One
Darla
Islide down the side of the whale watching boat until my butt lands on the deck, gathering my bent knees to my chest. Ocean spray dampens my face as the vessel pitches sideways, dipping down low between two waves, then high again, like a diabolical seesaw. Thanking God I took two motion sickness pills before my parents dragged me on this horrific expedition, I close my eyes and imagine the dry, stable land.
I’ll never take it for granted again.
The only good thing I have going for me right now is that my travel companions are gathered on the other side of the ship, where I don’t have to listen to them. I’m on “vacation” with my wealthy parents, plus another, equally rich family, and their pissing contest about who has the more superior yacht docked in Monte Carlo has sent me as far away from them as possible, being that we’re confined to a small commercial boat.
In fact, whale watching is not my parents’ style at all. They’re more of a canapes on the sundeck type. But the other family, theone who accompanied us on our annual trip to Hawaii, have a son who wanted to see the whales.
He’s the main reason I’m hiding.
I tilt my head back and rest it on the hollow, white metal wall, breathing in deeply through my nose, trying to quell the helplessness of being in the middle of the ocean, miles from the sanctuary of my hotel room. The helplessness that comes with knowing my parents didn’t bring me on vacation to spend time with me.
They set me up.
My right knee begins to protest my position, and I straighten it out in front of me with a groan. A pitiful sound that not many eighteen-year-olds make. Not many eighteen-year-olds have survived a head-on collision with another jet ski, either. Yet another reason I’m not exactly thrilled to be pitching side to side on the surface of the ocean, but at least the odds of us crashing into anything in the middle of the sea are low.
Right?
There’s a collective exclamation on the opposite side of the boat, and I smile lightly, despite the loneliness weighing down my chest. They must have spotted a whale. I should probably head over there and share in their excitement.
I don’t move a muscle.
Gosh. I wish I had someone to talk to.
I was going to use this vacation as an opportunity to gather inspiration for Beautiful Scars, but when I arrived and realized my parents had a totally different goal in mind, all my motivation seeped straight out through my pores.
Closing my eyes, I wish for a speedy end to this whale watching trip.
When I open them again, I blink twice. Thrice. Five more times.
Surely, I’m seeing things.
That isn’t a whale head sticking up out of the water.
No, wait. It totally is. That’s an honest-to-goodness blue whale, if I’m not mistaken.
It’sgigantic—and I can only see the top of it! The giant creature’s mouth follows a natural curve that is reminiscent of a smirk, his single eye trained on me.
Rather impatiently.
“Uh. Whoa.” I sit up straighter, wondering if I should yell or sound some kind of alarm? I’ve never been whale watching before, but I’m pretty sure you’re only supposed to catchglimpsesof the enormous mammals. This kind of prolonged contact can’t be typical. Whales don’t just pop out and stare at the boat passengers, like they’re trying to communicate something.
And if this one is trying to communicate something, it’s attitude.
“Um. Are you supposed to g-get this close?” I stutter, lamely, scooting my knees back tight to my chest, despite the spears of pain in my knee. “Should I…get someone who knows what they’re doing?”
Is it my imagination or does the whale roll his eye at me?
“Oh,you’reannoyed? My parents brought me on this vacation under false pretenses. We were going to take sunset hikes and make our own grass skirts, but what theyreallywanted was to set me up with Leonardo, the son of their rich friends.”
The mouth of the mighty creature stretches open and closed.
Was that a yawn?
I’ve just been yawned at by a blue whale.
