Forgive My Fins

  I refuse to even respond to that. Quince Fletcher is as far from Brad Pitt as a sea cucumber is from becoming king of Thalassinia.

  “He always wears those tight biker tees, and his jeans are worn smooth in just the right spots—”

  “Enough!” I stab some glue to the back of the dolphin picture and slap it down onto my collage. “We are not talking about him. All right?”

  “All right,” Shannen says slowly, tucking a lock of dark brown hair behind her ear. “Why did you glue that dolphin upside down?”

  Okay, so I’m a little distracted. “He’s doing the back-stroke.”

  Shannen shrugs and goes back to her collage. I’m sure I haven’t heard the last of it. She’s not exactly the let-it-go type.

  But my mind is less on Quince and more on his offer.

  I haven’t felt so conflicted since Daddy asked if I wanted to go live with Aunt Rachel for a while. At the time I’d known for only a few days about Mom being a terraped. All of a sudden there was this whole other side of me that I didn’t even know about. Then Daddy told me Mom had a sister who lived on the mainland off the western edge of our kingdom. Aunt Rachel knew all about us, about me, and when Daddy’d gone to talk to her about me learning the truth about Mom, she’d suggested I might like to go to high school. The same high school my mom had attended.

  He asked me what I wanted to do, and I honestly didn’t know the answer. Part of me really wanted to find out everything I could about Mom. She’d died long before I could remember, and the chance to learn more about her was really appealing. Another part of me was scared to death at the idea of moving into a completely foreign world. I’m a mermaid—mer, as in sea. I belong in the ocean.

  In the end, curiosity overcame my fear.

  My emotions are swirling just as wildly right now. On top of Quince’s bizarre offer, I’m not exactly thinking clearly after the whole I-love-you-but thing.

  I sigh as I cut out a picture of a girl with crazy blond hair.

  “So,” Shannen says after gluing tons of little pink hearts from a perfume ad around Brad’s head, “are you going to meet him?”

  “Meet who?” Since I am blocking Quince from my thoughts, I can’t imagine who she’s talking about. Or at least I’m trying to block him from my thoughts.

  She spears me with a don’t-play-games-with-me-I’m-your-best-friend-and-I-know-you-way-better-than-that look.

  My shoulders slump. “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s consider your choices.” She sets down her scissors and pushes her collage to the side so she can lean closer. “Option A: You do things your way, like you did at lunch, and end up with the same old results.”

  Wincing, I shake my head. I’ll pass on a repeat of that moment, thank you very much. Clearly I can’t catch Brody on my own.

  “Right,” she says. “Option B: You take a chance that Quince, who presumably has a Y chromosome in his DNA and happens to have insider information from your target’s ex-girlfriend, can actually help you.”

  I run a hand through my hair. My fingers get stuck in the mess of curls, and I have to wiggle them free.

  “That leaves me with two questions.” I absently glue the clown fish so they are riding on the dolphin’s belly. “One, will he actually help me, or is this just his latest trick to torment me? And two, if he actually does want to help…why?”

  Shannen smiles wryly. “There’s only one way to find out the answer to both of your questions.”

  Our eyes meet, my gaze resigned and hers matter-of-fact. We both say, “Meet him.”

  My stomach is so full of butterfly fish that I don’t even laugh when Shannen says, “Jinx.”

  I’m putting my faith in Quince Fletcher.

  I’m already jinxed.

  In the fifteen minutes I spend waiting for Quince in the parking lot, my imagination desperately tries to come up with some idea of what his plan might possibly entail.

  Maybe he’s going to pay Brody to date me. Highly unlikely, since Quince and his mom have no money to spare. Maybe he’s going to suggest I pay Brody to date me. Bad idea for so many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that I have even less money than Quince. You can’t exactly get an after-school job with a Thalassinian Social Security number.

  Ooh, maybe Quince is going to help me kidnap Brody and keep him tied up in our basement until he realizes he loves me. Unlikely. That idea has two major flaws. First, that only works in the old-timey romance novels Aunt Rachel reads. Second, we don’t have a basement.

