“Maybe,” Mike hums, smiling knowingly. “You think your friends will be there?”
He means the whales, of course. It’s the whales I mostly want to see today. Whale season just started as the grays travel south to Baja California, Mexico, but we have resident grays that hang around the coast and can come in close to feed, though most of them are further south.
With his long legs, Mike walks quickly on the dirt footpath, and I have to almost run to keep up. Since he’s not wearing a hat, the wind causes his long bangs to blow back from his face. It’s light brown, but when the sun shines on it, it looks like his hair is made of gold.
Wearing his coat, he looks even bigger, and I try not to squirm, feeling like a little kid still because I haven’t come close to hitting my growth peak yet. I always feel small around Mike, but he never makes me feel weak, always treating me as an equal on our hikes.
By the time I’m old enough to date, Mike will be an adult. He probably won’t like me then, not that he ever will. I just like to wish, imagining he’s my boyfriend, fantasizing about what it would be like to kiss him or hold his hand as we walk through the forest.
Mike stops by the first overlook, and I stand as close to him as I can without it being weird. When I lift my camera to look through my zoom lens, I touch his elbow with my arm by accident, and a chill runs through me even through our coats, instantly making me feel weirdly warm inside.
I scan the horizon over the water and see nothing yet, so I put down my camera hanging around my neck, resting it on my chest as I dig in the pocket of my jeans, pulling out two Fireballs.
“Want one?”
Mike looks down at me, his blue eyes even bluer in the sun. I really like his nose. It’s kind of big and… strong. Is that a thing? His smile is small—a typical Mike smile—but he looks right at me, like the smile is special between us. He plucks the candy from my fingertips, pulls off the wrapper, and tosses the candy into his mouth before looking out over the water again. His smile is still there, and I quickly forget about the cold.
“You sure do eat a lot of sugar,” he says, looking back down at me again, smirking. “Always have.”
“Don’t all kids?”
Mike laughs. It’s deep, and all the way up from his belly, and so like a man. I swoon and sigh inside, loving the sound and loving that I can make him laugh like that.
“I didn’t,” he retorts. Then he frowns and looks out at the water again.
I know that ever-familiar sad face. He does it less than he used to, but it’s always there, a hint of his grief just peeking through. I want to touch him or reassure him or do something other than stand there like an idiot.
With a deep breath, I put my hand on his shoulder. A shoulder is safe to touch, right?
He places a large palm over my beanie-covered head and gently shakes it. “Come on, Den. Let’s go to the next outlook. If we don’t see anything there, we can sit on the dead trees on the beach and wait.”
“Okay,” I sigh, wishing he would stop treating me like a little kid. At least he didn’t call me ‘squirt’ again.
After popping another Fireball into my mouth, I dig into my jacket and pull out my gloves. The longer we’re out here, the colder it’s getting.
Mike and I continue to walk in silence. The trail is narrow, so I walk behind him. The silence around Mike is never uncomfortable, even though I like talking a lot. Maybe because it’s Mike. It’s just who he is, and I love who he is.
After not seeing any whales at the last lookout, we make our way down to the beach. The tide is out, leaving behind tide pools full of colorful starfish, sea urchins, crabs, and mussels. Sometimes, Aaron, Mike, and I come down here and grab buckets full of mussels for Mom to cook.
Because it’s winter and windy, the waves are big, so I don’t explore the pools. Mom and Dad taught me at a young age to respect the ocean. While it gives amazing life, it can take it away, too.
I look through my camera once more to check for whales, but there are none. Not today. They’re probably further out since the waves are too big, and the season just started.
Mike is sitting on an old downed tree, bleached by the sun. The beach beyond the sand is littered with them, lying on pebbles and sand. He always looks like he has the weight of the world on him, making his shoulders sag a little. I wish I knew what goes on inside that head of his.
I sit next to him, as close as I dare. His nearness always makes my stomach tingle and my heart beat a little faster.
“Aaron’s going to apply to Oregon State, or at least that’s what he told Mom and Dad. Are you going with him?”
“I don’t think so, Den. I just have too many responsibilities here.”
“Oh.”
Part of me is sad for him that he has to work so much and can’t go to college with Aaron. But the other part is glad he’s not leaving Cannon Beach. I would miss him if he did. I want to tell him that, but I don’t.
We sit in silence for a while as I snap some pictures of the waves against the rocks and pelicans flying in a V formation across the water.
“Hey, look,” he says, pointing toward the cliffs. That’s when I see a male bald eagle with its majestic white head, flying around just past the bigger waves. He dives into the water and comes up, carrying a fish in his talons.
