Daughter of the Deep(3)

HOUSE ORCA


Franklin Couch, prefect Ester Harding Linzi Huang Rhys Morrow Brigid Salter





Here’s the thing about life-shattering days.

They start just like any other. You don’t realize your world is about to explode into a million smoking pieces of awfulness until it’s too late.

The last Friday of my freshman year, I wake in my dorm room at five a.m. as usual. I get up quietly so as not to disturb my room-mates, change into my bikini and head for the ocean.

I love the campus in the early morning. The white concrete facades of the buildings are turning pink and turquoise in the sunrise. The quad’s grassy lawn is empty except for seagulls and squirrels waging their eternal war for the snack crumbs we students have left behind. The air smells of sea salt, eucalyptus and fresh cinnamon rolls baking in the cafeteria. The cool Southern California breeze raises goosebumps on my arms and legs. It’s times like this I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to go to school at Harding-Pencroft Academy.

Assuming I survive this weekend’s trials, of course. I might wash out in disgrace, or die tangled in a net at the bottom of some underwater obstacle course … But, hey, it’s still better than ending the term doing five jillion multiple-choice problems on some state standardized test.

I follow the gravel footpath that leads to the ocean.

A hundred yards past the naval-warfare building, the cliffs drop into the Pacific. Far below, white surf ribs the steel-blue sea. Waves rumble and reverberate around the curve of the bay like the snores of a giant.

My brother, Dev, is waiting for me at the edge of the cliff. ‘You’re late, Ana Banana.’

He knows I hate it when he calls me that.

‘I will push you off,’ I warn.

‘Well, you could try.’ When Dev grins, he does this lopsided squint, like he can’t equalize the pressure in one ear. The other girls tell me it’s adorable. I’m not convinced. His dark hair is spiky in front, like a sea urchin. He claims it’s his ‘style’. I think it’s just because he sleeps with a pillow over his face.

As usual, he’s wearing his standard black HP wetsuit with the silver Shark logo on the front, indicating his house. Dev thinks I’m crazy to make the dive in a bikini. In most ways, he’s a tough guy. When it comes to cold temperatures, though, he’s kind of a baby.

We do our pre-dive stretches. This spot is one of the few places along the California coast where you can free dive without getting smashed to pieces against the rocks below. The cliffs are sheer, plunging straight into the depths of the bay.

It’s quiet and peaceful this time of morning. Despite Dev’s responsibilities as a house captain, he is never too busy for our morning ritual. I love him for that.

‘What did you bring for Socrates today?’ I ask.

Dev gestures nearby. Two dead squid lie glistening in the grass. As a senior, Dev has access to the aquarium’s feeding supplies. This means he can sneak little treats for our friend under the bay. The squid are about a foot long from tail to tentacles – slimy, silver and brown like oxidized aluminium. Loligo opalescens. California market squid. Lifespan six to nine months.

I can’t turn off the data stream. Our marine biology professor, Dr Farez, has trained us too well. You learn to remember the details because everything, literally everything, will be on her quizzes.

Socrates has another name for Loligo opalescens. He calls them breakfast.

‘Nice.’ I pick up the squid, still cold from the freezer, and hand one to Dev. ‘You ready?’

‘Hey, before we dive …’ His expression turns serious. ‘I have something I want to give you …’

I don’t know if he’s telling the truth or not, but I always fall for his distractions. As soon as he has my attention, he turns and jumps off the cliff.

I curse. ‘Oh, you little –’

Whoever jumps in first has a better chance of finding Socrates first.

I take a deep breath and leap after him.

Cliff-diving is the ultimate rush. I free-fall ten stories, wind and adrenalin screaming in my ears, then punch through the icy water.

I relish the shock to my system: the sudden cold, the sting of the brine on my cuts and scrapes. (If you don’t have cuts and scrapes as a student at HP, you haven’t been doing your combat exercises right.)

I plunge straight through a school of copper rockfish – dozens of frilly orange-and-white bruisers who look like punk-rock koi. But their tough looks are just for show, since they scatter with a massive burst of YIKES! Ten metres below me, I spot the shimmering whirlwind of Dev’s bubble trail. I follow it down.

My static apnoea record is five minutes. Obviously, I can’t hold my breath that long when I’m exerting myself, but still, this is my environment. On the surface, Dev has the advantage of strength and speed. Underwater, I’ve got the endurance and agility. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

My brother floats above the sandy seabed, his legs crossed like he’s been meditating there for hours. He’s keeping the squid behind his back, because Socrates has arrived and is nuzzling Dev’s chest as if to say, C’mon, I know what you’ve got for me.

Socrates is a gorgeous animal. And I don’t say that just because my house is Dolphin. He’s a young male bottlenose, nine feet long, with bluish-grey skin and a prominent dark streak across his dorsal fin. I know he isn’t actually smiling. His long-beaked mouth is just shaped that way. Still, I find it unbelievably cute.