Chapter 4: The Anglerfish

In the center of the beach, there's a nest, dug a foot or two into the ground and facing away from the tide, a square of caution tape surrounding it. A little over two months ago, a Leatherback mother laid her eggs there and swam off, hoping for the best. Since then, her children have been living under the sand, growing and learning until they are ready to join her in the ocean.

Similarly, once my mothers lost me for half an hour because I buried myself in the sand. I thought it was warm and funny, but they were less than amused. If I remember correctly, Mama even cried and, though she apologized for getting worked up, Mom gave me a little chat about thinking about others. How I have to keep in mind that my actions can hurt people and she thought she raised me better.

I've come every time she's called since.

But for turtles, it isn't like that. It isn't their mom calling them; it's the sea. I think there's something beautiful about that.

In the low glow of the hatchling-friendly light, I can see the nest wriggling, caving in. Out of it is crawling the first two or three small, soft baby turtles scuttling their fastest towards the water.

If I was a social person, I would've told somebody.

But sharing these turtles isn't exactly high on my priority list.

The entire bonfire melts away and I walk off to perch myself on a rock near the water. The people here, they're tertiary; the turtles have always been the real goal.

Hugging my knees, I start to watch, silently. Every one of my senses is awake, even the cuttlefish ones, and I can feel them. Their desperate need, their instinct, that's drawing them where they belong. All I can do is stare at them, frozen still, as a few tears escape down my cheeks.

If only humanoids felt such pure, instinctive purpose. We might be happier.

The baby turtles are awkward and unsure but that doesn't stop them. It doesn't matter that they're weird and soft and maybe aren't ready. The entire world is theirs now.

For several minutes, it's just me and the turtles. Sure, dozens of bonfire-goers start watching them, blockading crabs and gulls and keeping an eye out for any danger. But in my world, we're alone.

It isn't until two tanned legs sit down on my rock that I even remember that other people are at the beach.

At first, seeing James again is surprising. Did he really have nothing better to do? It made me wonder if he's less sociable than I thought. But that wonder slowly grows into absolute bewilderment, seeing him stretch out next to me like he belongs there. Anthropologically, I'm a different species. He doesn't belong here, he belongs with humans like him. That's how things work. It's why science and study makes sense, and the only reason my chest doesn't ache so much when I think of-

This couldn't make sense. James acts like an anomaly, and I don't know why.

I had to know why.

I blink at James, his skin all sweaty from prolonged fire-side exposure, and ask, "What are you doing?"

"Joining you?"

"Why would you do that?" Nodding over to the people, the turtles, anywhere but here, I clarify, "You could stay with them."

James shrugged and simply says, "I want to stay with you."

I feel so squishy all of a sudden, like his words turn me to mush. I touch several spots on my skin to make sure I'm not full tiger stripes, but I knew I wouldn't be. This feeling didn't come from the outside this time and it's making my head spin.

This isn't what I expected. None of what's been happening is expected. This night was supposed to be a secret gift to myself, to see my bonfire, my turtles just once, and that was it. Back by the fire, he was just a bonus diversion, someone fun and surprising to talk to, to observe. But just for a few moments.

But to expect him to stay?

I open my mouth, but the lifeguard scowls and cuts me off, saying, "Don't be one of those people who start listing some weird flaws like lactose intolerance or a fondness for Koalas, which are certified devil creatures, by the way, to try to scare me off. I know what I want." James laughs at his own words. "I mean, any of those oh-so fatal flaws would be upsetting, but they don't change my mind."

Every organ in my body knots together and twists up and I don't know what to say. I'm not meant to be someone that people want. Or, if they do, it's because they feel like they have to or for all the wrong reasons.

Despite my previous Ted Bundy comparison, James doesn't look like doesn't do anything for the wrong reasons.

Not meeting his eyes, I try to sound nonchalant when I say, "Okay. You can stay."

"Thanks for the permission, I think?"

We watch the turtles in silence for a few moments, only listening to tiny flippers shuffling sand as they skirt across the beach.

It only makes me more confused.

Someone as loud as him wants to sit here, quiet, like me. I don't get it. In a movie, this is normally the moment where the cool one inspires the loser to come out of their shell. They'd dance or talk or sing or... something. They'd never just sit.

But just as the bewilderment is really washing over me, one of the turtles that had gone a little too far to the right catches my eye and starts scuttling my way.

"Hey, Astra, looks like the little guy likes you."

"No, she doesn't." James raises an eyebrow and I say, "Not a little guy. Short tail."

"Fair enough, but I don't think she agrees. She looks like she's heading straight for you. Are you a turtle whisperer?"

"I can't talk to turtles, why would you think that?"

He raises his hands innocently. James says, "It was a joke." Right. Of course, it was a joke. I'm an absolute-

Next to me, James waves his hand at the turtle, shooing them. "Okay, buddy, you're going the wrong way."

