Fins Are Forever

  FINS ARE FOREVER

  TERA LYNN CHILDS

  Dedication

  For Jenny, because she keeps the crazy at bay

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  About the Author

  Don’t miss the first fin-flicking romance

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  At the moment I am sole heir to the throne of Thalassinia, one of the most prosperous underwater kingdoms in the world. I am a princess without equal in most of the seven seas, or any other body of water, for that matter. Raised to all the duties that my title requires and prepared to be my kingdom’s future queen, I am respected, revered, and really, really loved by (most of) the people.

  A mermaid and a princess, all wrapped into one. Talk about every little human girl’s dream.

  But come my eighteenth birthday in eighteen days—not that I’m counting—I’ll be just a girl. Well, still a mergirl, true, but an average mergirl just the same.

  At midnight, after my birthday ball, I will sign the renunciation paperwork, inking Princess Waterlily out of existence. In her place will be plain old Lily Sanderson, living on land, dating the boy she loves, and trying to figure out this human thing once and for all. I’m also facing a whole new wave of pressures that go along with the job—college, career, future, tests and applications and GPA and a million other little things that weren’t even on my sonar when the plan was to return to Thalassinia after graduation next month.

  It’s a little overwhelming at times, which possibly explains why I’m doodling hearts and bubbles and L+Q=4EVA instead of copying Mr. Kingsley’s notes from the board.

  “There should be a law against having trig this late in the day,” Quince complains from the desk next to mine.

  Startled, I hastily cover my daydreamy notes with my textbook and look up at Quince. But his attention is focused—as mine should be—on our teacher and the equation on the board. I sigh with relief. I shouldn’t be embarrassed by my love doodles, because we are officially a couple now, so I have every right. Still, I don’t want him to think I’m any more of a lovesick guppy than he already knows.

  Casually as I can, I flip to a clean page and try—pretend—to focus on math. My attention is still on Quince.

  Head hanging down over my textbook, I slide another sideways glance at his handsome face. Mostly just because I can, but also because he’s nice to look at. There’s not much fault to find in his strong jaw, dark blond hair, and Caribbean blue eyes. Eyes that remind me of home.

  Before the accidental kiss and bond that brought us together, he sat one row over, on the other side of my recently former crush, Brody. When I came back to Seaview and we started dating officially and for certain, Quince made Brody switch so he could sit next to me. I never knew Brody was such a pushover, but I’m glad. This is the only class Quince and I have together, and I’d rather have him at my side.

  “I know, right,” Brody says from one row over. “Maybe we should start an antitrig petition.”

  Quince laughs. He’s been a lot nicer to Brody since I got over my ridiculous and unfounded crush and started dating him instead.

  Tearing his attention away from the board, Quince turns to face me, catching me staring—okay, ogling. Even though, as his official girlfriend, I have free rein to stare—okay, ogle—I still can’t stop the heat that blushes my cheeks to what I’m sure is an anemone shade of red.

  “You’re watching me, princess.” His soft lips spread into an appreciative smile. “People might get the wrong idea.”

  “What, that I actually like you now?” I tease.

  He shakes his head and leans toward me. “No, that you’re trying to see past me to get an eyeful of Benson.”

  He tilts his head in Brody’s direction. He knows it bugs me when he deliberately gets Brody’s name wrong. But I’m learning not to rise to the bait. Instead, I fight back.

  I shift my gaze to the board and fix an innocent look on my face.

  “What makes you think that’s the wrong idea?”

  Quince leans even closer and says, “Because you came back for me.”

  “I—”

  Thankfully I’m saved from coming up with a response by the bell signaling the end of sixth period. I’m getting better at trading barbs with him, but I’m not even close to his level yet.

  Everyone, including Quince and me, hurriedly shoves their trig books into backpacks and messenger bags and bolts for the hall before Kingsley can assign the homework he’s forgotten.

  “I wish you had study hall,” I say as we weave through the crowd. It would be nice if we had it together.

  “Me, too,” he says, placing a gentle hand on my lower back to guide me into an opening in the stream of students. “Between my job and your extracurriculars, I’ve barely gotten to see you since you came back.”

  “I know.” I weave closer to him to avoid an overstuffed backpack. “It will be better after graduation.”

  “Then I’ll start working full-time,” he argues.

  “It’ll still be better,” I insist. “No more homework until college.”

  If I get in, that is. My grades have been submediocre—partly because many of the subjects are completely foreign to the mer world, and partly because I never imagined going to college. I didn’t need a degree to rule Thalassinia. Now that’s all changed, and at my meeting with the school counselor this week, I learned that the only way I’ll get into college—any college—is to ace the SATs. I’ve enlisted my genius best human friend’s help and enrolled in an intensive test-prep class, but I’m not counting on a decent score. Tests and I don’t really get along.

  “You’ll get in,” Quince assures me, proving once again that he can read my mind, even without a magical bond. “And if you don’t,” he adds, slinging an arm around my shoulders, “you can always take over for me at the lumberyard.”

