16 Things I Thought were True Part 21

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.

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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 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."

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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.

My mom doesn't like his girlfriend. She was Grandma's nurse."

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "TJ," the mom says. "We don't have to tell everyone our fam- ily's business."

"She's my friend," TJ says and smiles at Amy.

Amy nods as if the two of them have known each other for years.

She smiles at the mom and shrugs. "My dad always says the same thing."

"I don't have a proper set of boundaries," says the boy. "It's going to be the death of my mom."

"Mine too," says Amy.

The mom frowns at Amy, clearly not as charmed as her son is.

"We won't see a whale from this ferry."

"Oh. We'll see one," says Amy, her voice full of conviction.

I lean back on the bench and stare off at the ocean, tuning out the boy and Amy. Even though there are people on almost every free s.p.a.ce on this boat, with the huge ocean stretching out ahead of us, I feel alone. I'm getting closer. I tilt my head back, and chilly sprays of water land on my face.

"You okay?" Adam says softly.

I open my eyes but leave my head tilted back and nod once, not really convincing myself. I look into Adam's eyes, and I'm con- sumed by a huge rush of desire. I close my eyes again so he won't see it. Unrequited love may be my specialty.

"This is a huge deal," Adam says quietly.

"I know." I press my lips together. My courage is slipping as the s.h.i.+p takes us closer to the island.

"It's gutsy," he says.

I open my eyes, my misplaced l.u.s.t dulled by the reality of 136.

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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 what we're approaching. "Not gutsy. I'm scared s.h.i.+tless," I admit. "It's stupid. What if this is the wrong way to do this?

Confronting him in person? The signs seem to say maybe I should have called."

"I think the signs are saying it's the right thing to do. You knew how to change that tire. You got us on the ferry on time." He glances toward the ocean. "I don't think you're stupid at all."

The s.h.i.+p horn blasts, and Amy screams and then giggles hysteri- cally with her new little friend.

We sit quietly and stare out at the water.

"Look! A whale!" Amy yells.

There's a flurry of yelling and pointing around us. I stare across the water. There's no whale in sight.

"No fair. I wanted to spot the first whale." The auburn- haired little boy starts to cry as the cool wind blows his hair around.

Amy turns to him. "Oh dear. I think I made a mistake. You keep looking!"

He sits up taller, and his mom's expression softens a little. He intensely scans the water and I watch with them, inhaling gulps of moist fresh air into my lungs. We're all quiet as we watch the ocean in front of the ferry, even Amy. There's nothing except waves. Once in a while, something catches my eye, but when I peer closer, there's nothing.

"LOOK!" the little boy yells. It's the most gleeful sound I've heard in a long time. "WHALE!"

My eyes scan the water, and there he is. A giant whale breaks through the surface, as if he's performing for us, and executes a turn 137 sixteenthings.indd 137 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

J a n e t G u r t l e r in the air, and while my eyes widen and my mouth opens, he flips around and is back in the water.

"Wow!" Adam's the first one to recover his voice and he shouts and then laughs. The sound is as joyous and free as the little boy.

I smile, staring at the water, wis.h.i.+ng I'd been able to get it on camera to post to my friends. The boy's mom claps her hands together while he bounces up and down, talking a million words a second. I glance at Amy. She's still. A tiny smile turns up her lips, and when she catches my eye, she grins. "I knew it," she says. "I knew we were going to see one, but I had no idea he was going to show off so spectacularly."

Her grat.i.tude warms my s.h.i.+vering insides. I forget the picture I could have posted and realize that it's a gift. Real life doesn't always need to be posted online. I can remember this moment without a photo.

In some crazy way, it feels like this is exactly what Amy planned.

"Thank you," I say to her and breathe out. In that second, I realize that even if my dad turns out to be a colossal a.s.shole and a huge disappointment, this will not be a wasted trip. I'm going to make it through this.

Amy smiles as if she understands me, and I stare at her, drink- ing in her true beauty. It s.h.i.+nes from inside all the way through the bright yellow hood she has pulled over her head. She's brave enough to be who she is. She embraces her inner weird and flies her freak flag with all she's got. And for once, I'm smart enough to see what a wonderful thing it is.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Adam says.

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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 I nod, knowing we're talking about different things, but knowing he sees what I saw too- Amy, wide- eyed and optimistic, exuding wonder and joy, and able to shamelessly be herself.

Everyone around us settles, and Amy turns to the boy and shares more whale facts from her head. I relax against the bench, allowing the views and the smells as we pa.s.s by the Gulf Island to fill some of the holes inside me. In spite of myself, in spite of the thoughts racing and competing for attention in my head, I am calm.

I don't speak again until the ferry lands in Saanich. Amy hugs the little boy who's staying on deck to catch a bus into Victoria. We stand to begin our rush to the car, back to real life.

"Bleck. It stinks in here." Amy opens her window to let air inside.

"It does," I say. My serenity floats off into the air outside the car.

"Like junk food and feet."

Adam and Amy debate whose feet smell worse as we drive off the ferry and b.u.mp over the grated dock. My heart thuds hard when the car touches Pat Bay Highway. Amy's GPS announces that we have a twenty- minute drive to the hostel, and my stom- ach jumps and breaches and twists, like the humpback whale in the ocean.