"Coral's crystal blue eyes stayed glued to the clock above her teacher, every tick made her forehead ache. They were doing a pop quiz about Arithmetic. Frankly, Coral was drowning.
She fiddled with her sleeve, her right thumb lifted to her mouth. "Get me out of here," she mumbled, gnawing on her thumbnail, a bitter habit that surfaced when she felt the wall of anxiety or panic closing in.
Her skin beneath her stocking prickled with that familiar, maddening itch.
Her boot bumped against the fiberglass of her surface board, leaning against the desk leg like a silent promise of freedom. The thumping provided her relief and calm while for her classmates, it was a constant storm of annoyance, interrupting their thoughts.
However, her lips curved into an annoyed frown as she stared at the clock.
Every second here is a second that should've been wasted on the waves.
Then it happened.
The bell shrieked through the room, a signal that her suffering was over. Coral was the first to spring to her feet, the scraping of her chair echoing in the room, showing her urgency.
With her book bag and surfboard in tow, she bolted to Mr. Carla's desk.
She slapped her quiz haphazardly on the stack of other papers.
He blinked, then stood up.
He couldn't believe she was finished so soon.
"Ms. Ocean! Where do you think you're going?" Mr. Carla called, his voice sharp.
Coral turned, a wide, joyous smile lightning up her face. "I know, I know," she grinned, her eyes already fixed on the door. "The bell doesn't dismiss us, but it does for me!"
Throwing the door wide open, she burst into the hallway and sprinted towards the exit, laughing.
Mr. Carla popped his head out, his brows furrowed in a mixture of annoyance and begrudging familiarity.
"Get back here, Coral!" He demanded, but his voice got drowned in the sea of students now flooding the corridor. "Did you even check your answers?"
Coral skipped down the steps, the warm sun kissing her fair face. She planted her feet firmly on the ground, straightening as she inhaled deeply.
The tightness in her chest melted away, the moment the sea breeze, carrying the promise of crashing waves and open water, kissed her face and filled her lungs. Her lips curled into a genuine, warm smile.
She was so ready for today's surfing competition. The ocean was calling and she was answering.
"Thank you for visiting She-Shells!" Mrs. Ocean waved at the departing customer, her green eyes sparkling with a gentle shine. The bell dinged as the door slammed shut.
Mr. Ocean wiped his forehead with a royal pink rag, embroidered with strange, intricate golden symbols that seemed out of place against the sunny vibe of the store.
"I'd thought they'd never leave," he scoffed, stuffing the slightly damp rag into his shorts. "Honestly, some people just pick out the best swimsuit or a boat in a bottle, not browse for hours and hours for a basic postcard."
Mrs. Ocean shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "How have we lasted so long with that attitude?" She teased, adjusting a bottle of seashells on the counter.
Mr. Ocean huffed, a smug smirk playing on his lips. "Longer than you think," he winked at her, earning a joyous laugh that echoed through the shop, mingling with the scent of sunscreen and salt. A small fan on the counter droned softly.
Mrs. Ocean, petite with short brunette hair framing her kind face, wore a blue puff sleeve dress adorned with delicate lavender flowers. Her curious green eyes were hypnotic and gave a depth of untold stories.
Mr. Ocean, in contrast, had his blonde hair cropped in a military buzz cut. He sported a comfortable black T-shirt, his usual blue shorts, and well worn brown sandals.
The cheerful atmosphere shifted slightly as the bell above jingled again, announcing Coral's arrival, clicking louder this time.
"Hi!" She called out, waving as she shuffled to the wall, being careful to not knock over the shelves adorned with shells, shirts and bikinis.
"Coral! We were just saying you'd be back soon," she grinned, her gaze following Coral as she dashed towards the stairs. "Excited for the competition, sweetie?"
Mr. Ocean frowned at the surfboard, which now leans precariously near a display of glass sea creatures. One of them being a dolphin he just pried from the hands of a drooling toddler.
