“Can’t we go and look for her?” he asked the pair of them one afternoon. “If we think she has gone missing?”

Birch shook his head. “We don’t know for certain that she’s in trouble yet. It’s much more likely she’s just swum off course, in which case she’ll reroute herself in good time.”

“But what if she is in trouble?” urged Rio. “What if she’s out there and needs us?”

“It’s not uncommon for gray whales to sometimes turn up late at the lagoons,” Marina bit her lip anxiously. “She’ll arrive soon.”

The trouble was, Rio was fed up with waiting.

Since the news about his mom, all the old feelings had swept back. And this time, not even the ocean could wash them away. The clamp in his chest, the pitter-pattering of his heart, the constant fear that she was going to get even worse. And then what would happen? Because despite what Fran said about it not being his responsibility to make his mother better, he had a horrible clawing guilt in the pit of his belly.

Nothing he had done had made a difference.

Not only was his mom gone, but so was her whale.

That night, Rio jolted awake. At first, he thought the banging noise was in his dream, but then blearily, he realized it was coming from outside. It was the wind, blowing in from the ocean and knocking against the pane, as if it were trying to find shelter inside the house.

He stripped back the covers and padded barefoot to the window, where he rested his face against the glass and sighed. What if White Beak were in trouble? There might not be any whale hunters in this part of the world, but since being in Ocean Bay, he’d learned just how many obstacles whales still had to navigate.

If she had gotten into trouble, what was he supposed to do?

Despite the T-shirt confirming he was an official part of the Spyhopper whale-watching crew, what did that truly mean? They counted whales. That’s all. They weren’t superheroes who went out on dangerous whale-rescuing missions every time one failed to show up.

But this wasn’t just any whale.

It was White Beak.

“Mum?” he whispered. “What should I do?”

Rio positioned his feet inside her footsteps and closed his eyes. Trying hard to imagine what she might say. But it was no use. The house was coy and secretive, and any sense of his mother was trapped under the surface. He looked down at the marks and saw them for what they were.

A pair of old, faded footprints. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Suddenly, all of Rio’s rage rose up within him.

He couldn’t even speak to her because she was in that place! All he had was a scrapbook full of whale pictures. That was it. His heart raced treacherously. And all the thoughts he normally kept hidden within himself spiraled outward. Why couldn’t she be like the other moms? Why couldn’t she just be normal? Because if she were normal, then he never would have been sent here.