“Got it,” we answer in unison. Becka and I exchange a smile and an eye roll because he’s cheesy as all get-out.
“How many Red Bulls do you think he’s had this morning?” I ask her.
She eyes him again and smirks. “At least two.”
We’re fitted with masks and the rest of the equipment we’ll need to snuba dive, and next comes breathing practice into the mouthpiece, which is a little freaky at first, but I finally get the hang of it.
Now wearing swim fins, Becka and I move clumsily toward the edge of the boat to peer into the water. I can see the reef in the distance—a big dark patch in the middle of all this sparkling blue—and I start to have a few second thoughts about this, because how do they know there aren’t sharks around here?
“Now remember, everything you’ll see in the reef is living, even if it doesn’t look like it,” Mr. Smiles says, and we turn back around. “So please don’t touch anything. Let’s leave things the way we find them.”
He gives us a few more instructions, and then guides come around again to double-check our equipment as the boat comes to a stop. We separate into our assigned groups of two or four and head down a set of steps leading into the water, where a bunch of blue rafts with our air supply await. Once every group has claimed a raft, the crew swims around, connecting our breathing hoses.
As we all push our rafts away from the main boat, I want to ask Becka if she’s nervous, too, but I’ve already got my mouthpiece in and I’m afraid to take it back out. Treading water nearby, Mr. Smiles reminds us how to check our air consumption and what we should do if we need help underwater.
“Everyone ready?” he finally asks, face splitting into his biggest grin yet.
People give him a thumbs-up.
I’m not really sure if I’m ready or not, but what the hell. I let go of the raft and sink into the lukewarm water. My breath comes in shaky gasps as I blow in and out of my mouthpiece, but I suppose everything is working like it should. I force my muscles to relax and swim toward the patch of darkness below. Becka is just a little ways ahead of me.
The view outside my mask is so unreal that my nerves quickly begin to fade. Light dapples the sandy floor and bright fish dart between chunks of coral. I swim closer to find the reef isn’t dark and spooky like it appeared from the surface. Instead, it’s a lighter tannish gray color with seaweed sticking out from between the rocks. A neon orange fish peeks out at me and I point to it before realizing no one else is around to see. I swim back to Becka and tap her arm.
Together, we make our way along the edge of the reef, checking out the creatures hiding in nearly every nook and cranny. Yellow, red, blue, green, and even purple—the colors of the fish are unbelievable. The ocean floor dips downward and we follow it, going as far as our twenty-foot hoses will allow. For a second, I’m frustrated that I can’t go deeper but then I remember that this is still freaking amazing and way better than just snorkeling from the surface.
It feels like we’ve only been down here for a few minutes when one of the guides approaches in full scuba gear and points to his watch. Crap. We’re almost out of time. I want to squeak out as much as I can from this experience, so I swim away from Becka, trying to get a closer look at a weird crustacean I’ve spotted on the ocean floor, but the next thing I know, she’s tapping me on the shoulder and pointing toward the surface.
We kick our way back up to the raft, where even the fresh air doesn’t keep my disappointment at bay. I was just getting comfortable down there.
“That didn’t last nearly long enough,” Becka says as we push our raft back toward the catamaran.
“No joke.” For once, we’re both in complete agreement.
Back on land, we grab hot dogs and drinks from a beachside vendor and find plastic lounge chairs under a palm tree to sit and chill. If we can’t be underwater, at least the view of the surface is a pretty good consolation.
“I could totally live here,” I say, taking another sip of my lemonade. “I mean, what’s not to love about Key West? Chickens. Snuba diving. The ocean. It sucks so much that we have to go home tomorrow.”
“Agree.” Becka heaves a sigh and fiddles with the hem of her cover-up. “Speaking of home, have you applied anywhere? For college?”
“Yeah, NorthWest actually.”
“Community college?”
“Yep.”
“You didn’t want to shoot for any of the universities?”
“I figured it was too late for that at this point,” I admit. And truth is, I had serious doubts any four-year colleges would accept my less-than-stellar transcript. “But maybe eventually.”
Becka sweeps several crumbs from her lap and reaches up to tighten her ponytail. “You should do something with art or design. You’d probably be good at that.”
“I haven’t really thought that far ahead. Just want to get my basics out of the way first. But thanks.” Once again, the compliment catches me off guard. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m not used to them in general or just more shocked when they’re coming from Becka.
I’m admiring the ocean view again when a tiny orange dragonfly lands on the end of my chair right next to my ankle. I study it for several seconds because it looks different than the ones I’ve seen back home. Grandpa probably would have known exactly which species it is. In fact, I can imagine him telling me all about it if he were sitting here right now. The dragonfly takes off toward the water and I watch until it disappears from sight.
“Oh my
