Willa and the Whale

by Chad Morris

  “And what were those weird noises you made?” he asked. He must have heard my sorrow call when I was trying to match Meg. “Was that Japanese?”

  I shook my head. Definitely not Japanese. “No,” I said.

  “I didn’t think so,” he said with a nervous laugh.

  “Meg and I were just sad.”

  He surveyed the waves. “Where is the whale you talk to?” he asked, looking around.

  “I’m not exactly sure,” I admitted. “But she’s out there.” I pointed at the water. “She can hear me from miles away.”

  One of Caleb’s brows dipped. He was having trouble with this idea. “Miles?”

  I just nodded.

  “You talk to a whale that tells you stories that is miles away.”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “Named Meg.”

  “And you speak whale language?” he asked. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him about Meg. Maybe some lie would have been better. He had a ton of questions.

  “No,” I said, “we just speak English.”

  He studied my face for a few seconds, then smiled. “I wish I talked to whales.” I wasn’t expecting that. Not at all. “One time I had an invisible friend. He was a dog named Potato Chip and he had a unicorn horn.”

  It took me so off guard, I actually laughed. That was strange and good after all the sadness. I wasn’t sure if he thought that Meg was pretend or not, but I did like the idea of a uni-dog named Potato Chip.

  Caleb moved right up next to me. “Can you teach me to talk to whales?”

  And I think he meant it. Again, I wasn’t expecting that.

  “Please,” he said.

  Yep. He meant it.

  And he believed me. Not only that, but he wanted to talk to whales too. It made me feel good that the first person I really told about Meg didn’t make fun of me or call me crazy. He wished he had a Meg of his own. “I don’t think that I can. I’m not entirely sure how it works.” That was true, but it kind of made me sad. It sounded like Caleb could really use a whale.

  “Willa! Caleb!” Our names sounded like a whisper through all the wind, but that was just because they were coming from far away. I looked around. Masha was yelling from up the slope. “Get up here—now!”

  Busted.

  Willa Twitchell, Journal #5, today

  It doesn’t matter what species you are, almost all mamas get upset when they can’t find their kids.

  “What were you thinking?” Masha asked as she drove. She had thrown both of our bikes in the back of the minivan, which wasn’t easy to do. I think that put her in an even worse mood. “Caleb, you cannot ride to the ocean without someone with you, let alone go down that dangerous trail.”

  The minivan smelled like old ketchup and Nadia’s stinky sandals. I wanted to roll down my window, but I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to ask permission. I just turned the car vent towards me.

  “Willa was there,” he said, like that explained everything.

  “Willa is in trouble too,” Masha said, stopping at a light and letting out a huff. “Now we’re going to be late to your appointment because we have to drop Willa at school first.”

  That’s right. Caleb had some sort of therapy appointment. I wanted to ask about it, but I was pretty sure now was not the time.

  “I can just ride my bike,” I said quietly. I felt like a ­minnow making a suggestion to a hungry tiger shark.

  “But if I let you do that,” Masha said, “will you end up at school or the beach?” By the tone she used she didn’t expect me to answer that question.

  “Did you know that Willa can talk to whales?” Caleb asked, enthusiastically changing the subject. It was like he couldn’t tell how mad his mom was. Or maybe he didn’t care. He just launched into something he was excited about.

  Masha glanced at me but didn’t answer Caleb.

  “I want to talk to whales,” Nadia said, bouncing in her booster seat. “I can’t talk to any animals yet.” Like that was a superpower she would get when she got older.

  Garth raised both hands, his three-year-old legs dangling from his car seat. “I talk whale,” Garth said with a huge smile on his face. Then he growled. Did he think whales growled? Cute. He said something else, but I don’t think any of us understood him.

  Hannah laughed from her seat like she was in on the conversation.

  “Willa says she can’t teach me,” Caleb explained. “I already asked. But she goes to the beach and talks to a whale named, um, . . . something I forgot.”

  “Meg,” I corrected, before I could stop myself.

  Masha looked away from the windshield at me again, then back.

  Caleb kept talking. “And the whale can tell her stories. And she tells the whale a lot of stuff.” Caleb moved his arms with his words and his gestures were getting more animated. “And they are best friends and they have best friend necklaces.”

  What? That got weird fast. “We don’t have necklaces.” Again, I chimed in. What was I doing? I was practically admitting that I talked to whales.

  Caleb pointed at me. “You should. I saw friend necklaces at the store and best friends wear them. She is your best friend, right?”

  I wiggled my head in a noncommittal way. I guess I hadn’t really thought about it before.

  “I want a whale necklace,” Nadia said, holding out her hand like I had some in my pocket that I was about to give out.

  “Whale,” Garth added and bounced up and down in his car seat.

  “Willa,” Masha said, “do you really talk to whales?” She was looking at me again, and I think she was trying hard to keep her tone normal.

  I didn’t know how to answer. Would she think I was crazy? Or was she really curious? Would she believe like Caleb? Probably not. But what if she did? I couldn’t tell. I haven’t studied humans like I have marine creatures.

