The Puffin's First Dive

Iggy stood at the edge of the cliff and looked down.

Down, down, down — past the rocky gray face of the cliff, past the mossy green ledges, past the spots where the waves crashed white and wild — all the way down to the deep blue sea.

It was very, very far.

Iggy took one step back.

"Come on, Iggy!" called his friend Nell, swooping past with her wings stretched wide. She tucked into a dive and — splash — disappeared into the water. A moment later, she popped back up with a tiny silver fish in her beak. "It's WONDERFUL down here!"

"I know!" Iggy called back. "I'm just… I'm just checking the wind!"

He was not checking the wind.

Iggy had been watching the other puffins dive off this cliff for a long, long time. He had watched them in the morning when the sun made the water sparkle. He had watched them at noon when the sea turned turquoise and calm. He had watched them in the evening when the sky went pink and orange and the fish jumped right out of the waves, practically begging to be caught.

He had watched from behind rocks. He had watched from the tall grass. He had watched while pretending to be very busy cleaning his feathers. He had counted once, and he had watched other puffins dive off this cliff exactly one hundred and seven times.

But Iggy had never dived himself. Not once.

It wasn't that he didn't want to. He wanted to SO badly. He wanted to feel the wind rush past his face. He wanted to slice into the cool water like an arrow. He wanted to chase the silver fish through the underwater forests of kelp, twisting and turning, using his wings to fly through the sea.

But every single time he got to the edge and looked down, his stomach did a horrible, flippy, twisty thing. His feet gripped the rock so hard his toes ached. And a voice inside his head said: What if you fall wrong? What if you bellyflop? What if everyone laughs?

So he would step back. Every time.

"Iggy!" called his mother from a ledge below. "Did you dive yet?"

"Almost!" Iggy shouted. "I'm warming up my wings!"

He flapped his wings a few times to make it look convincing.

His mother tilted her head the way she did when she wasn't quite sure she believed him but loved him too much to say so.

That afternoon, Iggy sat in the tall grass near the cliff's edge, watching again. He watched Old Fergus, who was the biggest puffin on the island, take a running start and cannonball off the edge with a tremendous KER-SPLASH that sent water flying everywhere. He watched the little twins, Dot and Pip, who were even younger than him, hold wings and jump together, screaming the whole way down.

Even Dot and Pip, Iggy thought miserably.

He watched his friend Nell dive seven more times. She brought back fish after fish after fish. On her eighth dive, she landed back on the cliff right next to him, out of breath and grinning.

"Iggy," she said, sitting down beside him. "You're doing the watching thing again."

"I'm studying technique," Iggy said.

"You've been studying technique since last Tuesday."

Iggy pulled at a piece of grass and didn't say anything.

Nell was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Do you want to know a secret?"

Iggy looked at her.

"The first time I stood at the edge," Nell said, "my legs shook so hard I thought my knees were going to fall right off my body."

"YOUR legs shook? But you're the best diver on the whole cliff!"

"Now I am," Nell said. "But that first time? I stood there for twenty minutes. My dad had to bring me a snack because I'd been standing so long I got hungry."

Iggy almost smiled.

Nell bumped him with her wing. "Nobody dives perfectly the first time, Iggy. Fergus told me his first dive was the worst bellyflop this island has ever seen. He said the smack was so loud, the seagulls thought it was thunder."

Now Iggy DID smile.

Nell stood up and shook out her feathers. "Whenever you're ready," she said. "I'll be down there." And she hopped off the cliff like it was nothing, spreading her wings and sailing down.

Iggy sat alone for a while. The wind ruffled his black-and-white feathers. The sun was getting low, and the sky was beginning to turn that pink-and-orange color he loved.

He stood up.

He walked to the edge.

He looked down.

Down, down, down — past the rocky face, past the mossy ledges, past the crashing white waves — to the deep blue sea.

His stomach did the flippy, twisty thing. His toes gripped the rock. The voice in his head started up: What if you —

"I know," Iggy whispered to the voice. "I know I might bellyflop. I know it's far. I KNOW."

He took a breath.

And then Iggy did something he had never done before at the edge of that cliff. Instead of stepping back, he leaned forward. Just a tiny, tiny bit.

The wind caught under his wings.

His heart hammered so loud he could hear it in his ears.

One, he counted.

Two.

Three.

Iggy jumped.

The air grabbed him and the cliff fell away and the wind roared past his face and the sea came rushing up toward him so fast — SO fast — and his wings were out, and then he tucked them in, just like he'd seen the others do a hundred and seven times, and he —

SPLOOSH!

He hit the water.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't a graceful arrow-dive like Nell's. His left wing stuck out a little funny, and there was a clumsy sort of splash, and he went spinning sideways for a second underwater. But then — then! — he opened his eyes.

And the world below the surface was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

Sunlight filtered down in golden beams. Tiny bubbles floated all around him like stars. Schools of silver fish darted past, flashing and shimmering. The kelp swayed back and forth like an underwater forest, and everything was quiet and blue and magical.

Iggy beat his wings — and he FLEW. He flew through the water, twisting and turning, just like he'd always dreamed.

He burst back up to the surface, gasping, with water streaming off his beak and the biggest grin a puffin has ever grinned.

"NELL!" he shouted. "NELL, DID YOU SEE?!"

Nell popped up nearby, laughing. "I saw! I SAW!"

"It was NOT graceful!" Iggy yelled.

"It was NOT!" Nell agreed.

"I went sideways!"

"You DEFINITELY went sideways!"

"I WANT TO DO IT AGAIN!"

And he did.

Iggy climbed back up the cliff, water dripping from his feathers, legs tired, heart pounding. He stood at the edge. He looked down. His stomach still did a little flip — a small one this time, more like a tiny hiccup than a horrible twist.

He jumped again.

This one was better. His wings tucked in tighter. He hit the water cleaner. He spun less.

He climbed up and did it again. And again. And again.

By the time the sun touched the horizon and the sky blazed orange, Iggy had dived eleven times. His feathers were a mess. He was so tired he could barely waddle. And he had caught exactly zero fish, because he kept forgetting to actually look for any — he was too busy flying underwater and laughing bubbles.

That night, Iggy sat with his mother on their ledge, watching the stars come out over the sea.

"So," his mother said. "How was the water?"

"Cold," Iggy said. "And deep. And amazing."

His mother tucked her wing around him and pulled him close.

Far below, the waves crashed softly against the cliff. And somewhere in the deep blue sea, the silver fish were swimming, waiting for tomorrow.

Iggy couldn't wait either.