“This is day four, and the start of a weekend,” the whale guy explains. I can tell from his accent that he’s not from around here. Maybe somewhere in the South? “I’m sure y’all have noticed the whales’ visit has attracted just a few people.” Laughter ripples through the crowd.
“These guys have a habit of sticking their noses into inlets all over the place.” He traces around the outline of the inlet with his pencil. “Dyes Inlet opens up like a balloon once you’re through the Narrows and past Rocky Point, but it’s still pretty confined. It’s a little too early to be alarmed, but better safe than sorry. These are big animals. They need room. We’re going to want to keep people off the water and encourage them to watch from shore instead. We’re coordinating with the National Marine Fisheries Service to help with that.”
“Volunteers, we need your help,” Mr. O’Connor looks at us. “To load and unload the rafts, to set up barriers, to walk the shoreline and pass out whale watching guidelines, to man the info table, and generally to answer visitor questions with proficiency and aplomb, as the Orcinus orca experts I know you all are.” He pauses then grins at us. “And for those of you who are seaworthy, we’ll need help on the water too, especially tomorrow when we place the hydrophones that let us ‘listen’ to the whales.”
I fidget and glance at Lena who’s listening closely. I should do it now. Tell her I can’t stay long.
“Don’t worry,” the whale guy adds. “We’ll work closely with y’all, give you some training. But I’ve got a sneaky suspicion these big guys are gonna draw some crowds, so we’ll need all the helping hands we can get. Any questions?”
“Who are you?” Lena calls out. The crowd of volunteers turns toward us, laughing, and my chance to duck out disappears. “Sorry, I was stuck in traffic,” she adds, smiling.
“Not a problem. I’m Kevin Brooks, from the Center for Whale Research in Friday Harbor. My primary work with whales is behavioral—I study why they act the way they do. I’m also the ‘fin-guy’!” He sets his hand on his head and wiggles his fingers.
Everyone is quiet, wondering what in the world he’s doing.
“I can pretty much recognize any North Pacific orca at a glance, just by their dorsal fins,” he explains, “which I’m pretty proud of, if I do say so myself.”
“Cool!” a familiar voice calls out. I turn and spot Harris a few heads back, standing with his little brother, Jesse.
“Lastly, I also direct SoundKeeper,” Kevin continues. “That’s the volunteer program y’all will be helping with. Whale watching is a great opportunity to learn about marine mammals and Sound-Keeper’s mission is to teach folks how to do it right.”
“What’s with the y’all?” Lena whispers but I shrug, distracted. “C’mon,” she says, “let’s sign up for water duty.” And she’s off like a shot to the front, not waiting for my answer. I watch her go, annoyed with myself again, when I feel something tug on my backpack.
Jesse. His tiny face stares up at me, smiling.
“Hell-lo Reeeesa. Reesa. Reesa!” he says in a singsong voice. He stretches his arms out for a hug.
“Hi. Where’s Harris?” I ask, bending down and wrapping my arms around him.
He points toward the shoreline edge. “Off!”
“Did he leave you here alone?” I swivel around to look for Harris. Jesse just keeps smiling.
Jesse is different. He doesn’t talk the way you’d expect from an eight-year-old. Mom knew his story. She used to talk to Dad about all the kids she worked with, trying to get them the help they needed. I try to remember exactly what she said about Jesse but can’t. Was I even listening? Thinking about it bothers me now.
“Let’s go find him and say hi, okay?”
Jesse smiles and nods. I take his hand and we move toward the boat launch. Jesse walks with a crooked sort of limp, the tips of his feet pointed outward. I spot Harris up ahead and quicken my pace, pulling Jesse along.
Near the dock, Harris is bent over, pawing through the pile of bright orange life jackets on the ground, looking for one that will fit. He’s not having much luck.
“They musta thought we were all gonna be little kids,” he jokes as Jesse runs up and parks himself on the ground between us. Harris finally settles on one that just about makes it around his chest.
He grins at me, proud, waving a sheet of paper in my face. “We’re on the same team!”
“What!?” I take a step back.
“Mr. O put me on the boat with you and Lena. He says you’re the best teacher around!”
“We’re going out on the water … together?”
“You bet. No way I’m gonna miss this.”
“Do you know anything about boats?”
“Nope,” Harris shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Tons of people are going.” Then he laughs. “You’re going.”
I watch him work at the life jacket buckles for a few seconds, then move closer so no one can overhear us. “What about Jesse?”
“What about him?”
“Who’s going to watch him?”
“Jesse’s cool. I take him lots of places. He can come with us.”
Harris is treating this like it’s no big deal, and it bothers me. How can he act as if everything is so—normal? Mom pops into my head again. I know what she would say. She’d tell Harris to go for it, and she’d help him out if he made mistakes.
But who cares what Mom thinks? She’s not here.
“They want kids who know what they’re doing,” I blurt out. “What are you going to do if Jesse gets seasick?”
Harris freezes and stares at me.
“What’re you trying to say?”
“Nothing … I … I just …” I stammer, realizing how mean I must sound. “It’s just that you don’t want to wind up being—”
“Being what?”
I hesitate, just a second too long.
“Being a bother?” he says.
Harris takes a step back. He rips off his life jacket and throws it on the dock, then turns away from me. I feel the blood rush to my face.
“Forget it,” he growls, pulling Jesse to his feet. “Wouldn’t want to be a bother to anyone, would we, Jes?” Jesse looks back and forth between us with wide black eyes.
“Harris, no … I just thought maybe you could help somewhere else—”
“You don’t think I can do it,” he spits out, spinning back to face me.
