I woke up EXTRA EXTRA EARLY—like, the kind of early where even the waves don’t know if they should crash yet.

“I’M READY! I’M READY! I’M READY!” I told the toaster. It saluted by burning a perfect bread-portrait of my face. Gary said “meow,” which in Snailish means, “here we go again…”

Tie: squared.
Hat: centered.
Smile: YES.

I flung open the pineapple door to yell, “GOOD MOR—”
Oh. Right. The rock across the yard was gone.

Patrick had told me yesterday, in his very normal Tuesday voice, “Gotta go, buddy.” He patted his rock like it was luggage.

Ok.

Work time! WORK WORK WORK!!!


I bounced to the Krusty Krab, flipped patties till the grill purred like a sea-kitten. “Flip-flip—wheee!” I cheered. Mr. Krabs counted nickels until they confessed their serial numbers. Squidward frowned like always.

The spatula and I tried jokes, but they skidded like patties on a cold bun. I laughed anyway.

New plan.

FIND. ANOTHER. PATRICK.

I made a flyer with my best crayon:

NOW HIRING: PATRICK

Qualifications:
• Jellyfishing (willing to be zapped politely)
• Rock-sitting (professional)
• Ice-cream experience (sprinkle-forward)
• Flexible nap schedule (must respect sudden naps)
• Kind to snails (and to sponges, even when square)
• Laughs at “sea cucumber” every single time

Compensation: Friendship, shared fries, occasional life wisdoms.

I plastered them everywhere—Barg’N-Mart, Goo Lagoon, outside the Chum Bucket (community service!), even on Squidward (temporary). Then I set up an interview table with a bowl of complimentary sprinkles.

AUDITION #1: Larry Lobster
“Do you catch jellyfish?” I asked.
“Only as part of my upper-body routine, bro,” he flexed.
“Do you sit on rocks?”
“Not unless they’re dumbbells.”
I wrote promising?? but the crayon snapped under all that protein talk.


AUDITION #2: Mermaid Man.
He shuffled in, cape tangled in his fins.
“Do you like ice cream?” I asked.
“Evil!” he shouted, pointing dramatically at my cone.
When I clarified, he fell asleep mid-sentence.
Disqualified for confusing dairy with danger.

AUDITION #3: Pearl.
She showed up with glitter on her blowhole.
“Do you laugh at dumb jokes?” I asked.
“Only ironically,” she said, and ordered me to turn the audition into a mall trip.
She left when I couldn’t drive her there.

AUDITION #4: Mrs. Puff.
She waddled in, looked around, and froze.
“This isn’t boating school?”
“Nope! Friendship auditions!” I said cheerfully.
Her eyes went wide with horror. She screamed, “Not again!” and rolled right out the door.

Plankton showed up with a mustache.
“Name?”
“Uh… Stan.”
“Stan what?”
“Stan… ky.”
“Plankton, go home.”
“Curses!”

Between interviews I practiced greetings. “HI! ARE YOU MY NEW—” Too shouty. “Hello! Would you like to—” Too desperate. “Hey.”

Yes.

“Hey” is a doorknob that works.

Sandy showed up with her clipboard.
“Whatcha doin’, SpongeBob?”
“Hiring a Patrick!” I grinned. It sounded fine in my mouth.

She tilted her helmet, thinking. “Company’s tricky.”

I nodded.

A week later, I still had the flyers up. The sprinkles in the interview bowl had gone stale, but I left them—like maybe someone would wander by, late to the audition. No one did.

Instead, the ocean just kept sending me its usual things: echoey laughs from Goo Lagoon, a bubble that popped too soon, a jellyfish drifting past like a thought that doesn’t land. I waved at them all anyway.

Sometimes I swore I saw a pink blur in the corner of my eye—hat, shorts, laugh—but it was always just coral or a trick of the tide. My heart still cartwheeled each time, even when it landed on nothing.

Soon, the saltwater peeled most of the posters away. I didn’t bother putting up new ones. I kept the extra chair anyway. And an extra sandwich, wrapped carefully, waiting.

The ocean never tells you what it’s bringing next. It just keeps rolling, full of surprises. Maybe tomorrow it brings a Patrick. Maybe not.

Either way—
“I’M READY! I’M READY! I’M READY!”