  Okay, this waiting thing is getting ridiculous. I’m giving him to a count of twenty to show up, then I’m out of here.

  Quince roars up on his motorcycle just when I’ve gotten to seventeen. I should have left after ten.

  A plastic bag comes flying through the air and smacks me in the chest. Instinctively, I grab it before it falls. It feels soft and squishy.

  Oh, no. It’s rope and a hood, isn’t it? He really is going to kidnap Brody. I take a deep breath and reign in my imagination. I scowl at Quince. If he hadn’t kept me waiting so long, I never would have come up with these ridiculous ideas.

  “What is this?” I ask, looking for a store label on the bag and only find THANK YOU FOR SHOPPING WITH US.

  Quince grins. “Your costume.”

  “Excuse me?” I step off the curb and approach his bike warily. I’ve heard horror stories about parts flying off this piece of junk. “My costume?”

  “For the dance.” He grabs the bag back and opens it, pulling out a white frilly blouse and a multicolored, multiruffled skirt.

  “A Spanish dancer?” I scoff, not really having anything against the idea other than it being Quince’s.

  He winks at me. “Nope,” he explains. “A pirate wench.”

  “Wha—”

  “I have it from a very reliable source,” he continues, “that Bennett is going as a pirate. This is part one of two in Operation Surprise and Shock. Surprise him by going as his female counterpart.” He holds up the costume. “A pirate wench for a pirate pans—”

  “Fine!” I snatch the costume back. It could be worse. Shannen will approve, since it fits the Under the Sea theme. As I stuff it into my bag, I ask, “What if it doesn’t fit?”

  That arrogant smile returns. “Darlin’,” he drawls, “I had you in my lap for a good ten minutes today. It’ll fit.”

  I’ve been trying to block that memory from my mind all afternoon. Not that I succeeded. The scent of leather and mint toothpaste followed me everywhere. The scent of Quince.

  My cheeks burn, but I am determined not to let him rattle me. “What is part two of the plan?”

  “Mmm.” He rubs his hands together. “Shock. This is the best part.”

  I don’t think I’m going to like part two.

  “At nine thirty, Brody is going to get a note asking him to meet Courtney in the library so she can give him back his class ring.”

  Oh, I know I’m not going to like part two.

  “Only it won’t be Courtney waiting for him. It will be you.”

  I hate part two.

  “Then you kiss him. Shocking, no?”

  No, I hate Quince. I love part two.

  Not the kissing part—what kind of mergirl does he think I am?—but I can see the possibilities. Me and Brody. Alone. In the darkened library. Maybe I’ll finally be able to find the courage to tell him how I feel. And maybe, if he shows even a hint of interest in return, I’ll tell him even more. To Brody I would tell everything.

  “I-I-I—” That’s not coming out at all right. “How can I be sure it will—”

  “Trust me.” He kicks his motorcycle to life. “Just be in the library at nine thirty. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Then he mutters something I can’t hear, but I catch the words “idiot” and “lesson.” I’m so excited, I don’t even care.

  Lifting his boot from the pavement, Quince twists the gas and squeals out of the parking lot. My insides are a mess. All I can think of are the w
hat ifs.

  What if this is all a trick?

  What if it’s not?

  What if Brody hates me?

  What if he doesn’t?

  What if everything goes according to plan and I confess everything to Brody in the library tomorrow night at nine thirty?

  That’s the scariest what if of all.

  Before I can go down that path, thinking about what that could mean for my future, for our future, Quince roars back into the parking lot and squeals to a stop in front of me. Why can’t he ever just leave and stay gone like a normal person?

  “By the way,” he asks, keeping his eyes trained on mine, “do you always keep notes in your…private pocket?”

  “In my—”

  He flicks his gaze down to my chest and back to my eyes.

  I gasp and clutch my book bag in front of me. In the morning’s craziness I’d totally forgotten the message from Daddy.

  “Perv!”