The baby turtle just keeps trekking, heading directly for my left foot. Closing my eyes, I try fish telepathy, because it would be one hell of a useful power to suddenly manifest. I would forgive it appearing so late in life, honest, if it could just show up now. Not only could I tell the turtle to go away, but it wouldn't make me ruin everything. James would think I was a freak if I had to deal with the turtle the normal way. And if I could talk to them with my mind, I'd be a real-life Aquaman. It'd be a win-win.

But when I open my eyes, the turtle is only a few inches from my foot.

Shit. This is about to be the fish aisle in Sydney all over again, I sigh, internally. No choice, then.

Standing, I bend over to offer an open palm to the small turtle. James warns, "Hey, Astra, you're not supposed to-"

The baby crawls into my palm with no hesitation.

I half-admire his concern, one of the cardinal rules of nest-hatching is to not pick up a turtle because they might mentally attach to you and not go back to the ocean. But I learned a long time ago that whatever I am doesn't interfere with sea creatures; instead, they treat me like a natural part of their habitat or a curiosity.

Sad, that I can only trick fish into thinking I belong.

So close to the cute, blinking baby, I really start to hope that their attraction to me isn't some sort of pheromonal prey-catching ability. That would be a sinister, somewhat gross twist.

Throwing a glance back at the lifeguard, I say, "I know, but please just trust me. I know what I'm doing."

I half expect him to argue with me, or ask questions, or, if he's actually an asshole, knock the turtle out of my hands. I'd seen it all. In movies, mostly, but there's some muscle memory from Sydney days.

Instead, he just nods. "Sure," he says, even though he definitely does not look sure about it.

My lungs stop constricting and I exhale. Okay, I can just do what I need to do, then. I carry the turtle in my palm to the shore and walk in a few feet before coaxing her into the water and shooing her away. I've always found sea creatures ignore me better once they have the whole ocean in their fins.

And just like that, the baby swims off.

I ignore the pull I feel from the calm, soothing water. I almost want to submerge myself, float away, and see where the sea takes me. I'd never have to hide behind a locked door ever again.

But I know that doesn't solve anything, not really, and turn back towards the shore.

When I come back to the rock, James doesn't ask questions then, either. It's refreshing, even if he probably should ask.

I start to wonder why he's like this, shoeless and sleeves pushed up, wanting to stick by a strange person who isn't particularly engaging or receptive. Unfortunately, I don't think just looking at him will get me any answers. Human behaviors are a little more complicated than animal science. Animals have purpose and instincts and whatever feelings they have are just... added flavor. Humans make choices for the most confusing, emotional reasons. I can't fathom what purpose I'd serve him.

What I do know, though, is that without the rest of the bonfire crew, and it was just me and him, I could finally think straight. And the least I can do is say what I'm thinking: "The hatchlings chose a good night. It's stunning."

Under his breath, I hear him say, "Not the only thing."

When we lock eyes, his get wide and the lifeguard almost immediately starts coughing. His neck gets all red and once again his hand starts pulling at those loose strands of his shorts. Was that how he "tapped"? Like I did?

I found that more distracting than being "stunning". Though that was in the back of my mind, too.

James squints and admits, his voice strained, "I can't believe I said that out loud. Okay, I'll just go walk into the ocean now."

"I'm really not worth all that trouble," I say, laughter bubbling out of me.

The lifeguard gives me this concerned, assessing look, like he's trying to find something on my face. He looks so serious all of a sudden that I have to look away. And even though I'm scared to know what "stunning" meant or ask about the way he looked at me... I can't deny that this feels like the best dream I'd ever had on this beach.

Looking out to the tumbling waters, I say, "I always dreamed of watching this with someone. I was happy to settle with just watching, but-" Cutting myself off, I pull my knees in tighter to my chest.

James says, "The best dreams are ones that come true. That's what my Mom says, at least. Or said, I guess-" Scratching his neck, James was quick to change the topic. "I know you like being a woman of mystery, but I wouldn't mind hearing more about yours. Your dreams, I mean."

"You barely know me."

"I know enough to want to know more."

I sit there, stunned, but I can't just wait for his lips to twitch and say "gotcha". It's all too...

At his prolonged silence, I laugh, incredulous, and say, "That is the cheesiest thing I've ever heard in my life." When I realize he's serious, his face devoid of any hints of laughter or an angled, mocking eyebrow, I take a deep breath and counter, "You first. What is your dream?"

"Please don't make me answer that. You'll think it's stupid."

"You said you'd trust me."

"That wasn't about- Fine." He takes a deep breath. "I can't believe I'm telling a stranger this but... I want to be a teacher. An English teacher. High school. My mother wasn't a teacher herself, but she loved books. She said that when I couldn't find words, to find stories. She encouraged me to be more than I thought I could be. I want to pass that on. Be a teacher like that. Rich to hear from a volunteer lifeguard I guess, but-"

This time, I cut him and his wandering thoughts off. "Anyone would be lucky to have a teacher like that."

