Page 87 of Raven

Shit, the whales.

I did promise to take him whale-watching. He learned about them from that Animal Kingdom book he carries around. Except that he spends so much time on the beach with Kai’s gang, surfing and whatnot, that I figured the not-so-impressive whale-watching was a thing of the past.

I nod. “You haven’t seen any yet?”

“In a book,” he says, his eager eyes latched onto me like he can coax a yes with that guilt-tripping look.

He has to check everything he sees in books and encyclopedias in National Geographic videos or real life, as if to make sure that he is not being tricked.

I have no plans for this afternoon. I look up at the overcast sky, and for once, it’s eerily quiet. It’s the calm before the storm, and this just might be a lucky day to see the whales.

“Hop on,” I say, motioning behind me.

One second, he is biting his fingers, waiting for my reply, the next, he hops on the bike like a freaking grasshopper.

He already figured out where my secret alcove is. He is a snoopy guy. So, I park at the beach and take him to the trail that leads up and between the rocks to the cliff over my alcove.

Sonny climbs among the rocks faster than an American Ninja Warrior. One second, he is behind me, the next one, he’s already on top of the cliff while I’m still several dozen feet behind. Like I said, a grasshopper.

“Aaaawesome!” he shouts.

When I reach him, he locks his fingers behind his head and grins at the vast expanse of the ocean. It doesn’t escape me that he’s imitating my usual pose at the alcove.

The sky is loaded with clouds that will soon burst with rain. The ocean is heavy and majestic, bringing its loaded waves onto the shore and against the rocks with brutal force that explodes with fountains of water and bubbles with foam.

I scan the bluish-gray expanse of water in the distance and see the re-appearing peaks of whales.

“You see those?” I point out.

“What?” Sonny narrows his eyes to where I point to.

“A pod of whales.”

“Where?” he shouts, his eyes suddenly huge as he stands on tiptoes.

“There.” I bend over and try to line my forefinger with his line of vision.

“You tall,” he says. “I can’ see.” He jumps up. “Where?”

“You don’t need to jump. Look attentively.”

But he doesn’t seem to see it.

I sigh and shake my head. He is a fibber. Or he might have ADD. Or maybe he’s just overwhelmed with everything he sees and learns these days.

I squat and tap my shoulder. “Come on,” I say.

“Wha’?”

“Get on my shoulders.”

Without hesitation, he puts his little hands on my shoulders and hops on. I wonder if that was his true intention from the start.

I stand up to his excited, “Whoa!”

“Okay. Pay attention.” I point in the distance and tell him what to look for when a big hump appears in the water at a distance, impossible to miss, and produces a fountain of spray. “There, there?—”

“I see it! Rave! Did you see that! Whoa! Whoa!”

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