I loved Her the first time I saw Her. I was eight and had only seen love in the form of movies and storybooks. I never imagined myself in love. To me, other people were supposed to have love, and I was only supposed to watch their happiness, never having a taste of my own. But when I saw the Ocean, my heart leapt from my chest, and the receding water took it with Her.

I played on the shoreline for hours, collected shells that washed up and put them in my overalls pocket, and watched the light of the sun reflect a blinding white off the calmer part of Her, off in the distance. I reveled in watching the seagulls as they danced along with the breeze like ballerinas. I giggled over the funny looking crabs that sidestepped over my feet that were buried in the sand. I adored the way She inched upon the shore, the water lapping around my ankles playfully. I loved everything about Her.

But we were only there for a day.

I cried. I begged. I pleaded. I wanted to stay with Her, and I told my parents as such.

"What are you talking about, Carolina?" my mother exclaimed, hauling me over her shoulder, "Stay with who?"

"The Ocean!" I insisted, tears and snot leaking down my face. "I want to be with her! She wants to be with me too!"

"What in the world are you going on about? The Ocean isn't a person, Carrie! It doesn't want to be with you!"

But I knew she was wrong. For as my screaming form drew further and further away, I could see it: the form of a woman, made entirely of water, rising from out of the deep. The setting sun glowed shades of yellow and pink through her liquid form. She smiled sadly and She waved goodbye. I watched Her with wide, curious eyes and eventually I waved back.

When the shock of seeing the Ocean having a physical form wore off, I cried harder, and my mother just continued to take me away with exhaustion on every word she scolded me with.

For months after our vacation, I would question both of my parents when we're going back to the Ocean. Neither gave me a straight answer. I anticipated them to say something along the lines of, "We're going right now!" But instead, all I got was either parent telling me to go ask the other, because each was too busy to deal with me.

Eventually, I gave up on the answer I longed for, and I settled for taking the shells from that delightful visit and clutching them tightly all the time. At night, I'd whisper into them, telling my Beloved how my day was, how I missed Her, how I can't wait to see Her again someday. I'd make wishes into these soft pink shells, hoping to be in Her beautiful presence once more.

There was never any reply, but I was convinced She could hear me. After all, I was sure I found Her in every aspect of life. I saw Her in the puddles of rain on the sidewalk. I felt Her on the summer breeze curling around my bedroom. I could smell Her lovely briny scent whenever my mother cooked with sea salt.

I knew She could hear me and I knew that She was with me everyday in the form of my shells.

I took the shells with me to school. No one really batted an eye at this, since I wasn't that interesting to begin with. Some kids would ask to see them, and I would hesitatingly oblige. They all told me how pretty they were, and just as I thought I had found a friend, they would skip off to be with another group. And I was left to my own devices. I became known in later elementary school grades as "the weird girl" because I was hauling around my shells all the time.

I was a quiet, lonesome child, and I had been since toddler-age. I had no interest in getting to know people and becoming friends. All I wanted to do was play by myself or sit beside my parents.

As I grew older and entered middle school, I carried the shells around still. I was considered odd in elementary school for bringing them, but here, I was even stranger. I hadn't grown up with most of these kids, so they didn't know my quirks and they didn't know this was my norm to carry the shells around with me. This made me the target of bullying.

"What's wrong with you?" one girl asked when she stopped me in the hallway. She had me trapped in a corner, in a blind spot from the cameras. I clutched the shells in my palm and avoided eye contact and tried to work on a way to escape.

I ignored her question. "I just want to go to the bath-"

"I hear you talking to those shells. Is there something wrong with you?"

"Just let me by, please." I swallowed thickly. I tried to stop myself from trembling, but it was futile.

The girl stared down the bridge of her straight nose at me, her blonde hair and teeth were straight and pretty. Meanwhile, my frizzy chestnut brown hair was everywhere, my acne was on the fritz, my nose was upturned at the end, and my smile desperately needed braces. A moment of jealousy passed through me, but only for a moment. She may have been pretty, but she was rotten on the inside, that much was visible.

"Let me see them," she commanded suddenly.

