A school of silver-blue fish flashed the same shimmer together. Coralie's pink and orange stripes glowed too bright. She darted behind a swaying sea fan.
She hovered near the sea fan. Her stripes pulsed — too bright, too loud. The silver-blue fish flashed toward her. She darted behind the fan's feathery tentacles.
She found a curly clump of brown seaweed and wrapped it tight. One striped fin poked out to watch. Then — slip! The seaweed slid off.
She landed in a bed of white shells. Ring, ring, ring — they chimed like tiny bells. Coralie froze, embarrassed. The seaweed clung to her stripes like a clumsy disguise.
Next she tried dark mud from the reef floor. She rubbed it over her stripes. But the current pulled it away in streaks — and her colors blazed even brighter.
A small gray fish bumped past and froze. Its eyes went wide. Coralie's stripes lit up the dark water like a lantern. She thought: maybe being bright isn't so bad.
A dark shadow swept over the reef. Everything went still. One by one, the silver-blue fish faded — turning into pale gray stones on the sand.
Coralie's stripes began to glow on their own. Warm pink and orange light spilled across the sandy floor. She swam forward, painting the dark water with color.
The gray fish lifted their heads. They followed the trail of light — one by one, color rushed back into their scales. Silver returned. Then blue.
More and more fish woke up. The reef filled with silver and blue again. And at the front, Coralie's stripes glowed — bright, bold, and beautiful.
The silver-blue fish flashed their shimmer — but now it wasn't perfect. Each one glowed a little differently. Coralie swam with them, her bright stripes never hiding again.
Coralie swam on. The reef was loud with color again. And she was right in the middle of it — shining, swimming, home.