Prologue #2
Last year, I went to the beach back home in the Netherlands with my best friend and her mom.
When we were in the water, I got pulled into a.
.. It takes me a minute to think of the Spanish word for current.
Weird, because my mom kept shouting it after I almost drowned.
She tends to rattle on in Spanish whenever she gets emotional.
...into a current, I finally finish. It was so strong that I couldn’t get out.
The boy looks concerned. His dark hair is stuck to the sides of his damp face.
All I remember is waking up with an ambulance right there.
I was throwing up and there was so much pain in my chest. He touches my leg with his warm, sandy hand.
His chocolate brown eyes have gone wide with worry and anguish.
He gently squeezes my leg, and I’m surprised to realize how much his gesture calms me down.
I’m so sorry, he whispers.
I nod awkwardly and wipe my hands. Anyway. That’s why I’m too scared to go swimming. The boy lets out an understanding hum.
I get it, he says, flopping down on the sand again. That sucks. Swimming is my favourite thing to do.
It used to be mine, too, I say, remembering how I used to jump into the waves, play catch in the water, or put on swimming goggles to marvel at the fish. I really loved snorkelling. Even saw an octopus once, I tell him proudly, gazing out over the Mediterranean Sea.
The boy’s eyes are about to bug out. That’s so cool! Those guys are super shy, so you don’t get to see them that much.
We sit and watch without speaking as two people race into the water.
Does it make you sad? he asks, gently breaking our silence.
The not-swimming thing, you mean?
Yeah. If you used to really like it...Maybe you’d want to try it again? You wouldn’t have to go super deep.
I hesitate, staring into the clear blue water, but then my chest floods with the same helpless, anxious feeling I had a year ago.
I vividly remember the feeling of sinking to the bottom, opening my eyes, and seeing nothing but the murky green water of the North Sea.
A shiver makes its way through my body and I shake my head.
No. I’m sorry. You go if you want. I can entertain myself right here. I try to act casual while I hyper-straighten the shells on the castle roof.
The boy gives me a tentative look before standing up. He slaps the sand from his knees, then looks from me to the water and back again.
Hold on. He turns and runs toward a huge straw beach umbrella, sand whipping up from the soles of his feet.
I see him riffle through a backpack, then run back toward me.
There’s a shine on his dark hair from the sunlight and his shark tooth necklace glows bright white against his skin.
I’ve recently started to notice how fun it is to check out boys and I can’t deny: this one is pretty cute.
He has curled his hand into a fist that he opens again once he’s crouched down in front of me. He’s holding a tiny pebble. It’s not a basic beige pebble colour—instead, it has multiple shades of light blue and a swirl of white. I look from the stone to the boy and back again.
What’s that? I ask curiously. It’s super pretty.
He sits down, facing me. His knees are almost touching mine and he gives me a serious look. I found it on the beach today. He cocks his head a little, his dark eyes seeming a little lighter now that they’re catching the sunlight. It’s the Stone of Atlantis.
I give him a look of surprise. Atlantis?
The boy nods and gestures toward the rushing waves. Atlantis.
Ok, this is insulting. I’m eleven years old.
Does he really think I’ll fall for this dorky story?
The big Sinterklaas-isn’t-real reveal is still fresh in my mind.
A classmate’s dad attacked the man dressed up as Sinterklaas—Dutch children’s equivalent to Santa Claus—while the kid’s mom tried desperately to break up the fight.
It all ended with a fake white beard landing in the massive pot of hot chocolate that the lunch lady was pouring into cups.
You don’t think I’m buying that, right? I huff. I’ve seen the Disney movie Atlantis, but that’s all it is: a movie.
The boy chuckles. Obviously it’s a myth, he admits.
But I still wonder...Maybe there’s some kind of truth to it.
I mean, it has to be based on something, right?
He lets his eyes glide over our castle. It would be so awesome to go on an expedition to look for it.
Even just going diving would be unbelievable. ..
His thoughtful gaze turns dreamy, as if, just for a few moments, he has slipped into a whole different world from the one we’re in. Something startles him from his thoughts and he turns to me.
Anyway. This pebble is the Stone of Atlantis.
The name fits. It definitely looks like the sea if you look at it long enough.
He shrugs. My mom says it has special powers.
That it can protect you from your greatest fears.
He shuffles his feet, seeming a bit nervous, before reaching for my hand and placing the pebble on my palm.
It’s yours. He wraps my fingers around the cool stone and I look at him, stunned.
His warm, gritty fingers scuff across my skin and I feel a little tingle in my belly at his touch. I swallow and stare at my hand, dazed.
You...you’re giving it to me? I ask, incredulous. His lips shift into a tiny smile as he nods. Why?
He shrugs. Because I think you need it more than I do.
Maybe it’ll help you find the courage to get back into the water.
His gaze drops to the ground as a deep blush spreads across his face.
And it matches your eyes. I start to feel flushed, too, and avert my eyes.
This boy is obviously the polar opposite of his older brother.
I open my hand and study the stone. It’s gorgeous and I suddenly feel a million times braver than I did ten seconds ago. I squeeze the Stone of Atlantis in my hand and stand up.
Okay, I finally say. I’m ready to give it a try.