The week that I thought would drag on forever—like the time Peri and I sat outside Daddy’s office waiting for our punishment for sneaking away to spend a day on Paradise Island—actually races by faster than I could imagine. Before I know it, I’m sitting on the bleachers in the natatorium, swim-team record book open across my lap, watching Brody swim for the city championship.
I’m still committed to the idea of telling Brody, as the adrenaline racing through my veins can attest. I’m both terrified and thrilled and, to be honest, totally nauseous. But there’s no time like the present, and—not that I’d admit this to him—Quince was right. I’ve put off going after my dream for too long.
“You seem kinda stressed,” Shannen says. “Something wrong?”
Unable to look away from the pool, I start to say, “No, I—” But something stops me. I’m about to tell Brody the whole truth, but what about Shannen? She’s my best human friend. It feels kind of wrong to tell Brody when she doesn’t know. If I can’t tell my best friend, then how on earth can I tell my future mermate?
Besides, it’ll be good practice.
Handing the record book over to the freshman towel girl, I stand. “Can we talk outside for a second?”
Shannen looks confused but follows me with a shrug. We slip out the back door—passing by Quince, who’s busy skulking in the back row of the bleachers—to the steps overlooking the parking lot. The night air is cool with the ocean breeze whistling through the palm fronds above.
I take a deep, calming breath.
“Shannen, I have something to tell you.” I step down into the parking lot, wrapping my arms tightly around my waist so I won’t spend the entire confession fidgeting. Shannen sinks onto the bottom step, and I walk over and sit next to her so I can whisper. “This is something I’ve never told another soul.” Then I have a mental wince. “Except Quince.”
But that almost doesn’t count, because I didn’t really have a choice.
“Okay…” She sounds a little dubious, like maybe I’m too much of an open book to have any juicy secrets.
Boy, will she be surprised.
“Before I came to Seaview,” I explain, squeezing my arms tighter around my waist, “I didn’t live in Fort Lauderdale.”
Aunt Rachel and I came up with that cover story when I first moved in with her. We thought it would be easier to use something as close to the truth as possible—and we couldn’t just say Daddy was dead, because, well, first of all, that just feels wrong, but also because I might let it slip that I was going to visit him or something, and that would be really awkward to explain.
“Oh,” she says. Then she gets this kind of appalled look on her face. “You’re not from the panhandle, are you?”
A little laugh escapes. “No, I’m not from the panhandle.” I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and say, “I’m from Thalassinia.”
“Where’s that?” she asks. “Georgia?”
“It’s about forty-five miles east of here.”
“East?” she repeats, confused. I can tell from her tone that it doesn’t make sense. “But the only thing forty-five miles east of Seaview is…”
“Ocean.” Ready to deal with her shock, I turn to her and say, “Thalassinia is a mer kingdom. I’m a mermaid.”
She looks out over the parking lot, eyes narrowed like she’s putting puzzle pieces together in her head. Shannen’s a brainiac, so I can bet that she’s getting a pretty complete picture. Pursing her lips in consideration, she says, “You’re a mermaid.”
“Uh-huh.”
Then her brown eyes turn on me, evaluating me head to toe as if she might have missed some scales or gills or something.
“Well, that makes sense,” she finally says. “You do have an obsession with ocean-related terminology. Though I am surprised by your affinity for sushi. I thought mermaids were supposed to be friends with fishes.”
“Only in animated movies,” I say with a laugh. Leave it to Shannen to intellectualize the fact that I’m a mythical creature.
She falls silent, studying the pavement. This is when the worry first hits me. What if she’s flipping out? What if she thinks I’m some kind of freak of nature and she never wants to talk to me again? I might have just lost my best human friend by telling her the truth about me. And if Shannen, who’s been like a sister for three years, can’t see past my mer side, then how on earth will Brody? What if Quince is right, and Brody will never—
“You didn’t trust me,” she finally says, stopping my snowballing mental freak-out.
“Of course I did,” I insist. “I do! That’s why I told you.”
“But you didn’t,” she replies. “Not until tonight.” The look of hurt in her warm eyes makes me want to cry. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me? And why did you tell me now?”
“I wanted to, Shan,” I insist. “Oh, how I wanted to. But we have to be so careful about revealing ourselves to humans. The laws are insanely strict. There were some incidents, back in the eighteenth century, when the sea was swarming with pirates. Our world nearly made front-page headlines.” I take her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “I trust you, but the safety of my entire kingdom comes first.”
“Then why are you telling me now?” she asks.
“Because…I had to tell you before I—” The fear creeps up my throat again, but I swallow around it. Why am I suddenly, after three years of waiting for tonight, so full of doubts and fears? “Before I tell Brody.”
“You’re going to tell him?” she gasps. “Tonight?”
