Fins Are Forever

  She shakes her head as if she doesn’t believe me. That’s fine. I already knew she was going to take convincing. These are things I can’t just tell her, I have to show her. Brody has to show her.

  “As much as I want to send you to the opposite side of the world right now,” I say, needing her to know how much this hurt, “I’m going to help you instead.”

  “How?” she asks, and I can almost believe that she wants me to succeed.

  I can almost believe her eyes are glowing with a sheen of tears.

  In that instant I realize what I need to do. There is only one way to ensure that Brody forgives her and that she gives him the chance to prove all her past feelings wrong. I just hope they both forgive me in the end.

  “The only way I know how,” I answer. Closing my eyes, I say, “I’m going to leave you bonded to Brody.”

  My eyes blink open at her gasp.

  Beneath the hatred and the aloofness and the frigid protection of her emotions, I see something new in her piercing blue eyes. Maybe I notice it only because it’s what I’m looking for, but I almost think I see a spark of . . . hope.

  And that spark gives me all the reassurance I need to believe that Doe can be healed. It just has to happen before her bond with Brody becomes permanent. I could never leave him bonded to someone who hates what he is. That would be too cruel. For them both.

  For now, though, it’s our only chance.

  Chapter 9

  Brody doesn’t show to pick Doe up before school Monday morning—not that I expected him to. Neither did she, apparently, since she locks herself in the bathroom and insists she’s too sick to go. But I know the truth—she’s not sick, she’s heartbroken.

  While a good cousin might show sympathy and commiseration, I’m actually thrilled. Because this means Doe cares about Brody. A lot.

  I don’t argue about her feigned illness because her staying home gives me a chance to talk to Brody first. After two mostly sleepless nights, alternately imagining what might have happened if Doe’s tsunami had succeeded in reaching Seaview and formulating what I need to say to convince Brody to help, I’m exhausted and ready to face him. This won’t be easy.

  There is no news-team footage to review in the studio, so I stake out his economics classroom instead. I’m watching the halls intently, so I see him a while before he sees me. Which means I see him notice me, jerk back, and then, after a brief mental debate, decide to ignore me. He tries to walk right past me into the classroom, but I throw out my arm and block the doorway.

  He stops but doesn’t look at me. “What?”

  “We need to talk,” I say. Hurt and pain are practically radiating off him. Not that I blame him, of course. We just don’t have another choice. “It’s important.”

  “No thanks.” He tries to push past me, but I steel my arm and hold him back. I allow myself half a second to be pleased with my own strength.

  Then it’s back to work.

  “Please.” I’m not above begging. This is way more important than my pride. I have to make him see that this is about more than just him and Doe. “Just give me five minutes.”

  “Fine.” He finally looks at me. Then his watch. “Five minutes. Go.”

  I tug him a little way down the row of lockers, out of earshot of the classroom full of students, before I begin. “I know what Doe did was unforgivable.”

  I take his snort as an agreement.

  “I’m not asking you to forgive her.” Yet. “I’m so mad myself I could boil water. But you have to understand her history.” I give him a quick rundown of her parents’ death, a story that could elicit sympathy from a beluga whale, and am relieved when I see his rigid stance relax a little. Progress. “Clearly, none of the therapists she’s seen have helped. She’s still consumed by the past. By her emotions. She’s been living with this rage for years.” I duck down and to the right to catch Brody’s gaze. “My father sent her here to learn that her misconceptions—her clearly dangerous misconceptions—are wrong.”

  “So what?” Brody’s eyes roll away from mine, like he can escape the topic of conversation if he avoids eye contact. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Well,” I begin, uncertain but hopeful, “I know you have feelings for her.”

  His gaze swings back to mine. “Not anymore.”

  I expected this; am ready for it even. He’s hurt and confused and just reacting—which, not so coincidentally, is exactly what Doe is going through. If I can just push through emotion and get to the (hopefully) rational Brody inside, then I have a chance.

