Forgive My Fins (7 page)

“No,” I answer sweetly, “of course not.”

Bang, bang.
“Let me explain.”

“Is that Quince?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say, and start up the stairs to my bedroom.

Bang, bang.
“I never planned to kiss you.”

I freeze, one foot hovering above the next step, my heart hammering in my chest. I can feel Aunt Rachel’s sharp gaze focus on me.

“Oh, Lily,” she gasps, “you didn’t.”

I whip around. “No,” I blurt out, tears floating just below the surface, “
I
didn’t.” I stomp down the stairs, walk to the door, and fling it open. One finger, shaking with fury, points at the pirate-clad nightmare standing on our front stoop. “
He
did!”

The nightmare, apparently thinking my opening the door is an invitation, takes a step forward. I slam the door harder.

“Ow!”

I hope his nose is broken.

“Wiwy,” he says in a voice that sounds like he’s squeezing his nose—victory! “Just wet me expwain—”

I throw the dead bolt.

“I’ll be in my room,” I announce, and head for the stairs again.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Aunt Rachel says, grabbing me by the arm as I go by. “You have some explaining to do yourself, girl.”

For a second I am a rock, utterly unemotional and ready to tell Aunt Rachel to leave me alone. The next, all the emotion and craziness of the last half hour—from the moment I kneed Quince in the squids until I slammed the door in his face for the second time—just bubbles up to the surface, and I explode.

I whirl around to face her. “It was going to be perfect. I was going to tell Brody how much I love him, and he was going to realize how perfect we are for each other, and we were going to begin our life together.” I swallow over the lump in my throat. “Perfect.”

“My sweet, innocent girl,” Aunt Rachel whispers, gently wiping a tear off my cheek. She shakes her head like she’s disappointed in me—which is completely unfair since I’m not the one who caused this mess. I’m totally the victim in this situation.

“Perfect,” I repeat with a snap, startling the sad look off her face. “Until
he
messed it up.
He
showed up instead of Brody.
He
kissed me and made my fins curl.
He
”—I shout loud enough to be heard through the door—“ruined my entire life.”

Then, before Aunt Rachel can say whatever is behind the shocked look in her eyes, I yank my arm free and run for my room.

That’s it, I’m done with this human thing. I’m going back to the sea. Where I belong. Human life is too complicated, and humans—one human in particular—are not to be trusted. (Except for Aunt Rachel, of course. And Shannen. And Brody. And maybe my art teacher.) I don’t know what made me ever think I could handle this world.

Dropping to my knees, I peer behind the grass bed skirt in search of a bag to pack my things. No bag. Then I jump up, hitting my head on my nightstand, sending my palmtree lamp crashing to the floor, and startling Prithi from her nap on my stuffed animal–covered bed. Whatever. I don’t need a bag. I don’t have anything to take.

Sure, my room is full of random stuff I’ve collected over the past three years, but I won’t need any of it in Thalassinia. Water is rough on land-produced objects. Besides, all I want to do is forget the human world ever existed.

Well, everything but Brody—

“Lily.”

What is he doing here?

Aunt Rachel. She must have let him in to—

The doorknob starts to turn, but I dive for it and twist the lock just in time.

“Lily,” he repeats. His voice sounds disappointingly broken-nose-free. “Please, just let me explain what happened.”

“No.” I grab a stuffed dolphin from my bed, sending Prithi leaping to the ground, and fling it at my door. It barely makes a soft
thud
before tumbling to the floor, but I feel better. “Go away.”

Meow.

“I really planned to help you snag Ben”—he clears his throat—“nett.” His voice drops to a mumble. “Figured if you spent more than ten minutes with him, you’d realize he’s a total pr—”

“I’m not listening to you,” I shout. And fling a stuffed Shamu against the door. And a stuffed lobster. And a stuffed sea horse.

Prithi, thinking it’s a game, bounds after my artillery. She takes possession of the sea horse and retreats under my bed.

“What I mean is, I gave him the note. He was supposed to be there.” He clears his throat again. “Then I”—
ah-hem
—“saw him dancing with”—
ah-hem
—“Kiran Siman”—
ah-hem
—“and I thought I should”—
ah-hem
—“check on you. Damn, my throat is dry.”

