Baby knows she’s beautiful. Why else would thousands gather to gawk at her through the glass, day after day after dome-shaped day? After all, nobody flocks to see ugly things.

Baby’s the name they gave her, since she’s the youngest orca in the tank. Despite this distinction, she’s three times longer and ten times stronger than any of the weaklings on the other side of the glass. She can’t remember whether or not she was born here. But it feels that way.

Baby loves to eat. Lives to eat. It’s the reason why she dances, poses, and bellyflops all day — to see that little bucket appear on the concrete ledge of the tank. She longs for the fish in that bucket: delicious fish, salty and silvery and laced with approval. It’s never enough. She could eat bunches of soggy, soupy fish all day long and still feel starving — but she’ll take what she can get. The gangly man in charge of the fish has curly brown hair and always smiles. He’s the only one who feeds her, the only one who touches her, and when his hands stroke her slippery-sleek body, she knows he’s the only one who loves her.

Baby loves to run. She’s built to run. She’s dying to show off, put her God-given powers to the test — but she’s never had the oceans of space to do it. Instead, she flexes in fishbowls. Twirls in concrete loops. She glides through the teal water at phantom speed, pumping past the awestruck crowds, until she’s swimming so fast that their faces blur and bob together like sea anemone tentacles. Sometimes she’s tempted to ram the side of the wall, to charge the glass until it splinters and they all run screaming. But then she remembers the fish. Briny, slimy, perfect on her tongue. Her stomach growls. Only good girls get fed. Yes. She remembers the fish and runs back to her man with her mouth watering, like she always does. Maybe this time it’ll feel like enough.

Baby loves surprises. She doesn’t get them very often. But this morning is different. This morning, her man arrives early, before anybody else. She’s surprised when he reaches out and offers her the biggest bunch of fish she’s ever seen. And they’re both surprised when her mouth opens up and clamps down on his arm instead. It surprises her how fast it all happens. How easily her forty-nine teeth tear flesh. How quickly the blood blossoms in the water and turns the cerulean pool sandy-red. The body floats in driftwood pieces. The face no longer smiles. The curly hair lies limp and soft as seaweed in a current. A stray tendon slithers on the cloudy surface of the water. All around her, and inside her, flows the blood. Tangy. Potent. Intoxicating. She drinks it in, and something she didn’t realize was empty suddenly feels full, and she knows now, once and for all, the answer is yes — she was born here. Right here, in the red.

Baby’s brand new. No turning back now. She eyes the debris that surrounds her in the pool and wonders if everybody will finally leave her alone. After all, nobody flocks to see ugly things.

Gradually, she begins to notice the fish, blanketing the water’s surface like gleaming lily pads. Baby’s surprised. She’d forgotten all about the fish. She can no longer remember how they taste.

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