I nod, expecting her to squeal with excitement. To be proud of me for finally—finally!—taking action.
Instead, she looks worried.
“Are you sure?” she asks. “You trust him that much? You trust him with your kingdom’s safety?”
All the air whooshes out of my lungs. She’s just voiced the same nagging doubts I’m trying to ignore. Do I trust him? Part of me, the part that’s mooned after him for three years, is screaming Yes. The rest of me, the part that knows all that mooning happened from afar with very limited personal experience, quietly whispers No.
And it’s not like I can take the confession back—at least, not without an unpleasant mindwashing ritual.
“Maybe,” I say, voicing my confusion. “Maybe you’re right. I can’t let Quince goad me into doing something stupid. This is more important than showing him up. I won’t tell Brody I’m a mermaid, but I will tell him that I love him.”
But…that didn’t even sound right. It doesn’t feel right to call what I feel for Brody love. That’s just too—
“No freakin’ way, Lil. You’re a mermaid?”
Oh, no! I feel my eyes bug out at the sound of Brody’s voice. I didn’t hear the door open behind us—I was too focused on Shannen and her deep questions.
“Omigod,” she whispers, so softly I almost don’t hear. I give her a pleading, panicked look, but all she can offer in return is wide-eyed sympathy. “I think,” she says, pushing to her feet, “I’ll leave you two alone for a minute.”
I pop to my feet at her side, willing her not to go.
She leans close and whispers, “I’ll be right inside if you need me.” Then she jogs up the steps and disappears through the gray metal door.
My stomach takes a dive toward my feet. It’s in this instant, this moment of total fear, that I realize how wrong I was about Brody. How—Quince was right—delusional I’ve been. I’ve been living in a fantasy world, where Brody was safely removed from reality. Only in my imagination was he the perfect mate for me. If that fantasy were real, I wouldn’t be so utterly terrified right now.
“Brody, I—”
“That is the coolest thing ever,” he exclaims, eyeing my body as he descends to ground level. His gaze lingers over my cha-chas. “Do you wear coconut shells?”
My first reaction is revulsion. I mean, sure, there are some mermaids who wear things like skimpy shell bikini tops—cough, Dosinia, cough—but it’s not exactly tasteful attire. My second reaction is extreme disappointment. He heard me confess my feelings—or at least what I believed were my feelings—and he obviously didn’t care about that at all. He doesn’t care about me.
And now he knows my kingdom’s secret.
I have to take care of him. (No, not in a Mafia kind of way—remember, merfolk are peaceful people.) And if I can do it without resorting to a mindwashing ritual, then all the better. Because, seriously, the last thing I need right now is a weeklong killer migraine.
Forgetting my terror and embarrassment and humiliation, I burst out laughing, trying to joke it off. “You thought I was serious?” I giggle like this is the funniest thing in the world. “I was teasing. I was playing a joke on Shannen.”
At first Brody looks confused, like he’s not sure how he might have misinterpreted the situation. Then he shakes his head with a smile. “Nice try, Lil,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You wouldn’t play your best friend like that. You’re too nice.”
It’s amazing how much your life can change in just a moment. An hour ago, I would have died to be in this position with Brody, close enough to feel him breathing, and with his attention fully focused on me and him finally knowing all my secrets. But now? I’ve never been so scared—for myself, for my kingdom—in my entire life. Not even when I had to lure those fishermen away from Quince.
Quince! My mind flashes back to the moment on the beach when I told him the truth, when he threw back his head and laughed. There was no fear, no humiliation, just a little relief at finally telling someone my secret. Who’d have thought two weeks ago that I’d be terrified because Brody found out but fine with Quince knowing?
My subconscious must have known he was trustworthy all along.
As if I’d conjured him with magic, the door above swings open and Quince is filling the doorway with his leather-jacket-clad self.
I practically sag with relief…until I sense the fury pounding through his blood. He felt my fear and now he’s here to protect me. By any means.
That can’t end well for anyone.
“Something going on I should know about?” he demands, not moving from the landing. Even though Quince makes no move, Brody steps back. “You bothering my girl, Bennett?”
“Your girl?” Brody echoes. “Not according to her.”
“I lied. I am his,” I blurt, desperate to keep this awful situation from going tsunami on me. Then, looking at Quince, I say, “And he’s mine.”
Even though I never thought it before, the moment I say it, I know it’s true. It’s been building and bubbling since the night he first kissed me. Maybe before.
“Does he know you’re half fish?” Brody asks me. Then, turning to Quince, he says, “You know your girl’s a—”
He doesn’t have time to finish before Quince’s fist connects with his jaw. I’m not sure how Quince made it down the steps so fast—goodness knows he’s got a corner on the laid-back-lazy market—but one second he was in the doorway, and the next he’s pummeling Brody into the pavement.
