\nJunie woke up in the whale, still half-dreaming of the birds, approximately twenty minutes after her mama had put her inside of it.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nBy the time the McIntyres won the Expedition Lottery, Jakarta, New Orleans, and Manila had already been swallowed by the Big Blue. It was thus known by everyone on the cul-de-sac of Milkweed Street\u2014as well as every other living being\u2014that in a month, the Big Blue was to come for the rest of the Earth.\n<\/p>\n
\nAs for Junie, she was the last to talk to Lucas McIntyre before he left. They lived across the street from each other in a lonely North Carolinian suburb and talked occasionally in class. Lucas had knocked on Junie’s door during breakfast and begged her to take his birds. Thirty minutes later, she was standing on the McIntyres\u2019 muddy driveway, water from the coast licking the bottom of her rain boots.\n<\/p>\n
\nMr. McIntyre came out of their peach-colored house with two light backpacks. He threw them into the trunk and leaned against the car, lighting a cigarette.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThanks for taking \u2018em, Junie,\u201d he said.\n<\/p>\n
\nLucas hoisted the birdcage into Junie\u2019s hands. Inside, two beautiful green budgies scuttled back and forth across their shared perch, twittering for food.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cGizmo likes sunflower seeds,\u201d Lucas said, poking his finger into the top of their cage. \u201cAnd Pip likes cashews.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cLucas,\u201d Mr. McIntyre said, getting into the driver\u2019s seat. \u201cWe don\u2019t want to be late.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nLucas followed, dragging his feet, then seemed to remember that Junie was not coming with him.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOut of all of us, your mama applied the earliest,\u201d he said. \u201cMy dad said Ms. Fajardo should hear back soon.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThen, Lucas was gone, his dad\u2019s Honda Accord treading carefully on the water creeping into their suburb, and Junie took the chirping avians inside.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nOne fact to know about Junie is that for the vast majority of her early childhood, she had made it a habit to sleep past the loudest sounds and the most calamitous disasters.\n<\/p>\n
\nA large part of this peculiar talent was due to her mama, Bernila Fajardo, who knew exactly how to put her to bed. It was a familiar and formulaic process, needing only a gentle pat-pat-pat with the fat part of her palm on Junie\u2019s skin; in seconds, Junie would be rendered soundless, dozing steadily into some saccharine sub-reality.\n<\/p>\n
\nFor that reason, Junie had no recollection of the night after Lucas left, when an animal\u2019s song had awakened Bernila in the middle of an empty dream. The song was a melody of pleasant groans and delightful chirpings, and it lasted approximately nine minutes before it rang out again, considerably louder the second time, shaking the house.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen Junie flipped on her side, fluttering her dainty eyelashes, her mama said, \u201cMatulog ka na, love,\u201d and pat-pat-patted the small of her back.\n<\/p>\n
\nJunie mumbled, \u201cAre those the birds again, Mama?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo, anak. It\u2019s the balyena,\u201d Bernila said. \u201cDo you know what a balyena is, Junie?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nBut by then, Junie\u2019s head had tilted back into her pillow, and she was already fast asleep.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nAfter the McIntyres, it was the Rutherfords, then it was the Dengs, then the Garcias and the Mukherjees. They were told to take no clothes, no perishables, and no pets. They were to leave their sinking houses behind, do whatever they wanted with their finances\u2014which would be useless in space, anyway\u2014and bring only their dearest valuables. Julia Deng tried to take her succulent, but she was reportedly detained at the Expedition station for bringing a live specimen, and was herded into another ship without her family.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhile one-third of Sesame County\u2019s second-grade class and their families had made it to Mars, Venus, and whatever dwarf planets or inhabitable moons the Expeditioners could colonize, Junie\u2019s mama stood every day at the mailbox, waiting for the mailman. He\u2019d come at 2 p.m. every day, his truck splashing water along the wet curbs, and each time he reached Junie\u2019s house, he\u2019d have nothing to give.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMaybe tomorrow, Bernila,\u201d he would say. And then the next day, he\u2019d say it again. \u201cMaybe tomorrow.