A flurry of feathers zips across my vision. I squawk. Something small and brown lands next to me—an Española mockingbird, one of the island’s famously friendly residents. It hops closer, an inch from my fingers splayed in the sand. “Hi, buddy.” It tilts its head, its long curved beak twitching this way and that as it examines the silver ring on my middle finger. “Do you think I can do this?” I whisper. With a ruffle of feathers, it pecks at my ring before flying away. I take that as a yes.

Graeme comes up beside me, kicking up powdery white sand. He stands for a heartbeat, gazing out over the ocean. “You don’t have to snorkel, you know. You can still change your mind.”

“I’m fine. I got this.”

“All right then.” With a shrug, he pulls his mask over his eyes and wades into the water.

My nerves crackle and my skin feels tight and itchy as I stand and inch my way closer to the water. Foamy blue-green waves lap at my ankles as I back into the surf so I don’t trip over my fins. Christ it’s cold. No wonder they gave us wet suits. I focus on my chattering teeth as I awkwardly shuffle through the water until it reaches my waist.

Okay. This isn’t so bad. I can do this.

A handful of guests dot the shallows alongside me. Some are already floating in the water, twirling hands or paddling feet. An older woman next to me tentatively lowers her head then pops up, breathing noisily through her snorkel. Farther down, Graeme swims gracefully, facedown, perpendicular to shore. Show-off.

If he can do it, so can I. Adjusting my mask, I put the snorkel’s rubbery plastic in my mouth. Slowly, I crouch. The water is murky from all the sand that’s been stirred up, and I lower my face down, down, down…

Water rushes into my ears and my face is underwater. Past blurs with present and oh my God my face is underwater I can’t breathe, I CAN’T BREATHE!

I jerk up and flail, water splashing. Spitting out my snorkel, I suck in deep, crisp lungfuls of oxygen. I press a hand to my aching chest and force down the panic. It’s not real, this crushing suffocation. I have a tube to breathe through. I’m standing in shallow water. I’m okay. I’m not drowning.

I close my eyes and find my center—the smoldering coal inside me that fuels every ounce of ambition and drive and longing I have. I won’t let my fear rule me. I won’t.

Replacing the snorkel, I try again. But again, panic swamps me and I stand. I try again and again and again. And again.