I was in the woods when Jennie screamed. It came from the direction of the house, and when I cleared the trees I ran toward the sound.

She staggered up and collapsed on the ground. Gasping, she said, “Jellyfish.”
 

The outline of its tentacles had left red welts on her legs, stomach, and chest. I didn’t know what to do.
 

“Get them off me,” she yelled. When I looked down, I saw a few clear tentacles still attached to her stomach and chest. I pulled on one, and it stung me.
 

I ran to the water collector and grabbed the plastic container on the ground next to it. I filled it, ran back to Jennie, and doused her with the fresh water. The tentacles didn’t rinse off and she screamed in pain, as if the fresh water made it worse.
 

“Jiho, try seawater,” she said. “Hurry!”
 

Still holding the container, I ran down to the shore and filled it with water from the ocean. I sprinted back and this time, when I poured seawater on her, she didn’t scream.
 

She whimpered on the ground while I tried to figure out what to do next. I knew she still felt pain by the way she moved back and forth, struggling to find a comfortable position.
 

I remembered the tweezers and hurried to Jennie’s suitcase to get them. When I returned, I pulled off the tentacles as fast as I could. She closed her eyes and moaned.
 

I had removed almost all of them when Jennie’s skin started turning red, not only where she had been stung, but all over. Her eyelids and lips puffed up. I panicked and poured more seawater on her, but it didn’t help. Her eyes swelled shut.