Real Mermaids 2 - Don't Hold Their Breath (20 page)

Pleasure doing business with you! Looking forward to our next round of golf.

Frank Miller

“That's a note from the mayor!” I gasped.

“I guess we know how Mr. Chamberlain plans to get away with it, huh?” Luke asked.

I glanced up at the stage as Mr. Chamberlain and Mr. Miller and his council shook hands and patted each other on the back. It reminded me of the Mermish Council pushing Luke around and laughing about the fact that they'd framed Finalin and Medora for a murder they didn't commit.

A seething anger roiled up inside of me. Mr. Chamberlain had almost killed my mom and Serena with his truckloads of dirt. Then he'd laughed at us when we had tried to take a stand for the Monarch butterfly.

“Hey!” I yelled over the music from the band. I rushed toward the stage, fumbling with my phone as I tried to forward the photos to a place where I knew they would make difference. I stumbled up the stairs of the stage as I went, but I didn't care. There was no way these guys were going to get away with their plan this time.

“Hey!” I yelled even louder as I crossed the stage to the podium where the mayor and Mr. Chamberlain stood smiling and laughing. I grabbed the microphone. It squealed in my hand, making everyone look up. A few kids put their hands to their ears.

Mr. Chamberlain looked my way and didn't recognize me at first.

“I have a feeling,” my voice cracked as I looked at him, then I turned to the crowd, “that you may want to rethink your plans for the Port Toulouse Mall.”

“Oh really?” Mr. Chamberlain asked with a bemused look on his face.

“Really,” I replied. I found Luke in the crowd again. He was standing with Cori and Trey while Lainey untangled herself from the crowd and stalked up the other stairwell at the far end of the stage.

“What do you think you're doing?” she cried as she hurried toward me.

“Just explaining to the wonderful people of Port Toulouse that your daddy and Mr. Mayor here have been building an illegal mall extension without a proper Environmental Assessment.”

“You have no proof of that,” Mr. Chamberlain muttered through gritted teeth. “Not anymore,” he whispered so only I could hear and patted the breast pocket of his blazer.

“Oh really?” I turned to the crowd. “Mr. Chamberlain here doesn't think we have any proof that his Environmental Assessment is a fake. How many of you out there are from the Butterflies versus Boutiques Facebook page?”

A round of applause filled the night air, causing a wide grin to cross my face.

“Then,” I continued, trying to speak loudly and clearly in the microphone so everyone could hear, “would you all be so kind as to check out the page and let me know if we actually
do
have proof?”

A murmur rippled through the crowd as people fumbled through their pockets and purses for their phones. Then one by one, once they found the pictures I'd hurriedly posted on the Butterflies vs. Boutiques page as I stumbled up the stage's stairs, they held their lit-up phone screens in the air. It was only a few at first, then dozens, but soon hundreds of glowing cell phones dotted the darkened beach. The beginnings of a chant began to form.

“Green means green! Butterflies not Boutiques!”

“Green means green! Butterflies not Boutiques!”

By then, Lainey had found the pictures on Facebook too and was holding up the screen for her father to see.

“Daddy!” she cried. “That's why you wanted me to get that paper for you? Well, then you can take Cedric back!” She held out her bag, then reconsidered when Cedric whined for her. “Well, no. You can't have him back, but now I want a
horse
.”

Mr. Chamberlain looked from me to Lainey, to the audience, then to the mayor, and gulped.

Good thing his helicopter was waiting nearby; otherwise, I'm not sure he would have made it off the beach alive.

Hundreds of people came up to me afterward to thank me and congratulate me for finally putting a stop to the mall construction. I was mostly on the edge of tears the whole time, overwhelmed by everyone's support. Little did they know that saving that part of the coast not only helped the Monarch butterfly, but eventually, when the tides cleared the muddy waters away, mers who needed the tidal pool would be able to use it to become human.

The crowds finally thinned out as people spread out along the beach to enjoy the warm summer evening.

Cori spread her beach blanket onto the sand and dumped her stuff. “We're going to get a couple hot dogs to celebrate. The works?”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said.

“What about Luke?” she asked.

“I dunno. I kind of lost track of him.” I bobbed my head up and over the crowds to see if I could spot him.

“I think he went to get something from the car,” Trey said.

“Just call him on his cell,” Cori suggested as they headed for the barbecues.