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nAfter three tomorrows, Junie began to watch her Mama from the porch. The phones and the Internet were finally down in their part of the state. The sea spat up multiple dolphins along the submerged coastal region, and they, in their blissful confusion, had stranded themselves near the central power lines. The empty suburb all looked the same now\u2014indistinguishable white houses with darkened windows slowly being gulped by rising Blue.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen the mailman came, Junie overheard him tell her mother, \u201cWe were chosen. Me and my family.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nBernila clicked her tongue, pursed her mouth firmly. \u201cWhen are you leaving?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSoon as I can get home to my wife. All roads to DC will be blocked come morning.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nJunie kicked away at the small crabs snipping curiously at her toes. Barnacles had begun sticking to the columns of their house, decorating the front door. The air was all saline, so bloated with it that it burned her eyes and nose.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOne more thing,\u201d Junie overheard the mailman say. \u201cPostal service is stopping in many counties. The Expedition says there are no spots left.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nBernila went stock-still. \u201cThey promised.\u201d Pinched, pinched at the fluffy fabric of her bathrobe collar. \u201cI put our names in way before all this . . . even before the first city went under.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe put a hand on her elbow. \u201cY\u2019all take care.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe got back into his truck, his engine sputtering, and he did Bernila Fajardo the kindness of gently accelerating so as to not splash water on her pajama pants. Once the mailman was out of sight, Junie watched her mama stomp her foot and lift her chin to the searing sun.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cFuck!\u201d Her voice echoed throughout their empty suburb\u2014 \u201cFuck, fuck, fuck!<\/em>\u201d\u2014skipping across the water, then sinking like a heavy stone.\n<\/p>\n \n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMama?\u201d Junie nudged at her car door until it opened. \u201cWhat the fuck are we gonna do now?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJunie\u2019s mama raised her head from where it was flattened against the wheel. \u201cDon\u2019t curse at me, Junie.\u201d There was a bright red splotch imprinted with the wheel\u2019s leather pattern across her forehead. \u201cWhere\u2019d you learn that?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJunie said, \u201cSorry, Mama.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBernila had been in the flooded driveway, sitting in her floating sedan until the sun had long set, listening to her portable radio. The cul-de-sac\u2019s sidewalks were swamped with their neighbors\u2019 belongings: closets of clothes, tattered armchairs, old bikes and kids\u2019 scooters. To keep her poor vehicle from drifting away, she had to hook its bumper to the trunk of a tree with a sturdy rope.\n<\/p>\n \nEarlier, Junie had opened her bedroom window, which was on the second floor, to hear what her mama was listening to. So far, she had gathered the important bits: the Expeditioners had exported the world leaders first and then all those who could afford the multimillion-dollar trip. Everyone else was subject to the lottery. The Blue had been approaching like a slow reaper, with the storms sending water further and further past the coastlines, until the world blinked, and whole cities were gone. Some people\u2014the smallest minority\u2014had submarines prepared exactly for this scenario.\n<\/p>\n \nAfter the Expeditioners barred their doors, there were protests in major cities. Rioting in the streets of DC. Burning monuments, skyrocketing suicide rates, sobbing crowds.\n<\/p>\n \nWhy not take us all? <\/em>they cried. At least our children. God, save the children. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nJunie waded through the shin-deep water to the other side of the car, opening the passenger door.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCome in, anak.\u201d Bernila made a sound like a sniffle. She turned the volume knob, muting the radio. \u201cWhat are you doing out here?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJunie folded her hands in her lap. \u201cGizmo and Pip are loud.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nTheir cage sat in Junie\u2019s room, perfectly in her view. She would not let them be anywhere else.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWe need to let them go,\u201d Bernila said. \u201cThey\u2019ll be trapped in the water if we don\u2019t.