  He just winks and then roars back out to the street. Was that a tint of blush I saw on his cheeks? Doubtful. Quince is never shy about anything. When he is out of sight and I can’t hear the roar of his bike anymore, I drop my bag and reach into my bra.

  As I begin the walk home, I break the royal seal and unfold the note.

  FROM THE DESK OF

  KING WHELK OF THALASSINIA

  Dearest Lily,

  Your cousin Dosinia’s sixteenth-birthday celebration is this weekend. I’m sure she would love to have you attend. Also, I miss you a great deal. Why don’t you come home for a few days?

  Yours,

  Daddy

  Not likely. I mean, I love Dosinia…mostly (she can be a little boy crazy and kind of a brat) and I totally love my dad. But hopefully, if everything works out tomorrow night, I’ll be spending the weekend with the boy I love. No birthday party in all the seven seas could top that.

  5

  “Did you ask him?” Peri asks before I’ve even had a chance to transfigure in the shadowy waters beneath Seaview Pier.

  When I left Thalassinia, we agreed to meet once a week between here and home. Since mer and human calendars don’t quite match up, she swims to the coast to meet me on Thursday afternoon, the equivalent of Friday in the sea. She’s my link to the ocean world when I don’t have time to visit home—which I haven’t done in almost three months.

  Also, Peri knows me better than anyone. She’s like my personal therapist.

  Turning to the sound of her voice, I say, “Yes, I asked him.”

  “Congratu—”

  “And he turned me down.”

  “Oh, honey,” she says, swimming into view. “I’m so sorry.”

  At the sight of her super-sympathetic face—her mouth tightened into a sad shadow of a smile, her eyes soft and gentle—I break down all over again. The tears come back, vanishing into the salty sea, and I take only a tiny bit of solace in the thought that, in the shadows of the pier above, Peri won’t be able to see my eyes glittering.

  I allow myself a second to relive my pain at Brody’s rejection. Just a brief moment when I let the pain course through me, reminding me of my foolish hope, before I push it to the back of my mind.

  That’s not what I need to talk to her about. The asking-Brody-to-the-dance thing is over, and now I have another reason to seek her advice.

  “I don’t want to talk about that,” I say. “I need to talk about what came next.”

  She takes my hands in hers, giving me a reassuring squeeze. “Tell me everything.”

  And I do.

  As we start to swim out to sea, leaving the human-dense shore for the safety of the barrier reef a few nautical miles out, I tell her every last pathetic detail about the paper-wad incident and finally asking Brody at lunch and my complete and total meltdown afterward and how Quince Fletcher—Quince Fletcher, of all people!—came to my aid. Peri knows my stormy history with the blowfish, so she’s just as shocked as I was about his behavior.

  “And then,” I exclaim, stopping at the western edge of the reef, “he offered to help! He has this plan where I’ll wait in the library during the dance and he’ll get Brody to go in there so I can kiss him.”

  “Kiss him?” Peri gasps. “You’re not really going to kiss him, are you?”

  “No, of course not,” I reassure her. “I’m not stupid. But it will be dark, and I might have the courage to finally tell Brody how I feel about him.”

  Peri looks beyond relieved that I’m not going to kiss an unsuspecting and unwilling Brody. I may be a girl in love, but I’m not dishonest. I would never trick anyone into that.

  “That sounds like a good plan,” she says. “What’s not to like?”

  I don’t ask how she knows I don’t like it—after more than a dozen years of best friendship, she can practically read my mind.

  “It’s Quince,” I explain. “I don’t trust him.”

  “That’s nothing new.”

  “I know.” I run my hands through a small green clump of mermaid’s-hair, letting the silky seaweed slip through my fingers. “But the problem is…I want to trust him this time.”

  Peri swims around behind me and starts absently braiding my hair. It feels nice, because on land my hair can’t be coaxed into anything but a blond halo. And once I get back to Seaview, her braid will dry too tight for me to leave it in. Moments like these are my only reprieve from the frizz.