Bright lights swing across the scene. Brakes squeal against the blacktop. Shannen’s car stops in front of the scuffle, and the passenger door flies open.
“Come on, Lily!” she shouts. “Let’s get out of here.”
I stare at Quince, who has Brody pinned to the ground and held motionless beneath his knees. Quince looks at me and nods. “Go home.” He bounces Brody’s head against the concrete. “I’ll meet you there later.”
I’m tempted to nod, to let Quince beat the living carp out of Brody so I don’t have to deal with the consequences of my accidental revelation. But if this whole bond fiasco has taught me anything, it’s that I need to start taking control of my life. I’m almost eighteen, almost an adult in my world and in this one. I can’t let someone else solve my problems for me.
“No!” I shout, diving onto Quince’s back. “This isn’t going to fix anything!”
Quince lets me drag him off Brody. “It’s sure making me feel a hell of a lot better.”
“I know.” Because I felt his rush of satisfaction when his fist connected with Brody’s face. “But unless you’re planning on killing him—”
“I might.”
I release my grip on his shoulders. “No, you’re not.”
“He shouldn’t know,” Quince says.
Brody, who is moaning into a sitting position and wiping the trail of blood trickling from the side of his mouth, grumbles, “Damn, Fletcher. What’s your glitch?”
Quince ignores him. “He can’t be trusted to keep your secret.”
My heart tightens when he says your secret. As if it’s not his secret, too.
But I don’t have time to explore that feeling right now.
“I know,” I repeat. “Pulverizing him won’t change that.” Even though I know he hates feeling helpless, I have to add, “Nothing you can do will make him forget.”
Quince shrugs his jacket back into place. Then, as if my words finally hit home, he asks quietly, “But you can?”
As I nod, his brows drop into a worried scowl.
I feel compelled to reassure him. “I would never use this on you,” I explain. “I don’t need to.”
Because I trust you.
I don’t have to read his mind to know that he gets my subtext.
“You need to be gone first,” I say. Things will be hard enough to explain without Quince’s bloody knuckles raising even more questions. “I’ll be fine.”
Quince nods, walking around Brody and past Shannen’s still-running car, to where his motorcycle is parked next to the natatorium wall. Seconds later, his bike roars to life with a rumble that is becoming one of my favorite sounds.
“Brody,” I begin once the roar fades into the distance. “We need to talk—”
“I think he sprained my jaw,” Brody says, gingerly moving his lower jaw from side to side. “I’m gonna require serious makeup for news team next week.”
“We need to talk.” I bend down in front of him, trying not to grind my teeth in frustration at his superficial focus. Guess that’s another thing Quince was right about. I’ll add it to the list. “First, let’s get you on your feet.”
He grumbles but holds out his arm, inviting me to help him up.
Once he’s standing—and repeatedly pressing against the corner of his mouth, as if fascinated by the sensation of a bloody lip—I place my hands on his shoulders.
“Brody,” I say confidently, “look at me.”
I’ve never performed a mindwashing before—I’ve never had to. But every mer in the sea is required to memorize the ritual, just in case something like this happens. The first step is establishing eye contact, creating and then maintaining the visual connection.
When Brody’s golden-brown eyes meet mine, caught by the hypnotic glitter of my magical focus, I take a deep breath and recite the words in my mind.
What was seen is now forgotten,
What was learned is now unknown.
Memories made are all but rotten,
New replacements shall be shown.
As soon as I finish the last thought, Brody blinks rapidly and shakes his head. Confusion fills his features, making him look completely lost.
I almost feel bad. Brody, the boy who always seems at home in every situation, looks totally disoriented…because of me. Well, it’s not like I had a choice. I couldn’t exactly leave him knowing the secret. I have no idea what he would do with that information. For all I know, my kingdom and I would become his next news-team exposé.
“Lily?”
Taking a deep breath, I plunge into a story to explain the situation.
“Are you okay, Brody?” I ask, feigning serious concern. “You took a hard tumble down those steps.”
He glances back over my shoulder, looking at the steps in question and trying to put the pieces together in his mind. Trying to fill the gaps I made in his memories.
“I fell?”
“Yeah,” Shannen says, climbing out of her car and coming to my aid—love her! “You came out here to ask Lily something about your next race and just—”
“—took a header into the parking lot,” I finish.
While Brody shakes his head, Shannen and I share a look. She looks totally proud of herself…and of me. I’m pretty proud of me too.
“Let me help you inside,” I offer, slipping to his side and wrapping an arm around his waist for support. “Coach will know what to do.”
“Oh. Okay,” Brody mutters. “Yeah. Coach can help.”
As I escort Brody to the steps, I look over my shoulder and tell Shannen, “I’ll be right back.”
