Page 117 of The Otherworld

“High school.”

“And what is… high school? Is it like a school of fish?”

I laugh, because that was actually kind of funny. But then I notice that Orca is not laughing; she looks completely serious. She is completely serious.

“Uh, no. No, like school. Y’know, where kids go to learn stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“I don’t know. How to read and write and do math?”

“You mean your parents didn’t teach you that?”

“No.” I almost laugh, just imagining how chaotic that would have been. “I mean, I guess they could have. But most parents don’t homeschool their kids.”

“Why not?”

I shrug. “They’re just… busy, I guess. A lot of parents work at jobs all day, so there’s that. Plus, teachers are more educated. That’s why we go to school, to learn from them.”

It takes Orca a few moments to fully absorb this. “So you’re telling me this happens everywhere?”

“Yep.”

“That’s… so odd.” She shakes her head. “You people are so odd.”

“Well, most people would think you’re odd.”

Orca sputters a laugh. “Living on my own island and growing my own food is not nearly as bizarre as going to some communal building to learn how to read and write.”

“Well, how did you learn? Your dad teach you?”

Orca nods as I pull out of the parking lot and back onto the street. “Papa taught me everything. He has all sorts of books, about science mostly. About the ocean and all the creatures who live there… but we didn’t just read about it—we studied it up close. He always said it’s better to learn that way. To let the ocean tell you what it wants you to know.” She traces patterns in the fog on her window, falling into a thoughtful silence.

I sense her reminiscing about her dad and getting all morose, so I quickly change the topic.

“Well, school isn’t just where you learn how to read. You also meet people there. Make friends.”

“Ah, yes. Friends. I’ve yet to see any of yours.”

“I don’t hang out with them a lot anymore. We used to see each other all the time at school, but now everyone’s busy with their own lives. Most of them are going off to college.” I see another question forming in Orca’s eyes and answer it before she can ask. “College is also school. It’s, like, more in-depth study on a certain topic. So you can be more qualified to do your job or whatever.”

Orca nods slowly, going back to her fog. “Does Adam have a lot of friends?”

“Nah. He’s a lone wolf. I mean, I never went to school with him ’cause he’s so much older than me… but I heard stories.” I slide her a meaningful smirk. “Couldn’t small talk beyond ‘how are you?’ He’s still like that.”

Orca smiles, fingertip squeaking on the glass. “He just likes talking about deeper things.”

Her voice gets all gooey and soft when she says that, and she has this look on her face—a look I’ve seen on other girls. The girls Adam never even noticed were totally crazy about him. The ones who looked at me like I was a little kid and looked at him like he was James Dean. I know what a girl looks like when she has a crush on my brother. And Orca has that Look.

But after the way Adam upset her last night, I can’t imagine why she would have any feelings for him now. Besides, she’s clearly more interested in hanging out with me. There’s no sense in me worrying about some silly unrequited crush.

Mark my words: I’ll get her to fall in love with me by the end of the week.

* * *

Orca wants to see “my world,” so I show her. I drive down streets I know better than the back of my hand while she asks me a million questions about what Adam and I used to do growing up. I give her a million stories in reply, stories that aren’t very interesting, but she hangs on every word like it’s the best entertainment she’s ever had.

We drive to the old downtown of Anacortes and walk around, because the sun is shining and that’s something to take advantage of. I give Orca my aviator shades, and she looks stunning in them. I want to kiss her, but hold off. Too soon, right? Yeah. Way too soon. I never overthink timing on kissing, but Orca is different—she’s never been kissed before, and I don’t want to freak her out or move too fast.

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