  “Ha ha,” I reply, sending a sharp elbow into his ribs.

  “Lighten up, princess.” He tugs me closer, probably so I can’t swing my arm enough to get in another jab. “You’ll do fine.”

  “What, you’re psychic now?”

  “Didn’t you know?” he asks seriously. “Must be an aftereffect of the bond.”

  I sigh. If only that were true. If only Daddy hadn’t severed the bond fully and Quince still had some mer magic in his blood. If only.

  I lean into his side, inhaling his scent of leather and mint toothpaste.

  But I can’t change the past. I just have to content myself with being with him here. Which isn’t as rare as he seems to think. Ever since I returned to land, to high school, to Seaview, to him last week, Quince has been walking me to classes when he can and giving me rides to and from school on his charming death trap of a motorcycle. He’s even stopped by a couple times to share milk and cookies when he gets home from his part-time job at the lumberyard. He’s being a most devoted boyfriend—something I never would have guessed in the three years that he tortured and tormented me at every turn. Who knew he secretly loved me?

  I’m a very lucky girl.

  And the best part? He thinks he’s a very lucky boy, too.

  We’ve just made it into the hall that leads to my classroom and the boys’ locker room w
hen the rumble starts.

  At first it’s just the sound, a deep, low roar that sounds like the Earth itself is moaning. That startles most everyone in the hall and they stop, looking around, uncertain at this strange, unidentifiable sound.

  Then we feel it. The ground beneath me starts to shake, kind of like when a wave comes in and pulls the sand from beneath your feet—except that I’m standing on linoleum tile, not a beach.

  “What the hell?” Quince shouts above the roar and the shouts of panicked students.

  The classroom door closest to us slams shut.

  “I don’t know,” I reply, grabbing hold of his hand and squeezing. “It almost feels like . . . an earthquake.”

  The metal locker doors grind against their frames, and the fluorescent tubes above flicker with the movement.

  This is crazy. Florida doesn’t have earthquakes like this. Especially not south Florida. Hurricanes? Yes. Tornadoes? Occasionally. Swarms of killer sharks offshore? Unfortunately. But it doesn’t have earthquakes, and certainly not ones this powerful. The entire school is shaking.

  “Come on,” Quince yells, pulling me toward the gym. “We need to get in a doorway.”

  We’re not the only ones with that idea. Groups of terrified-looking students huddle under the beige metal frames of the four sets of double doors leading to the boys’ gym. There’s just enough room for us to squeeze into the last doorway.

  I don’t know how Quince knows what to do—I guess he’s just that kind of can-do guy—or why a doorway is the best place to be, but I’m relieved. Land-based earthquakes are way beyond my realm of experience. I’ve been in a few underwater quakes. They’re not at all the same. Mostly it’s a lot of noise and heavier-than-usual current flow. If the epicenter is close, sometimes the ground vibrates a little. Our belongings might get swirled around, but our buildings don’t shake. Nothing like this.

  None of our settlements are built on fault lines, so we don’t have to worry about what would happen if the epicenter were directly beneath Thalassinia.

  They might be feeling the effects of this quake, though. The kingdom isn’t that far offshore. If the school is shaking around me, who knows how far out the tremors are radiating? I should send a messenger gull when I get home, just to check in.

  “Maybe it’s a bomb,” a terrified freshman next to me whimpers.

  “Or a terrorist,” her friend says, gasping. “It could be an attack.”

  “It’s not an attack,” I say, trying to calm them down without rolling my eyes at the melodrama.

  Quince leans around me and gives them a reassuring smile. “It’s just an earthquake. It’ll be over in a—”

  Before he finishes, the roar quiets and the ground stills.

  The hall goes eerily quiet, everyone frozen in an aftershock of confusion. Even the lights above have stopped flickering. I’ll bet Seaview High has never been this silent during school hours ever. Then, after half a second, the hallway explodes in noise and chatter as still-freaked students hurry on to their classrooms.

  Quince says, “That was—”

  “—weird,” I finish.

  Quince and I stand there, hand in hand, for several long moments, like we’re waiting for something. For the other shoe to drop, maybe. The fire alarm or a tsunami or just another quake. It doesn’t seem like this sort of thing could just . . . be over.

  After a couple minutes, it seems obvious that it was a one-time thing.

  The PA system squeals to life, blasting from the speakers in the hall ceiling. “All students, please proceed to your seventh-period classrooms immediately. Seventh-period teachers, please print out your attendance sheet and send it to the front office when all students have been accounted for.” There’s a squeal—they really should have Ferret, the news team sound guy, check out the mic—and short pause, followed by “Teachers with an open seventh period, report to the principal’s office for further instruction. That is all.”

  “You okay?” Quince asks, his voice sounding a little odd.

  “Yeah,” I reply, reluctantly letting go of his hand. “We’d better go.”

  “I’ll meet you right here after seventh.” He presses a quick kiss to my lips before turning and heading into the gym.

  I hurry to my study hall classroom two doors down, wondering if everyone is feeling as unsettled as I am.

