Astria’s facade falters.
“Are you doing anything to help? Or are you wasting your energy picking on mergirls you think won’t fight back?” I continue, pushing away from Peri and edging Astria back toward her companions with an extra surge of water—I can definitely get used to this new power. “Well, that ends now. If you want to be welcome in this palace, you will treat the merfolk within with respect. Or I will make sure you never enter again.”
“You can’t—”
“Can’t I?” I reply, before Astria can finish her sentence.
“You won’t,” Venus says weakly.
“Won’t,” Piper whispers. Then she turns to her friends. “My dad would kill me if I got expelled from the palace.”
Astria tilts her head slightly to the side, pursing her lips as she studies me. Like she’s weighing the options of her response.
To my surprise, her better judgment wins out.
“Of course, Princess,” she says, bowing her head in slightly less mocking respect than usual.
Her mirror images do the same, muttering quietly, “Yes, Princess.”
I bite back a smile.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” I say, tugging Peri’s hand and swimming around the three mergirls I used to be afraid of, “we have a very important appointment.”
We maintain our composure until we get halfway up the ramp to my bedroom. Then we explode into giggles.
“Oh my gosh,” I burst. “That was kind of awesome.”
“Kind of?” Peri echoes. “Try very!”
We’re laughing as we swim into my room. Floating to my bed, we curl up next to each other in the giant shell. I begin peeling the paper off my kelpcake.
“Thank you,” Peri says, delicately pulling the paper from her cake and setting it on my bedside table.
“For what?” I ask.
“For standing up for me,” she says quietly.
“Me?” I say, my kelpcake halfway to my mouth. “You stood up for me. Twice. That was amazing.”
Peri shrugs. “I guess we stood up for each other.”
“Always,” I say before taking a giant bite out of my kelpcake.
“Now,” Peri says, inspecting her treat to find the ideal first bite, “what happened at the council meeting? Was it as bad as Astria said?”
“Oh, Peri,” I say around my mouthful of kelpcake, so it sounds more like “Oh, berry.” I swallow my ambitious bite. “It was awful.”
“Tell me all about it.” She leans her head on my shoulder. “And don’t leave out the part about why your hair is blue.”
I smile as I rest my head on top of hers and start spilling the details. Too bad changing the past isn’t one of my new powers.
Chapter 6
The royal guard wants to escort me all the way back to my house, but I convince them to leave me at the beach. Not only would a group of military-jacket-and-finkini-wearing soldier dudes make more of an impression than I’d like, I also want the alone time. The plan was to call Quince when I got back to the beach. He would come pick me up and drive me the two miles back home.
But as I watch the guards dive back into the ocean, all I want to do is take that long walk in the moonlight.
I feel so disappointed, like I’m such a failure. A selfish failure. Am I really so naive to think that just calling mer kings and queens into a meeting will solve a problem as big as the changing environment? Or that they aren’t facing huge problems of their own?
I can hardly blame them for storming out the way they did. If I were in their positions, I might have done the same thing.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to let it end like that. The mer world needs help, and I’m going to find a way to make things better. To make the rulers see that working together is our only hope. This is my duty and my mission.
Scuffing my flip-flops along the sidewalk, I stare up at the starry night above. The sky looked just as clear and peaceful and welcoming the first night I spent in Seaview. Almost four years ago, I left the only world I’d ever known to come live on land, to live among humans, and to find out more about my mom’s world.
Now I’m practically a woman. I am a crown princess and a girlfriend and a half-human mermaid who sees a big problem in the world and is determined to fix it. I just need to figure out how to do that.
The distant roar of a motorcycle brings me out of my fog, and I turn to see a single headlight shining from the beach end of the street. I stop, smiling, as Quince rolls up on Princess and pulls over in front of me.
The boy sure does know how to rock a leather jacket and a pair of biker boots. He pulls off his helmet and hangs it on a handlebar.
“I thought we had a plan, princess,” he says without accusation.
“I know.” I shake my head. “I needed some time to think.”
Quince cuts the engine and climbs off the motorcycle. “Bad?”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” I say. “I thought it would be so easy.”
He stuffs his hands into his back pockets. “Want to talk about it?”
“No,” I say, stepping forward and slipping my arms around his waist. As I lay my head against his chest, I sigh. “I want to go back to yesterday and tell myself not to be so stupid.”
“Lily,” Quince says, his disapproval rumbling in his chest, “you’re not stupid.”
“Fine, naive,” I say, trying to pull away, but Quince tugs me back. “I’m an eighteen-year-old princess.” I roll my eyes at myself. “What do I know about interkingdom politics? Or widespread environmental disasters? Or even how to talk to a roomful of people without freaking out like a fraidy fish?”
Quince is silent for so long, I finally pull back and look at him, half afraid I’m going to see pity and disappointment on his face. That’s how I feel, anyway. But instead I see strength and confidence.
“If there are two things I know about you, Lily Sanderson,” he says, his mouth kicking up into that smirky half smile, “it’s that you are persistent and you have a good heart.”