He breaks into a fit of throat clearing that soon turns into coughing.

Great. Dry throat. I squeeze my eyes shut but can’t make it go away. The change is happening already.

“Anyway,” he says when he’s through coughing for the moment, “you looked so…expectant standing there in the dark.” His voice sounds sad, but maybe that’s just the change, too. “Like you were waiting for the best moment of your life.”

Cough, cough, cough.

I look at the sad pile of stuffed sea creatures clustered around my door. He’s right, of course. I was waiting for the most perfect moment of my life.

Then he ruined it.

I fling another round of stuffed sea life at the door. “I wasn’t”—starfish—“waiting”—great white shark—“for
you
.”

My bed is now empty of stuffed animals. I’m about to grab a pillow when I hear a
plunk
against the door from the outside. It sounds like a forehead smacking against the wood.

“I know,” he groans. He coughs a few times before adding, “I couldn’t help it.”

There is such a sound of despair in his voice that when he starts coughing again, I find myself pressing a hand to the door, as if that will heal him. Only I know it won’t, because he’s not sick. He’s changing. And I can’t just run away from this. Or from him.

Even Prithi ventures out and meows softly at the door.

“Water,” I say quietly.

There is a long, silent pause before he asks, “What?”

“Water,” I repeat. “You need a drink of water.”

“It’s just a cough,” he insists. “Lily, I want you to understand why I—”

“Go ask Aunt Rachel for a glass of water.”

“I’m right here, dear,” Aunt Rachel offers.

Great, a witness to my humiliation.

“Listen to me, please,” he asks, his voice raspy like sandpaper.

If he doesn’t drink some water soon—a
lot
of water—he’ll lose it altogether. Not that I’m interested in listening to him, but some little part of me does want to know why
he
, the guy who lives for my torment, kissed me.

“Aunt Rachel,” I say, ignoring his plea, “get Quince a glass of water.”

“Of course,” she says, and from the take-charge tone, I can tell she knows this is serious.

I sigh. “And make it salty.”

“Right,” she says. Then I hear her walking down the stairs.

“Salty?” Quince asks. “Why the hell would I drink salt water?”

“It’s a long story.”

Prithi meows sympathetically.

A heavy pause hangs between us. “Why do I think,” he says, “when you say that, it’s a gross understatement?”

“Listen,” I say, leaning my forehead against the door. “Drink the water. Go home and take a bath. A
salt
bath. You’ll feel better—”

“No,” he argues. “I’m not leaving until you let me expl—”

He breaks into a huge coughing fit before he can finish.

“I’m not up for this right now,” I say, and I can hear the weariness in my voice. This has been an emotional day, and he’s lucky I’m not prepared to fillet him alive at the moment.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “As long as you promise we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Oh, we’ll talk tomorrow. When he pressed his lips to mine, he got way more than he bargained for. It may not be anything he wants to hear, but we’ll talk. Because in order to undo what he started, I have to present him before the royal court of Thalassinia. Aka my dad.

“I promise.” When he starts coughing again, I add, “Just go home and take a bath.”

How did I ever get myself into this mess?

And how am I ever going to get myself out?

Looks like I’m going home for the weekend after all.

8

M
eet me at Seaview Beach Park at three.

I slipped the note under Quince’s front door first thing in the morning and then disappeared. A night’s lack of sleep hadn’t cleared things up for me, and I needed a full day to figure out how to explain…well,
everything
…to him.

As the sun heads west behind me, I sit staring out at the ocean horizon. Still not sure how I’m going to proceed.

How do you tell a guy you’re a mermaid? And that’s he’s turning mer, too? I’ve spent three years fantasizing about telling Brody, but this is different. Quince is different.

He doesn’t say anything when he walks up behind me, but I feel him. In the sand, in the air. Everywhere. For a minute, I let the tension—or maybe it’s the bond, I still can’t believe I’m bonded to Quince Fletcher—crackle between us. I’d always heard the bond was an addictive high. I never expected the kind of physical connection I’m feeling.

I wonder if he feels it, too.

“Do you believe in other worlds?” I finally ask.