  The administration spends the first half of the period continually reassuring the students that everything is fine, that Seaview is fine, and that classes should continue as usual. Which is difficult, considering the semiconstant interrupts by the blaring PA system. When Brody shows up in the doorway twenty minutes before the final bell, I’ve only managed to read one (really short) paragraph of A Separate Peace.

  “Hey, Coach Parsnicky,” Brody says to my study hall supervisor. “I need to steal Lily away.”

  Parsnicky, coach of the freshman girls’ basketball team, shrugs and waves vaguely at me and then at the door. He doesn’t even look up from his playbook long enough to see the yellow pass in Brody’s hand.

  “News team?” I ask, slipping a heavily doodled sheet of notebook paper into the book to mark my spot and then shoving the book into my backpack. I like the book well enough, but I’m relieved I don’t have to try to reread another word right now.

  Brody nods, giving me that charming smile that used to make my heart flutter and my legs buckle. Now I just smile back. It’s funny how much things can change in a matter of days.

  “Principal Brown wants us to do a special report about earthquake safety for Monday announcements,” Brody says as we step into the hall. “Everything’s great, don’t panic, obey all traffic laws.”

  “Basically everything they’ve been broadcasting for the last half hour,” I reply. School security propaganda.

  “Pretty much.”

  In my time as the news team cameraperson, we’ve done almost fifty special reports. Most of them are fluff pieces about school dances and sports stars. A very few are what Brody calls Seaviewgates, uncovering things like unfair grading scandals and faculty criminal records. (Madame Elliott was subsequently cleared of all charges, by the way.) And the rest of our reports are school-sanctioned announcements that the administration thinks will actually stop locker vandalism—aka spray paint—and parking lot rage.

  They have virtually no effect whatsoever.

  I don’t mind the fluff pieces—I’m just the eye behind the camera anyway—but I’d love it if we could do some actually useful segments. Interviewing marine biologists about ocean warming. Or maybe an exposé about illegal offshore dumping, which happens more often than the general population knows. Or even some tips about water conservation. Something that might mean something to the world.

  When we reach the studio, Ferret and our CGI specialist, Amy, are already prepping the equipment.

  “I’ve got our cameraman,” Brody announces.

  “Camerawoman,” I correct, slinging my backpack onto the floor from the door and crossing to the video camera. It’s pointed at the green screen, where Amy can add whatever background the newscast needs.

  “What’s the plan?” I ask as I remove the dust-deflecting cover from the camera and power it up.

  “Just give me a minute to tweak Principal Brown’s script,” Brody says, dropping into the chair behind the computer and opening the file. “We don’t have much time to pull this together. Lily, can you set up the teleprompter?”

  We all dig into our duties, and as I set up the teleprompter for Brody, I think about how lame this safety speech will be, even after Brody fixes it. We should really be reporting on the causes and effects of the quake. Why waste the students’ time when we could, you know, educate them instead?

  “Brody,” I say, turning away from the teleprompter, “I have an idea.”

  “What’s that, Lil?” he asks, not looking up from the screen.

  “What if we trimmed Principal Brown’s safety speech,” I suggest, “and add on an expert interview?”

  Br
ody actually looks up at me. “Who do you have in mind?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe one of the science teachers? Maybe—”

  “Miss Molina.” Brody jumps to his feet. “She teaches earth science.”

  “And she’s the Environmental Club faculty sponsor,” I add.

  “Perfect,” we say at the same time. Two weeks ago I would have taken that as some kind of cosmic sign. Today I just think we’re on the same page for once.

  “Amy, pull up the interview backdrop.” He heads for the door. “I’ll go get Miss Molina. Have everything ready when we get back. This is going to be a bell chaser.”

  Yeah, we’re going to cut it close on time.

  He disappears into the hall and the rest of us scramble to get everything into place. By the time he returns with Miss Molina in tow, we’re ready to go.

  “Hi, Miss Molina,” I say, waving from behind the camera as Brody gets her situated for the interview.

  “Hello, Lily,” she replies with a smile.

  I was in her class freshman year. She inspired me to sign up for the Environmental Club, but once I joined the news team and became swim-team manager, I didn’t have time. Considering the reason for my choices—spending time with Brody—I kind of regret not sticking with the Environmental Club.

  “Okay,” Brody says, adjusting his body mic. “Ready.”

  Ferret does the countdown, I start recording, and the segment begins. There’s no time for clever angles and splicing cuts, so I just leave the camera on a wide view and let it roll. I listen eagerly as Brody asks a few mundane questions about the sources of earthquakes and why scientists can’t predict them.

  I don’t usually interrupt his interviews because he’s pretty intense about the process, but I can’t help asking, “What about the effects offshore?”

  “What do you mean?” Miss Molina asks, turning to face me.

  I glance at Brody, expecting a dirty look for stealing the focus, but he looks intrigued.

  “Um, I mean,” I stammer, “if we felt the quake so strongly on land, then surely it was felt in the ocean, too.”