  “I don’t think that’s true,” I insist, crossing mental fingers that I’m reading the situation right. “You said you thought she was the one. Your future. Feelings like that don’t just vanish.”

  He shrugs, which is at least better than an outright denial. In all honestly, I’m not entirely sure I believe that. I mean, look at what happened to my feelings for Brody. Three years of absolute, undying, one-sided love, gone. In a heartbeat.

  But that was different. I discovered what love was really like, and that made what I felt for Brody seem as shallow as a tide pool.

  But Brody can’t call his feelings for Doe shallow any more than I can call my feelings for Quince the same. I saw the emotion in Brody’s eyes, I felt it, and I know it’s for real. Just as I saw the emotion in Doe’s eyes when he walked out last night.

  That’s my main selling point.

  “And I think—I mean, I hope . . .” I take a breath. “Doe has feelings for you, too.”

  Brody’s gaze sharpens, his brows scowl low, as if not sure whether he should dare to hope there is truth in what I said. I’m daring to hope, so he can too.

  “I think we can use your feelings for each other,” I explain, “to show Doe that humans and merfolk are not so different as she believes. If she loves you—”

  Brody’s laughter cuts me off.

  “Right,” he snarks. “She hates what I am. Not who I am, but what I am. Something I couldn’t change even if I wanted to. How could she possibly love me?”

  “Because love doesn’t care about prejudices,” I say. This is something with which I have firsthand experience. “Just look at me and Quince. I thought I hated him for three years.” I don’t add the part about where I thought I loved Brody. “True love didn’t care what I thought, and it won’t care what Doe thinks.”

  Brody clenches his jaw and works his lips, like he’s considering my argument. I slip my hands behind my back, beneath my backpack, and cross my fingers as tightly as I can. If I weren’t wearing flip-flops, I’d be crossing my toes, too. This situation needs as much good luck as it can get.

  Finally he relaxes and asks, “What do you want me to do?”

  Sweet angelfish! My entire body explodes with relief. I didn’t realize until this instant just how tense I was about the outcome of this conversation.

  “Give her a chance,” I answer, trying to keep my overjoyed smile from spreading across my lips. “Talk to her. Spend time with her. Make her fall so in love with you, she forgets you’re a human.” I lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “That’s all it will take.”

  I hope.

  His gaze drifts to the ceiling, like he’ll find the right answer written on the dingy acoustic tiles. I’ve never seen Brody so thoughtful and serious before. This gives me even more hope that my plan will work. Doe’s already worked some positive changes in Brody. It’s only a matter of time until he works some in her.

  “Okay.” Brody nods, not looking at me. “I’ll try.”

  He turns and heads into his class. I take off for American Government, hoping that everything I just told Brody is true.

  “Maladroit.”

  “Um . . .” I search my brain for the definition, knowing we’ve studied this one at least twice. Finally, just as I’m about to give up, it comes to me. “Clumsy.”

  That should be an easy one for me since I am maladroit. At least on land.

  One of Shannen’s study techni
ques is to visualize an image that exemplifies the vocab word. I picture myself wearing a T-shirt that says MALADROIT—I hope it doesn’t matter if it’s spelled wrong—and then tripping over my own flip-flops into a giant bowl of today’s side dish, saffron rice.

  “Excellent,” Shannen says. She flips through the stack of flash cards in her hands, chooses one, and reads, “Pretentious.”

  While I search for this definition, Shannen spoons a bite of yellow rice into her mouth and Quince flips through a motorcycle magazine. With the SATs coming up this weekend, I’m trying to cram in as much last-minute studying as possible.

  Shannen has already taken—and, of course, aced—the test.

  Quince, on the other hand, has no intention of taking it. He already has a job lined up with a construction company, thanks to his current job at the lumberyard. With his brain and skills, I think he’ll be foreman within a year.

  If only my future were that easy.

  “Lily,” Shannen prods, waving the definition flash card before my eyes. “Pretentious?”

