I waited for jealousy to crash over me, but no such wave came in. T.J. glanced at me sheepishly and went back to devouring his roll. I set my own roll back in the picnic basket, along with the Champagne flute, hoping it wouldn’t tip over.
A great crackling sound turned everyone’s faces skyward. A shower of red and blue sparks ran down the sky like a rainstorm. The show was beginning. Bobby killed the engine so that we bobbed on the water, and a hush fell over our boat—over the whole ocean. I wondered what the fish, and the turtles, and the shrimp thought of us, of the humans’ strange machinations.
As bouquets of colors exploded overhead, I realized that, on the sandy shore of Siren Beach, Mom was seeing this same spectacle. And somewhere in Fisherman’s Village, Leo—and maybe his family—was seeing it, too. I heard myself gasp at the startling beauty of one firework and then heard myself sigh as it faded, its smoky ghost shimmying down to earth. Fireworks were those rare things that I didn’t feel the need to explain to myself; I didn’t want to know how they worked, for fear of ruining the magic.
I glanced at my companions in the boat to see if they were equally entranced, and discovered that most of them were kissing: Sallie and Lyndon; Kay and Rick; Jacqueline and Macon; CeeCee and Bobby. The light from above cast bright patterns on each couple as they pressed close together. There was something sexy about fireworks: the anticipation, the explosion, the release. My cheeks burned.
The only people not kissing were Virginia, T.J., and me. I held my breath as T.J. and I looked at each other and Virginia looked at both of us.
Okay. This was it. This was the moment when T.J. and I would share a toe-tingling kiss, and Leo would become a distant memory. I tried to bring my face close to T.J.’s, but, for the first time in maybe my whole life, my body didn’t obey my brain.
Then T.J. spoke.
“I still can’t believe it,” he whispered, his eyes searching my face. “I told Bobby.”
I furrowed my brow, confused. “What did you tell Bobby?” I whispered back.
“That you’d clean up nice,” T.J. smiled. “You proved me right.”
Coldness doused me, and I drew back. Was that T.J.’s version of sweet nothings?
“What else did you tell Bobby?” I asked. A firework boomed overhead, followed by three more. Applause echoed across the water, and it sounded like several couples on our boat pulled apart to gawk and gasp at the sky. But I kept my gaze on T.J., seeing the fireworks reflected in his eyes.
T.J. smiled, sliding Virginia’s compact up and down his palm like a coin. “Just that I was impressed by your house and your family.”
My stomach sank as the truth hit home at last. That was all T.J. cared about, wasn’t it? My pedigree. My house. My face. The outward evidence of my inheritance. If I’d had no ties to his world, if I’d simply been Miranda Merchant of the New York Merchants, T. J. Illingworth wouldn’t have cared a damn about me.
“What? What’s wrong?” T.J. asked, blanching. I realized how transparent my emotions—when I let myself feel them—could be. “I have something in my teeth, don’t I?” he asked, and promptly popped open Virginia’s compact.
Another series of fireworks went off, but I still didn’t look up. I watched T.J. peer into the small mirror, opening his mouth in a comical way. Narcissus, I thought. The guy who fell in love with his reflection and was transformed into a flower.
“It’s funny,” I said to T.J., raising my voice over the booming, “that you mentioned my family. Did you know that our parents were engaged?”
My bomb drop did not have its intended effect.
“Uh-huh. My father told me after we left your house,” T.J. replied absently, tilting his head to get a better look at himself.
The fireworks show was reaching a crescendo, the explosions coming closer and faster now. I pressed on, determined to turn T.J. away from the mirror. “So you know that if they did get married, then we’d be, like—” Brother and sister, I thought. My stomach churned. I had never articulated that notion to myself before, probably because I hadn’t wanted to. But maybe that was why, tonight, I hadn’t been able to touch T.J.’s face or kiss him, why the idea of our being together was so off-putting.
T.J. didn’t respond, but he finally tore his eyes away from the mirror and looked up at the sky. I followed his gaze. The show’s grand finale was happening; fireworks were bursting in a frenzy of reds, whites, and blues. Fireworks. I felt myself shiver with understanding. Regardless of our parents’ connection, T.J. and I didn’t spark, we didn’t cause a chemical reaction.