"Thanks." His smile is so bright that I'm practically knocked out by it. Before I avert my eyes or try to change the subject, though, he asks, "And you?"

I start with a deep breath, the kind where I once planned to brush him off, but it stops short when I see his face. I'd watched enough actors stare into the camera at a great gun or a wondrous artifact to know one thing: he is fascinated. Just like I am. Maybe he's saying things he normally wouldn't, just like I am.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I launch into something only professors ask for in essays, "One day I want to go to a large conference and talk about the intersection between human anthropology and marine biology. There is a lot more overlap than you'd expect. While mammals have a more direct comparison with apes, there is a general understanding that all species are connected in the evolutionary chain, and I want to illuminate how humanity and sea-life connect. Take, for example, the little skate-."

The second I catch his glassy eyes, I stop dead. I don't think he understood a single word I said. I blush and shut up. "Sorry, I know that's a lot-"

He shakes his head and says, "I may have no clue what that means, but I'll watch the Ted Talk when you make one."

"You say that like it's going to happen."

"Why wouldn't it? You sound brilliant. I'd be pretty happy letting you stand up on a big stage and tell everyone new ways to understand the world."

I wrinkle my nose. Me? Understand the world? I've barely even lived in it.

But when I look at him, so relaxed and open, from his posture to his smile, I realize that maybe, just maybe, he means every word he's saying.

He thinks I'm brilliant.

For the first time in my life, I feel like I'm in a movie. I'm a person, on a moonlit beach, next to this dazzling human who makes me feel things I've never felt before. And I know where this movie goes, and I know that I've always wanted it, but I-

Well, not even in my wildest dreams did I think it could be mine.

While my brain is in absolute panic mode, instinct and impulse take control and I lean in closer, just enough to make him turn and look at me. Then, I press my lips to his.

The second I brush up against his warm skin, it feels like I've been frozen my entire life. I desperately want to be as close as I can get. His lips are soft and salty. James' fingers slide into my hair and my skin sizzles everywhere he touches. I finally understand, after all these years of end-screen kisses. When people go on and on about attraction and romance, this is it.

When we pull apart, James says, his eyes still half-closed, "Thanks. I don't know what I did to earn that, but I won't complain." That sun smile of his just keeps getting wider and goofier, the edges of his lips more wobbly and shaky, like they're holding back tidal waves of emotion.

Did I do that? To him?

After James thinks for a moment, he looks at me, perplexed. "Why haven't I seen you around before? Other than the beach."

I disentangle from him and look at my toes. "Probably just passed me by and forgot."

James turns my face towards him, shaking his head. "I'd like to think I wouldn't forget about you." He stares for a moment, like he's making sure I'm not going anywhere.

Little does he know that I can't find it in me to look away.

Slow and hesitant, James catches my mouth again. It feels like I'm basking in him. His pinky finger intertwines with mine, and while I know the beach is just a dream for me, I never knew a dream could feel like-

Suddenly, he pulls away and rubs his finger again on mine, but this time with raised eyebrows. "Wow, your hands are really soft. And... shiny? When you went in the water, did something get stuck-"

No. No no no no no.

I recoil and cover my left hand with my right, holding it tight to my chest. I refuse to look at it, but I already know it's covered in sloppy shimmers.

I've been paying so much attention to the kiss and my heart beating out of my chest and-

And this sunny anglerfish of a person has drawn me in too deep. Deeper than I ever should have allowed. How could I have been so reckless?

Swallowing my stupid heart, I stand up and jerkily brush off my shortalls. "I should go."

James tries to grab my hand again, but I pull back. That brightness in his eyes starts fading, turning his eyes a much duller caramel. "Don't go. I'm sorry if I said something wrong."

"No. You didn't- I just stayed much longer than I should." I start backing away, towards the bike rack and my escape route. Before I can be a smarter, more sensible, less useless cuttlefish, I blurt, "Bye!"

The lifeguard gives me a wave, even if all that wonderful brightness to his face keeps fading. "Hope to see you around, Astra."

"Sure. I'll see you," I promise, as if it's something I can actually promise him.

The rest of the way home is a blur, a hazy fog of memorized turns and corners, a tucked bike behind a tree, shoes shoved in a wicker basket, breath stuck in my throat.

I only exhale when the laundry door is shut and my skin looks like moonlight again. The sooner I become Kai, the faster I can erase James' phantom touch from my skin. I could've sworn I could still feel it, all the way home.

But just as I walk out into the kitchen, I see something worse than the anxiety and uncertainty nipping at my heels. Frowning, her black hair tied up in a messy bun and her lips pinched into a thin line, my Mom asks, "Where have you been?"