Caitlyn stepped into the warm, wet sand and wiggled her toes. The white, foamy waves raced over her feet and up her legs and then pulled back again. Caitlyn loved playing in the ocean water.

“Ouch!” said the girl, as her foot stepped on something hard. She looked down. At the bottom of the ocean was a large shell. Caitlyn bent down to pick it up. It was a pretty pink conch shell with points and curves and an opening that looked like a horn. She held it up to her ear, hoping to hear the whooshing sound for which they were known. Instead, she heard something quite different.

“Hey kid! How are you doing? Want to hear a joke?”

Caitlyn nearly dropped the shell. Holding it back up to her head, she tried again.

“What’s the most musical part of a fish?” the shell asked.

“I – I don’t know,” Caitlyn whispered.

“Their scales! Ha, ha!” laughed the shell. Caitlyn looked around to see if anyone was looking at her. They weren’t.

“I’m just getting warmed up, kid! Why don’t fish play basketball?” It seemed to be waiting for a reply.

“Uh, I’m not sure?” Caitlyn said. Was she dreaming?

The shell answered its own joke. “Because they are afraid of the net! Ha, ha!”     Caitlyn had to laugh. Okay, that was sort of funny.

The girl giggled. On and on the conch shell talked with her. For the rest of the week, Caitlyn would walk into the shallow water and sit with the shell held against her ear.She smiled and chuckled as it whispered corny jokes.

On the last day of her vacation, Caitlyn decided she couldn’t leave the shell behind. “You’re coming home with me,” she said to the pretty shell. She thought it would be happy. It wasn’t. “My home is in the ocean,” it replied, without any laughter in its voice.

But Caitlyn couldn’t bear to go home without it.

Gently, she lowered it back under the water.

I started playing the cello(大提琴) when I was three years old. Its large wooden body made me look very tiny. Every week my father would drive me past gardens, and I would look out of the window to watch dogs running and look for flowers all the way. This was the road to my cello teacher’s home.

My childhood was a mixture of cello performances, at-home concerts, and instrument rehearsals(彩排). My hands ran up and down the instrument, and adults smiled when I played well. Actually, I didn’t enjoy all of that. To me, all was just about getting A grades, practicing accompanied by my mother and her opinions about what the music should feel and sound like.

I felt the pressure to succeed, and I did it. I got my diploma(文凭) at 14, and my parents bought an expensive cello for me when I was 16, hoping I would become the next Yo-Yo Ma, a well-known cellist. I continued to practise and play unwillingly, spending almost every Saturday at a music program.

However, I didn’t feel much towards it. When high school finished, I stopped playing, leaving the cello sit in its place silently. Growing up, I sometimes resented(怨恨) my parents for expecting so much from me, and wondered why they wouldn’t let me decide my own hobbies and interests. When I gave up playing, relatives complained about my wasted talent at family gatherings, which made me feel like I had nothing else to offer. At that time I was just like a lot of today’s young people, who feel angry when they are forced to do what they don’t really like.

But things have changed in the last few years. I began to have a strong desire for cello when I felt lonely in a strange city. I missed its familiar sound, and it aroused passion in my mind. Without any hesitation, I asked my parents to drive my cello down from Sydney to Melbourne. I started playing again, writing songs that sounded more like the kind that I’d always want to play in bands and alone in my room.

Playing the cello again was both unfamiliar and familiar to me.

Now I have a real understanding of my parents’ decisions for me.

I still remember how nervous I felt doing some things for the first time. You’d think that after a lot of first times the butterflies-in-stomach feeling would disappear. But here’s what happened a month ago.

“Please come to the chess club tomorrow,” Mareya said to me. “I know you’re going to love it!” “I’ve never even played chess (国际象棋),” I said. “It seems super hard.”

“I went last week, and it was extremely fun!” said Mareya. “Really?” I said, not convinced.

“Really. Also, the club needs more people to keep it going.” Mareya smiled.

“Listen. If you try it, I’ll do my silly rabbit dance in the middle of recess (课间休息).” I laughed. “In front of everyone? It’s a deal (交易)!”

When I arrived at home. I searched our game shelves. Finally, at the very bottom of the pile (堆), I found a tattered (破旧的) box with a chessboard and plastic chess pieces. I read the instructions (说明) carefully. Knights, rooks, bishops, pawns, a king, and a queen — each piece had a special starting place and its own way of moving. My heart sank. I couldn’t possibly memorize all the rules in time. Everyone in the chess club was going to think I was inexperienced!

That night, I dreamed I was in a chess game, and the queens, kings, and knights were laughing at me. Even the knights’ horses were snickering (窃笑)! The next day, I told Mareya I was having second thoughts.

“Please don’t back out (打退堂鼓),” she said. “Remember our deal.”

“I would like to see your silly rabbit dance,” I said, smiling.

After school, I found the chess club’s meeting room and went inside. I looked around, but Mareya was nowhere in sight! To make matters worse, I didn’t know a single person in the room. Butterflies filled my stomach (局促不安) as I started to head toward the door.

“Hi!” said a friendly woman. “I’m Ms. Martinez.”

“I’m Arizona,” I said. “I was supposed to meet a friend, but I don’t see her. I’d better get going.” “Well, as long as you’re here, why don’t you sit with Joe and Jess and watch their game?”

I didn’t want to be rude, so I sat down.