Ripple stood on the muddy bank, toes planted deep. "I can't swim!" she called to the still water. The pond just gurgled and went back to sleep.
Two ducks splashed and giggled just behind her. A heron snorted through its long, dry bill. Ripple's toes curled deeper into the cold, sticky mud.
From behind the tall golden reeds, a little turtle paddled up to the muddy bank. "You already hop," the turtle said, floating gently right beside Ripple's toes.
Ripple looked down at her wobbly, crooked back legs. "But splashing is different," she whispered, pressing her small front toes deep into the cool mud.
The turtle slipped under the surface. "Watch me first," it said, beginning slow, steady strokes beneath the lily pads while Ripple watched from the muddy bank.
One hop. Two hops. SPLAT — face-first into the shallow puddle. Water ran down her nose while the ducks cackled, and she snorted it all out.
"One more," Ripple said. She crouched at the water's edge, legs trembling. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and LAUNCHED — tumbling, limbs wild, splashing everywhere.
Then she burst up, gasping, water dripping from her chin. The turtle bobbed in the ripples and gave one slow nod. "You did it, Ripple."
Ripple kicked a wide circle around the lily pads, each splash tapping the turtle's back with a soft tap. The ducks and the heron just watched, perfectly still.
Ripple patted the turtle's back with a flat front foot. "Best teacher," she said. Sunlight bounced off the water in tiny gold spots while her legs kicked easy, smooth.