"Honestly, Coral! You couldn't place it somewhere else? One of these days, it's going to knock over the jellyfish!" He grumbled, though a hint of affection softened his tone, his wife's laughter ringing out warmly.
Coral skipped down the steps, her pink one piece swimsuit, comfortable and sleek, hugged her body. Her ginger hair was tied in a ponytail. Her feet were adorned with equally pink sandals.
Pausing at the base of the stairs, a wide smile already forming, she grabbed her surfboard. "Gotta go!"
Then, a sudden thought struck her. She skidded to a stop, the nose of her surfboard missing the glass figure shelf by inches, and spun on her heel, her grin falling.
"You are coming right?" She asked shyly, her gaze dropping to her wiggling toes.
Mr. Ocean exchanged a look with his wife, who stepped out from behind the counter. "Of course, we're going. We're your parents after all," she said warmly, her eyes full of affection.
Mr. Ocean simply gave a thumbs up, a smile curving on his face. His mind flashed to when she was a chubby baby, splashing about near the water's edge, laughing happily. "She's pursuing her passion and I couldn't be more proud," he thought, familiar warmth spreading through him.
Coral's bright smile returned, relief washing over her. She nodded, quickly, her earlier shyness forgotten.
Hauling her surfboard behind her, she pushed the door open, the bell above the door dinging softly as it swung shut.
The air at Pearl Beach was vibrant with heavy electronic music, the sound thumping through the sand. The waves crashed against the sandy shore in a rhythmic roar, the seafoam evoking a delighted squeal from a chubby toddler waddling back to her mother.
The beach was alive with people—families with children playing or building sandcastles, participants stretching or adjusting their gear, and spectators buzzing with anticipation.
Surfboards of all shapes and sizes scattered across the sand like colorful fallen leaves, glistening in the warm sun, some being wiped by their surfers.
The sea breeze was strong today, whipping strains of hair across faces, umbrella canopies to lean, and causing lightweight clothes to billow. Many people squinted against its force, but to Coral, it was invigorating.
It filled her soul with a familiar feeling she couldn't describe but just knew.
It was home.
"Welcome, everyone, to the annual Surfs Up! Competition!" Dorian Blue, a tall, tanned man with perpetual windswept blonde hair, grinned into the mic.
"I'm Dorian Blue—"
"And I'm Shelly Waves!" Chimed in the woman beside him, her voice bubbly as her neon sundress. "Isn't it just a glorious day for some waves?"
"I couldn't agree more, Shelly," Dorian answered, adjusting his sunglasses "And look at the turnout! We've got a rather huge crowd today, folks!"
"Yes, Dorian," Shelly chuckled a bit, her gaze sweeping over the packed beach. "Talk about a whole school of fish coming to watch!"
The two adults shared a hearty laugh, their booth gently rocking. Under the shade of the booth, Mr. Ocean groaned, his eyes shielded by his blue cap.
"Honestly, how do they live with themselves," Mr. Ocean grumbled to his wife, who stood beside him, her green eyes sparkling in amusement.
Mrs. Ocean nudged his elbow, a wide smile on her face. "Lighten up, baby. All that frowning is going to give you wrinkles."
Mr. Ocean glanced to see two women nearby turning away giggling to themselves. "How fortunate that some people find my brooding attractive despite my frowns," he muttered, his frowning deepening as his wife leaned up and kissed his cheek.
"Well, I still find it very attractive," she teased, batting her eyelids at him. "Unbelievable," he shook his head, a hint of a smile touching his lips, earning a soft giggle from his wife
"Now, today's the semi-finals, isn't it, Shelly?" Dorian turns to his co-announcer.
"That's right, Dorian," Shelly's gaze drifted towards the shimmering expanse of sea. "And with these wives rolling in, it's prime time for some…Hang ten and shred some gnarly barrels!"
Down at the shore, close to the water's edge, Coral Ocean clutched the rails of her surfboard, her knuckles white. She closed her eyes, letting the slow, steady breaths be a soothing balm.