  So I settled on, “Kind of.”

  I held my breath, waiting for her to get me in trouble, to get upset for telling her children what she thought were lies. For being crazy.

  “A lot or just once?” Masha asked.

  Well, she wasn’t upset yet.

  Again, I didn’t know how to answer. “I guess a lot.”

  “Are the whales nice or mean?” I really didn’t expect this many questions. Or questions like this. Where was this going?

  “There’s just one whale and she’s really nice.”

  Masha nodded. Apparently, that was a good answer. She didn’t say anything else about the whale but the kids in the back seat didn’t stop talking about them for the rest of the ride. “I want to keep a whale for a pet,” Nadia said.

  “They’re too big,” Caleb said. “It’s not like you can just keep it in the bathtub.”

  “I’ll have a small whale,” Nadia clarified.

  “Whale. Whale. Whale,” Garth agreed.

  “I saw a whale at our house,” Nadia said.

  “No, you didn’t,” Caleb said.

  “Yes, I did. It was hiding in the shed,” Nadia said.

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” Caleb said, but was laughing while he said it. And the conversation kept going until Hannah blew spit out her mouth and laughed. Then everyone giggled together.

  “Have a good day at school,” Masha said as I got out. She says stuff like that sometimes, but she’s often too busy to even look at me when she says it. But this time Masha looked at me. I think she was still trying to find out more about me. Like maybe she wasn’t sure what she thought about a girl who talks to a whale.

  Willa Twitchell, Journal #5, today

  The wind is blowing furiously today, throwing ocean spray everywhere, and even making it hard to walk straight. That happens sometimes.

  But it smells so fresh. I love it. So I’m sitting snuggled behind the protection of the cliff. I’ve read that the ocean—well, especially t
he plants in the ocean—make over 80% of the world’s oxygen. That means that all of us are breathing ocean air right now. Whether you are close to the ocean or not.

  I’m feeling really grateful because today, I really needed to breathe some fresh air.

  #ThankYouPlankton #IReallyNeededThis

  I slipped in while Mr. Norton was discussing some dude who was a general in the War of 1812. I was going to have to look at someone’s notes because I missed more than just his name. I could tell that Mr. Norton was annoyed with having to stop his lecture to take my tardy slip from the office so I tried to do it as fast and quiet as possible.

  I succeeded at fast. Not at quiet.

  After handing him the note, I turned so quickly that I ran smack into his podium, then tumbled to the floor. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.

  Feeling stupid, I looked up into the shocked face of Lizzy Wallace.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. I didn’t answer but popped up and bolted to my seat while the kids around snickered.

  My ears were hot and my pulse was racing as I sat down and tried to look like I didn’t care about what had just happened. I pulled out my notebook to take notes, but couldn’t pay attention to anything.

  I glanced over at Marc and he gave a tight-lipped kind of smile. I had no idea what that meant. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? There was so little expression in it. Was he embarrassed to be friends with such a klutz? Or maybe we weren’t really friends again. Or maybe he felt sorry for me because of my full-on freak-out at the beach. I had been a wreck. I couldn’t even respond to people. He must have thought I had lost it. Or maybe he was still mad at me because of the way I just barged into his home and asked personal questions. It’s not like he ever said he forgave me for that. All I had to indicate that we might still be friends is that he came to help me with Blue. And that hadn’t turned out well.

  The bell rang eventually. Everyone started gathering their things and talking. I couldn’t get myself to look at Marc again. Slowly, I put my notebook back in my backpack. I took a deep breath. I just needed to make it to the next class. It wasn’t too far away. I could make it there and then I could skip lunch and hide in the library, then only two more classes.

  I could do this.

  “Hey,” Marc said, standing in front of me, “let’s go.” He had the same tight-lipped smile.

  I didn’t know what to say or think. So I stood up and followed him out of the classroom.

  “Sorry about yesterday,” he said as we walked down the hall. “I mean, about the whale.” It all came out awkward, but he was trying.

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  “I can’t focus,” he said. “I’m not even sure what Mr. Norton was talking about today.”

  “Me neither,” I admitted.

  “I’ve been worried like crazy about you,” he said.

  We headed further down the hallway. “Worried about me?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Want to grab a cookie for lunch, like we used to get after school when we were in elementary?” Memories rushed back to me. Before I moved, sometimes we went to Eric’s Grocery and bought two cookies from the bakery. They had the best ones. The kind where there was at least as much frosting as cookie. I think a little bit of happiness was included with each cookie. “I’ll pay,” he said.

  It wouldn’t be much of a lunch. But it would be frosting and sprinkles and a friend. “Okay,” I said.

  Willa Twitchell, Journal #5, today

  Swedish Fish are red and about one to two inches long. They don’t swim but they do float, and they taste good with movie theater popcorn. They aren’t actually made in Sweden. They’re made in Canada. Weird, I know. But I still love them.

  The only thing that’s better are frosted sugar cookies.

  And a friend.

  This journal entry was brought to you by an empty stomach.