“That was awesome!” Bobby cried as the last firework nose-dived into the ocean, and every passenger on every boat on the water burst into rapturous applause.
I clapped, too, my palms stinging. The fireworks were done, and so was I. Freedom surged in me. Now that I’d made sense of T.J., I suddenly wanted to be as far from him as possible.
I stood and looked down at T.J., who was still applauding and grinning up at the sky, completely at peace with who he was, with his place in the world.
“T.J.,” I said, hearing the firmness in my voice. “I’m not who you think I am.” I knew that was a slightly ridiculous thing to say—something that the geeky guy in a movie would say to the love interest right before morphing into a superhero.
T.J. blinked up at me, but before he could ask me to explain, I turned to Virginia. She’d been shamelessly watching our interaction the whole time, gripping her Champagne flute in suspense.
“He’s all yours,” I told her, meaning it. Then I made my way over to the edge of the boat, passing Macon, Jacqueline, and the others. CeeCee and Bobby were still canoodling, so Bobby had made no move to restart the engine.
I looked longingly at the water. I could simply dive in. The cool sea would feel like a balm on my hot skin, and CeeCee’s dress would balloon up around me. I’d duck under, paddling my feet, and then I would swim, swim, swim.
Swim to where? Not to The Mariner, I knew. But to Leo. To wherever Leo was. Why had I been struggling so hard against what was inevitable? I squinted into the night and saw the tiny red and gold lights of Fisherman’s Village.
I thought back to that moment outside Leo’s house. And suddenly I understood, with a crystalline clarity, why I’d pushed him away: I’d been scared. Scared of the unknown, scared of facing who Leo really was—a mythical creature, maybe, or simply the boy I was falling for. Both were equally frightening, because neither could be explained.
Unexpectedly, tears filled my eyes, and I was grateful for the post-fireworks buzz and chatter around me. My heart swelled. I didn’t care what Leo was—if he was some kind of merman or a monster or just a boy from the wrong side of the island. The only thing I cared about was seeing him again. Because the thought that I might not filled me with an ache so heavy it felt like drowning.
Twelve
IMPOSSIBILITIES
I woke up determined.
It was Friday, the sun was pouring through the pink drapes, and I was going to head straight to the marine center and see Leo.
Of course, I had to wait until noon for the center to open, but when I glanced at my bedside clock, I saw that it was half past twelve.
I sat up abruptly, surprised. I hadn’t slept this late since Greg’s pregraduation party back in May. Last night’s blur of fireworks and epiphanies had clearly taken its toll.
As I reached for my hair elastic on my wrist, I touched the cool metal of CeeCee’s bracelet instead. Right. Though I had changed out of CeeCee’s dress before collapsing into bed, I’d forgotten to remove the piece of jewelry. Now, its glinting charms were like mementos. I remembered how Bobby’s boat had idled on the water for what seemed like forever, and how, when we’d finally docked, everyone had wanted to either go skinny-dipping or to Bobby’s house for beers. I’d declined both and bid farewell to a confused-looking T.J., a concerned-looking CeeCee, a triumphant-looking Virginia, and the others before walking back to The Mariner.
I took off the bracele
t, and in my blue whale pajama bottoms and white tank top, slipped out of bed and into the quiet hallway. The typical sounds of Mom’s bustle and activity downstairs were absent. Someone was mowing a lawn across the street, but The Mariner was at rest.
I peered over the banister to the empty foyer below. Mom could have been out running errands, but intuition turned me toward her bedroom door, which was ajar. I tiptoed over and, holding my breath, peeked inside to see my mother asleep in the green canopy bed. With her hair splayed across the pillow and her features relaxed, she looked startlingly vulnerable and young. Almost like the little girl in the photograph downstairs.
I drew back, rattled. If sleeping in was rare for me, it was even rarer for Mom. I’d used my spare key to let myself in last night, so I wasn’t sure what time she had gotten home. What had she been up to?
I didn’t want to think about it.
