Part 21 (1/2)

I glare at her, but she reaches for a Cheezie, takes one out, and then turns to Adam.

”A pod of orcas was spotted near Whidbey Island a while ago. I'd love to see that.” She keeps gnawing on her Cheezie and I'm tempted to rip it from her fingers and throw it out the window.

”Do you know why they're called killer whales?”

”Is there someone we can talk to about the ferry?” I mumble.

”I think there's a guy over there talking to people,” Adam says, and I look to where he's pointing.

”They're carnivores and great hunters, the best in the ocean.

They'll eat almost anything in the water, even other whales. And they can weigh up to six tons.” Amy's oblivious to the explosion gaining force in my head.

”Lots of seafood to keep up that figure,” Adam says.

”They can live to be eighty years old.”

I reach for the door. ”I have to go and find out what's happen- ing.” I'm not excited about making waves but dread not getting on the ferry even more.

I hurry toward a youngish, uniformed BC Ferries attendant 132.

sixteenthings.indd 132 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e with an unfortunate hairline. He doesn't even look at me when I ask about getting on the ferry and point at Amy's bright yellow Mazda in line. ”Sorry, you're not making this one,” he says, glanc- ing toward her car. ”You won't be able to board until morning. If you had a reservation, you won't lose your ticket. You can use it tomorrow, but the last car going on ends right there.”

We're parked several behind the one he points at.

I stare at the car.

No.

”But I'm going to find my dad, and I've never met him and I don't have much time...”

”I'm sorry, miss,” he says.

And then I lose it.

In seconds, I'm a big, snotty, wet mess. ”We c- cccc- cccan't....

mmmm- mmmmisss.” My bottom lip quavers. I can't breathe prop- erly. The attendant looks around as if he hopes someone will save him and pats me on the arm, but the storm won't easily pa.s.s. Tears I've been holding in for years pour out.

”I don't know what I can do given it's past boarding time,” he tells me but his voice breaks.

”My ddd- ddad...”

”Come on, miss.” The attendant takes my arm and walks me back to Amy's car, holding me like I'm a little old lady he's help- ing across the street. He walks me to the pa.s.senger side, opens the door, and sticks his head down.

”I'll wave you through,” he says to her. ”Drive over to the left and I'll show you where to pull on.”

133.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r ”Thank you, thank you,” I'm blubbering, but he pats my arm and runs, hurries off as if he can't get away from me fast enough.

Amy and Adam don't say anything, but Amy starts the car and follows his directions. As she pulls ahead, another attendant, an older and more important- looking one, steps in our path. The arm patter walks over to him and they chat, and then they both turn and look at me, and I awkwardly wipe under my nose and then wave. The arm patter walks back to the car.

Amy rolls down her window. He bends down.

”My supervisor doesn't want to allow you on.”

I whimper, but he holds up his hand. ”He's going to let you on this time because I said you had an emergency and I told you I'd let you proceed. Never again.”

”Thank you, sir. You are very kind,” Amy says and drives slowly around the other cars in line. When we reach the bridge to the boat and pull on, she toots her horn. I shrink down in the seat.

”Never underestimate the power of a girl in tears,” she says.

I mop my face up with the bottom of my s.h.i.+rt as Amy parks the car in the last row onboard the s.h.i.+p.

”I'm going to see a humpback. This is on my list,” she says as she puts the car in park.

I wonder how long her list is. I bet she writes things like that down and that she has awesome notebooks filled with her thoughts. I had a blog for a while but deleted all my posts after the video when viral.

I climb out of the car and go to the trunk to get the windbreaker I tossed in. I wait while Adam and Amy grab clothes. Amy pulls on a bright yellow raincoat over her clothes. Her raincoat reminds me of 134.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e a picture book that Jake used to read to me when I was younger. Jake used to read to me all the time. Josh and Mom prefer the television.

”I'm kind of a nutcase, right?” The stress from earlier is gone. ”I don't feel as embarra.s.sed as I should.”

Amy turns to me. ”It got us on the boat. And it's not like I haven't seen anyone cry before.”

”Yeah, but not quite like that!” Adam teases, but he b.u.mps his hip against mine as we head out of the parking area and up the stairs. We go all the way to the top deck and find an empty bench with room for all three of us. The seat gives us a great view of the dark water in front of us. It's spraying and chilly, and I'm glad I have the windbreaker on top of my hoodie.

Amy starts up a conversation with a little boy with auburn curls sitting directly behind us. He's sitting beside a woman I a.s.sume is his mom. Amy and the boy are debating whale sightings. I smile, listening to Amy's animated conversation.

”Have you ever seen a whale?” he asks Amy.

”Lots. Never a Canadian whale. But I will today,” she tells him.

”And so will you.”

”A Canadian whale?” the boy says. ”Whales don't have nationalities.”

”When I see it in Canada, it's a Canadian whale.”

”There's no guarantee we'll see a whale,” the mom says. ”It's best to go on an actual tour if you want to see whales. And we're going to visit Grandpa, not whales,” she says to the boy, patting his arm.

”My grandma died and my grandpa moved to the island with his girlfriend,” the copper- haired boy tells Amy. ”This is our first visit.