Scott was at his lowest possible moment in his life right now. Which is pretty damn low, considering how his life is normally.

He was dumped by Ramona (deserved, of course), he was crashing at Wallace's house, his previous roommate who was very gay and cool. His band Sex-Bob-Omb was abandoned by Stephen, Kim had moved back to her parents, and he couldn't find Gideon!! (The cat, not the guy).

A beach day would make things better. That's what Wallace told him, anyways. Scott was slightly convinced that Wallace only pushed him into coming so he'd help carry the stuff to the beach.

It was like a little reunion, except it was a painful reminder of the past beach party they'd had for a birthday party. When Scott still had Ramona.

So he sulked in the ocean, the water at his knees, moping around like the loser he was. Of course, nobody paid any mind to Scott. Not until a random volleyball smashed into the back of his head and knocked him out, comedically.

Unfortunately, nobody was watching and failed to notice. It would've been pretty pathetic if he drowned in 3 foot water from a ball smacking into him, too. But he didn't.

He woke shortly after with a gasp, feeling himself being dunked awake. He sputtered and flailed, pushing away the webbed like hands that were holding him. Wait, webbed?

Scott gasped as he looked over the figure. It wasn't Wallace. It wasn't any of his other friends. It sure as hell wasn't Ramona. He looked down at the glistening tail in the gleaming sun, submerged in the waters. "Mer- Mer-!" He couldn't even spit it out.