ll be fine,” I said. “She could climb out if she really needed to. And, unless she flips over, we don’t even know if it is a she. Just because it’s pink doesn’t make it a girl.”

  Marc raised his hands. “Sorry, I was just guessing. It would taste good either way.”

  I sighed and watched the little crab scurry across the puddle floor.

  We watched for a little while longer. I thought I’d give Marc a chance to ask about his favor, but he didn’t seem to want to take it. So I started up again. “Do you still want to help the world take down all the killer zombies?” I asked.

  He looked at me and smiled. “Some things never change.”

  Marc’s always wanted to design video games. And a game full of zombies was one of his ideas years ago. It was pretty cliché. At least he thought of interesting locations, like taking down zombies in the Amazon, on a cruise ship, and in Yellowstone National Park. That helped a little. He said you’d be able to push a zombie into the Old Faithful geyser.

  “But I’ve got some better ideas, too,” Marc said. “Just had one. Just now.” He tapped the side of his head. “What if I made a game where you got shrunk and you had to make your way through the tide pools? And the crabs were hungry? And the other creatures tried to get you?”

  “That’s actually a good idea.” I said. “I would probably even play that one.”

  “Whoa,” he said, tilting his head so his floppy hair moved out of his eyes. “You’ve never said that before.”

  “You never had a game idea about the ocean before,” I said. This wasn’t going bad at all. The more we hung out, the more it felt like old times.

  We both moved to the next pool and crouched down. I gave him another minute to ask his favor, but again, he didn’t. He used to be a lot more talkative. Maybe it wasn’t as much like old times. “Speaking of things that didn’t happen before,” I said. “I don’t think you ever rode to the beach as fast as you did today.” Just saying that made me feel good. When it had happened, I was so distracted by Meg that I didn’t realize how cool it might be. It was like he really wanted to hang out with me.

  “Well, I . . .” he faltered for a second. Was he embarrassed that he got here so quickly? Like maybe he was excited and he didn’t want to admit it? “I was just coming from the marina. It isn’t that far away.”

  That made sense, and not as cool as if he was excited to hang out. His dad’s marina was a lot closer to the tide pools than his house.

  But he had come fast. That was good.

  While we looked at a bunch of barnacles in one of the pools, I wished everything was like before and I could talk about anything. I kind of wanted to talk about my mom eventually. Not now. That would be too fast. What would I say? “It’s good to hang out again. Did you hear that my mom died?” So awkward. Maybe I wished I was like a barreleye fish and he could just see it on my mind. Barreleye fish are awesome that way. They have this transparent bubble over their heads and you can see right in. It’s like you can see the pilot in a cockpit. You can really only see their eyes in there, but it seems like you can see their mind.

  Then again, I wasn’t sure he was the talk-about-hard-stuff kind of friend anymore. He wasn’t even looking at the tide pool, just staring out into the ocean. And his crooked smile was fighting with his grumpy musselcracker face. It worried me a little. I tapped his knee with the back of my hand. “Are you okay?”

  He looked back at me and nodded. “Sorry, just thinking about . . . stuff.”

  I waited and he didn’t say anything else. I really hoped he wasn’t thinking about how to tell me that I’m awkward and weird and how the ocean obsession and looking at tide pools was fun as kids, but not anymore.

  Willa Twitchell, Journal #3, two years ago

  I was watching sea otters with my mom today and realized that Marc was basically just a human version of an otter. They have dense fur (he has thick hair), usually eat 25% of their body weight every day (easily), and they belong in the water (Marc could swim all day). Oh yeah, and they keep their snacks under their armpits for safekeeping.

  #LOL #MyFriendIsASeaOtter

  A small wave moved the water from one pool to the next. “Did you know there are waterfalls under the ocean?” I asked Marc, brushing aside a large piece of seaweed.

  “What?” Marc said. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Yes, it does,” I said, standing up to stretch after all of that crouching. “It’s where warm water and cold water meet. One is forced under and it becomes a waterfall under the ocean. There are rivers and stuff too.”

  Why was I talking about underwater waterfalls? Was I trying to impress him? Like wow him back into being my friend? I needed to stop being so nervous. I was making things weird.

  “That’s cool,” Marc said. He said that a lot. Well, he used to. Maybe some things don’t change much. “I’m going to look that up on YouTube. Just to make sure you aren’t a liar.”

  “No, you won’t,” I said, calling his bluff. I thought some teasing might be good. Things had gotten weird there for a minute. “You’ll forget about it.”

  He laughed. That was good.

  My mind wandered back to the favor. It couldn’t be something like “go to the dance together,” could it? They’d announced that there would be one at the end of May and I hadn’t been at this middle school long enough to know how people did dances on the island. In Japan, we all just went like it was a party. Maybe that’s what they do here and he wants me to go with him so he can have a friend. After all, Marc was the kid who would drag me all around because he never liked to go anywhere by himself. Not the store. Not the snack bar line. Not the bathroom. (Don’t worry—I waited outside.)