  Without thinking, I blurt, “Pompous. Arrogant.”

  “Awesome!” Shannen cheers.

  This mental image pops into my mind without any effort. The terrible trio. I can’t imagine anyone more pompous or arrogant than Astria, Piper, and Venus. Of course, several other vocabulary words apply equally. Vindictive. Malicious. Haughty.

  In my mind, the words transform into giant foam letters and start bonking the terrible trio on their heads. I suppress a giggle.

  When Shannen starts digging through the stack again, I beg, “Please. No more. My brain can’t take it.”

  She shrugs, as if it’s my funeral if I don’t cram in ten more vocab words at lunch, but doesn’t argue the point. Honestly, I think my brain is completely full. I couldn’t handle another piece of information, and I just hope the ones I already have don’t start falling out before Saturday.

  Coming to my aid—as all good boyfriends should—Quince asks, “Doe called in sick today?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I think it was for the best. Gave me a chance to talk to Brody first.”

  “Why?” Shannen asks. “What happened?”

  I hesitate, not sure if Shannen should know what Doe did. I’m not sure anyone should know what she did. I wish I didn’t.

  Now I totally understand why Daddy kept her exile—and the reason for it—a secret. She’s a dumb kid with a big grudge, but some people wouldn’t be able to see that she was acting out from a place of pain. I didn’t, at first. Others might hold it against her forever. If I can help her overcome her issues, then it’s better if they don’t know about her big mistake.

  So, even though I hate lying to my best human friend—to anyone, really—I say, “She and Brody had a fight. I’m trying to help them patch it up.”

  “Why?” she asks. “I thought you wanted to keep them apart.”

  See, lies always lead to more lies and more complications.

  “I’ve had a change of heart,” I admit. “Realized they might actually be good for each other.”

  Shannen shrugs. “If you say so.”

  I exchange a glance with Quince. He nods. I think we both know this is the only option—keeping Shannen in the dark, trying to encourage Doe’s feelings for Brody. It’s the only possible way for everything to end up right in the end.

  Shannen pulls another set of flash cards from her backpack. Sliding one across the table to me, she says, “Solve for x.”

  I groan. Math is . . . not my strong suit. Then again, when it comes to the SATs, I don’t think I have a strong suit. I dutifully pull out a pencil and prepare to spend the rest of lunch trying to beat the equation into submission. Then I sense a presence at my side.

  “Lily?”

  I turn to smile, relieved to be saved from math by Miss Molina. Then I see the concerned look on her face. The disappointment.

  Son of a swordfish! The interview. In all the craziness when I got back from Seaview, I completely blanked on the interview with Miss Molina’s friend at Seaview Community.

  “Oh, no!” I gasp. “I’m so sorry. I completely forgot. I’m so, so sorry. There was this whole . . .” I struggle to find the words to describe what happened without really describing what happened. Where are my vocab words when I need them? “Crisis!” I finally blurt. “My cousin got sick and it was really bad. I—” The look in her eyes, like I’ve failed her big- time, is killing me. “I should have called or something. I’m just . . . I’m really sorry.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” She looks at me like she doesn’t even know me. “I didn’t remember you to being so irresponsible.”

  “I’m not,” I exclaim. “I mean, I was. This weekend. But I’m usually not at all.”

  She takes a deep breath, like she’s trying to decide what to do about me. I silently will her to give me another chance. Maybe she doesn’t buy my sick-cousin story, but if I could tell her the truth, she would totally understand.

  Times like this are when I really wish Tellin’s what-if could come true. Not that I would relish telling a teacher that one of my relatives tried to wipe her and the entire East Coast off the map. It would be a better explanation than the one I’ve got, though.

  “Since this was so uncharacteristic,” she says.

  I suck in a hopeful breath.

  “I told Denise there must have been an emergency.” She schools her features into a very stern look. “She has graciously agreed to reschedule for next Saturday.”

