The summer sun bakes the boat, the catch, and the bait. Everything stinks of salt and prawns, and Ellie just needs a break.
Falling overboard trying to reach her brother’s litter? Not quite the break she intended.
But Ellie takes advantage of the opportunity to swim for shore and spend some time exploring.
Of course, finding confirmation of one of her town’s oldest legends? Also not quite what she intended…
A rich, salty tale about finding the magic just behind the ordinary in life—and the dangers of accidental littering.
The Chaos Shark
I was sick of watching Dad and Nathan fish. Sick of cataloguing what they caught, sick of the smell of prawns and salt, sick of the unsettling motion of the waves. But the last straw came when Nathan downed his can of Coke and threw it over the side.
“That’s littering,” I snapped, watching the red-and-silver can bob in the silky waves.
He shrugged. “Aluminium’s biodegradable, isn’t it?”
“After like a hundred years,” I said, glaring at him. “Where’s the net?”
He nodded vaguely to the stern where the green net stood, propped up against the cracked poly-leather of the seats, trying to snare the sun.
“Don’t hassle him,” Dad said serenely, eyes closed as he dozed in the boat’s front seat.
I tshh’d through my teeth. Dad had decided to grow out his beard, and it cascaded down his chest like an avalanche. He looked exactly like the Father Christmas of my toddlerhood—for more reasons than one. Only today, instead of gifts, he bore slimy prawns and squid and pilchards, and false pacifism. “I’m not hassling,” I said. “I just want the net.”
I scrambled to the back of the boat and snatched it up, testing its weight and length. “Hold me, will you?” I asked Nathan.
He laughed and waved at me with his rod.
I sniffed. Priorities.
I eyed the can, bobbing in the water a good stretch away, then squinted at the net. It would be close. I thought about asking Dad to move the boat for me, but as I opened my mouth Nathan whooped and his line whizzed. I sighed. If he had a fish on I’d be lucky to get the can in at all, and if he got the fish up it’d be all elbows and tromping, and get out of the way, Ellie; I need the net, Ellie; get the fish in the boat, Ellie.
Grinding my teeth, I fed the net out over the swirling, silking water. Almost there, almost… The can danced tantalisingly out of reach, and behind me Nathan swore. “He’s gone.” I almost felt Dad relax back into his seat as the promise of a catch evaporated. I stretched farther.
Swell rocked the boat and without warning I overbalanced, clutching futilely at the gunwales before pitching headfirst into the cold water. I broke the surface and gasped, treading water, net still firmly in hand.
Nathan howled. “I thought you said not to litter,” he said, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.
“Funny,” I snapped.