“The dress was alarming.”
Her laugh blew away in the wind.
Hank increased the speed, and Annie’s shoulder bumped mine.
Neither of us moved.
The reef sat twenty minutes offshore, marked by a white buoy and a patch of water that shifted from deep blue to clear turquoise.
I gave Annie the abbreviated safety briefing. She remembered the signals, the descent procedure, and theimportance of breathing without needing the full beginner lecture again.
She was nervous.
She admitted it this time.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” I told her as I adjusted the strap at her shoulder.
Her expression changed for half a second.
“I know.”
There was enough history inside those two words to make me curious.
I left it alone.
We entered the water.
Annie was better immediately.
Still cautious. Still a little too stiff. But she trusted the equipment now, and maybe me too.
The reef opened beneath us.
Coral fans moved in the current. Silver fish flashed through the light. A spotted ray rested in the sand as though waiting for someone to bring it a drink.
Annie stared at everything.
That was always my favorite part of teaching: the exact moment fear gave way to wonder.
Her whole body changed.
The tension left her shoulders.
She stopped checking every few seconds and started looking around.
When a large turtle glided over the coral, Annie pressed one hand to her chest.
I pulled out the small slate attached to my vest and wrote:
MAYOR IN SESSION.
She took it from me.
Her underwater handwriting was almost impossible to read, but after several seconds I made out:
STRONG LEADERSHIP. QUESTIONABLE TRANSPARENCY.
I laughed hard enough to release a storm of bubbles.