“What?” He laughs softly. “You mean like alien planets?”

“No, worlds right here on Earth,” I explain. “Worlds you can’t see. Worlds you never knew existed but that were there all the time.”

He drops down onto the sand next to me, arms hanging over his bent knees. “What’s this all about, princess?”

A wave crashes in front of us. Princess. That almost makes me smile. And cry.

“Look at the sand.” I point to the area at our feet. “See all those shells?”

“Yeah….”

“Those are coquinas.”

“Right, they come in on the waves—”

“That’s what everyone thinks.” I shake my head. “Look closer.”

A wave crashes, leaving behind a rainbow array of coquinas. As we watch, they quickly wiggle back under the sand.

“Whoa!”
Quince leans forward and scoops up a handful of sand. He inspects his scoop like a little boy digging for sea slugs beneath the ocean floor.

“They don’t come in on the waves,” I explain. “They live under the sand.”

A softer wave rolls in, this one too gentle to displace the sand above the buried coquinas.

“Look at the water.” The sea flows back out. “See all the ripples?”

Quince looks up from his handful of sand and stares at the ebbing tide.

“The coquinas cause the ripples.” Another wave crashes, uncovering the rainbow of shells. “Even though they are hidden, they still affect the visible world.”

“Wow,” Quince says, his voice full of awe. “That’s amazing.”

“An entire world, hidden, but causing ripples in the world you know. The world you see.”

Without turning to look, I can tell Quince is staring at the sand as if it’s just come to life. Which it pretty much has. This is a good sign, I think. At least he wasn’t, like, “whatever” or “so what.” That has to bode well for my revelation. Right? I hope.

“That,” I say, swallowing over my hesitation, “is kind of what Thalassinia is like.”

He twists around to look at me. “Thala-what?”

“Thalassinia.” I turn away from the sea to meet his gaze. “My kingdom.”

To his credit, he blinks only three times before recovering his ability to speak.

“Your kingdom?” he echoes. “What exactly do you—”

“I’m not your average high school girl.” I meet his confused look without flinching. “I’m a…” Now that the moment has finally come for me to tell someone the truth about who and what I am, it’s a lot tougher than I thought.

Secrecy is paramount in the mer world. Besides the whole flee-at-the-first-sign-of-humans instinct, we also keep our world carefully camouflaged. With a few exceptions—like the Bimini Road and those underwater temples off the coast of Japan—our buildings look like naturally forming phenomena. We even have the ability, in extreme cases, to alter the memory of an untrustworthy human who has seen our world. It’s not a fun experience, but it’s a price worth paying to keep Thalassinia and the other mer kingdoms safely secret. If humans knew we really existed, if they believed we were something more than mystical creatures of ancient myth, we’d be in for a world of trouble. Scientists. Journalists. Government agencies with the ability to make entire kingdoms disappear. They’d all be knocking at our door—or, rather, swimming in our pool—in a flash. Our quiet world would become a maelstrom, and the peace we’ve spent centuries cultivating would vanish. Not exactly every mermaid’s dream.

Every instinct and mer law I’ve been taught since birth commands me to keep our secret from humans at any expense, but I don’t really have a choice. That kiss made this moment inevitable.

If this were Brody, it would be so much easier. I’ve been waiting for three long years to tell him the truth. But Quince? I’m not exactly prepared.

His eyebrows pinch together. He looks like he’s thinking really, really hard. And things are starting to connect in his brain.

“You know,” he says, sounding skeptical, “that salty bath made me feel a world of better last night.”

“It did?”

“And drinking the saltwater didn’t dry me out. In fact”—his eyes narrow—“it made me feel superhydrated.”

Ah-hem.
“Good.”

Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to have to figure out how to tell him anything? Maybe the bond is already giving us both some insights.

“Come to think of it,” he adds, “you seem to take long baths pretty regularly.”

“Hey,” I shout, momentarily offended out of my anxiety by embarrassment. “You are such a peeping perv—”

“Lily”—his voice drops to an unusually serious level—“was there something more you wanted to tell me?”

“Well, actually,” I reply, unable to look him in the eye any longer, “there was one thing….”