A 52-Hertz Whale by Bill Sommer

Author:Bill Sommer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lerner Publishing Group

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: December 14, 2012 at 8:25 PM

Subject: RE: Party

Dear D-Dogg,

My sincerest apologies for the long silence again. As you might surmise, winter is the Abominable Snowdude’s busy season and I’ve been swamped with overtime at work.

Basically, from where I left off, I guzzle the juice in about two seconds flat then plop the yeti head back on, leave the bathroom, and rejoin the party. I almost forget I’m James Turner. Almost. One glance in the general direction of my Chuck Taylors helps me remember that I have size 14 paws for feet.

Coxson wants me to retell this joke that I supposedly told during the car ride to the party. The problem is that I can’t even remember the punch line and my tongue feels like it weighs two tons (just like a humpback’s). I’m sweating and trying to recall what I said that was even remotely cool or interesting. I grab for the easiest thing: whales. Just as I’m about to spout some random fact about the social lives of male humpbacks, I suddenly feel seven feet tall. (That’s my height for real in the yeti costume.) I deliver a punch line, something to do with the size of my (snow)balls. The guys roar and invite me to join them in a game.

Are you familiar with Seven Minutes in Heaven? Well, I wasn’t.

We had to draw a colored paper with a girl’s name on it from a baseball cap. Another jungle juice or two later, and it’s my turn. With the paws, it’s kind of hard to open the paper to see the name. Everyone thinks that’s pretty hilarious. Eventually, Sam helps me. When he announces the name, I swear I see his shoulders droop a bit. And that’s how I end up in a dark closet with Sophia Lucca, which might just be better than swimming with a humpback. From watching other couples disappear behind the door, I get the gist of what’s supposed to happen in there. Once we’re inside, the closet smells like rainy days and there’s no place to sit except on a pile of old board games. Sophia leans her head against the door and a piece of gum gets stuck in her hair. Once we get the gum situation under control, all Sophia wants to do is talk. Which would be fine except that what she wants to talk about is my least favorite subject.

Me.

She wants to know my real identity.

She makes a bunch of guesses, including Robert Flemming, who almost died choking on a mouthful of marshmallows during this game called Chubby Bunny in eighth grade. The one minute warning comes from the people outside. I am feeling confused and happy, lost and safe. And I pull off the Abominable Snowman head.

What happens next is epic (Urban Dictionary, 2012). She leans into me without a word and kind of almost brushes her lips across my cheek. My mind is all high fives and smiley face icons. I would have stayed in that closet forever.

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