"W-What?" I asked bewildered. The shells clinked against one another as I cradled them tighter into my hands. Some of the broken ones cut my palm, but I didn't care at the moment, even as I felt hot liquid seep down from the wounds and down my wrists.

She held a hand out and beckoned me to hand them over. I refused, holding them closer to my chest.

"I just want to go to the bathroom. Please move..." I tried to sound brave, but my voice quivered like the strings on a bow.

The demeanor on her fair face changed, her contorted expression told me that her patience had been run thin. Her manicured hand reached out and savagely seized my hair, forcing me to come closer to her. I whimpered at the stinging pain on my scalp.

She leaned in close, her sour breath hitting my face with every whisper. "I bet you have the test answers on there, don't you? You always get A's. You just pretend to act crazy so no one checks if you're cheating."

I shook my head back and forth as best I could with her hand still embedded in my hair. Tears lined my bottom lid. "N-No! Th-That's not true!" I knew that things would be easier for me if I gave them to her, but I couldn't betray my Love. Besides, if she discovered there were no test answers to be found, what would she do with the shells? Hand them back and say, 'Sorry, my mistake!'

No. Most likely, she'd throw them to the floor and stomp on the remains.

"Come on, Carolina! Just give me the goddamn shells!" she screamed, lunging forward with the other hand and attempting to take the shells from me.

In my moment of panic, I flailed, and using the wall behind me as a support on my back, I kicked her in the shins and knees roughly. She yelped and released my hair. I ran off, completely forgetting all about the bathroom.

I ran and ran, unsure of where to go. I ended up in a vacant classroom, hiding beneath the teacher's desk. I sat there and cried for about an hour, until the principal found me, and hauled me off to his office by the arm.

Apparently, this girl I had kicked was the soccer star of our school, and I had bruised her shins badly. They asked me why I did it, and I said nothing because that girl had sat across from me with daggers in her eyes. I felt as though things would get worse if I told them what really happened. My parents were called in, and I was suspended.

That night, I was grounded, and I lay in bed sobbing over my beloved shells. My parents argued downstairs about how the other didn't pay enough attention to me and that must be the reason for my acting up.

I stared at the shells, cupped in my cut-up palms, and tuned out the bickering of my parents. The once immaculate, white shells were stained in my blood, dirtying the Ocean's magnificence. Where was She to save me? I loved Her, why didn't She save me?

I never thought it possible before that moment, but maybe the Ocean wasn't capable of loving me-or anyone, for that matter. Maybe She truly was just a beauty of nature without being sentient. This realization stung, and it felt as though my heart had just shattered into a thousand pieces.

"I'm crazy," I whispered, a fresh batch of tears flowing forth from my eyes. "Shells can't hear me. The Ocean isn't a person. I'm not special. No one could love me."

I sat up in bed, wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand, and headed for my wastebasket. I held my hand over it, readying myself to throw away my beloved treasures. I hesitated. And just as my fingers began to uncurl from around the shells-

A hand tenderly grasped my shoulder.

The sensation of fingers spread out on my tanned skin snapped me out of my thoughts. I gasped softly. At first, I thought it to be one of my parents, but something was off.

The touch was cold, and not exactly a solid form, as it ebbed and receded like waves on my skin.

It was Her.

My Beloved.

Without words, I knew She was telling me that I shouldn't throw these precious trinkets away. I closed my eyes and sobbed as She held me from behind lovingly and comfortingly. She snaked Her hands down my arms and interlocked Her long, watery fingers with mine. The cuts on my palms stung with the Ocean's salt, but even so, I felt completely at ease. I sunk back into Her ethereal form with a choked sigh. My tears flowed faster, absorbing into her liquid form as She consoled me. I knew She was sorry for not being there. But it didn't matter. She was here now. And that was enough.

When She brought Her hands back up to my shoulders, I examined my palms. They were free of the cuts and covered in droplets of water. There were no more wounds. The shells had even been cleaned to a lovely gleam by her cleansing touch. My seafoam green eyes widened in disbelief as I continued observing everything.