As if fleeing these thoughts, I rushed into the bathroom to wash up. I turned on the faucet—the water was coming out clear now—and I was startled by my reflection in the gilt-framed mirror. My curls were wild and knotty from sleep, my eye makeup was smudged and smoky, and my lips were still a vivid red. I shook my head; a shower would be necessary before I could show my face at the marine center.
But what would I even say to Leo when I saw him? As I brushed my teeth, I pictured him standing in the aquarium room with Maurice the alligator in his hand. Would I say I was sorry for the other night? That I couldn’t stop thinking about him? Or would I simply kiss him? My stomach fluttered. Perhaps that wouldn’t be appropriate if there were kids around. Or perhaps Leo would make it clear that he had no interest in kissing me anymore. Considering our last interaction, that was a distinct possibility.
Filled with doubt, I turned off the water and was reaching for a hand towel when I heard knocking downstairs—a sound I’d come to recognize as a visitor at the door. Mom was right; people did show up unannounced on Selkie all the time. I threw a critical glance in the mirror, then figured it was probably just CeeCee coming over to grill me about my strange behavior the night before. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be T.J. or Mr. Illingworth. Just to be safe, I stopped in my room to shove my feet into fuzzy white slippers.
The knocking continued as I flew downstairs. “Okay, okay,” I laughed, unlocking the door. “Give me a min—”
And then I lost the power of speech.
“Hey,” Leo said.
My heart whooshed up from my chest into my throat.
It seemed impossible that he was really there, standing on The Mariner’s front porch in a T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. The afternoon breeze blew his golden hair across his forehead, and he held a bouquet of red roses in one hand.
“I know these aren’t sea pansies,” he said with the crooked smile that melted my core. “But they’re the best I could do on short notice.” He extended the roses to me, but I seemed to have lost the ability to move as well.
“How—how did you know I live here?” I asked, relieved I hadn’t gone mute. My legs felt unsteady and I clung to the side of the door like it was a raft.
Leo tilted his head to one side, his bright green gaze holding mine. “You told me, remember? The Mariner’s location is pretty much common knowledge on the island.” He ducked his head and then glanced back up at me, his face a little flushed. “I wanted to come by sooner, but I thought you might not want to see me.”
“I was on my way to see you now,” I blurted, my heart pounding. I was a little frustrated that Leo had beaten me to the punch, even as happiness flooded through me at the sight of him. “I—I mean, not like this,” I stammered, gesturing toward my pajamas and fighting my blush.
Leo’s eyes sparkled. “I like your pants,” he said. “Did you just wake up?”
“No,” I lied, trying to sound indignant, but wanting more than anything to throw my arms around him. “Why aren’t you at work?” I countered. I noticed that he had his LEO M. tag affixed to the front of his T-shirt.
“I asked for an early lunch break.” Leo grinned. I felt the familiar crackle of energy between us. The fact that we weren’t standing closer, that we weren’t kissing, felt wrong.
As if he’d read my mind, Leo took a step forward, but he didn’t reach for me. “Can I—come in?” he asked, his voice hesitant.
I nodded, coming to my senses, and opened the door wider. “Thank you for the roses,” I said, finally accepting the bouquet. I buried my nose in the dewy, sweet-smelling petals. No boy had ever brought me flowers before. Maybe it had been Leo, not T.J., who’d been the true gentleman all along.
As Leo walked inside, he glanced around the foyer, but he didn’t seem as bowled over by the house as T.J. had been. “It’s nice,” he said simply, smiling at me. Then his gaze fell on his red hoodie, still on the claw-footed chair. Mom had left it there as a silent challenge for me to clean up after myself.
“Oh,” I said, grabbing the sweatshirt and handing it to him. “Is this what you came for?”
Leo shook his head, smiling, but he took the hoodie and tucked it under his arm.
I threw a cautious look upstairs. I hoped Mom would stay asleep for a while longer; I didn’t think she’d be pleased to see an unknown boy in our house. In a whisper, I told Leo to wait for me on the back porch, and I hurried into the kitchen. My fingers quivering, I put Leo’s roses in a crystal vase and poured us both glasses of ice water. Then I crept through the living room.