  “Great. I can—”

  Shannen clears her throat and nods at the flash cards.

  “Oh. Oh, no.” I give Miss Molina what I imagine is a pained look. “The SATs are on Saturday. I’ll be there all morning.”

  She gives me a reassuring smile. “I know. Your appointment is at five.”

  “You’re awesome,” I say, meaning it. “I won’t let you down again.”

  “I know you won’t.” But as she walks away, I think I hear her mutter, “At least I hope you won’t.”

  “You.” I point at Shannen. Then at Quince. “And you. Make sure I don’t miss this meeting. It could mean my entire future.”

  “Got it,” Quince says before returning his attention to the magazine.

  Shannen pulls out her cell phone—a huge no-no on campus, but I guess this qualifies as an emergency—and starts punching buttons. “I’ve sent myself an email reminder.”

  I relax a bit.

  Nothing can keep me from making the appointment this time.

  “Now,” Shannen says, waggling the flash card on the table, “solve for x.”

  I groan, but it’s halfhearted. After the freakout about missing my meeting, a little math equation seems like an easy task.

  Chapter 10

  The first thing Quince and I hear as we push through the kitchen door is Doe laughing. Maybe she’s sneaking television online again. I caught her watching an I Love Lucy marathon last week, although she pretended that she just didn’t know how to work the mouse.

  Then I hear another voice. A male voice. A non-Brody male voice.

  “She’d better not,” I mutter as we head into the living room.

  But when we get there, I’m shocked frozen at the sight before me. Doe is sitting on the arm of the corduroy armchair, feet on the coffee table, and the male in question is sitting on the floral sofa. The shock of cinnamon red hair identifies him immediately.

  “Tellin!” I blurt.

  He stands and faces me, arms wide for a hug. “Liliana.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming for a visit,” I say, jumping into his hug.

  “Nor did I,” he says, “until I found myself swimming ashore in Seaview.”

  A loud throat clearing from behind reminds me of my manners. I pull out of Tellin’s hug and grab Quince’s hand, tugging him forward. “Tellin, this is my boyfriend, Quince.”

  Tellin gives him that male nod that girls can never quite replicate exactly.

  “Quince,” I say, beaming
at him, “this is Tellin. One of my closest guppyhood friends and crown prince of Acropora.”

  They shake hands, and I get the feeling there’s a little battle of grips before they separate. Tellin has filled out a lot since we used to play together, but my money is still on Quince. Though his arms are hidden by the sleeves of his leather jacket, I can imagine his biceps flexing nicely in the up-and-down movement

  “Pleased to meet you,” Tellin says, shaking me out of my reverie. “Lily told me much about you last weekend.”

  “Funny.” Quince throws me a questioning glance. “She didn’t mention you at all.”

  Down, boy. I lean closer into his side to reassure him that there’s nothing to worry about. Tellin is an old friend, nothing more.

  “I forgot,” I explain. “If you’ll recall, we found a bit of a crisis in motion when we got home.”

  Quince crosses his arms over his chest, not appeased by my excuse.

  He definitely has a bit of a jealous streak in him, but for the most part he keeps it under wraps. It’s stopped peeking out around Brody, but I guess strange boys showing up in my living room bring it back to the surface.

  “Tellin’s practically my brother,” I say, to clarify.

  Quince nods, showing he trusts me. “I need to get to work. I’ll stop by after.”

  Then he leans down to kiss me, just like that time in the library. Hand behind my neck, full lips soft and warm on mine. When he sees what must be a completely dazed look in my eyes, he winks. And then, with a wave good-bye to Doe and Tellin, he’s out the front door.

  When we three merfolk are alone, I ask, “This wasn’t just a coincidental visit, was it?”

  Doe’s eyes widen innocently.

  Tellin just smiles. “No,” he agrees. “It was not.”

  “Then why don’t we take this into the kitchen,” I suggest, “so we can talk over a plate of Aunt Rachel’s white-chocolate macadamia-nut cookies?”