  “Willa? Marc? Are you two back on my beach?” a worn voice asked. I hadn’t heard it in years. I looked up to see Jean Lambert making her way across the tide pool towards us, when we all spotted something red pop out of a puddle and slither across the rock into another puddle. Jean stopped and pointed. “Did you see that octopus?” We made our way over to check it out.

  I hadn’t talked with Jean since I got back. I mean, I saw her once from a ways away. To be honest, I kind of hid so she wouldn’t speak to me. I just didn’t want to talk to her then. I guess I was getting pickier about who I talked to and when. Nothing against Jean. She was really nice. I just didn’t want to talk.

  “Is this one of the kinds where the males have the babies?” Marc asked as we walked toward Jean.

  I stopped and looked at him sideways. “Do you mean a seahorse?”

  “No, that special kind of octopus,” Marc said without pausing. “Or am I mixing them up?”

  I caught up with him. “You’re definitely mixing them up. Male seahorses carry the babies and octopi die a little while after they have their babies.”

  “That’s intense,” he said as we continued to a shallow puddle with a partially covered red octopus. It was about ten inches long.

  “I think it’s a Giant Pacific,” Jean said. “But it’s not too giant yet.”

  They were known for scrounging around the tide pools for a small crab snack every once in a while. Judging by its size it was really young. They can get up to like sixteen feet.

  Before we could crouch down, Jean hugged us both. She had never done that before. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it, I just didn’t expect it. “It’s so good to see you two,” she said. “Both of you back here.” I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s almost like before.”

  Almost.

  I hated that
word. I knew why it wasn’t just like before. Someone was missing.

  A million jellyfish stings again.

  I had been so worried about what Marc’s favor would be and hoping we’d be friends again, I had forgotten about my mom for a few minutes. And then my next thought was how wonderful it had been to forget for even just a little while.

  More stings.

  Guilty stings. How could I have forgotten?

  “I was so sorry to hear,” Jean said, and then her voice cracked a little, “about your mom.” She hugged me again.

  A whirlpool of anger, depression, and a bit of happiness swirled together inside me. Anger and depression for the same reason: Mom was gone. It suddenly took everything in me to not collapse in a mound of weeping girl. But there was a little happy too. Happy because Jean remembered her. And she loved her enough to get choked up about her when she spoke. She loved Mom too. They were friends, even though Jean was old enough to be Mom’s mother.

  I didn’t know what to say, especially with the twisting and churning inside me. I tried to push against the sting, just enough to smile and nod. Thankfully Marc crouched down, looked at the little octopus and spoke. “Whoa. That’s crazy.” The octopus moved in a slimy mess out of the puddle and toward another. Its slither-walking was eerie and awesome. Then it slipped into a corner, covering itself with splotchy white dots.

  “Oooh, and look at it camouflage,” Jean said, pointing.

  That fantastic octopus changed the subject for me. I loved it so much. “Did you know that the octopus has three hearts?” I asked, trying to keep the focus on the creature.

  “Is Willa making that up?” Marc asked Jean. Why would he trust Jean over me? I probably knew more than she did.

  She shook her short white curls. “It’s true,” she agreed. “And Marc, I heard you moved,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said, then he turned to get a better view of the octopus.

  “Are you liking it?” she asked.

  Marc gave a nod without looking at either of us. I hadn’t known that. Obviously we had some catching up to do.

  “Well, I won’t keep you forever,” Jean said. “I could talk your ears off if left to it.” She was kind of right. “Go on. Have some fun. It was good seeing you.” She waved us off, so we started back to another spot in the tide pools. Secretly, I was grateful she cut off the conversation. I didn’t think Marc was going to ask for his favor in front of her.

  As we moved over the next few puddles, life felt closer to right than it had in a long time. I was at the tide pools with Marc and Jean. It was like a piece of me was back. “So . . .” I said, deciding to be forward again. “Are you ready to tell me what this favor is?”

  Marc looked back at me, giving away only a little corner of a smile. But it wasn’t mischievous, or sad. It was . . . different.

  He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

  “Never mind,” he said, shaking his head. “Thanks for inviting me down.” And then he turned and started walking away from the beach, back toward his bike.

  “Wait,” I said, “are you sure?” This was why he came, after all.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Forget it.” He waved me off while still walking away.

  And I knew I wouldn’t. I couldn’t forget it. And it made me feel like I wasn’t enough of a friend or business partner or whatever to even ask.

  Willa Twitchell, Journal #5, today

  I didn’t see that coming.

  My palms got slimy like eel skins again. I knew what I needed to say, but it was scary.

  A lot of me really wanted to just let Marc walk back to his bike and go. But I just couldn’t. There was something about not having a friend right now that threatened to sink me.

  I ran and caught up.

  “Hey,” I said, “c’mon. You said you would only come here if I did a favor for you. You might as well ask it.”

  Marc stopped and looked at me. It wasn’t quite the musselcracker face, but he wasn’t excited either.

  “Okay,” I said, coming up with an idea, “how about we skip rocks on the waves. If mine goes farther, you ask your favor. If yours goes farther, you don’t have to.”