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut I told Lucas I would take care of them,\u201d Junie protested.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThey are birds, my dear. They can fly above all this mess,\u201d Bernila said. \u201cCome, it\u2019ll be alright. Lay your head on my shoulder. Yes, that\u2019s it.\u201d She stroked the top of Junie\u2019s head, her calloused fingers intertwining with Junie\u2019s dark curls.\n<\/p>\n \nThen, she lifted her hand and pat-pat-patted.\n<\/p>\n \nJunie\u2019s eyes drooped.\n<\/p>\n \nThey listened to the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. The night sky had never been so visible, peppered with white stars and the faint lights of Expedition ships\u2014fleeing far, far away. If Junie didn\u2019t know any better, she would have thought the streaks they left behind were comets, or shooting stars.\n<\/p>\n \nJunie asked her mama, \u201cAre we going to die on Earth?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBernila sighed. Said nothing.\n<\/p>\n \nJunie said, with a conviction she didn\u2019t expect from herself, \u201cWhat\u2019s a balyena?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThere was a flicker of recognition in her mama\u2019s eyes.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cA balyena,\u201d said Bernila, pursing her plump lips, \u201cis a whale.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cA whale?\u201d Junie turned the word over in her mind: bal-ye-na\u2014over and over, tasting the salt of it, the texture of its fatty blubber. \u201cBut there aren\u2019t any of those left.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThey had been gone for years. Caught and starved in stray fishing nets. Suffocated by the garbage, slaughtered by the ships. Beached, at high rates, by the past decade\u2019s superstorms.\n<\/p>\n \nBernila smiled, a distant nostalgia in her expression. \u201cNonsense. I saw one.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cReally? When?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt\u2019s a long story,\u201d Bernila said. \u201cBut maybe it\u2019ll save us yet.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut Mama,\u201d Junie said slowly, \u201cthe whales . . . the whales are\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBernila turned the radio volume back up, drowning out Junie\u2019s rising protests.\n<\/p>\n \n \nWhen the water had finally submerged the first floor of their house with no clear sign of ever receding, it was Bernila who decided to let Gizmo and Pip go. Among their remaining provisions, the budgies would not survive solely on canned beans, nor in a solitary cage. Junie begrudgingly did the honor of climbing onto their house\u2019s paneled roof, bird cage in tow, and opening their door. Gizmo and Pip trotted reluctantly out of their abode, chirping inquisitively at their temporary caretaker.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBe free,\u201d Junie whispered, suppressing a wretched cry. \u201cFly away.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThey spread their wings and flew toward the morning sun until they were just green dots in the distance. Junie tried to imagine Lucas\u2014blonde curls and dimples\u2014a number of lightyears and atmospheric layers away. How was Mars? Venus? The moon? Did the phones work there? Would the place have the Internet? How about school\u2014how long would a school take to pop up on another planet?\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cJunie,\u201d Bernila called from the second floor. \u201cCome, get dressed.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJunie stayed a moment on the roof, searching for Gizmo and Pip on the bright horizon. She\u2019d read in a book once that birds had excellent homing instincts. What if they decided to come back?\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cJunie,\u201d Bernila called again.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI don\u2019t want <\/em>to go to the party,\u201d Junie huffed. \u201cI want to stay in my room.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBernila stuck her head out the window. \u201cAnak, \u2018wag ka makulit.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJunie muttered, \u201cWhatever,\u201d before she kicked the empty birdcage into the water, her heart sinking at the sound of its resounding splash.\n<\/p>\n \nThey had plans that day: an end-of-the-world party for Those Left Behind graciously hosted by the Padillos, who had babysat Junie when she was younger. With the roads gone under and all vehicles washed into the Big Blue, survivors had taken to salvaged canoes, kayaks, and sturdy pieces of driftwood to get around. By late afternoon, three families came to the Fajardos\u2019 cul-de-sac on Milkweed Street. Their boats floated next to each other like bobbing tree trunks, their lanterns illuminating each brown face.