Socrates is a gorgeous animal. And I don’t say that just because my house is Dolphin. He’s a young male bottlenose, nine feet long, with bluish-gray skin and a prominent dark streak across his dorsal fin. I know he isn’t actually smiling. His long-beaked mouth is just shaped that way. Still, I find it unbelievably cute.

Dev produces his squid. Socrates snaps it up and swallows it whole. Dev grins at me, a bubble escaping from his lips. His expression says Ha-ha, the dolphin likes me best.

I offer Socrates my squid. He’s only too happy to have seconds. He lets me scratch his head, which is as smooth and taut as a water balloon, then rub his pectoral fins. (Dolphins are suckers for pectoral-fin rubs.)

Then he does something I’m not expecting. He bucks, pushing my hand up with his rostrum in a gesture I’ve come to read as Let’s go! or Hurry! He veers and swims off, the wake from his tail buffeting my face.

I watch until he disappears into the gloom. I wait for him to circle back. He doesn’t.

I don’t understand.

Usually he doesn’t eat and run. He likes to hang out. Dolphins are naturally social. Most days, he’ll follow us to the surface and leap over our heads, or play hide-and-seek, or pepper us with squeaks and clicks that sound like questions. That’s why we call him Socrates. He never gives answers—just asks questions.

But today he seemed agitated…almost worried.

At the edge of my vision, the blue lights of the security grid stretch across the mouth of the bay—a glowing diamond pattern I’ve grown used to over the last two years. As I watch, the lights wink out, then flicker back on. I’ve never seen them do that before.

I glance at Dev. He doesn’t appear to have noticed the change in the grid. He points up. Race you.

He kicks for the surface, leaving me in a cloud of sand.

I want to stay under longer. I’m curious to see if the lights go out again, or if Socrates comes back. But my lungs are burning. Reluctantly, I follow Dev.

After I join him on the surface and catch my breath, I ask if he saw the grid flicker off.

He squints at me. “Are you sure you weren’t just blacking out?”

I splash his face. “I’m serious. We should tell somebody.”

Dev wipes the water from his eyes. He still looks skeptical.

To be honest, I’ve never understood why we have a state-of-the-art electronic underwater barrier across the mouth of the bay. I know it’s supposed to keep the sea life safe by keeping out everything else, like poachers, recreational divers, and pranksters from our rival high school, Land Institute. But it seems like overkill, even for a school that produces the world’s best marine scientists and naval cadets. I don’t know exactly how the grid works. I do know it isn’t supposed to flicker, though.

Dev must see that I’m genuinely worried. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll report it.”