Page 119 of The Otherworld

“Oh my goodness,” Orca says, taking her first life-changing bite. Her eyes roll up into her head, and for a moment she has no words.

“Told you.”

She devours the pizza, speechless. I love how she eats like a normal person, not like these girls who are so obsessed with their “diet” or the way they look when they’re eating. I actually don’t know what their problem is, but whatever it is, Orca doesn’t have it. She eats half the pizza, and I eat the other half while watching her watch everything around her—sensory overload.

“What are fireworks?” she asks, out of the blue.

“What?”

“Fireworks. That sign over there says, ‘Fireworks over the harbor Saturday night.’ What does that mean?”

Instead of explaining it to her, I smile and say, “That’s tonight. I’ll take you to see them.”

“But what are they?”

“You’ll see.”

When the sun gets close to setting, we drive to the top of Cap Sante and climb out on the rocks. The views are great, especially now; everything is lit up pastel, and Orca looks like she’s part of a painting.

Cap Sante is the official makeout spot of Anacortes, but there are way too many tourists up here right now. Besides, I’ve made out with other girls here—and I don’t want them in the back of my mind while I’m kissing Orca. So I try to be happy just watching the sunset with her. We sit on the rocks, and I casually let my arm circle around her waist, and she points out the white mountain peaks in the distance, and I don’t really notice anything special about them. I’m too busy watching the sunset happen on her face.

* * *

The fireworks used to be our summer tradition when I was a kid. We’d pile blankets and pillows into the bed of Dad’s truck and drive down to the harbor and lie on our backs and watch the sky blow up with color, sparks shimmering off the waves below. I want to do that again, but with Orca. Just Orca.

The only snag is that I have to borrow Adam’s truck.

When we get back home, I find him in the kitchen, helping Mom clean up after dinner. Orca hovers in the doorway behind me, shy and hesitant all of a sudden.

“Hey, Adam, can we borrow your truck for a couple of hours?”

“Why do you need it?” he asks, taking a handful of glasses to the kitchen sink. Orca’s gaze follows him, and I could swear she’s checking him out.

A coil of jealousy tightens in the pit of my stomach.

“I’m going to take Orca to see the fireworks,” I say, surprised by how rough my voice sounds.

Adam falls silent, and I know he knows why I want the truck. I know he can imagine it all, in a split second: me and Orca, huddled under blankets in the dark, watching the fireworks. Maybe I’ll get to hold her hand. Maybe I’ll get to kiss her.

Maybe she’ll kiss me back.

Would Adam have a problem with that?

Orca watches him, like she’s waiting for some sort of reaction. But after a minute he just nods and says, “You can take the truck. Just don’t stay out too late.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s it to you how late we stay out?”

“Jackie,” Mom says, her voice a soft warning, “Adam’s right. Don’t keep Orca out too late.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Adam walks over to give me his keys, and I catch a look between him and Orca that I can’t read. Maybe it’s nothing. But somehow, it seems like a hundred things, a thousand things, flying between them at the speed of light, there and gone in one glance. When Adam leaves the room, Orca watches him go, a gutted look on her face.

I wish I didn’t feel the green-eyed monster sinking its fangs into my chest.

But I do.

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