I sigh. “How do either of those things help me?”
“They won’t solve your problem,” he says. “But they will make sure you keep trying until you do.”
“Sometimes you don’t make any sense,” I tell him.
He laughs, and his good mood relaxes me. “Maybe not,” he says. “But I’m always right.”
“Always?” I ask with a raised brow.
He nods, leaning in close to whisper, “Always,” against my lips.
He might not make sense, but he believes in me.
“You want a ride?” he asks. “Or should I roll along beside you like a creepy stalker?”
I scrunch up my face, like I’m trying to decide. “Well, you do have a history of peeping in my bathroom window. . . .”
“I never saw a thing.” He lets his gaze drift over me, and I feel my skin tingle all over. His voice is low as he says, “Promise.”
I turn and saunter toward the motorcycle. I call out over my shoulder, “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I was the one doing the watching?”
Quince’s booted footsteps thud on the concrete as I open the storage compartment on his bike and pull out my pink helmet. I’m not startled when his arms wrap around me from behind.
“I always knew you had a bad-girl streak,” he murmurs against my ear.
I smile and lean back into him. “Only for you.”
“Wouldn’t want it any other way.” He presses a warm kiss onto the side of my neck. “Come on,” he says, stepping back and grabbing his helmet off the handle. “Let’s go home.”
I nod and climb onto Princess behind him. It’s late, it’s been a stressful day, and I still have a lot of thinking to do. Somehow I have to figure out how to get a diverse group of kings and queens to stop bickering long enough to realize that helping one another is the only solution to the environmental problems facing our world. That’s a tall order, even for a princess with a bad-girl streak.
By morning, I h
ave the beginnings of an idea. Not an idea of what to do, exactly, but an idea of who I can talk to who might. Seaview High’s earth science teacher has been trying to help me plan my future, and she just happens to have a degree in marine biology. Maybe she can help me shape my beginnings of a plan, too.
Besides, after ditching two important interviews she set up for me recently, I owe her a big apology.
I knock on her open classroom door. “Um, Miss Molina?”
“Yes?” She looks up, sees me, and frowns a little. “Lily.”
I can tell she’s disappointed. And maybe a little upset. That’s totally understandable. When I thought I wanted to give up my crown and stay on land, I decided marine biology would be an ideal—and obvious—career path. Miss Molina studied marine biology in college and still has connections in the department at Seaview Community College. She went out of her way to set up—and then reschedule—an interview with her friend there.
She didn’t have to help me, but she did. Then I had to bail on both interviews for various mer-world emergency situations.
I can’t exactly explain how two weeks ago I’d planned to stay on land and go to college and have a career, and now I’m taking up my duties as a mermaid princess so I won’t be needing her connections at the community college after all. I have no choice but to let her be disappointed in me. I just hope she can see past that and still help me.
“I know that you’re mad that I missed the second interview,” I blurt before she can say anything. “You have every right to be. I can’t give you a good excuse, except that an urgent family situation came up at the last minute.”
She closes her eyes and sighs. That’s the same lame—and yet not untrue—excuse I gave the first time. She probably thinks I’m totally full of it, and if I were her I’d think so too.
No way is she going to want to help me after I made her look bad to her friend at the college.
I’m about to turn around and abort my plan, to find some other way to get advice, when she opens her eyes and half smiles. She rubs her lips together for a second and then nods.
“I know you’re not a flake, Lily,” she says. “If you had to miss the interview, I’m sure you had a good reason.”
If she only knew.
“I’m really sorry,” I repeat. “I hope your friend isn’t mad at you because of me. I can talk to her and tell her that it was all my—”
“It’s fine, Lily,” she says, waving me into the room. “Really.”
I give her a grateful smile for forgiving me as I drop into the chair next to her desk.
“Actually, I have something else I wanted to talk to you about,” I say. “I need some advice.”
Now I have to figure out how to present the problem.
Last night as I stared out my bedroom window for hours, counting stars, I let my mind drift, thinking about everything that’s happened in the last few weeks. I got over my crush on Brody and started my relationship with Quince. I nearly gave up my crown and then bonded with Tellin so I could keep it. I thought I wanted nothing more than to return to Thalassinia with Brody at my side, then decided to stay on land with Quince, and finally realized I couldn’t abandon my royal duties like that. All that thinking left me a little uncertain about where I’m supposed to be, exactly—land, water, both?—but I’m starting to think it can’t be one or the other with me.
Anyway, as I thought about my now-discarded plans to become a marine ecologist, to get a degree in marine biology so I could help save the oceans from my place on land, I thought about how Miss Molina had been so willing and eager to help me with my college plans. . . . Maybe she would be able to help me with my current problem, too.
As soon as I’d decided to ask her for help, my mind turned off, and I fell asleep.
Now, faced with actually doing the asking, I wish I’d stayed awake long enough to figure out this part of the plan.
Probably the easiest way is to be as honest as I can.