And then, as quickly as She came, She left, leaving with a surprisingly warm kiss upon my cheek. The only proof of her presence ever being in my room was my completely drenched clothing and a large puddle of seawater on the wooden flooring.

I sunk to my knees and this time, happy tears trailed down my cheeks. I whispered my thanks repeatedly into the shells.

When my suspension wore off, after two weeks, I tentatively returned to school. I still brought my shells, but this time, I put them in an empty pencil case, lined with cotton balls to avoid breakage, and tucked it into my backpack.

Classes continued as normal, and no one gave me so much as a fleeting glance, the way I was accustomed to and the way I liked. When I rounded the corner of the hallway to go to the bathroom before my next class, I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard that blonde girl's voice. I immediately hid behind the corner and made myself flat against the wall, heart thumping in my chest wildly. I tried to move, but I was frozen to the spot. And because I was too terrified to move, I accidentally eavesdropped.

"What's wrong?" one of the blonde girl's friends asked her softly.

"I... I haven't been getting any sleep. I'm so tired, but every time I close my eyes... I..." the blonde girl inhaled shakily.

"What is it? You can tell me..."

"I... have these awful nightmares about the ocean. They're all about being d-drowned by invisible hands, but sometimes, I see a woman in the waves, and she's always angry with me. And it's always raining there. There's lightning and thunder, and the waves are, like, a hundred feet tall," she paused, to gather herself. "This has been going on for two weeks! It's gotten to the point that I can't take a shower without cringing! Bathtubs make me anxious, and anything to do with the sea terrifies me!"

I listened, wide-eyed. Before I knew it, I had slowly sunk to my knees. A smile plagued my features and deviant laughter caught in my throat. Bringing my backpack around to the front of me, I took the pencil case out and gathered the shells in my hands. I checked the halls, and other than me and the bullies around the corner, I was alone. Softly, I whispered to my shells with a smile, "My Love, you don't have to give her any more nightmares. I think she's had enough. Thank you so much. I appreciate everything you do."

The next day, around the same time, I rounded the same hallway and was horrified to discover that the blonde girl and her posse were waiting for me. I would have ran, but the blonde girl's awful glare kept me from moving even an inch. I cowered and became glued to the spot instantly.

She looked like another person, with bluish splotches of exhaustion under her eyes, and a pinkish tinge coating her sclera. Her usually luscious blonde locks appeared lackluster and straw-like. Irritated red bumps polka-dotted her usually smooth face like a connect-the-dots puzzle.

The blonde girl viewed me with such disdain, that much was evident in her eyes, but she spoke quietly and humbly. "I'm sorry."

I had to process her words because I almost thought I imagined them. "W-What are you talking about?" I know, it was stupid to ask that, but I was sincerely confused about this whole situation.

She tsked and rolled her eyes. "I said I'm sorry. For trying to take your stupid shells. There, you happy?"

I should have just accepted that, but no. I tend to have a big mouth. "Um, I don't understand why you're-"

Her face started to morph into the beginnings of her impatience. "Look, just take the apology, and get the hell out of here!"

I opened my mouth to speak but instead snapped it shut and nodded. Who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth? I ran past them and into the bathroom. Again, I accidentally eavesdropped as I clung to the bathroom walls like one of the posters on hand-washing.

"Why are you apologizing? She's the one who hurt you!" one of her friends badgered.

"I had another dream last night," she explained, relieved. "The ocean lady promised she'd leave me alone if I apologized to that little freak. I'll try anything to get rid of those God-awful nightmares."

I suppose it did work, because the days following the strange apology, her complexion lightened, her eyes became brighter, her hair returned to its glowing state, and the pimples on her face disappeared. She seemed nicer, too. Not only to me but everyone else. And every day, I gave my praise and love to my shells.

Soon enough I started meeting the Ocean in my dreams, too. But these weren't the horrid nightmares that my classmate described. These were peaceful, beautiful. I was almost always on the beach, warm sand beneath my body as I laid parallel to the Ocean's edge. Her hand would creep out from the water, and I would take it into mine and interlock our fingers. The weather was always perfect, but despite the warmth, there was no one else on the beach. Just the two of us. And we liked it that way.