\n<\/p>\n \nThe older kids were all in one canoe, high schoolers rejoicing in the fact they no longer had homework or college or futures to worry about. One girl began to cry, though\u2014moaning something about never being able to fall in love or to have a husband or to have a kid\u2014and the rest of the teenagers spent an irritating amount of time comforting her.\n<\/p>\n \nThe Padillos owned a large fishing skiff with worn leather seats and a mysterious amount of gas remaining in its tank. Even in old age, the couple remained the same: unenjoyable company and unfiltered crones. Junie sat at the very back of the Padillos\u2019 skiff, keeping to herself, too busy thinking of Gizmo and Pip. Up front, the adults drank and spoke solemnly in Tagalog.\n<\/p>\n \nJunie\u2019s translation skills always took a second longer after anything was said\u2014three seconds longer with Tito Alan Padillo\u2019s slurring grumbling: \u201c\u2014the rich ones first. Always the rich bastards. You know the President got to go first? They probably rounded up all the billionaires and trillionaires on the first day everything went to shit. They were probably gone before lunch. They\u2019re having candlelit dinners on the moon right now. Us? We\u2019re here. We\u2019re here, fucking around with nothing to do but drink, waiting to die.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAlan,\u201d Bernila said viciously. \u201cNot in front of the kids.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHis wife interjected, \u201cThe radio said there\u2019ll be a storm next week. It\u2019ll start on Sunday, and it\u2019ll last for days. After that, there\u2019ll be a great flood. A quick one\u2014hard and fast. We won\u2019t feel a thing. It\u2019s a mercy.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cA mercy,\u201d Tito Alan repeated, incredulous. \u201cThat\u2019s a word for it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut some people have escaped,\u201d Bernila said. \u201cOn submarines.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe party raised their brows at her. Junie felt a pit rise in her stomach, one of shame or stubbornness or something in between.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWe can\u2019t afford submarines,\u201d Tito Alan snorted. \u201cThey cost just as much as the Expedition! But you know what we can afford? Believing in God. Do we all believe in Him here? Ah, that\u2019s good!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBernila ignored the agreements around her. \u201cAlan.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSoon, we\u2019ll all see each other in His kingdom. We can continue the party there!\u201d He put his bottle to his lips. \u201cBut Bernila, if you have another solution, be our guest.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cStop it. You\u2019re drunk.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhen was the last time you taught Junie to pray, Bernila? And I mean pray to God, <\/em>not that mythic whale you\u2019re always making nonsense about. Who knows, He may send you the submarine you\u2019re looking for.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThe kids<\/em>\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThey can\u2019t even understand us,\u201d Tito Alan snapped. \u201cNot one of them speaks Tagalog. You could only hope there\u2019s Filipino Expeditioners. If not, then we\u2019re the last ones speaking this damn language because not only is our country down under, but our kids will get eaten by the crabs long before we can teach them!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJunie jumped upright, rocking the boat, protests climbing in her little chest. The adults turned to look at her, and she met her mama\u2019s warning eye.\n<\/p>\n \nJunie\u2019s rebellion then turned into something quiet, festering inward instead, dissipating seconds after. She sat, hands in her lap.\n<\/p>\n \nBernila dumped the rest of her wine over the side of the boat, into the Big Blue.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou all should get home soon,\u201d she said through gritted teeth. \u201cConserve your gas, your resources. The storm will be coming soon.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n \nThe storm pelted the windows, and it was a miracle that its unrelenting ferocity did not shatter the glass.\n<\/p>\n \nThe first night was the hardest. Junie stayed with her mama in bed and had no choice but to listen to the bullet-like raindrops pummeling the roof tile and the howling wind stripping the trees of bark and leaves. She worried that their house would cave in around them. She was already finding coastal fishes and blue crabs at the top of the stairs. Everything reeked of saline. When the radio finally ran out of battery, it droned a final line, with two back-to-back Category 4 hurricanes simultaneously overtaking the Southeastern United States, get inside and stay in a windowless room if you can\u2014<\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nJunie had been crying for three straight hours. She was inconsolable, wailing away.