I can already feel the migraine starting right above my left eye. If I try to stick it out for the rest of the meet, I’ll be incapacitated for a week. No, I’ll get Brody into Coach’s hands, then it’s home for a double dose of aspirin and a long nap in a dark room.
Quince will have to wait until tomorrow.
The migraine is still raging the next morning, so I skip school. By the afternoon, though, it’s dissipated to a dull ache, and knowing tonight’s the night we return to Thalassinia, I’m sitting on my front step waiting for Quince when I hear his motorcycle rumble in the distance.
I shake off the melancholy thoughts I’ve been wrestling with all day and paste on a happy smile. As he pulls his bike into the driveway between our houses, I think I’ve actually managed to conjure some happiness.
Clearly, Quince is not fooled.
“You weren’t in school,” he says as he climbs the steps to sit next to me. “You okay?”
“Sure,” I say, pretending it’s true.
He turns his bright eyes on me. “Seriously, Lily. Are you all right?”
His sincerity shatters my façade. I’m not all right, I want to scream. I’m as far from all right as I can get because I’m sad and confused and I don’t know what to do.
But that’s the emotion talking—or thinking. The reality is a little more complicated.
“I’m disappointed in myself,” I say finally. “All these years wasted on loving Brody…and it was all a fantasy. Just like you said.”
“Yeah, well, you had to realize that for yourself.” Quince puts an arm around my shoulders and hugs me to his side. And even though he happens to be the most confusing thing in my life at the moment, I let him. At least he’s not saying “I told you so.”
I say it instead. “You told me so,” I admit. “You told me my image of Brody wasn’t real, and you were right. I was just too blind to see it.”
He laughs a little. “You were too blind to see a lot of things, princess.”
It’s reassuring when he calls me princess—as opposed to Princess or, worse, Lily. One seems too mocking, the other too intimate. His ironic nickname feels safe.
I look down, away, and see his bruised left hand—knuckles scabbed over now—braced on the front of the step. Great white shark, how had I forgotten about the fight? Too wrapped up in my own issues, I guess.
“Did you break anything?”
He looks at me with raised brows, and when I nod at his battered hand, he frowns. “No. The idiot might need an ice pack or two, but nothing requiring medical attention.”
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing at the fact that Quince thought I was asking about Brody.
I lean across his body and lift his hand for inspection. As I run my fingertips over his broken skin, careful not to cause more pain, I say, “I meant you, blowfish. Your bones.”
His hand trembles a little in mine. Somehow, that rattles me more than anything else. I could deal with losing my fantasy Brody more than I can face a very real, trembling Quince.
“No,” he whispers. “I pulled my punches.” Then, with some of his usual humor, he adds, “Principal Brown already thinks I’m one step away from juvie. Don’t need to put myself there.”
I look up, ready to argue, when a lumpy spot in his heather gray T-shirt catches my eye. Lifting my fingers to the place just beneath his collarbone, I’m both surprised and not to feel a sand-dollar-shaped object. My gaze continues the journey up to his.
“You’re still wearing it.”
We both know it’s not a question, just like we both seem to have lost the ability to breathe. A whole sea of emotions washes through his eyes—fear, anger, pain, trust, love. Love. It’s when I see that last one that I close my eyes.
He whispers, “Always.”
That’s what I was afraid of.
My confusion rushes back, shoving all other thoughts aside. I pull away, staring down at my hands folded tightly in my lap. I’m not ready for this, not ready for him. I can’t be.
“Quince, I—”
“I get it, Lily,” he says, my name giving more weight to his words. “Really I do. You’ve been through a lot in the last two weeks. I know you need some time to process.”
I feel like relief should sag through me, but it doesn’t. Still, I say, “Thank you.”
“But,” he says, his voice shifting back to the strong, powerful Quince, “that doesn’t change how I feel. How I’ve always felt. I care about you, Lily. I—”
“Stop!” I can’t hear the words he is about to say. My mind is muddied enough already, without his feelings coming into play. But when I imagine the hurt in his eyes—eyes I can’t look into right now—I add, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he insists. “I don’t have to say the words. You know.”
Yeah, I do. And that just makes everything a million times worse.
“Are you ready to go back to Thalassinia?” I ask, needing to take some action to make this confusion, this ache in my chest, go away.
Now I finally do look at him, and he’s studying me. He’s got his thoughts carefully masked, though, so I can’t guess what he’s going to do until he says, “Sure. Just let me go tell Mom I’ll be gone.”
As I watch him walk across the lawn between our houses, I think I should feel more relieved. The mess of the bonding, the muddle of magic and emotions and royal expectations, is finally going to be over.
Hopefully, by the time we get to Thalassinia, I’ll have decided what I’m going to do.