3. Annie #2
Ellie pushed her own mask onto her forehead.
“You okay?”
“The ocean attacked me.”
“The ocean has been here for a while. It’s unlikely to change its personality for you.”
“I find that disappointing.”
“Try again?”
“No.”
She waited.
I stared at her.
She continued waiting.
“You’re very patient,” I said.
“I get paid either way.”
“That makes it less touching.”
“Try again.”
The second attempt was better.
The third time, I cleared the mask without making a noise that would frighten local wildlife.
Ellie gave me the okay sign.
I gave it back.
She narrowed her eyes.
“What now?”
“The crab’s lawyer has requested a meeting.”
I laughed.
It was a mistake.
Water splashed into my mouth, and I coughed.
Ellie caught my elbow.
“Maybe save the jokes until you have the regulator in.”
“You started it.”
“I’m an instructor. I’m allowed.”
“Convenient.”
Once we moved into deeper water, I expected panic.
I expected my body to reject the entire idea of trusting plastic tubes, compressed air, and a woman I had known for less than twenty-four hours with my continued existence.
Instead, after the first awkward descent, the world changed.
Not dramatically.
It softened.
The noise of the beach vanished.
Sunlight broke into shifting pieces around us. Sand rippled below. A silver fish passed close to my shoulder, entirely uninterested in my face, my name, my album sales, or whether the internet considered my last award-show dress a triumph or a cry for help.
Ellie hovered in front of me.
She gave the okay signal.
I returned it properly.
Her eyes crinkled behind her mask.
It was ridiculous how much that pleased me.
We moved slowly along the shallow reef.
Ellie stayed close enough to reach me if something went wrong but far enough away that I could pretend I was doing this alone.
She pointed out a blue tang, a sea urchin, and a tiny shrimp hiding inside the coral.
The fish did not recognize me.
The shrimp did not ask for a photograph.
The sea urchin had no opinion about my dating history.
Underwater, nobody could shout Savannah.
Nobody could ask about my next album.
Nobody could decide whether I looked tired.
I was simply Annie, with bad buoyancy and an increasingly hostile relationship with mask clearing.
At one point, Ellie pointed at a conch shell half-buried in the sand and pressed one hand dramatically to her chest.
I laughed into the regulator.
Bubbles burst out of me in a wild, undignified rush.
Ellie’s shoulders shook.
She was laughing too.
The moment should not have felt romantic.
We were wearing masks, fins, and enough equipment to qualify as awkward furniture. My hair was probably floating around my head like haunted seaweed.
But Ellie looked so delighted by my complete lack of underwater grace that something inside me loosened.
When we surfaced forty minutes later, I pushed my mask up and took in real air.
“Well?” Ellie asked, treading water beside me. “Did you become soup?”
“Not yet.”
“Excellent. That’s the goal for most first lessons.”
“I saw a fish judge me.”
“Fish are like that.”
“It was blue.”
“Blue tang. Very opinionated.”
“I could tell.”
Ellie smiled, sunlight catching the drops of water on her eyelashes.
“You did good.”
The praise landed with stupid force.
I had accepted awards on live television and felt less pleased with myself.
“Good for a beginner?”
“Good for someone who accused the Atlantic Ocean of assault.”
“That seems fair.”
“You listened. You didn’t fight the equipment too much. You kept breathing, which is always popular with management.”
“I aim to entertain.”
“Do you?”
The question was casual.
Teasing.
But it slipped beneath my guard anyway.
Yes, I thought.
Professionally. Constantly. Even when I didn’t want to.
Ellie’s smile faded slightly.
“Hey. You okay?”
I looked at her.
At this woman who did not know my face but had noticed the shift in it anyway.
“I am,” I said. “I think I forgot how quiet things could be.”
She did not answer immediately.
The silence between us floated easily on the waves.
“That’s why I like it,” she said at last. “Down there, the world has to shut up for a while.”
I nodded.
If I tried to say anything else, I might tell her too much.
Back at the shop, we rinsed the equipment while Captain Pancake supervised from a patch of shade.
Ellie showed me how to soak the mask and hang the wetsuit without turning either into a biological experiment. I followed her instructions badly enough that she took over twice and pretended she had not.
“You’re bossy,” I said.
“I’m an instructor.”
“That’s convenient branding.”
“You signed the form.”
“I didn’t read all the small print.”
“Nobody does. That’s how we get you.”
Hank appeared in the doorway holding two towels.
He tossed one toward me.
I nearly missed it.
He looked at Ellie.
“Natural athlete.”
“I’m still assessing her.”
“I’m right here,” I said.
“I know,” Hank replied.
Then he went back inside.
Ellie grinned.
“He likes you.”
“How can you tell?”
“He gave you the clean towel.”
I looked down at it.
“What happens to the others?”
“We don’t discuss the others.”
Once we had changed, Ellie led me two blocks down the road to a turquoise taco truck parked beneath a leaning palm.
A handwritten sign read:
brEAKFAST TACOS UNTIL WE GET TIRED OF MAKING THEM.
Ellie ordered for both of us with the confidence of a woman who had strong opinions about tortillas.
“Two egg and chorizo, one potato, extra salsa,” she told the man inside.
“You didn’t ask what I wanted.”
“You’re a beginner. I’m responsible for your safety.”
“Does this extend to breakfast?”
“Especially breakfast.”
We stood beneath the shade while we waited.
Across the street, a woman raised her phone.
My body reacted instantly.
Shoulders tight.
Chin lowered.
Face turned away.
Then I saw she was photographing the ocean behind us.
Not me.
The ocean.
Ellie watched me.
“You do that a lot.”
“Do what?”
“Check where phones are pointing.”
My pulse gave one hard beat.
“I don’t like appearing in strangers’ vacation pictures.”
“That’s fair. I once ended up in the background of a bachelor-party photo wearing one fin and holding a dead phone charger.”
“What happened to the other fin?”
“We don’t talk about that.”
The tacos arrived wrapped in foil.
Ellie handed me one and leaned against the truck.
“To not becoming soup.”