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI don\u2019t want to die, Mama,\u201d she kept saying, \u201cI don\u2019t want to die. We don\u2019t have an Expedition ticket, we don\u2019t have a submarine\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHush now, tama na,\u201d Bernila said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI don\u2019t know enough Tagalog. Tito Alan said so. I don\u2019t want to die like that.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBernila said firmly, \u201cYou are not <\/em>going to die.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut how do you know that?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cJunie.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHow do you know<\/em>?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBernila brushed Junie\u2019s hair out of her wet eyes. \u201cIf you\u2019ll be quiet for a few minutes, and try your best to go to bed, I will tell you the tale of the time I saw a balyena. How about that? How does that sound?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJunie stopped hiccuping just enough to answer. \u201cOkay\u2014okay, Mama.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nAnd then Bernila hugged her tight, pat-pat-patting her, waiting until her eyes were already halfway closed.\n<\/p>\n \n \nIn her twenties, Bernila was a thrill-seeking diver, braving the waters of Palawan. Back then, most of the Philippine archipelago, albeit battered by an overactive typhoon season and nearly boiling temperatures, was still above water. Before Junie, she had the freedom to travel, and she\u2019d begun diving when Junie\u2019s father introduced her to a guy who knew a guy who worked at a resort in El Nido. Every summer afterward, she\u2019d sail on a bangka with a gaggle of tourists, poking around underwater shipwrecks, bat caves, limestone islands, and dying coral reefs. She spent those days mingling with sharks and dolphins and schools of fish, learning to hold her breath almost as long as the locals of the municipality.\n<\/p>\n \nOnce, while she was looking for the mast of a historic sunken ship buried in the sand of shallow waters, she had caught a glimpse of something black in the distance\u2014a gray flipper breaching the water, just before disappearing. The bangka\u2019s crew told her legends of some kind of whale out in those seas\u2014a single one, the last one left on Earth since their supposed extinction years prior.\n<\/p>\n \nThe whale wasn\u2019t hard to find. All she had to do was dive straight down and follow its song, which had been reverberating across the shores for twelve minutes straight. The seabed was dark, full of scattering shoals and moving sediment. The flat animal was tangled in a heavy fishing net, chirping and whistling in distress. Bernila swam tirelessly until she approached it; its frightened eye darted round and round.\n<\/p>\n \nHold on, Bernila said. Stay still.\n<\/p>\n \nIt took Bernila nearly fifteen minutes to heave the net off the poor thing. By that time, her oxygen tank was running low, begging her to resurface. The whale, kicking its flippers and its great tail free, made an excited noise, butting its massive head into Bernila\u2019s ticklish side. She snorted into her snorkel, making a million bubbles billow out around them.\n<\/p>\n \nThen, in the distant ocean, there was a vast and looming blackness making a bawling sort of noise\u2014the weeping of a mother whale, looking for her young. The smaller, rescued whale responded with a squeak, scurrying off into the dark.\n<\/p>\n \nAs Bernila swam up to the surface, the massive creature\u2014so big she could only see its god-like eye when it opened right beside her\u2014bellowed out a ferocious chirp. Her young joined contentedly by her side.\n<\/p>\n \nBernila froze, looking into the mother\u2019s cavernous gaze, its clear whites, its void-like pupil. It opened its mouth, and Bernila thought it was going to suction her up and swallow her whole.\n<\/p>\n \nInstead, it repeated, like a lilting melody, a singular phrase: salamat po, salamat po, salamat po.\n<\/p>\n \n \nShortly after the storm had ended on Wednesday, Bernila and Junie moved to the roof with their blankets and pillows and her twin mattress, and slept under the stars. Junie\u2019s skin was still pruned from wading in the floodwater for hours. She and her mama watched it surpass the stairs, pooling into her second floor room, until it had finally stopped at Junie\u2019s knees.\n<\/p>\n \nWith the entire neighborhood underwater, Junie considered that she and her mama might have been atop the only dry surface left in the entire world.