The reef was quiet the next morning. Manta and Sharky glided through the water, still uneasy from yesterday’s encounter with the strange floating bags.

“I keep thinking about those creatures,” said Manta softly. “They weren’t food, but they almost killed you.”

“I’ll never bite one again,” said Sharky, snapping his tail. “But they’re everywhere, drifting like ghosts.”

As they rounded a rocky corner, they spotted something curious. A cloud of sand puffed from the seabed, poof, and a small shadow wriggled out. Eight little arms waved about like ribbons.

“An octopus!” whispered Manta.

“Be careful,” said Sharky, narrowing his eyes. “Octopuses can squirt ink and escape. This one might be tricky.”

The baby octopus turned its huge round eyes toward them. Instead of looking fierce, it seemed tired. One arm curled weakly, while another clutched something crinkly and strange.

“Wait, what is it eating?” said Manta, confused.

They swam closer. The octopus was nibbling on a piece of a plastic bag! It chewed and chewed, but the fragments just floated back out in bubbles.

“Mmm, chewy, but no taste,” mumbled the baby octopus. “Maybe I’m not biting hard enough?”

“Hey! Stop that! That’s not food!” said Sharky, alarmed.

The octopus startled, puffing a tiny jet of ink, pfft, that drifted like a smoky cloud.

“Who are you to tell me what to eat? I’m hungry!” it said defensively.

“We know you’re hungry,” said Manta gently, “but that stuff isn’t food. Sharky nearly choked on it yesterday.”

The octopus blinked. “Really? But it floats like jellyfish. I thought maybe it’s the same.”

To prove it, the octopus grabbed another fragment and stuffed it into its mouth. Almost immediately, it coughed and gagged, glrk, glup, tiny arms flailing.

“Oh no! It’s happening again!” panicked Sharky.

Without hesitation, Manta swooped in and used his fins to sweep the plastic out of the octopus’s beak. The fragment floated away harmlessly.

“See? It doesn’t break down. It doesn’t feed you. It just makes you choke,” said Manta firmly.

The baby octopus coughed once more, then sagged, embarrassed. “I didn’t know,” it said quietly. “My mother left before I could learn what was safe. I’m alone.”

Manta and Sharky exchanged a look. They remembered their own lonely beginnings: Manta left to fend for himself, Sharky always hunting without guidance.

“You’re not alone any more,” said Sharky, softening. “Come with us.”

“Yes!” smiled Manta. “We’ll teach you what’s good to eat. And we’ll watch out for each other.”

The octopus’s eyes glistened. It curled its arms shyly, then stretched one toward them like a handshake. “Friends?”

“Friends!” said Manta and Sharky together.

And so the three of them, Manta, Sharky, and the little octopus, set off into the wide blue sea.

They swam past coral gardens, weaving in and out of fish schools, their laughter rising in bubbles. Yet behind them, bits of plastic still drifted, silent and deadly.

As the new friends journeyed together, Manta whispered to himself, “The ocean gives us everything we need. But these strange things, they don’t belong here.”

And the little octopus, now safe between his two new protectors, clung close and nodded.

The journey of three friends had just begun.