Never panic under any circumstance, her father's voice echoed in her head amid the swirling anticipation.
She popped one eye open, spotting a girl with sleek, black hair pulled into a tight ponytail.
Her purple one-piece swimsuit shimmered under the sun, almost aggressively sparkly.
Her surfboard, a vibrant blue canvas of painted dolphins leaping through a stylized sea, seemed to scream for attention.
Doris's gaze flickered to Coral, a slow, deliberate sweep that lingered too long. Coral felt a wave of pure competitiveness, sharp and smug, radiating from the girl like heat from the asphalt. Doris's lips curled into a subtle, self-satisfied smirk.
Doris Triche.
The stone fish lodged in her foot.
Just like a stonefish, she was beautiful but her personality was venomous and painful.
It was no secret that Doris had made her mission to wipe the floor with Coral in this competition.
She was a technically proficient surfer, smooth and practiced, but the other fishes present, not good enough to consistently win…without other methods.
Coral doesn't have concrete evidence, just a gut feeling, like what her father felt when he listened to a family friend mysteriously in need of money.
She was either bending the rules or someone was helping her win by sabotaging her opponents.
However, the insistent tugging in her lower abdomen was currently a far more pressing concern than her burning hatred for Doris.
Narrowing her gaze at the black-haired girl one more time, Coral pivoted, and dashed off in the opposite direction of the public bathrooms, her need overriding her rivalry at the moment.
Returning from her well-needed trip, she noticed a tall, tan man, his black hair worn in a mullet standing by her board. He was struggling intently at it, almost admiring it. He seemed no older than eighteen years old.
He wore pink swim trunks and sandals and an open blue tropical shirt.
Coral broke into a run, waving her hands. "Hey!" She shouted, hoping to catch his attention.
She caught it alright.
Spotting her, he ran away like a scared child.
Slowing to a stop, Coral shot a glare at Doris. "Who was that guy and why was he next to my board?" She demanded.
Doris simply shrugged in response. "Maybe, he wanted a closer look," she said, casually, then pointed towards the ocean.
Already, there were surfers riding the blue, crystal waves. People were cheering and whistling, Fangirls waved their boards, cheering their favorite surfer on.
Coral frowned at Doris but stayed near her board, her father's voice choking in her mind.
Never leave your surfboard alone.
A deep, gritty feeling in her gut.
She believed the feeling was guilt. For abandoning her board, even for a moment.
Mr. Ocean scoffed as one of the surfers fell off their boards, sounding like that ever infamous Wilhelm scream.
"Uh, oh. Looks like a wipeout from Mr. Dude!" Dorian Blue declared, grimacing at the sight.
"Some of his fans are leaving the beach," Shelly pointed out, the cameras panning to a muscular couple pushing through the crowd with their pudgy kids. "Not a good look," she said, with a shake of her head.
"Ms. Yuki Mori wins this round and moves on to the finals!" Dorian announced cheerfully, adjusting his sliding shades.
The Japanese woman, clad in a red and yellow bikini, sprinted slowly through the water onto the shore. Waving and blowing kisses
"That man's a joke. Coral could beat him," Mr. Ocean snorted as Mr. Waves waddled onto the shore, slicking his brown hair back.
"He doesn't care about surfing, only about pictures. They only kept him around because he's a pretty face."
"Don't worry honey, " Mrs. Ocean assured her agitated husband. "When Coral gets in the finals, we'll leave."
"And up next…" Shelly chimed into the mic, flipping pages pinned on the clipboard.
"Coral Ocean and Doris Triche!"
Coral let out calm, steady breaths, letting the sea breeze invigorated her being, her soul.
She had this.
She was ready.
Grabbing her board, she sprinted down to the shore—failing to notice the slimy sensation coating the fiberglass.
Putting on her leash, she dove headfirst into the water. With swift, strong strokes, she pierced the water. She paddled out, searching for an appropriate spot.