\n<\/p>\n \nHer mama was quiet. Thinking about something. The stars were in her gaze. Junie curled next to her, drawing her knees close to her chest.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMama,\u201d she whispered, \u201cyou can get on the mattress.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThere\u2019s no room,\u201d her mama said. Her body was flopped against the tiles. \u201cIt\u2019s okay, I\u2019m comfortable here.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMama, don\u2019t be silly,\u201d Junie said. \u201cI can scoot over. Just\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou know\u2014\u201d Bernila suddenly turned to her side, facing her. \u201c\u2014there is a fun fact I looked up a few years back. Some whales look after each other\u2019s young. Isn\u2019t that incredible? When adult whales dive for food, their calves cannot follow\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMama.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201c\u2014so other whales babysit the mother\u2019s young while she goes to eat. They even have babysitting circles. Incredible things.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJunie puffed out her cheeks. \u201cMama, all the whales are dead.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBernila laughed, a hollow and strained sound, rolling flat on her back. \u201cNonsense. Don\u2019t you remember my story?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes, but it\u2019s just <\/em>a story.\u201d Junie once again patted the mattress, this time hitting it hard so that her palm stung. \u201cPlus, I learned it in science class. All the whales are gone. They have <\/em>been gone. So can you stop?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHer mama laughed again. It made Junie\u2019s eye twitch. But instead of bickering about it, Junie took her mama\u2019s hand, yanking her forward until she complied. They laid in the same mattress, both of their rumps sticking out over the edges, staring at each other in contemplative silence.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cTita said there\u2019ll be a great flood next,\u201d Junie said. \u201cAfter the storm.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes,\u201d her mama said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAnd . . . we\u2019re just waiting for it?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHer mama nodded slowly. \u201cYes.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJunie sighed, deep and long. \u201cMaybe we can still find a submarine somewhere.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHmm.\u201d Her mama put a finger to her chin. \u201cMaybe. If one washes up just in time.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWill you tell me if it does?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOkay, Junie,\u201d she said.\n<\/p>\n \nJunie glanced at the stars. \u201cIt\u2019s getting late, mama. We should sleep.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHer mama said, \u201cIn a moment. Let me look at you for a while.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nAnd she reached forward with her palm, placing it on Junie\u2019s thigh.\n<\/p>\n \nPat-pat-pat.\n<\/p>\n \nJunie closed her eyes.\n<\/p>\n \nPat-pat\u2014\n<\/p>\n \nAnd waited to die.\n<\/p>\n \n \nOne fact to know about Junie is that for the vast majority of her early childhood, Junie had made it a habit to sleep past the loudest sounds and the most calamitous disasters.\n<\/p>\n \nFor that reason, Junie had no recollection of that one summer dawn, just before the definite end of the world, when an animal\u2019s song rang out across their neighborhood, and a great balyena approached the Fajardos\u2019 house on the cul-de-sac of Milkweed Street.\n<\/p>\n \nBernila was already wide awake. She detangled herself from Junie\u2019s side, looking into the muddy water. In their drowned neighborhood, among the debris of power lines and cars and naked trees, was a black eye. It opened underwater, regarding Bernila like an old friend, and then its gray, barnacled head broke the surface, pushing crabs and saltwater and old junk out of the way.\n<\/p>\n \nBernila whispered, \u201cI never thought you\u2019d come. How\u2019s the little one?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe whale bobbed its head. She is long grown now. Thank you.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThere\u2019s nothing to thank.\u201d Bernila slid her arms under Junie\u2019s back, lifting her up and carrying her toward the edge of the roof, toward the whale.\n<\/p>\n \nIt crooned, I can\u2019t fit the both of you.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI know,\u201d Bernila said. \u201cIt\u2019s just her.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nAnd you? the whale sang.\n<\/p>\n \nBernila smiled. She didn\u2019t say anything.