FINNED (The Merworld Water Wars) (2 page)

“No! Please! I’ll be good, I swear it!” I screamed, kicked, and cried all the way back to cell three.

“Your life is over, Little Red Reading Head.” The Retriever flipped his key ring in the air and marched off.

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Nah, it’s just beginning.”

Chapter Two

Jeepers, Creepers

October: Two words-candy corn

Monthly Life Caption: Butts

Mood: Playful

Eating: Actual food

Music: Iconic Halloween tunes

After three years, two weeks, one day, four hours, fifty-three minutes, and twenty-seven seconds of watching drippy walls and smelling moldy tiles, I was finally released from Hambourg’s house of hell and placed in my mom’s arms. My mom and I were free of Unsuitable Zone Nine…banished, but free. The ride into Saxet Shores epitomized freedom: blue skies, emerald waters, white beaches, and the sound of waves crashing along the shore.

The council transport—which looked like a tank made out of tortoise shells—delivered our minimal belongings to our tiny beach house. We weren’t allowed inside. It seems the transporters have an irrational fear that my “malfunction” may be contagious. Whatever. You can’t catch talent, and you can’t cure stupid.

Once they finished dumping our stuff inside, they drove us across town and dropped us off in front of the high school.

“Out,” said the driver. “Your car will be waiting in the parking lot by day’s end.”

Mom and I crawled down the side of the tank; our feet barely touched the ground before the beastly thing sped away. Standing in front of my new school with my mom, I immediately fell into foggy-brain mode.

“Is it made of tiles?” I couldn’t figure out what the heck was up with this school.

“Looks like it. I think it’s a mosaic of various sea creatures. Isn’t it beautiful?!” said my mom, awing over the freaky building. My mom’s a little artsy-fartsy. I’m not at all. To me, a bacon cheeseburger qualifies as a masterpiece.

“It’s a mosaic of scaly, smelly, slimy creatures that sleep where they crap.”

“You and your fish phobia. They won’t hurt you, peanut.”

“Tell that to a certain person-chomping great white shark.”

“And
that
was just a movie. Honestly, do you really care what the stupid school looks like? Breathe in that salty sea air! We’re free! My baby girl finally got herself banished. Your dad would have been so proud of you. He fought so hard to free you and all the Specials. Now—for him—it’s time to live,” she said, squeezing me.

“Agree, definitely live-it-up time,” I said. “And can I just say…so proud of the ‘stupid school’ comment. Very un-parent like.”

“I aim to shock.”

“You have good aim. So, when can I see Trey, Polly, and Meikle?”

Trey, Polly, and Meikle were my closest friends at The Helena Hambourg House for Maladies. They successfully manipulated the council into banishing them last year.

“Let’s check the itinerary. Where’s my purse? I left my purse! Unbelievable!”

“Um, Mom?” I pointed to the lump of leather sitting on the ground next to her feet. Mom tends to spaz when she misplaces her belongings.

“Oh. Right. Just where I left it.” She picked up her worn purse and pulled out a crinkly piece of green paper from the side pocket. “Okay, from the looks of things, you’ll see them about thirty minutes from now, during lunch,” she said, studying the itinerary. “Until then, you have your meeting with Principal Jeepers—”

“Jeepers?”

Mom could tell by my trademark raised eyebrow that I was on the verge of being completely inappropriate. “Marina. Not a good idea to start off on the wrong foot...but, seriously, Jeepers?
Jeepers, creepers, da-da-da-da-dum
!” My mom hasn’t belted a tune or unleashed one of her funky little dance moves since before they hauled me off three years ago. Mom’s the perfect balance of old-Hollywood grace and slapstick sitcom.

“I love you, Mom,” I said, laughing.

She smiled and kissed my forehead. “Now, I have to find a Mr. Allen Anderson to see about a job. So help me if they stick my Texas-size hair in a hairnet and slap me behind the lunch counter. There will be injuries.”

“Mrs. Valentine!” A creepy little man skipped down the steps towards us. “I’m Allen Anderson, the vice principal of Saxet Shores High School! Welcome to Saxet Shores, Texas!”

“Please, call me Camille.”

“Very nice to meet you, Camille. This lovely girl must be Miranda,” he said, glaring at my jeans. “Well, you look nothing like your mother. Suppose you took after your father. And what interesting pumpkin-orange hair you have! Unusual color.”

Rude much? That little tick of a man was one to talk—his black hair and eyes made him look so smarmy.