“A lot of things have changed in my life in the last couple weeks,” I begin. “And I don’t think that going to college is going to be part of my plan.”
“Are you certain?” she asks. “Getting a higher education is the doorway to far greater career opportunities.”
I rub my itchy palms against the edge of my seat. I knew this was going to be a tricky part of the conversation. The teachers at Seaview High seem to be on a mission to get every single student to college. In most cases, I think this is a great goal. But not every kid needs college. Some of them just need to work. Like Quince. They gave up on him a while ago—he already has a job in construction lined up, and there’s not much a college degree is going to do for him.
A college degree isn’t going to help me rule Thalassinia, either. Human higher education doesn’t offer classes in mer politics, and that’s what I need to learn to become a better future ruler. Not that I can share that bit about my plans with Miss Molina.
“I’m sure,” I say, hoping she’ll leave it at that. “But the thing is, I still want to make a difference in the oceans. I still want to help the environmental efforts. I just don’t know how to make that happen.”
She purses her lips again and glances at the ceiling, thinking. I sit quietly and wait.
“It is true that the scientific community represents only one facet of the efforts to preserve the world’s oceans.” She pulls open her bottom desk drawer and starts flipping through the files. “There are a number of nonprofit organizations that are always eager for volunteers.”
“That’s great,” I say, “but . . . well, I was kind of thinking about starting my own organization.”
She pauses her search and looks up, surprised.
“Oh, nothing big or anything, just me and my friends.” And by “friends,” I mean the most powerful merfolk in our part of the ocean, who aren’t exactly feeling friendly toward me right now.
I sit on my hands so they don’t start fidgeting with the hem of my skirt.
“I don’t understand,” Miss Molina says. “What are you asking from me?”
“Advice,” I say, leaning forward. “Some of my friends think the problems are too big for us to make a difference. They see ocean warming and oil spills and overfishing and just want to give up.”
“Ah, I see.”
“How do I convince them that we can change things for the better?” I give her a shaky smile. “How do I get them working together toward a common goal?”
“You’re serious about this?” she asks, like she’s gauging my commitment. Like she’s trying to find out if I’m just going to bail on this like I did on the interviews.
“Absolutely,” I say. “As if my entire world depended on it.”
She studies me for a moment, lips pursed and thinking. Maybe she wonders why I’m so adamant about this, and I wish I could explain it. To her I must just look like some random high schooler who happens to be focused on saving the oceans at the moment and will probably change her mind next week. And the week after that. And every week for the next three years. She doesn’t realize that the ocean isn’t a passing fad for me—it’s my home. And I’m going to do whatever I can to protect the mer world and my people.
My determination must read on my face, because she finally nods.
“If you want to get everyone working toward the same end,” she says, “the first thing you need to do is define the scope of your mission.”
“How do I do that?” I ask.
“There are two parts to any mission statement,” she explains. “First, you need to define what problems you want to tackle. Are you interested in keeping the oceans clean? Or counteracting the effects of climate change? Or reducing the impact of human activities on the marine ecosystem?”
“Yes.” I nod. “All of the above.”
“Then you need to document each problem as thoroughly as possible.” She braces her forearms on her desk. “Do some research so you know exactly what you’re facing.”
“Like a survey or something?”
I ask.
“Exactly.”
“Okay,” I say. “And then second part?”
“Determine how you are going to try to solve each problem,” she explains. “What actions are you going to take, and how are you going to measure and define your success?”
“Okay, that makes sense.” I realize I’m fidgeting with the hem of my skirt and stuff my fingers back under my thighs. “What if my first goal is just to get other people—my friends—involved and committed to the problem?”
“That is always a difficult part of the process.”
She reaches back into her file drawer and pulls out a thick green folder. Flipping to the very back, she pulls out a pale-blue sheet of paper. As she holds it out for me to see, she says, “Perhaps you can begin with something as simple as a petition.”
I take the paper from her and study it. At the top it says ENVIRONMENTAL CLUB, and then it explains what the petition is for, to document interest in the formation of the club at Seaview High. Below that is a list of names, signatures, and student numbers, about twenty-five in all. And at the very bottom is a place for the club sponsor, Miss Molina, and the school principal to sign.
“This is how you started the environmental club?” I ask.
She nods. “What you are trying to accomplish is quite a bit more complicated, but getting pledges of support in writing could be a starting point.”
“So—do research to define the scope of the problems,” I say, handing the petition back to her. “Then get my friends to commit in writing?”
“It’s as good a place to start as any.”
“Thank you,” I say. “That helps a lot.”
She smiles. “I’m always here if you need me.”
As I push to my feet, I say, “I’m sure I will.”
I feel relieved as I head out into the hall, now filling up with before-school traffic. I know what my first two steps have to be. They won’t be easy, not after the disaster that was my council of kings and queens, but if I can get an idea of exactly what problems we’re facing and then convince everyone to agree that we need to work together to solve them—if I can make each of them see that focusing on his or her kingdom’s problems alone isn’t going to solve things in the long run—well, then, that’s a start.
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