\n<\/p>\n \nThe whale opened its mouth wide. Past the rows of orange baleen, the pink and fleshy tongue, the pooling water in its lower jaw, was its belly\u2014dark and warm, empty, with just enough space for a young one.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSpeak to her in Tagalog,\u201d Bernila said. \u201cShe\u2019ll need the practice.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe laid Junie’s small, scrunched body on the whale\u2019s tongue. Junie\u2019s chest rose and fell. She was stuck in a dream, and with the way she was smiling, she was dreaming about something sweet.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSalamat,\u201d Bernila said to the whale. \u201cSalamat po.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nAnd then the whale shut its mouth, enclosing Junie in its warm flesh, retreating into the ocean. It swallowed Junie, without difficulty, whole.\n<\/p>\n \n \nHere was Junie\u2019s last dream:\n<\/p>\n \nAs Junie laid her head upon her damp sheets, her mama pat-pat-patting her, she thought absurdly of her mama\u2019s soft shoulders, her elbows, and her fingertips\u2014slowly sprouting long emerald feathers, curling into birds\u2019 wings. In the dream, Junie, also a transformed bird, flew away with her mama. They hurtled past the layers of atmospheres, past the bright stars, twirling around and around each other as the wind caught their wings. In their newfound flight, they found the budgies. And after their journey to the Expeditioners\u2019 new stars, Junie brought Gizmo and Pip back to Lucas, who was already waiting for her on some distant moon.\n<\/p>\n \n \nAs the flood came, Bernila imagined herself as a young diver. She stretched her strong limbs, taking in steady breaths\u2014letting the air fill her lungs. When she dove, she expected an immediate impact, but it didn\u2019t come. Instead, she began to swim, deeper and deeper, among the bubbles ballooning from her nose, just as she had always known. She swam along the floating tires and sheet metal and wooden slats. She found remnants of mailboxes and couches and roof shingles. They mingled around her like fish. The seabed, the long-submerged sidewalk, was like a forest of vibrant coral.\n<\/p>\n \nShe thought of Junie. How she\u2019d awaken from her dream, safe and warm. Some time in the future, maybe those who escaped in submarines would resurface. They would repopulate the Earth, on whatever land was left after the water receded, and start over. Or, maybe they would evolve into underwater people and create a spanning aquatic city. Or, long before all that, maybe Junie would be found by the Expeditioners, and she would join the colonies in the stars, still speaking her native tongue.\n<\/p>\n \nNevertheless, here and now, Junie in the whale remained on Earth.\n<\/p>\n \nShe, like Those Left Behind, will remember everything from before.\n<\/p>\n Tuesday Pil\u2019s writing features themes of anticolonialism, environmental justice, queer identity, grief, and unapologetic Filipino\/Filipino-American kids that proudly exercise healthy amounts of rebellion. Born in Manila, she now resides in North Carolina. Her work can be found in Archive of the Odd (soon!), Tea Table Magazine, and The Candid Review. When she is not writing, she is reading, eating mangoes, or playing Dungeons & Dragons. Details of her shenanigans and her other published works can be found on her blog: tuesdaywrites.wordpress.com as well as her Instagram and Twitter: @tuesday_writes. She is currently represented by her lovely agent, Andie Smith, for her middle grade fantasy novel. <\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Junie woke up in the whale, still half-dreaming of the birds, approximately twenty minutes after her mama had put her inside of it. By the time the McIntyres won the Expedition Lottery, Jakarta, New Orleans, and Manila had already been swallowed by the Big Blue. It was thus known by everyone on the cul-de-sac of …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":110192,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20220],"tags":[20221],"class_list":["post-142394","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-56-summer-2025","tag-the-colored-lens-56-summer-2025","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/142394","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/110192"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=142394"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/142394\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":142420,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/142394\/revisions\/142420"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=142394"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=142394"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=142394"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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