“He likes my pumpkin-orange hair, Mom. Isn’t that nice?” I said as sweetly as possible. “And, it’s
Marina
Valentine.”

He kept staring at my legs. Did my jeans offend him? Was there a dress code? Ew. What if he swings towards a pervy sort? Note to self: Possibly a pervy sort. Keep a watchful eye on Mr. Smarmy.

“Please excuse our attire, Mr. Anderson. We just got here and didn’t have time to change.”

“Jeans are perfectly acceptable at Saxet Shores High,” he said, finally tearing his eyes away from my seemingly indecent legs. “There are dress codes for certain social functions, but you needn’t worry about that now. Shall we?” He offered my mom his hand as we walked up the stairs.

“Whoa. These steps are all slimy. It’s like they’re covered in fish sweat.” Crap. Mom’s giving me the
oh you are so gonna get it later
fake laugh.

Mr. Anderson’s eyes narrowed on me, and then weirdly widened before he quickly ushered us inside.

Oh. Dear. God. I think I just walked into an aquarium…with lockers…and hall monitors. Everything had blue tile—ceilings, floors, lockers, and walls—and there were fish tanks scattered everywhere.

“Miranda,” said Mr. Smarmy—er—Mr. Anderson.

“Marina.” Again, I gently corrected him. Either he was a giant horse’s ass or on the brink of senility.

“Yes, yes, well, Principal Jeepers is just there,” he said, motioning to a circular door just down the hall. “He’ll have your textbooks and class schedule. I’ll get your beautiful mother settled in admissions, not to worry.”

“Have a great day, sweetie,” whispered Mom. “See you after school.” I hated watching her walk away with Mr. Smarmy.

When I knocked on the strange cork-like door, it eased open with a loud screech. The principal’s office was a large, cluttered circle, full of bizarre clicking sounds. Books, shells, and framed pictures of various islands filled sandstone bookshelves. The rickety old desk looked a bit too short for the stately chair sitting behind it.

“Hello? Principal Jeepers?”

The hairs on the left side of my face suddenly stuck straight out; I turned to find a pair of brown eyes peering at me from behind the door. A man abruptly rounded the door, seized my shoulders, and stared at my face, eyes, and nose, cocking his head from side to side. His overgrown whiskers and shaggy, salt and pepper hair made him look manic. After releasing a pathetic yelp, he let me go.

“Sorry. You just look like a seriously spooky version of a famous rotten-tooth pirate I have an inexplicable crush on. And I did not just say that.” Clearly, I’ve lost some of my manners—and my brain-to-mouth filter—while in the institution.

“Well, shiver me timbers! Ye the lil’ leprechaun bringin’ me pot o’ gold? Yo-ho-ho! Savvy?” he said in a surprisingly convincing pirate voice.

“Wow, so you exploited my red hair and green shirt for a crafty comeback? Well played.” I kind of liked the man. “Interesting school you’ve got. Very pro-aquatic.”

“Yeah, we lean towards the unconventional, as sea towns go.” Instead of sitting in the chair, he hopped on the desk, picked up my file, and scanned it with amusement. “Not much for rules, eh? Good, good. Makes things interesting. And a reader too! Wonderful!”

“Are you sure you’re the principal?”

“Uh-huh. Now, I see here that Madame Helena—frightening woman—has issued the blocking guard?”

“Yeah, it basically means I can never touch a card again. Good thing my name’s not Rémy, right?”

He looked at me like I was oozing something from my ears. Apparently, he wasn’t a superhero buff. “Fascinating little reader, aren’t you? I think we’re done.”

“Aren’t you going to lecture me, give me a list of rules, or something?”

“Rules are self-explanatory. Lectures are monotonous. Besides, you’ve had enough of that kind of thing for a lifetime. Just use your best judgment, do your homework, and, let’s see, uh, respect your mom. Oh, and since Saxet Shores is one of nearly two hundred banishment locations across the globe, the other students and townsfolk are aware of your time in the institution and of your—”

“Malfunction,” I supplied.

“Eh, I was gonna say talent, but if you prefer malfunction, then…”

“Yeah, I don’t prefer.”

“Good. Off ya go, now! Lunch! You must be ready to eat real food again,” he said, walking me to the door.

“I am. Anything but fish. I hate fish. Hate the smell, hate the texture, hate the taste. Hate.”

“Aversion to scales, eh?”

“More like a reaction. If I smell them, I gag. If I taste them, I puke. I basically become a circus sideshow.”