“Good idea,” I replied as I watched them go. But all of a sudden I felt unsure again. Yes, Luke was back and Mom was back and life was normal again—as normal as it was going to be, anyway. But what did that mean for him and me? Were we friends? More than friends? I had to know. I took a deep breath and dialed his number.

“Hey, Luke?” I said when he answered.

“Hi,” he replied. “Sorry I haven't had a chance to talk to you yet, but you were really awesome up there.”

“Thanks to you!” I paused before continuing. “Listen, Luke. I was wondering…” I left the sentence hanging, not knowing what exactly I was wondering. Wondering if he'd like to hang out? Vague. Go out on a date? Lame. Be my boyfriend? Scary.

Whatever
the
question
is, the answer is yes.
I heard the ring coming from over my right shoulder.

Luke. I looked over and spotted him by the lifeguard tower again, holding his phone to his ear. His guitar strap was slung across his chest.

“Will you guys
stop
with the squealing and hang out like two normal people already?” Cori returned with an armful of hot dogs while Trey carried the drinks. She nudged me and winked as they laid the food out on a blanket.

When he saw I'd noticed him, Luke slipped his phone into his pocket and smiled—that curvy-lipped adorable smile that turned my legs to jelly. Was I ready for this? Ready to take the next step? Who knew? Maybe I wasn't ready to jump in with two feet, but would it hurt if I just dipped in a toe?

I
was
going
to
ask
you
if
you'd finally play that guitar for me,
I said, walking toward him.

I
dunno. My concerts usually sell out. There may not be any tickets left.
Luke held out his hand for me as I approached.

Darn,
I replied.
I
was
hoping
for
front
row
seats.

Luke took my hand in both of his and held it to his chest.

“I'm
so
glad you're back,” I whispered.

“Glad to be back,” he replied. “I kinda missed you.”

I took a deep breath and drank in the salty ocean air, then took a leap of faith…and kissed him.

Was Luke my dream guy? My soul mate? My boyfriend? Only time would tell. But right then, the moment, the guy, the kiss—it all felt right.

“So, about that concert,” Luke whispered in my ear, “would you settle for a seat on a piece of old driftwood overlooking a puddle?”

“That, my friend”—I took his hand and led him toward the point—“sounds absolutely perfect.”

Snacks at sleepovers are a
must
.

Try this one next time your parents

forget to stock the snack cupboard.

Supplies:

brown paper lunch bag

stapler

measuring cup

microwave

Ingredients:

¼ cup popcorn kernels

2 tbsp brown sugar

2 tbsp chocolate chips

2 tbsp butter or margarine

pinch of salt

Pour the popcorn kernels into a brown paper lunch bag then fold the top of the bag ¼ of an inch, twice. Secure two staples (trust me, I Googled it!) at the folded part to seal the bag shut. Lay the bag flat in the microwave and cook on HIGH for about 1:45 (one minute and forty-five seconds, people!). Each microwave is different, though, so you may need to adjust the time.

Meanwhile, add the brown sugar, chocolate chips, butter/margarine and salt to a microwave-safe measuring cup. Cook on HIGH for about 15 seconds or until the gooey buttery-chocolaty mixture is melted. Mix well with a fork then pour it over the popcorn.

Toss like a salad and ENJOY!

You. Are. Welcome.

:) Cori

Writing a book is a lot like making an enormous ice cream sundae but it is a process made much easier with a drizzle of keen-eyed critique pals, a sprinkle of super-patient friends, and a big glob of family.

Much thanks to my agent, Lauren MacLeod, who scooped me out of her slush pile and kept me from going nuts through all of my writerly efforts. Thanks also to my editor, Aubrey Poole, who never waffled and provided the cone of truth I needed to tell this story as genuinely as possible.

Marcelle, Charlotte, and Gord: you are the cherries on top of everything and my constant sources of support and inspiration. None of this happens without you.

Hélène Boudreau never spotted a real mermaid while growing up on an island surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean, but she believes mermaids are just as plausible as giant squids, flying fish, or electric eels. She now writes fiction and nonfiction for kids from her landlocked home in Ontario, Canada. Her first book of this series,
Real
Mermaids
Don't Wear Toe Rings
, was a 2011 SCBWI Crystal Kite Award finalist.

You can visit her at
www.heleneboudreau.com
.