“I’m going to help you float now, okay?”

I hesitate before nodding. This is working. I should keep going.

Graeme’s hand closes on my right thigh. Even through my wet suit, his touch is electric. I tense but force my breathing to remain even as he pushes just enough so I tip forward. His other hand is firmly planted on my shoulder, guiding me.

I gasp the moment my face submerges. My muscles bunch.

“Keep breathing, easy and slow.” His words are muffled and distant.

I suck in a deep, rattling breath and exhale through the snorkel. The belt around my middle keeps me suspended at the surface without any effort at all.

I blink open my eyes. My face is underwater. I can see the velvety sand beneath Graeme’s fins. I’m breathing. “I did it!” I shout, but it comes out a garbled mess through my snorkel and I pop out of the water.

“Think you can do it again?”

Replacing my snorkel, I take three deep breaths. On the third, I tip forward to float. When the water rushes into my ears, my breathing hitches, but I manage to stay calm this time. In fact, I’m calmer in the water than I’ve ever felt. I can see what’s beneath the surface and I can breathe just fine. I flash a thumbs-up above me.

Hard part’s over. Now, what’s out there to see?

I paddle my legs in a strong, smooth motion and shoot forward. My belt creates drag but my fins propel me with ease. Graeme’s beside me now, peering through his mask. The seafloor spreads beneath us in a subtle decline.

It’s gloriously quiet. Except for the whirr of my own breath and the swooshing burble of water in my ears, it’s silent under the waves. The ocean is a deep, briny blue shifting to glaring white when I dip down and peer into its shining, reflective surface.

I spot my first tropical fish.

It’s huge, as long as my forearm, with iridescent orange scales. I have no idea what kind of fish it is, but I still squeal in my throat, nudge Graeme, and point to it. It’s wandering lazily, meandering along the ocean’s sandy bottom.

We continue on. The seafloor turns rocky and the Galápagos Marine Reserve unfolds, revealing its treasures in a brightly colored, watery spectacle. Starfish that look like they’re covered in chocolate chips and bigger ones in a rainbow of pinks, blues, and purples sprawl across pockets of sand. More fish pass beneath us—black and white, shimmering pink, storm-cloud gray, then a school of gleaming midnight blue with orange fins and a white stripe. They dart and weave in unison, and I’m mesmerized by how their countless bodies undulate as one.