“Ah. Huh. Could be problematic.” Mr. Jeepers stared thoughtfully at the floor for a few seconds before waving me out the door. “Don’t forget your books and schedule on the chair, there.”

Sitting on a dusty old chair was a gorgeous camel-brown leather backpack, chock-full of books.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d have a backpack,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, it’s yours if you want it.”

“I don’t know what to say. Nobody’s given me anything since I was a little girl. I—just thank you.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the scraggly man in front of me—this kooky man had a father’s instinct.

He smiled warmly. “I stuck some extra notebooks in there, just in case you needed them.” My shocked, thankful eyes must have been making him uneasy because he more or less pushed me out the door. “Lunch beckons! And, for your health, just keep walking to the far end of the food line, okay?”

“Sure,” I said. “Uh, what does that mean exactly?”

Mr. Jeepers had already slammed the door shut. Strange man. Not really knowing where to go, I wandered around until I spotted a couple of blond students walking through a little door down the hall. Above the door was a blue sign with the prettily painted words,
Fun, Feast, & Food Line
.

I walked on in and wanted to gag: all fish. “That’s why he wanted me to go to the far end of the line,” I said, trying to suppress the gags as the smell reached my nostrils.

A stout black-haired woman tried to serve me a spoonful of what I must assume was some kind of tuna soup. GAG. And she wasn’t wearing the ever-so-stylish hairnet. Highly unsanitary. Note to self: Always check food before eating.

“Um, excuse me, but where’s the non-fishy food?” Er. Being on the receiving end of Lunch Lady Hairnet-less and her frightful face wasn’t fun.

“Food for the Normals is at the end of the line,” she said scruffily.

“What are Normals?” Whoa. Ms. Hairnet-less wanted to kill me. “I’ll, you know, just go down here.”

Down the line, a boisterous lunch lady with cream colored hair sticking out of her pink hairnet—hurray, safe food—was busy staffing an empty station of fried chicken, corn on the cob, and chicken fried steak with white gravy. When I stepped up, she couldn’t have been kinder.

“Well, hello there! You must be our new girl!” Her pale blue eyes and cheery smile were warm and welcoming.

“This looks fantastic, Mrs.—”

“Thank you, peaches! You can call me Ethel. What’ll it be?”

“Chicken fried steak, please.” I could eat this all day, every day, end up the size of a walrus, and be perfectly content.

“Here you go. Enjoy, Marina,” said Ethel cheerfully.

“Um, Ethel? The lunch lady down there said this is food for the ‘Normals.’ What did she mean?”

Ethel’s rosy cheeks drained of color. “She gets pretty annoyed by anyone who doesn’t want her fishy dishes. You go enjoy that before it gets cold, ya hear?”

Smiling, I entered the cafeteria. I’m truly shocked I didn’t drop my tray. The entire room was one large aquarium…literally. Coral tables sat against large glass windows where sharks, dolphins, eels, and colorful fish darted about playfully. Was it weird? Absolutely. Was it beautiful? Absolutely. Was I a little freaked out by it? Absolutely…yes…positively…no doubt.

The student body was another matter entirely. I must have entered some alternate universe where every redhead’s worst nightmare lived and breathed: a room full of tan-skinned blonds—light, dark, medium, curly, and straight haired blonds.

“Marina! Marina!” Running for me with his arms wide open was Trey Campbell, my best friend from the institution. Trey’s an intuitionist, meaning he can see truth behind lies and sniff out secrets better than a scent hound.

“Trey!” I struggled to hold my tray when he hugged me. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“Me too, Squiggle, me too.” Trey nicknamed me Squiggle ages ago; he says my mind resembles a squiggle line, never following a straight path. I’m fairly certain that was his way of saying I’m scatterbrained, but, you know, I let it slide.

“Marina! You look…really awful, but in an
I just survived hell
kind of way, which adds some merit.” Polly Purdue had bubblegum pink hair, steel blue eyes, and was socially inept. Of course, this wasn’t really her fault. As a demon soul swapper, Polly tended to lose parts of her human soul and bring back demon replacement bits. We choose to find it endearing.

“Thanks, Polls. Can always count on you to say exactly what you think,” I said, hugging her.

“Thank you! You’re welcome!” she said perkily.

“Where’s Meikle?” I asked.

“At the table,” said Trey. “She’s still not much of a hugger.”

As they led me to their cramped little corner table, I looked again at all the blonds, staring at us like we had some incurable disease. “Did a bottle of bleach explode in here or something? Are we the only non-blonds?”