My favourite game in the water was to pretend I was a dolphin.

Diving under the waves and popping up again. Diving under and popping up. Dive-pop, dive-pop. I could do this for hours. I tried to dive low and pop high— I wanted my chin to graze the sea floor, and my hips to clear the water. Sometimes I kept my eyes shut for long periods, becoming completely disorientated. I’d open them to find myself facing the horizon, when I thought I’d be facing the shore, or I’d find myself miles down the beach, staring at the wrong trees, the wrong houses, the wrong-coloured towels lying in the sand.

On the third day, when I’d been at the beach for maybe half an hour, I popped up with my eyes shut and heard a voice close to my ear saying,

‘Hey.’

It was too late to halt my next dive— I was under the water before I’d had time to react. I popped up again, eyes open. It was the boy with the greenstone carving around his neck. The chubby one from across the lagoon. He was startlingly close, bobbing aimlessly in the water. I looked past him, toward the beige sand. My mother, my so-called chaperone— a pale speck at the corner of my eye— was gone.

‘Hey.’

Slightly louder this time, slightly more insistent. I dived, but this time I didn’t pop back up. I let myself drift a few metres, and then I surfaced lazily on my back. He was still there.

‘What.’

‘You’re from the lagoon.’

I dived for a third time, and this time, I stayed under as long as my lungs would allow. I wondered if he was impressed by my lung capacity. I wondered if he would tell his family he’d met a girl who was part dolphin.

‘I saw you,’ he said, when finally I popped back up.

‘I know.’

‘Is it your boat?’

I shook my head.

‘Your dad’s?’

I shook my head again. ‘The place we’re staying.’

He nodded, and began to drift away. I dived, thinking, will he be gone when I come up? He was, and I found to my surprise that I was disappointed. He had turned toward the beach and was meandering away— part doggy-paddle, part breaststroke. He was a clumsy swimmer, nothing at all like a dolphin. Thinking fast, I said, ‘I like your necklace.’

I wasn’t used to paying compliments to boys.

‘It’s not a necklace,’ he said, touching it. ‘It’s a pounamu. A fish hook.’

I reddened, thinking I’d offended him. Taking a deep breath, I prepared to dive again.

‘Have you seen the memorial?’

I frowned.

‘The wooden cross? With the flowers?’ He pointed up the beach.

‘Of course,’ I lied. ‘I’ve seen it.’

‘Wanna look at it with me?’

I did, very much. With my mother walking me to and from the beach, and my sister only interested in sunbathing, I hadn’t had much of a chance to explore. I had only the vaguest idea what a memorial was. Something to do with birth, or marriage, or death. Something churchy. We weren’t churchy people. I dived again, but I didn’t stay under very long this time, and while I was under, I moved toward him.

Pop.

‘Well, do you?’

I shrugged. ‘I guess.’

‘Good. Stop diving then. Just follow me…’