She’s going to need to think about her answer. Good.
Clutching my hand, she clears her throat. I stare at our clasped hands.
“So, have you heard about how birds, butterflies, and fish—like salmon—all leave their homes in big groups and move over long distances each year to find food and shelter or to have their babies?”
“I think so.”
“Well… those are called animal migrations, and they’re super important in the cycle of life. Did you know the biggest mass migration in the whole wide world happens every single day in the ocean?”
Most people I’ve met talk with their hands when they’re explaining something they’re enthusiastic about, as if to occupy them while they search for the right words. Not her. Her body is still.
But her face is the most expressive I’ve ever seen. Alive. As though there is no gatekeeping of her thoughts and emotions. A verse from my favorite poem comes to mind:“A mind at peace with all below…”
“No. Tell me more.”
“At night, when it’s dark, billions of little sea creatures all swim up to the surface of the ocean so they can eat. Then, when the daylight comes, they swim back to the deep to hide from the bigger creatures that want to eat them.”
She’s a good teacher. I’m mesmerized by the cadence of her voice and how the words glide out of her lips, their color a hue I’ve only seen in my mother’s garden.
“That’s cool.”
“It sure is. And it’s important for the health of the entire ocean—to speed up circulation and keep everyone fed. Every creature, large and small, plays a big part in our world.”
“How do they know how to do that?”
“They don’t. Their bodies are made to do it.” She pauses for effect. “Nothing’s random. Everything has a purpose.”
Her naivety both touches me and surprises me. It’s a beautiful thought, but does she believe it? Do I?
“Are you a philosophy major too?”
Her face falls, and her lips tremble.
Shit, Nathan. I squeeze her hand, surprised to see I’m still holding it.
“Hey,” I say softly, “let me put you out of your misery. A+. You’ve got yourself a mentor.”
She shakes my hand as if she’s going to yank it off. “Thank you, Nathan… thank you so much.” When she pulls away, I hold on a little tighter. I want to talk to her some more.
A shrill whistle cuts through the noise of the crowd. In an instant, she’s running off. What the? I didn’t get her name. Several lifeguards are rushing to the waves. A beachgoer must have gotten themselves into some trouble. The woman Mark had been hitting on is standing in front of the crowd, screaming. Oh no. Mark.
They’ve already got him pulled out by the time I get there. He’s sprawled, arms spread wide, until they roll him onto his side. The blonde girl is crouched, leaning over him, gently touching the sides of his face.
“You’re safe now, Mark. My name’s Crystal, and I’m here to help.”
“Thank you.” He grasps her hand and pulls it toward him. That’s when it occurs to me. I just volunteered a shitload of time—time I don’t have—to mentor a freshman.
Oh well. Time is relative.
And I think I’m gonna be learning as much from her as she will be from me.
SEVEN YEARS LATER
THE MAVERICK KEY REGISTER
Dr. Nathan Carter, 28, Renowned Marine Archaeologist, Presumed Dead After Cave Diving Incident
Dr. Carter was reported missing thirty miles off the coast of Maverick Key while conducting a solo cave dive in the sinkhole—a blue hole—he discovered seven months ago. Carter was accompanied on the dive by his boat captain and friend, Mark Glassier, who alerted authorities after Carter failed to surface within his designated safety window.
