With my coffee, laptop, photos, and a locked bathroom door, I could finally begin identifying the seven whales we had seen. It was a bit of an upgrade from the one I had to do the last time, and excitement tingled through each of my veins. The rain still pattered against the roof of the house, and it didn't seem likely to stop for a while.
The wifi in the middle of the ocean wasn't the best, and since I was locked in the bathroom, it was even slower than usual. I stared at the program loading screen and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the darkness of the whale-shaped logo, and I smiled at myself.
A month at sea could drain the life out of anyone, and judging from the dark circles under my eyes and my mess of hair that was forcefully tangled into braids, that time had an effect on me. But I refused to think of it as draining. Instead, I had the fortune of immersing myself completely in the thrill of life's mysteries.
The logo disappeared from the screen, and the smile fell from my face. As much as I loved whales, they were supposed to be serious business.
As the loading process finished up (which I predicted would be a process in itself), Jia laughed on the other side of the quarantine.
"Put your phone down for one second and help me with these recordings," Darrell said, but Jia kept on laughing.
"What's so funny?" Brett asked, but Jia's only reply was more laughter.
"I asked you nicely to put your phone down and to help me with my project like you said you would," Darrell said.
As Jia composed herself, she asked through little, squeaky giggles, "Reagan, are you listening?"
"Yep. I'm waiting for this thing to load, because everything takes forever out here," I replied.
"Okay. Shit, you all deserve to hear this. So I get this text from the guy I've been talking to—" Jia began, but Darrell interrupted.
"Talking to? What does that even mean?"
"It means exactly what it means. I talk to him. It's not hard to understand," Jia said.
"Do I have to remind you of Rule Number One of Paradise City? That all relationships must be kept professional?" Darrell asked.
Rule Number One. How did I forget about it?
It's not you, it's not me, it's Darrell and his stupid rules.
"It's not on Paradise City, so you can shut up about that. Just let me tell this story, okay? Damn," Jia said. "So he texts me, and all it says is, I think I'm going to die. I asked him to clarify, and he replied, and I quote, I just got stabbed with a knitting needle in the face. And then he sent me this picture." She didn't say anything for a moment, so I assumed she showed Brett and Darrell the picture.
"There is no way in hell that he suffered that much damage from a knitting needle. There's definitely more to the story," Brett said.
"How did it even happen?" I asked.
"He's about to explain the story to me—give that back!" Jia cried. "You're an asshole. I need to know how this happened!"
"You can have your phone back when we finish our work for today, and we'll be lucky if that moment ever comes at this rate," Darrell said. "Now, like I was saying earlier, we still need to collect the sounds the birds produce during their excretion process."
"Nope. You can handle that one," Jia replied, then laughed. "I'm not getting shit on again."
"You signed up to help me, and that's what you're going to do."
YOU ARE READING
Fluke
ChickLit"For a place called Paradise City, this island sucks. I don't think a single day has gone by that I haven't thought about stabbing the shit out of myself," he said. "Especially since I'm forced to live with you every second of every day." "Sh. I'm t...