She waited a while, before spotting the perfect wave. Paddling a bit, she hoped to catch the swirling wave.
"Coral is locked in, Shelly, as the kids would say. Like a hungry shark, she's zoned on her prey!" Dorian commentated.
"I agreed, Dorian," Shelly nodded, quickly. "After a ton of disasters that occurred, she is ready to prove herself!"
Mr. Ocean and Mrs. Ocean cheered in unison, "Go, Coral!"
A white limousine parked near precariously on the cliff edge, ominously looking over the suffering.
A window was wound down.
A pair of binoculars emerged.
From within the shadows, a blonde woman frowned. "She'd better not disappoint," she muttered darkly.
Feeling it coming, she hopped up onto her board, steadying herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Doris already hanging ten. Her sleek ponytail billowing in the wind.
This will not do.
Coral outstretched her arms, welcoming the swirling storm of water.
The wave grew, its crest almost nearly engulfing Coral. With smooth precision, Coral rode out of the narrowing tunnel, emerging triumphantly on the other side.
Mrs. Ocean cheered, clapping ecstatically. Her father, though more reserved, pumped a clenched fist into the air.
"Atta girl!" He whispered.
As Coral sped past Doris, she shot her a smug glance. Doris glowered at her, her eyes burning with rage.
Coral smiled, letting her finger tips skim the crystal surface of the wave.
Doris was many things—but skilled wasn't one of them.
"And Coral's in the lead!" Dorian shouted, a wide smile stretched across his face.
"Poor Doris is left behind her—her dust or in this case, bubbles!" Shelly laughed, shaking her head.
The cameras zoomed in, flashing Coral's triumphant face across the giant beach screens.
Coral gained speed, cutting sharply up the wave. With a powerful push, she launched herself into the air, spinning her board alongside her
She landed cleanly, laughing in exhilaration, as adrenaline courses through her veins.
The crowd exploded, screaming her name. Her parents high fiving each other, their pride shimmering in tear-bright eyes.
"Uh oh! Doris is passing her!" Dorian called, his voice tight with surprise.
Coral looked up.
Doris was cutting across the wave wall, gaining on her — and not just gaining. She blew a raspberry at her as she zipped ahead, a smug grin stretched across her face.
Coral gritted her teeth.
"Oh, I'll show you…"
She dug deep, gaining speed, her body low and streamlined against her board. She cut through the wave wall — her hair brushing the white seafoam by mere inches — and surged ahead.
"And Coral is back in front!" Shelly shrieked, nearly leaping out of her chair. "This is the excitement of the century!"
On the cliff, the blonde woman in the limo ground her teeth in pure, unfiltered anger. Her pearl necklace shimmered in the sun.
Her daughter—Doris—was losing!
Coral readied another flip. With a determined push, she launched herself into the air— but mid-spin she lost her footing. She crashed hard onto the wave, disappearing beneath the rolling water.
A collective gasp swept through the booth and the crowd.
"Oh my God!" Shelly yelped.
"Folks, Coral Ocean had just fallen into the waves—is she okay?" Dorian hurriedly spoke into the mic, his voice thick with concern.
"Coral!" Mrs. Ocean gasped, her brow furrowing with fear.
"Coral!" Mr. Ocean cried, shoving his way through the crowd, his wife trailing after him.
Underwater, Coral thrashed, saltwater flooding her mouth and nose. She struggled to swim — but the relentless current dragged her deeper.
Her finger scraped against a rock; she grabbed hold desperately, squeezing her eyes shut against the stinging water.
But her grip slipped.
She was pulled further in, tossed and shoved by an unseen force.
Finally, the wave mellowed. Coral's head broke the surface before sinking under the surface once more.
She opened her mouth—desperate for air.
But instead, another rush of seawater filled her lungs.
"Stupid!" She berated herself mentally. "That's not air!"
She wasn't choking.
She wasn't drowning.
In fact — she realized with a jolt — she was breathing.
Breathing underwater.
What?