Sometimes, I'd be in the water, head underneath the waves, and I wouldn't have to hold my breath. Her form was slightly outlined by what looked like moonlight. She was taller than me, but that's nothing new-I inherited my shortness from my mother. Her hair was as turquoise as the waters around us, and her twinkling eyes were the color of the sand below us. Her full lips were as pink as the shells that tied us together.

We'd dance on the ocean floor, coral reefs and colorful fish passing us by. She'd twirl me around easily as if we were dancing on clouds.

Every time I awoke, I knew that these were not entirely dreams, for wet footprints were almost always next to my bedside. Sometimes, I'd wake up with my hair completely drenched. Once, I discovered wet sheets in the shape of Her body beside me, as if She had curled up with me in the night.

I would always just smile gratefully and clean up whatever liquid She spilled without my parents knowing. I loved that She was my secret.

I adored going to sleep every night, and I got in the habit of doing my homework on the bus, eating a quick dinner, and being in bed by 6:30. My parents didn't notice, they were too preoccupied with arguing to notice me, and that was strangely okay with me. The less attention I received, the more time I could spend with Her.

Eventually, high school came. I entered another new school and encountered new people. But I felt more accepted here than I did in my previous school because there was a club called Saving the Ocean Club. My eyes sparkled with excitement and curiosity, and I knew I needed to join that club immediately.

I found out about it when my homeroom teacher passed around flyers of each of the clubs. She told us it is optional to join one, but it can look good on college applications. I ignored all the other flyers and focused in on the cerulean blue flyer with a poorly-illustrated drawing of a dolphin. I let my teacher know that I wanted to join this club, and she wrote me down as a member.

My first day at the club, I met with the club leader, a tall goth girl named Maddie. She had black dyed locks, and one side of her hair was shaved down to the scalp. She had colored contacts that made her appear to have red irises. Several shiny piercings decorated her face and I later discovered that she always came to school with smokey eyeshadow and a dark lip. Her clothing was no different. Full of blacks and plaids and platform combat boots. She looked nothing like a club leader would, and to be completely honest, she scared me a little. But nothing was going to stop me from helping my beloved Ocean.

Her red eyes sparkled upon seeing me walk into the otherwise vacant classroom.

"Hi! You're Carolina Williams, right?" she smiled brightly. She walked over and slung her arm around my neck, drawing me in closer to her. Her over-friendly skinship made me a tad bit uncomfortable, but I just rolled with it.

"Yes, I am," I shyly replied. "Nice to meet you."

There were four other members that had joined. Another girl, and three boys. And out of all of them, Maddie and I became the closest over the course of the next three months. We did our homework together in the club room, we had lunch together, and we occasionally went to my house to hang out. But I didn't dare show her my shells, for fear of rejection. After all, this was my first real friend! I shouldn't jeopardize our friendship right off the bat with my insane stories of the Ocean communicating with me every night. Even I knew that was a little bit far-fetched sounding.

The whole goal of the club was figuring out how to reduce the school's plastic and aluminum use so the Ocean didn't suffer later from our misdeeds. One of the boys figured out that we could start selling reusable water bottles instead of single-use plastic ones. We collaborated with the art club and created beautiful water bottles that sold like hot-cakes.

Maddie got the idea to collect rainwater to water the plants on the premises, both the garden club's plants and the landscaping ones put in by the school. That didn't work out too great since we happened to be going through a bit of a drought at the time. But nonetheless, I supported my friend.

She supported my ideas too... kind of. I once brought up the idea of maybe putting up recycling bins for every type of recyclable materials-aluminum, plastic, cardboard, and others. I said we could put it in the cafeteria, and she cut me off.

"Someone's just going to end up throwing their meatloaf into the cardboard bin and make a huge mess of it," she told me with a condescending note in her tone. "What kind of idea is that? You have to think these things through, Carrie."

I slouched, trying to make myself less noticeable as my cheeks and tips of my ears burned with embarrassment. I said nothing as she laughed my idea away. It probably was a stupid idea. If my friend told me like that in front of other people, then it must be. Or at least, that was my rationalization.