Always Summer
pirate would ever find them.
    And of course, the moon exploded. But it
didn’t just explode into dust. The moon erupted into thousands of
bean-shaped rocks, “moon beans” as they were called.
    “When they hit the water, the angel fishes
and seahorses shrunk to the size of the beans, making them hard to
find in the vast scheme of things,” she says, holding up a
bean-shaped rock that looks as though it could be made from a piece
of the moon. “And every small creature – the whales and dolphins
and sharks – were suddenly enlarged. No longer were they the tiny
fishes that swam in the distance. They were now the protectors of
the seas, a royalty of a more vicious kind, a role they still play
to this day.”
    Oh, what I’d give to time travel back to
those days, to see life-sized seahorses adorned with jewels and
hear the mermaids sing their enchanted songs. Shark McAllister
would’ve taken photos of giant yellow angel fishes rather than
Great Whites. I wonder what kind of nickname he would’ve had
instead. Shark would be out of the question.
    “But tonight, on the full moon, we celebrate
the true kings of the sea,” the lady announces. “We celebrate them
with colors and jewels and beauty. For tonight, the giant killers
in the ocean shall shrink back to their true sizes, spend the night
in a state of rest, and prepare for another year of protecting the
true royalty. For tonight, the seahorses shall return to their
glorified state, in true size, to swim in the oceans that belong to
them.”
    Cheers erupt around us. I wonder if these
people have heard this story before or if they are first timers
like Topher and me. Our storyteller encourages everyone to join in
the festivities, to enjoy the night like we’re part of the sea,
celebrating our leaders in their night of freedom. Topher grabs my
hand and leads me back up the pier. We flash them our bracelets and
keep going. Booths of masquerade masks and face painting artists
line the entrance of the pier.
    “I think we’re a little underdressed,” I
say, glancing around. I make my way toward a table of masks to see
the selection. The face paintings are much more elaborate and
pretty, but I want something to take home with me after
tonight.
    “Should I assume you’re going with blue?”
Topher asks. He smiles when I glance up at him. “I mean, it’s your
seahorse color, right?”
    That it is. I choose a half-mask that wraps
itself in a crescent-shaped seahorse. The seahorse itself is a mix
of turquoise and cerulean blue with an array of blue rhinestones
adorning it. Topher chooses a similar Phantom of the Opera style
mask with red hues. He’s fine in board shorts and his Drenaline
Surf merch, but we stop at another vendor to let me grab a blue
gypsy-style wraparound skirt to tie over my cut off shorts.
    Although the reason for celebration is
enchanting and magical, it’s still quite the commercial event for
Sunrise Valley. Booths line the pier just like The Strip back in
the cove. There are carnival games where you can win stuffed sea
creatures, funnel cakes that I’m sure A.J. would love, and multiple
artists much like Emily selling homemade items that fit tonight’s
theme. She and Miles should’ve come with us. Maybe next year she
can.
    Further down the boardwalk, a restaurant is
buzzing with customers and live entertainment. Metal tables sit
outside like a coffee shop, and strings of twinkle lights sparkle
against the backdrop of a California night. They remind me of
fireflies who never lose their light, who just sparkle in place
until it’s time for a long sleep. The sounds of bongo drums and
ukuleles float across the night air, and Topher pulls me toward
him.
    “Dance with me,” he says, as if we’ve never
had this moment before.
    But tonight, for Solomon and the seahorses,
I don’t even hesitate. I let myself fall into Topher’s arms, and we
dance like we’ve never had this moment before.

Chapter
Seven
    The whirlwind of seahorse celebrations

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