Forgive My Fins
Page 43
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
When she squeezes me back, I know she’s all right.
“I’m s-sorry,” she stammers. “I wish I didn’t go into a panic like that. Won’t do me a drop of good if I freeze up in their path.”
“Well,” I say, trying to lighten the mood, “we just have to make sure you never face one alone. I’ll always be there for you.”
When she leans back, her eyes sparkle with the same copper shade as her scales.
“You know that’s not possible,” she says, fidgeting with the braid still draping over my shoulder. “But I appreciate the sentiment.” She gets a little bit of that far-off look again, but this time it’s different. “You are such a caring merperson, Lily. You deserve someone who will love you as much as you love your friends.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. Considering my current romantic mess, it’s either that or cry. And if I go home with puffy red eyes—sparkling or not—Aunt Rachel will know something’s wrong, so I break out in the giggles.
“I’m working on that,” I say. “Just as soon as Daddy separates me from the lug-nut biker boy, I’m confessing everything to Brody.”
Her eyes—sparkling a little less—flash.
“Not everything?” she clarifies.
I hadn’t really thought about it until this moment, but it’s fast becoming the only option. My birthday is only five weeks away, and once he’s my mermate, he’ll have to know the truth anyway.
I nod.
“Lily, you can’t,” Peri argues. “If you tell a human who hasn’t been given aqua vide—”
“I know. It’s a risk when Brody hasn’t begun the change to water life.” I sigh, thinking of Brody with his arm around me, flying through the water as if he were born to it, smiling down at me from my homeroom TV screen every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Every thought of Brody is more perfect than the last. “But he’s worth it.”
Peri doesn’t look quite satisfied, but she doesn’t argue. She knows as well as anyone—except maybe Shannen—how long I’ve loved Brody. If Quince hadn’t made a mud puddle of everything, Brody might already be mine.
“I need to get home,” I say, thinking of my pile of homework for tomorrow and of Peri swimming back to Thalassinia in the waning sunlight. “Will you be okay getting back?”
“I’ll be fine,” Peri insists.
I hug her once more, just because. “See you tomorrow night.”
Hopefully, twenty-four hours from now, my bond with Quince will be a distant memory. Brody will be mine before Monday.
17
“I’m home, Aunt Rachel,” I shout as I burst through the kitchen door after school on Friday. “I’m just going to drop off my backpack, and then Quince and I are heading for—”
I stop midsentence when I see the messenger gull sitting on our refrigerator.
Prithi is positioned in front of the fridge, tail curling slowly back and forth, silently daring the gull to leave his perch.
Aunt Rachel walks in from the hall. Nodding at the gull, she says, “He’s been here for two hours. Wouldn’t let me take the message.”
I roll my eyes. The note isn’t private, or the kelpaper around his leg would be pale pink instead of green. Messenger gulls are our primary means of communicating with our land-based and landlocked kin, but they aren’t always the most reliable. This one probably read a signal wrong and thinks this is a top-secret message.
“Hey, Lily,” Quince says, entering behind me without bothering to knock. “I had to get gas on the way home, but I’m ready to go.” He stops when he sees the gull. “Is that a seagull on your refrigerator?”
“A messenger gull,” I clarify, stepping forward to retrieve the message from the gull’s leg. Prithi finally realizes I’m in the room and starts her ritual weaving around my ankles.
“Afternoon, Quince,” Aunt Rachel says. “Want something to eat before you go?”
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he says, pouring on some seriously unnecessary charm. “My mama always told me not to swim on a full stomach.”
They share a laugh—a human joke, I imagine—as I unroll the scroll. My heart jumps. I can’t help the little squeal of joy that escapes.
“What’s up?” Quince asks, coming to my side and reading the note over my shoulder. “‘Come to the Hideaway.’ What’s the Hideaway?”
“Only my favorite restaurant on the entire planet!”
Daddy must be taking us to a celebratory last supper before the separation. I’m so excited that I actually try to hug the messenger gull, who just squawks and flaps his broad wings to keep me away. This draws Prithi’s attention, and she makes a grab for the bird.
As I watch Aunt Rachel and Quince try to separate them, getting the gull out the window and Prithi into the living room, I just smile. Tonight is going to be such a huge relief.
“You’re going to love it,” I say as we swim up to the front door of the Hideaway.
“Why do you say that?” Quince asks.
“Because”—I push open the massive wooden door, unable to hide my grin—“they don’t serve a single piece of sushi.”
“Thank heavens.” But he laughs as he says it.
Daddy first took me to the Hideaway for my twelfth birthday. I remember swimming through these doors for the first time, floating into a little piece of the human world under the sea. It’s a salvager’s paradise. The walls are covered in the rich brown deck boards of a Spanish galleon. All the tables and chairs are made from the square-cut bones of a pirate schooner. They set their tables with actual knives and forks—not a set of seasticks in sight.