On the porch, I shut the French doors behind me and joined Leo on the cushioned bench, handing him a glass of water. We were close enough that I could breathe in his salty, sandy scent. The full extent of how much I had missed him walloped me. It was all I could do not to reach over and touch him, but I resisted. I still wasn’t sure why Leo had come, if he was here to make amends or to tell me why we would never work.
“So…how’s Maurice?” I asked, sipping my water.
Leo’s eyes were full of mischief as he took a drink. “So-so. He keeps asking about the smart girl with the dark hair and eyes. Can’t seem to forget about you.”
“I know how that goes,” I said softly, gripping my cold glass in both hands.
We were both quiet for a long moment as we drank our water and watched the sun glitter on the ocean. Then Leo spoke, his voice deep and thoughtful.
“It’s funny,” he said, setting his empty glass on the porch floor. “The views from our homes aren’t so different, are they? We’re both looking at the same sea.”
As was often the case, there seemed to be a hidden meaning behind his words. It was as though he spoke in half riddles. I felt my heart brim over as I studied the side of his face. Once again, I thought back to our argument, how I’d told him I’d made a mistake. I knew I had to speak, to set things right, regardless of what his response would be.
“Leo, I’m so sorry—” I started, but he shook his head.
“No, I’m sorry,” he said firmly, facing me. His green eyes were ardent. “You were right, Miranda. We were moving too fast.”
“But I wasn’t being fair,” I replied. The emotion in my own voice was unfamiliar to my ears. “I think I got freaked out in that moment, because I, um, thought—” I paused, still unsure if, or how, I could articulate my crazy merman theory. Besides, Leo, sitting next to me now, seemed utterly normal. So human.
“I understand,” Leo said gently. “You realized how different we are.”
“Only we’re not different!” I exclaimed. I set my glass down, too, and then, giving in to my want, put my hand on his warm arm. “You said so yourself, a few seconds ago. We see the world in the same way. We both love science, and we make each other laugh, and—”
“We are different, Miranda,” Leo interrupted again, but this time his eyes were a little sad. “Our lives are different in ways you can’t even imagine.”
“What do you mean?” I whispered, my pulse racing as I searched his face.
“Just that…” Leo pushed a hand through his hair. The muscle in his cheek jumped, as it seemed to
whenever he got riled up. “Look, we were never even really introduced. We met on the beach—the great equalizer. Everything is easy on the beach. On the rest of the island, differences matter.”
“Okay,” I said, sitting up straighter. I took my hand off his arm and stuck it out, handshake ready. “Let’s introduce ourselves, then. Let’s start over.”
A smile crept over Leo’s face. “Okay,” he said, and put his hand in mine. As always, an electric current ran through me when we touched. “My name is Leomaris Macleod, and I’ve lived on Selkie Island all my life. My family has been here since the town was founded. I go to the local high school in Fisherman’s Village. I love science, but I also love books and music. I think I want to write a novel someday.”
My throat tightened as I looked into Leo’s sincere, light-filled eyes. He’s brilliant, I realized. His was a brilliance that transcended grades or SAT scores. He was unlike any boy I had ever known.
“Your turn,” Leo prompted. His tone seesawed between playful and serious.
“Miranda Merchant,” I told him, shaking his hand emphatically. “I’m from New York, but my mother’s family has been coming to Selkie forever. I used to think I knew exactly what I wanted in life.” I paused, biting my lip. “But now, I’m not so sure.”
I paused again, looking at Leo and wondering if I had the courage to say what was hovering on my tongue.
And then, suddenly, I did.
“Except for you,” I said. “I am sure of you.”
There was a perilous, silent instant in which neither of us breathed or spoke, only gazed at each other. Then Leo reached out and cupped my face in his hands.
“Would it be all right if I kissed you?” he asked quietly.
I grinned, took his shoulders, and pulled him toward me. I kissed him. I kissed him with all the fervor I had never felt around Greg or T.J. I kissed him the way a good girl wouldn’t dare kiss someone. Leo began to kiss me back, and then he drew away, still cupping my face. I caught my breath, worried that he was still upset.