Saltwater Truths

The Pacific Ocean had been my best friend since seventh grade, which sounded pathetic even inside my own head. But when your parents are going through a 'conscious uncoupling' that feels more like a nuclear explosion, and your friend group at school has decided you're basically persona non grata because you didn't get the memo about wearing the right brand of oversized hoodies, the ocean doesn't judge.

I sat on the jagged rocks above the cove, watching the water churn against the shore like my stomach did before third period. My phone buzzed for the fiftieth time—Mia's group chat blowing up with memes I wasn't in on anymore.

'You're missing the party,' the text said. 'Everyone's asking where you are.'

Right. Everyone who'd stopped talking to me when my dad moved out.

A golden retriever mix appeared from nowhere, paws scrambling on the rocks, and deposited a soggy tennis ball at my feet. It looked up, tail thumping against the stones, tongue lolling out like it had just won the lottery.

'I'm not throwing that,' I told it. 'I'm not your personal entertainment system.'

The dog whined, nudging my hand with a wet nose. Its collar read 'BODHI.'

'Bodhi, seriously?' I sighed. 'Fine. One throw.'

I hurled the ball toward the waves. Bodhi launched himself after it, paws splashing into the rising tide, completely unconcerned that saltwater was basically ruining his golden retriever aesthetic. He chased the ball like it was the most important mission in universe history, like friendship and status and whether you're invited to Mia's party didn't exist.

Something about that hit me harder than it should have.

A guy appeared from the beach path, maybe seventeen, wetsuit half-unzipped. 'Bodhi! Come on, man, I told you not to run off.' He spotted me. 'Sorry, he's—'

'Self-employed?' I finished.

He laughed. 'Something like that. I'm Leo.'

'Sam.' I hesitated. 'You surf?'

'Every day before school.' He sat beside me, not too close. 'You come here a lot?'

'Since my parents split.' Why did I say that? I didn't know this guy.

Leo nodded like I'd said something normal. 'My dad left last year. The ocean helped.'

Bodhi returned with the ball, dripping all over both of us, and I realized something: real friends don't need group chats or the right clothes or perfectly curated Instagram feeds. Sometimes they're just the person sitting beside you on the rocks while the water crashes against the shore, and a dog who thinks you're cool even when nobody else does.

'You teaching me to surf?' I asked.

Leo grinned. 'First thing tomorrow. Bring Bodhi's ball—he tips better than I do.'

My phone buzzed again. I left it on the rocks.