  A smile gradually crossed his face. We used to do this all of the time years ago. Except back then it was to determine if we should eat at Marc’s house or mine, or who was going to become the richest when we grew up, or who would have to pick up the dead crab on the beach. “Deal,” he said.

  I’m pretty good at skipping rocks. I found a round but flat one. The ocean produced the best smooth skipping stones. I angled it sideways so it would hit flat and tried to time it just right between waves. And I totally won. Mostly because a wave caught Marc’s rock mid-skip.

  He looked up at me, knowing he lost the challenge.

  “You can at least ask,” I said. “I mean, is it like you need a ride somewhere or help with homework, or you want me to try to fix your Xbox, or you need me to lend you $20?” I was just rambling. More words came out of me than bubbles out of those little treasure chests in aquariums.

  “No,” he said. He kicked the pebbles a little then said, “I wanted to know if you’d join a swim team with me.”

  A swim team? That definitely wasn’t on my list of favors I guessed he might ask. It took me a moment to even know what to say. “Our school doesn’t have a swim team, does it?” I had only been around a little while, but I had never heard of a swim team.

  “No,” he said, his voice a little quieter than normal, “there’s one at the community pool. We’d practice a few times a week and then there are meets and stuff.” One of his eyebrows raised while he looked back at me for an answer.

  “Why?” I asked, which totally came out wrong. Like I was asking why we would ever want to do that. I quickly tried to clarify. “I mean, why ask me?”

  He shrugged, then looked back down at the beach. “I just really need to do something right now. I’m so—” His eyes looked up and off to the side. “I just don’t know—” He stopped then started again. “I’ve just got to get out and do something.” He shook his fist a little. I hadn’t seen him do that before, either. “And I like to swim,” he said. “I was just hoping you’d do it with me.” He waited another moment. “I don’t want to do it alone.”

  That last part sounded like Marc. I remember him always talking his sister or brother into playing video games with him. I even did it. He hated playing by himself. He never ate alone. He only walked or rode his bike alone if he was meeting up with someone.

  “I could probably do that,” I said. “But why do you ‘need to get out and do something’? Are things bad with your parents or something?” I asked. I know when my parents were going through the divorce, I would just leave the house. I left the house now because of my gigantic stepfamily.

  He wrinkled his face for a moment. “Nah, they’re great. I just need to do something,” he said, and it came out loud and fast, like there was a walrus sitting on him and he needed it off. “I guess life is really stressful. And my grades are tanking. I just need something else to do. Something I might be good at.”

  I thought about that for a moment. When I lived here before, Marc did have to work really hard in school. I got my good grades pretty easily, but he had to study and study. But his grades never tanked. That would be hard. And he loved to swim. His dad’s marina was right on the ocean. (Obviously. It’d be hard for people to bring in their boats if it wasn’t.) So we used to play in the ocean just out of the way of the boats. And his family had passes to the community pool so I remember going there with him a few times.

  “I really like swimming,” I said. I had snorkeled all over the islands and on vacations, looking at cool marine life with my mom. “But I haven’t ever raced or anything.” I got the nervous minnows swimming through me. Would I be any good?

  “Just come with me,” he said.

  W
hy ask me and not his other friends? Or maybe he did. Was I just one more he had asked? Were they coming? Or was it just us two going on another adventure, just like old times? Part of me wanted to know, but the other part of me was just glad he asked. “Sure,” I said.

  He gave me a real smile. Not as big or charming as he used to, but at least it didn’t look forced. “Perfect,” he said. “Tryouts are tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow?

  What had I gotten myself into?

  I felt like a walrus had sat on me.

  Willa Twitchell, Journal #5, a week and a half ago

  The threadfin butterflyfish is gorgeous. It has alternating black and white lines that mesh in an intricate pattern that then fade into orange and yellow along the tailfin. If you google beautiful fish it will probably pop up. Seriously gorgeous. But there is something about it: maybe the way it sways when it swims. Maybe it’s the little pointy snout. I always thought it was snobby. Like it knew it was all that and none of the other fish were as pretty or as smart. And I kind of want an octopus to chase it around just to humble it up.

  I’ve only been back to school for a week, and in my opinion, Lizzy Wallace could use an octopus-­chasing too.

  “Okay,” Mr. Norton said. “You know how this works. You’ve come prepared with your topic for today. You’ve thought it out. Now I want to hear both sides of the issue.” Mr. Norton taught history, but always spent the first fifteen to twenty minutes talking about current events. He was on a debate kick lately where he’d give us papers to read, then make us argue it out in class.

  “Both sides,” he repeated. Mr. Norton was not a large man, but with his voice and his unflinching stare, he seemed like one. His nose was a little big for his face and so were his eyes, but that just made him more intimidating. “Don’t be like my first-period class and just mention one side.”

  I had to focus. I liked Mr. Norton. He was fun, in kind of a terrifying way. Like a sea lion. They look so fun and friendly, but if you get close you realize they weigh like 600 pounds and could run right over you. Mr. Norton made us do a lot of homework and he gave a lot of quizzes, but for some reason I still liked him. But that wasn’t why I had to focus.