Prologue:

August 1996

Most jellyfish, SpongeBob knows, have three round spots on their bulbous pink backs. Sometimes, if he's lucky, he'll see one with four; very rarely does he see five.

Floating through the floral sky high above a grassy crest, SpongeBob could tell that this one was different. Considerably larger than the others nearby, the jellyfish was an unusually pale shade of pink; the leis of the late summer sky were clearly visible through its translucent skin. Upon its smooth back he could count not five but seven spots gleaming in the sunlight.

Without question it was the finest specimen SpongeBob had ever seen.

Though his tiny legs ached and the glaring sunlight blinded him through cheap safety glasses, he ran as fast as he could up the hill and swiped upwards.

It was to no avail. The seven-spotted jellyfish drifted beyond SpongeBob's eager reach, its thin tentacles pulsing lazily in the stagnant summer tide.

Determined, he jumped as high as he could and forcefully brought his net down. SpongeBob stumbled. Feeling his legs fly out from under him, he fell down the hill, net falling out of his hand and thick safety glasses painfully crushing against his face. Nearby, he heard Patrick laugh, and quickly pushed himself off the ground to join his friend.

Patrick, empty net in hand, stood below the grassy crest. On his pointy head he wore a small sailor hat. "Caught one yet?" SpongeBob asked, dusting off his trousers. He pushed his glassed up his nose.

Patrick glared. "No," he said, and crossed his arms.

"Aw, don't worry, pal," said SpongeBob. He patted his friend on the back. "You'll catch one."

Patrick's stared down at his feet. "This is stupid." He threw his net to the ground.

"Oh, Pat," SpongeBob said. "You'll get one soon. I'm sure of it." He smiled encouragingly.

"You're just getting lucky! It's not fair."

SpongeBob paused. "I guess," he muttered. So far that day he had caught six different jellyfish—and the same one twice. He wouldn't exactly say that was luck. "Why don't you wait over there," SpongeBob suggested, pointing to a hill behind them. It was absolutely crawling with jellyfish.

"Fine," Patrick said, and strutted off. It was a hot day, and SpongeBob's thin t-shirt stuck to his small square frame. He watched enviously as Patrick, who was shirtless, came to a stop on top of the crest. It was SpongeBob's mother who had made him wear a shirt in the first place; she now sat on a picnic blanket a little ways off, lost in a crime mystery novel. SpongeBob, deciding to join her, settled himself on the rough plaid sheet. He grabbed a sandwich from the small container his mother had brought and turned to watch his friend.

Patrick, it seemed, was not making much progress. He was currently banging his net on the rock beside the hill in frustration. SpongeBob sighed and took a bite of his sandwich. When would he ever learn? The commotion would only scare the jellyfish, not attract them.

Through a small hole in the rock SpongeBob spotted a movement. Something was squirming within the rock! "Patrick, look!" he hollered. If the something was a jellyfish, it would be an easy catch.

Patrick turned to see the beginning of what looked like a jellyfish emerge from the rock. SpongeBob heard him cry out in delight as he slapped his net over the small hole from which it came. Soon enough, his net was filled with a small, pink creature.

SpongeBob threw his sandwich down and ran over to his friend. "Patrick! You caught one!" he panted. Patrick giggled, and held up his net for SpongeBob to see. He gasped.

Within it was the seven-spotted jellyfish.

Patrick laughed in delight as it floated within his closed net. "Hey, good job, Patrick," said SpongeBob weakly. Of course, he thought bitterly, it would be Patrick who'd catch this beautiful creature—and all because of luck, too. He watched sullenly as the starfish cooed at the indifferent fish.

SpongeBob heard his mother approach. "Boys," she said, her voice soft, "We should head out now." She placed a hand on her son's forehead.

"But Mrs. SquarePants, I don't wanna!"

"Oh, Patrick, sweetie, don't be silly." She reached out to grab the hand of the young starfish, but Patrick pulled away, his grip on his net visibly tightening. Mrs. SquarePants sighed.

"Can I bring the jellyfish?" Patrick asked, staring lovingly at the small creature inside.

"I'm afraid you can't, honey," she said. "It is quite a lovely one, though, isn't it?" Patrick glowered, and slowly lowered his net. "Let it go, and then maybe you or SpongeBob will catch it next time!" She smiled.

"But it's mine." Patrick said dully. "I don't want SpongeBob to catch it."

Mrs. SquarePants faltered. "Oh. Honey. I'm sure he'll let you have it next time, now won't you, SpongeBob?" she asked.

"Sure, Mom," he muttered. He had no intention of just letting his friend catch such a wonderful jellyfish. It just wasn't fair. He met Patrick's eyes. They were narrowed. Defensive.

His mother took his hand. "Come on now, boys," she sang, and pulled SpongeBob away. He turned back to see Patrick staring at the jellyfish in rapt attention.

It was only when he reached the boat-mobile that Patrick finally appeared by his side. "So…you released him?" SpongeBob asked uncertainly as his friend quietly buckled his seat belt.

"He's a free now."

SpongeBob brightened. "Ah, well! Next time, eh, buddy?" He jostled an unresponsive Patrick with his elbow. The boat-mobile turned out of the parking lot and onto the road.

Evening fell upon Jellyfish Fields. As the moon shone high and bright over the highlands, clams could be heard singing their aching songs and old corals groaned under the weight forgotten jelly. The breeze swirled over the hills.

Soft grasses rustled as the cool ocean breeze as passed over the corpse of the seven-spotted jellyfish.