  #SeriouslySoHungry

  “I figured something out last night,” Marc said as we walked away from the school toward the store. It was only a block and a half away. I had barely made it through gym. And Marc made it through Spanish. We met by the side doors. “And it’s been eating at me. Then when you didn’t show up at school again, I was scared.”

  “Scared for what?” I asked, matching Marc’s stride. I didn’t think we’d be talking about Marc’s fears.

  He tightened the straps on his backpack. “I think I finally understand something I didn’t get before.” He looked at me and squished his mouth to one side.

  “I’m so confused,” I admitted.

  He just stared out at the road, then at me. “I was so mad at you for prying into my life, for asking about stuff I didn’t want to tell you the answers to,” he said. “I freaked out. I have reasons for that, but that’s not my point.” He kicked a rock, sending it bouncing across the sidewalk then over the curb.

  I kept walking.

  “It’s just that I saw you melt down yesterday,” Marc said. “When you found out that the whale was dead, you collapsed. I mean, I knew you loved sea animals, but that seemed like a lot. I may have even thought you were overreacting.” He kicked another rock. We could see the parking lot to Eric’s Grocery. “But then I mentioned it to my mom, and she said that she thought you had your reasons. She said that everyone always has their reasons.”

  I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

  “And I’ve been thinking about it all last night and this morning. Which was nice to have something interesting to think about in English for a change.” He half laughed at himself. “Why would you be so upset when a whale died? Why would it bother you so bad? And then I got it. At least I think I did.”

  We reached the parking lot and a woman got out of her car not too far from us. “I’ll tell you the rest in a minute,” he said, nodding just a little at the woman. I was grateful for that. I didn’t know if I wanted to talk about this in front of other people.

  We came to the store and went inside. It isn’t like one of those giant grocery stores I’ve seen on the mainland, but it’s pretty good-sized. We walked to the bakery and I picked a big sugar cookie with blue frosting and rainbow sprinkles, just like I used to. Marc went for the chocolate chip cookie. I felt a moment of guilt letting him pay for them, but it was only a dollar and he insisted. Plus, I hadn’t brought any money.

  Instead of sitting on two of the only eight chairs inside the grocery store, we went walking down the road. Just like old times. We’d probably end up at the ocean just in time to walk back to school. But this way we didn’t have to worry about people overhearing us.

  “I think what happened to the whale bothered you so much, . . .” Marc continued. He hadn’t even taken a bite of his cookie yet. I, on the other hand, probably already had blue frosting-stained teeth. And it tasted so good. “. . . because you just really have a hard time dealing with,” he almost whispered, “death. Because of your mom.”

  I stopped chewing.

  And I was so glad we weren’t sitting in those chairs at the grocery, or at school, or next to that lady who was getting out of her car.

  I went back to my cookie. Frosting and cookies are powerful, but not enough to stop sniffles. But they at least held back the full-on bawl.

  Marc just awkwardly looked at me for a moment. There I was, all sniffly and taking bites of my cookie, hoping that it would somehow help.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get it,” he said, and ran his fingers nervously though his floppy hair. “I knew it would be hard, and I knew it happened. I mean, people find out about this stuff. There was a reason you came back. But somehow I thought you got over it.” He stopped and choked up a little. He folded his arms across his chest. “But then I thought about what’s bothering me, and that’s not going away. And I thought if I lost my mom, I don’t think I’d ever stop being sad.”

  I didn’t say anything. And I let a few
tears out. Maybe the cookie was losing its power. I was already halfway through.

  He did get it. At least part of it.

  “And I don’t know what to say other than it just has to feel terrible. And I’m sorry.” He looked like he might try to hug me or something, but he didn’t. He probably had no better idea of what to do in these situations than I did.

  So we just walked. And I tried not to cry. “You’re right,” I said. “It feels worse than anything.”

  He nodded and we turned down Mill Street. It would end at Mill Park Beach. Marc finally started into his cookie.

  “But you never talk about it,” he said, his mouth kind of full.

  “Who wants to talk about stuff like that?” I threw my hands up. “It’s not like someone says, ‘Good morning’ and I’m going to respond that it isn’t good because I can’t stop thinking about my dead mom. People don’t want to hear that.”

  “But it is okay to talk about it,” Marc said, and took another bite.

  “But . . .” I started.

  “But what?” he asked.

  “It’s hard to do,” I said. “Like you. You still haven’t told me what’s bothering you. Why you can’t be on the swim team. Why you won’t let me pay for it. Why something about Sofia bothers you.”

  He shook his head. “I know.” We walked further. He kicked another rock then took another bite. My cookie was long gone. “It’s just . . . that’s my business.”

  “See,” I said, “it’s not that easy to do.”

  Marc nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just going through something and I can’t figure out how to fix it. You’re the only one who’s even asking about it, but I just can’t talk about it yet.” He shuffled. “Nash doesn’t ask. Luke doesn’t.” He pounded one fist into his open hand, but only a few times before stopping. “But you do. And you ask all the right questions. And I think you might figure it out and then . . .” He stopped. We weren’t walking anymore.