“I’m s-sorry,” she stammers. “I wish I didn’t go into a panic like that. Won’t do me a drop of good if I freeze up in their path.”
“Well,” I say, trying to lighten the mood, “we just have to make sure you never face one alone. I’ll always be there for you.”
When she leans back, her eyes sparkle with the same copper shade as her scales.
“You know that’s not possible,” she says, fidgeting with the braid still draping over my shoulder. “But I appreciate the sentiment.” She gets a little bit of that far-off look again, but this time it’s different. “You are such a caring merperson, Lily. You deserve someone who will love you as much as you love your friends.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. Considering my current romantic mess, it’s either that or cry. And if I go home with puffy red eyes—sparkling or not—Aunt Rachel will know something’s wrong, so I break out in the giggles.
“I’m working on that,” I say. “Just as soon as Daddy separates me from the lug-nut biker boy, I’m confessing everything to Brody.”
Her eyes—sparkling a little less—flash.
“Not everything?” she clarifies.
I hadn’t really thought about it until this moment, but it’s fast becoming the only option. My birthday is only five weeks away, and once he’s my mermate, he’ll have to know the truth anyway.
I nod.
“Lily, you can’t,” Peri argues. “If you tell a human who hasn’t been given aqua vide—”
“I know. It’s a risk when Brody hasn’t begun the change to water life.” I sigh, thinking of Brody with his arm around me, flying through the water as if he were born to it, smiling down at me from my homeroom TV screen every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Every thought of Brody is more perfect than the last. “But he’s worth it.”
Peri doesn’t look quite satisfied, but she doesn’t argue. She knows as well as anyone—except maybe Shannen—how long I’ve loved Brody. If Quince hadn’t made a mud puddle of everything, Brody might already be mine.
“I need to get home,” I say, thinking of my pile of homework for tomorrow and of Peri swimming back to Thalassinia in the waning sunlight. “Will you be okay getting back?”
“I’ll be fine,” Peri insists.
I hug her once more, just because. “See you tomorrow night.”
Hopefully, twenty-four hours from now, my bond with Quince will be a distant memory. Brody will be mine before Monday.
17
“I’m home, Aunt Rachel,” I shout as I burst through the kitchen door after school on Friday. “I’m just going to drop off my backpack, and then Quince and I are heading for—”
I stop midsentence when I see the messenger gull sitting on our refrigerator.
Prithi is positioned in front of the fridge, tail curling slowly back and forth, silently daring the gull to leave his perch.
Aunt Rachel walks in from the hall. Nodding at the gull, she says, “He’s been here for two hours. Wouldn’t let me take the message.”
I roll my eyes. The note isn’t private, or the kelpaper around his leg would be pale pink instead of green. Messenger gulls are our primary means of communicating with our land-based and landlocked kin, but they aren’t always the most reliable. This one probably read a signal wrong and thinks this is a top-secret message.
“Hey, Lily,” Quince says, entering behind me without bothering to knock. “I had to get gas on the way home, but I’m ready to go.” He stops when he sees the gull. “Is that a seagull on your refrigerator?”
“A messenger gull,” I clarify, stepping forward to retrieve the message from the gull’s leg. Prithi finally realizes I’m in the room and starts her ritual weaving around my ankles.
“Afternoon, Quince,” Aunt Rachel says. “Want something to eat before you go?”
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he says, pouring on some seriously unnecessary charm. “My mama always told me not to swim on a full stomach.”
They share a laugh—a human joke, I imagine—as I unroll the scroll. My heart jumps. I can’t help the little squeal of joy that escapes.
“What’s up?” Quince asks, coming to my side and reading the note over my shoulder. “‘Come to the Hideaway.’ What’s the Hideaway?”
“Only my favorite restaurant on the entire planet!”
Daddy must be taking us to a celebratory last supper before the separation. I’m so excited that I actually try to hug the messenger gull, who just squawks and flaps his broad wings to keep me away. This draws Prithi’s attention, and she makes a grab for the bird.
As I watch Aunt Rachel and Quince try to separate them, getting the gull out the window and Prithi into the living room, I just smile. Tonight is going to be such a huge relief.
“You’re going to love it,” I say as we swim up to the front door of the Hideaway.
“Why do you say that?” Quince asks.
“Because”—I push open the massive wooden door, unable to hide my grin—“they don’t serve a single piece of sushi.”
“Thank heavens.” But he laughs as he says it.
Daddy first took me to the Hideaway for my twelfth birthday. I remember swimming through these doors for the first time, floating into a little piece of the human world under the sea. It’s a salvager’s paradise. The walls are covered in the rich brown deck boards of a Spanish galleon. All the tables and chairs are made from the square-cut bones of a pirate schooner. They set their tables with actual knives and forks—not a set of seasticks in sight.
