Slowly, cautiously, I dipped my toe into the water. I gasped quietly at the freezing cold. I wanted to withdraw, but I pushed myself to fully step into the water. The small waves licked at my feet, and I had to suppress my giggle. I couldn't risk being heard. The punishment for even touching the ocean was unimaginably strict. Everyone said that the ocean was a dangerous place. That anyone who dared to wade too far into the ocean was never heard from again. But as I stood with the gentle waves lapping over my feet and the great ocean stretched farther than I could see, I had a hard time believing so. Slowly, I crouched over and touched the water with my hands. It was cold, but at the same time, welcoming. This rebellion against my communities' rules filled me with triumph, and I had to stop myself from laughing out loud. When I looked up, I realized that the sun was slowly setting into the horizon, and that if I didn't get home soon, my mother would ground me for as long as I lived. I shook the water off my hands and stepped out of the water, a bit reluctantly. To my shock, when I stepped onto the sand, it stuck to my feet in wet clumps. I shook my foot and began to panic when the sand wouldn't come off. There couldn't be any evidence that I disobeyed the ruled. I shuffled over to where I left my shoes and socks and used my sock to dust off the sand. To my relief, the sand came off. I slipped my socks and shoes on and broke into a sprint. When I finally arrived at our small, cozy cottage, I was breathless, panting hard. Strands of my long blonde hair had slipped loose from my ponytail. I stepped inside, treading quietly, trying not to draw attention. My feet were still wet, and I needed to dry them privately. Just as I was about to slip into the bathroom, my little brother, Owen, popped up from around the corner.

"Olivia?" he asked, "what happened to you?"

"Um, just got caught up hanging out with my friends," I said. And I slipped into the bathroom and shut the door without another word. Once I had gotten my feet dried off, I went to the living room just in time for me to catch my father telling Owen yet another story of the horrors of the ocean. Owen's eyes were wide with fear, and he clutched his teddy bear tightly, practically chocking it.

"Some people even say," my father said, "that if you touch the ocean, it can melt your flesh off." Owen gasped with horror, and I had to resist the urge to laugh at the absurdity of this. I bit my lip to stop myself from correcting my father. I thought about the way the water lapped at my feet, and the way the ocean never seemed to end. I wondered why we weren't allowed to experience the feeling of the cold waves washing over our feet. The ocean was so wonderful. It couldn't be harmful. Could it?