Chapter 1: Slapped by a Viral Octopus

I am a hopeless tidepool blogger—a real disaster, honestly.

Sometimes I catch myself thinking about it, staring at my own reflection swirling in a puddle left behind by the last high tide, foam curling around my battered rain boots. Everyone else is out here hunting for clams or chasing blue crabs, but me? I’m the one tangled up with the giant octopus I just dragged onto shore. Most folks would be juggling a net full of wriggling shrimp or a bucket brimming with sand dollars. But nope—not me. I’m the person wrestling a pale, alien-looking octopus on a random Tuesday morning, right in front of God and everybody. That’s my life.

For my very first tidepool livestream, I didn’t want to look like a total amateur, so I hatched a plan to stage something wild by the ocean. To grab people’s attention, I dropped nearly $450 at the seafood market on this massive, almost see-through white octopus. I’d lived on the coast for years and never seen anything like it—its eight arms ghostly white, practically glowing in the sunlight.

The fishmonger looked at me like I’d lost my mind—like I was the kind of person who’d try to adopt a sea cucumber. I just shrugged it off, acting like it was totally normal. Maybe the octopus was injured or something, because it just lay there, limp as an old sock. Seriously, it barely twitched, even when I set it down by the water. Didn’t even try to crawl away. It just quietly pulled a little blanket of sand over itself. I remember thinking: Is this thing even alive?

I squatted down next to it, watching its skin pulse and ripple, and for a split second, I almost felt bad. Honestly, I felt a little guilty. At least it wasn’t making a break for it, right? I was feeling pretty good about that—until I hit the go-live button on my stream.

“Hey y’all, we’re out here tidepooling today! Check out these wild little spiral shells—maybe I’ll snag a couple for my desk... or, you know, my bathroom. If you’re into this, hit that follow! This is Mariah’s first stream—get in now and you’ll be an OG...”

My voice was all sunshine, even though my hands were shaking like crazy. “Wait, look! That patch of sand is moving—there’s gotta be something big under there!”

“It’s an octopus!”

I just about lost my mind. I grabbed my tongs and hustled over to where the octopus was, one long arm sticking out on the wet sand. I tried to pinch it gently with the tongs, but the octopus twitched, and then—no kidding—it circled around and actually wrapped itself right around my ankle.

The shock of its grip shot up my leg like I’d stuck my foot in a bucket of ice water. My ankle was instantly numb, and honestly? It was kind of freaky. I tried to shake it off, but it clung tight. Finally, I ditched the tongs and bent down to try and pry its arm off my foot.

The chat went absolutely nuts—hearts flying, people spamming, “Don’t use your hands!” and “It’s gonna slip away!” Someone even typed, “Girl, you’re about to get dunked!” I rolled my eyes, but the second I touched the octopus, its arm slithered right out of my grip.

Then it lifted one arm, waved it at me, and before I could even react—whap!—it slapped me right across the face.

...

First time in my life I’d ever been smacked by an octopus. I just stood there, stunned, while the chat lost their collective minds.

I swear, I could practically hear them howling through the screen. “Hahahaha! Gotta show my friend—this tidepool blogger just got wrecked by an octopus!”

“LOL, that was a real slap..."

...

Honestly, I have zero memory of what happened next—I probably just snapped. Didn’t care about my phone on the tripod, just tore off my jacket and went charging into the tidepool. I guess I was just too stubborn to lose to an octopus.

That day, I ended up in a full-on wrestling match with the octopus and couldn’t get away. That pathetic-looking octopus, after lying still for half the day, suddenly turned into a sprinter. It bolted, I chased, and even in ankle-deep water, there was no way I could catch an octopus with eight arms moving that fast.

Finally, out of sheer desperation, I dove forward and bear-hugged the octopus. Instantly, all eight arms wrapped around my waist, like it finally decided to give up. I ended up carrying it out, arms and all.

That $450 octopus was worth every single penny.

So there I was, standing on the beach under the sun with a nearly see-through octopus draped around me like some kind of weird fashion statement. I glanced at my phone—someone had just sent a Super Chat—and I couldn’t help but grin:

“Thank you for the Super Chat, you’re awesome!”

I was so hyped, I totally forgot the octopus was still suctioned to my side. That video of me spinning around later blew up on TikTok. Go figure.

Watching it again, I realized that octopus was actually stunning in the sunlight—so strange and luminous it barely seemed real, like something out of a dream.

I got famous right alongside the white octopus. Thanks to the real-life footage of someone wrestling an octopus, I went viral. Among tidepool bloggers, nobody was crazier than me. People started calling me Mariah, and the two of us became known as the “Octopus Mariah” duo.

The octopus somehow picked up its own fanbase. No joke. Every morning at eight, people would log into my livestream just to see the white octopus. I ended up converting a whole room in my little beach house into a giant aquarium. I didn’t even need to do outdoor streams anymore—just got up at eight, turned on the livestream, and flipped the lights on in the octopus room. That was the show.

It felt a little ridiculous, honestly.

Like, who was really running the show here? The octopus seemed to get it, performing for the camera every day: eating little fish, spinning in circles, even doing what looked like sit-ups. Its arms were so long, sometimes they’d snake out of the tank and adjust the camera for me. Show-off.

The comments were always full of “LMAO” and “Legend!” Someone even typed, “Bro, that octopus has more charisma than half my exes.”

The octopus worked its little butt off, and I just coasted. My daily chores were changing the water, fishing, and buying fresh veggies for my eight-armed buddy. Sometimes I’d play with him. His idea of fun was simple—just needed me to reach in and tease him, or sometimes give his arms a little massage. Had to play with him for two hours every day, usually around three in the afternoon. If I didn’t, he’d go on strike. No kidding.

After a month, the fans couldn’t take it anymore. They roasted me in the chat, saying people used to live off the land, but now I was just living off the octopus. “Find a new hustle, Mariah!” they’d say. “Stop mooching off your cephalopod!” Honestly, it was still my octopus. Fans even negotiated with me, asking me to massage his arms more. Wild.

But I still massaged my octopus’s arms every day. His pure white arms were soft and silky. When he was happy, he’d grab my wrist and spin around in the water. When he was annoyed, he’d slap my wrist with a tentacle. It didn’t hurt—actually, it was kind of fun.

Looking at him, I suddenly remembered that time on the beach—he probably got hurt by the tongs. While massaging his arms, I couldn’t help but say, “You hit me before, you know.”

The little octopus couldn’t talk, obviously. But when I turned to leave, he wrapped his arm around my hand. Such a goofball, like a clueless puppy. When I came back, his little arm circled around me and finally rested on my face, soft and cool, just lying there. Like the world’s most awkward apology.

After more than half a month, once I’d rested up, I went back to outdoor livestreams. This time it was proper tidepooling—no surprises, just a bunch of weird shells. I even complained on stream, “No octopus drama today, sorry, just some shells and maybe a crab or two.” With regular fans, the income wasn’t as high as the octopus’s talent shows, but it was still decent.

After a busy day, I picked up half a bucket of shells and a few little fish. At night, I fried up the shells and fish—one plate for me, one for the octopus. The octopus ate the shell meat, picked up the shells, looked left and right, and finally built a shell tower on the table. He made a tall stack in front of me, then gave me the shiniest shell. Having a pet? Honestly, it felt pretty great.

Casper was getting more and more popular—oh! By the way, Casper is my octopus. Recently, he ate spicy crawfish on stream and brought in a whole new batch of viewers. My popularity soared again, and Casper was a total foodie—a big octopus with a big appetite. Whenever I ate something, he had to try a bite. Later, he even stole a big chunk of ice and nearly froze his own tentacles off.

What a character.