  “So you’re afraid,” she says, “that, because he’s offering to help with the one thing you want most, he might be setting you up for the biggest fall of all.”

  “Exactly!”

  I hadn’t put it into those words, but that’s my fear.

  She circles her fingertips over a spot just below my neck, and I know she’s tracing my mer mark—the tattoolike design all merfolk are born with that brands them as a child of the sea. I picture the design, a circle of waves surrounding a stylized kelp flower, lime green to match my scales. Peri’s, I know from experience, is copper. Daddy’s is royal blue.

  When a mermaid is in terraped form, the mark is the only thing that distinguishes her from a human.

  “I don’t see how.” Finished with my braid, Peri swims around to face me. “All you’ll be doing is waiting in a library, right?”

  I nod.

  “Then I don’t see any way for him to make it anything other than what it is.” She tilts her pretty brunette head to the side. Even when she’s on land, her long, silky chestnut hair flows in elegant waves down her back, lucky mergirl. “Do you?”

  “No.” I shake my head slowly. “And that makes me nervous.”

  Because it wouldn’t be the first time that Quince did something I hadn’t even remotely anticipated. But she’s right. At this point I don’t really have anything to lose.

  “I almost forgot,” Peri squeals, taking my hand in hers. “I have something to show you.”

  She pulls me along the edge of the reef, down deeper near the seafloor where the sunlight above starts to fade. When we reach the sandy bottom, Peri tugs me to a small cave opening that looks like nothing more than an oversized crab hole. Without another word, she releases my hand and kicks into the hole. She disappears into the reef.

  I’m not surprised. Peri loves to find secret spots, especially ones that are totally hidden from view.

  Swimming after her, I duck into the hole and find myself in a very narrow tunnel. Good thing I’m not claustrophobic or, you know, afraid of drowning. After about ten feet, the tunnel opens onto a big cavern.

  “Wow,” I say with undisguised awe.

  It’s beautiful.

  Even though the cavern is fully enclosed by reef, the entire space is full of light. I float up to the top. The ceiling is actually a paper-thin layer of coral that looks like solid reef from above, but still lets in plenty of sun. Just like a skylight.

  “Check out the walls,” Peri says, drawing my attention away from the nearly transparent ceiling.

  I twist down, studying the side surfaces of the cavern. They are covered with a
rainbow of starfish. Orange and red and yellow stars overlap to make a sunset-colored wallpaper on the coral walls.

  “I totally want this on the walls in my room,” I say.

  Peri smiles, swimming over to the starfish-covered surface and running her fingertips over their prickly backs. “I thought you might like it.”

  Boy, do I miss her. Without our once-a-week meetings, I don’t think I’d be making it through my time on land. Thankfully, that won’t last forever.

  “As soon as I get back,” I say, trying to think positively about the future, “we’ll decorate my bedroom in flames of starfish.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” she replies. “Now you just need to hurry up and hook your terraped boy so you can come home.” She sounds all teasing and jokey, but I know she’s secretly serious.

  She’s missed me just as much as I’ve missed her.

  “I promise,” I tell her. And myself. I want to get back to life as planned, too.

  Tomorrow night at the dance, I’m going to make it happen.

  6

  Aunt Rachel manages to take what feels like two hundred thirty-eight pictures before I leave for the dance, and I think Prithi meowed her way into about two hundred thirty of them. I’m excited, too, but I think the first hundred captured every last detail for posterity.

  “Your father will love these,” she says, snapping a couple more.

  Glancing at myself in the front hall mirror, I’m not so sure. After pulling on the skirt and blouse from Quince’s bag-o’-costume-fun, I found some accessories in the bottom of the bag. Big gold hoop clip-on earrings. A red bandana headband. And a brown leather beltlike thingy that turned out to be more of a corsetlike thingy that laces up the front. If Daddy saw me like this, he’d strike his trident to the seafloor with enough force to start a minor tsunami, for sure. That whole idea that mermaids swim around topless? Totally untrue. That’s why we invented the bikini top.