Chapter Nine

Dylan sat on the end of the dock. His parents and Grandpa stood behind him. The pod had returned! The orcas had pushed a school of fish into the cove and were feeding. They had worked as a team, fencing in and then eating the fish. Dorsal fins broke the surface continually. The whole pod was here—including Oreo! His little triangular dorsal fin continually broke the surface.

“It’s always amazing to see them feed,” Grandpa said. He was watching through the binoculars.

Dylan’s father had set up his best camera with its biggest lens. He was snapping photographs, although he kept muttering that “pictures couldn’t capture it.”

It was all very exciting, but Dylan was interested in only one orca—Oreo. It was wonderful to see him out there!

It had been three days since his parents returned to the island and five since he’d helped the little orca off the rocks. Every day since the rescue he’d gone to the dock and stared out at the ocean, hoping to catch a glimpse of Oreo so he’d know he was all right. Twice his parents had taken him out sea kayaking, thinking if they were farther out, they had a better chance of seeing the pod. It hadn’t worked. Dylan and his grandpa had sent the drone out over the open water every day to try to catch a glimpse of the whales, but that hadn’t worked either. Dylan had loved flying the drone, but what he really wanted was to see the whales—and it was finally happening.

“I guess there’s no question that he’s fine,” Grandpa said, putting down the binoculars.

“Thanks to Dylan,” his mother said.

“It wasn’t just me,” Dylan said. “It was me and Grandpa.”

“It wasn’t me down there on the rocks. I helped, but you did the work.”

Dylan’s mother reached down and gave her son a little squeeze on the shoulder. “We’re all so proud of you,” she said.

They’d told him that at least a dozen times.

What they hadn’t said was how they were also grateful that he hadn’t been hurt helping the whale. What he’d done was dangerous.

“I wish Oreo would come a little closer,” Dylan said.

“He’s probably not going to stray too far from his mother,” Grandpa said.

“Or come too close to shore for a long time,” his mother added.

“I guess you’re right. Still, it would be nice,” Dylan said.

“Just be happy he’s here,” Grandpa said. “Watching those orcas feed has worked up my appetite.”

“Supper will be ready in a few minutes,” Dylan’s father said. His parents took turns cooking, and tonight was his father’s. Their meal was bubbling away in a slow cooker. “Why don’t we go to the cabin, wash up and—”

“Can I stay here a little bit longer?” Dylan asked. “Please?”

“You can stay as long as you want. Come on up to eat when you’re ready.”

“Here, you might need these,” Grandpa said as he handed Dylan the binoculars.

His parents and Grandpa walked down the dock and onto the path, leaving Dylan alone with the pod.

Dylan already knew the whales wouldn’t be there much longer. The pod was moving away. It was almost at the entrance to the cove now and would probably head back out to the open ocean soon.

Dylan wanted one more glimpse of Oreo. He brought up the binoculars and scanned the water, looking for one little dorsal fin among the bigger fins and the bigger waves. He couldn’t see him. Was he already out of the cove?

Then he heard a whale calling, and it was close. He lowered the binoculars. There, right in front of him, no more than a dozen feet from the end of the dock, was Oreo. He was periscoping out of the water, looking directly at Dylan. Oreo gave a high-pitched call.

“I’m glad to see you and to know you’re fine!”

Oreo rose slightly higher out of the water, opened and closed his mouth and then slid down and under the waves. A few seconds later his dorsal fin broke the surface and disappeared again. Dylan watched as Oreo headed for the entrance of the cove, back to his pod. He watched until Oreo joined his pod and they disappeared into the open ocean.

Dylan stood up. It was time for supper. He was hungry. But more important, he was happy. It was time for Oreo to be with his family and Dylan to be with his.