Daughter of the Deep(4)

Dev produces his squid. Socrates snaps it up and swallows it whole. Dev grins at me, a bubble escaping from his lips. His expression says Ha-ha, the dolphin likes me best.

I offer Socrates my squid. He’s only too happy to have seconds. He lets me scratch his head, which is as smooth and taut as a water balloon, then rub his pectoral fins. (Dolphins are suckers for pectoral-fin rubs.)

Then he does something I’m not expecting. He bucks, pushing my hand up with his rostrum in a gesture I’ve come to read as Let’s go! or Hurry! He veers and swims off, the wake from his tail buffeting my face.

I watch until he disappears into the gloom. I wait for him to circle back. He doesn’t.

I don’t understand.

Usually he doesn’t eat and run. He likes to hang out. Dolphins are naturally social. Most days, he’ll follow us to the surface and leap over our heads, or play hide-and-seek, or pepper us with squeaks and clicks that sound like questions. That’s why we call him Socrates. He never gives answers – just asks questions.

But today he seemed agitated … almost worried.

At the edge of my vision, the blue lights of the security grid stretch across the mouth of the bay – a glowing diamond pattern I’ve grown used to over the last two years. As I watch, the lights wink out, then flicker back on. I’ve never seen them do that before.

I glance at Dev. He doesn’t appear to have noticed the change in the grid. He points up. Race you.

He kicks for the surface, leaving me in a cloud of sand.

I want to stay under longer. I’m curious to see if the lights go out again, or if Socrates comes back. But my lungs are burning. Reluctantly, I follow Dev.

After I join him on the surface and catch my breath, I ask if he saw the grid flicker off.

He squints at me. ‘Are you sure you weren’t just blacking out?’

I splash his face. ‘I’m serious. We should tell somebody.’

Dev wipes the water from his eyes. He still looks sceptical.

To be honest, I’ve never understood why we have a state-of-the-art electronic underwater barrier across the mouth of the bay. I know it’s supposed to keep the sea life safe by keeping out everything else, like poachers, recreational divers and pranksters from our rival high school, Land Institute. But it seems like overkill, even for a school that produces the world’s best marine scientists and naval cadets. I don’t know exactly how the grid works. I do know it isn’t supposed to flicker, though.

Dev must see that I’m genuinely worried. ‘Fine,’ he says. ‘I’ll report it.’

‘Also, Socrates was acting weird.’

‘A dolphin acting weird. Okay, I’ll report that, too.’

‘I could do it, but, like you always say, I’m just a lowly freshman. You’re the big, powerful house captain of the Sharks, so –’

He splashes me back. ‘If you’re done being paranoid, I really do have something for you.’ He pulls a glittering chain from the pouch of his dive belt. ‘Happy early birthday, Ana.’

He hands me the necklace: a single black pearl set in gold. It takes me a second to understand what he’s given me. My chest tightens.

‘Mom’s?’ I can barely say the word.

The pearl was the centrepiece of Mom’s mangalsutra, her wedding necklace. It’s also the only thing we have left of her.

Dev smiles, though his eyes get that familiar melancholy drift. ‘I got the pearl reset. You’ll be fifteen next week. She’d want you to wear it.’

This is the sweetest thing he’s ever done for me. I’m going to start weeping. ‘But … why not wait until next week?’

‘You’re leaving for your freshman trials today. I wanted you to have the pearl for luck – just in case, you know, you fail spectacularly or something.’

He really knows how to ruin a moment.

‘Oh, shut up,’ I say.

He laughs. ‘I’m kidding, of course. You’re going to do great. You always do great, Ana. Just be careful, okay?’

I feel myself flush. I’m not sure what to do with all this warmth and affection. ‘Well … the necklace is beautiful. Thank you.’

‘’Course.’ He stares at the horizon, a flicker of worry in his dark brown eyes. Maybe he’s thinking about the security grid, or he really is nervous about my weekend trials. Or maybe he’s thinking about what happened two years ago, when our parents flew over that horizon for the last time.

‘Come on.’ He musters another reassuring smile, as he has done so often for my sake. ‘We’ll be late for breakfast.’

Always hungry, my brother, and always moving – the perfect Shark captain.

He swims for shore.

I look at my mother’s black pearl – her talisman that was supposed to bring long life and protection from evil. Unfortunately for her and my father, it did neither. I scan the horizon, wondering where Socrates has gone, and what he was trying to tell me.

Then I swim after my brother, because suddenly I don’t want to be alone in the water.





In the cafeteria, I wolf down a plate of tofu-nori scramble – delicious as usual. Then I rush to the dorms to grab my go bag.

We freshmen live on the first floor of Shackleton Hall, above the eighth-graders. Our rooms aren’t as spacious as the sophomore and junior digs in Cousteau Hall. And they’re definitely not as nice as the senior suites in Zheng He, but they’re light-years better than the cramped barracks we shared as eighth-graders during our ‘chum year’ at HP.