The water whips us around like we’re caught in a tornado, ripping me from Daddy’s arms. It’s like the sea is going down a large drain, and Daddy and I are trapped in its intense currents, being sucked beneath the ocean’s floor.
My mind screams for me to reach out for Daddy, but I have no control over my body. It’s just me against the sea. Even if I did have strength, I am no match for a sea that’s fighting back.
I think of Mum and wonder if this is how she felt the moment before she died, knowing she would be leaving all those she loved behind.
But at least we will all be in heaven, finally together as a family.
A wave of emotion builds inside me, and my head starts to hurt. Something is trapped inside my chest and trying to pound its way out. The more I resist, the more painful it becomes. I can’t keep fighting it for much longer.
I am going to die.
Then, I let go. I exhale, and the pounding wave escapes from my heart. It moves up through my throat, passes my nose, swells in my brain, and then, salty tears flow from my eyes, becoming one with the sea.
I am crying.
As I’m pulled to the bottom of the ocean, I feel like I’m being reborn. There’s no stress—no burning in my lungs, ache in my head, or pain in my chest. It’s like I’m drifting through the water like smoke dancing in the air.
I never want to leave the sea again.
I must be hallucinating, because silver-blue teardrops sparkle in the water above me. Bubbles form around them and they look like tiny stars in glass balls. The glowing bubbles form a line, attaching themselves to one another, and shoot to the bottom of the ocean.
Then, my body spasms, convulsing in the water. Is this death? More bubbles form around me and push me to the surface, like I’m wearing a foamy jetpack. I’m shocked by the unexpected presence of air, and I inhale while coughing up water.
“Bean!” Daddy appears, pulling me against his chest. “Daddy’s ’ere.”
I can’t respond—now overwhelmed by pain. It feels like my blood is being replaced with fire. I want to plunge my body back under the sea.
“Don’t cry, Bean,” Daddy says, stroking my hair. “I gine never leave you again.”
I hear loud sirens just before I pass out. Thank you, Ahkai …
Operation SOS was a success.
Over and out.
I can’t pretend I’m not jealous when the Fairy Vale cricket team walks out with the West Indies players. While David Rudder’s “Rally ’round the West Indies” blares from the speakers, my schoolmates gawk up at the celebrity athletes; even Jared is starstruck.
Still, I’m lucky to be alive to see the match. Two months ago, the doctors at the hospital weren’t sure the antivenom from Guyana would arrive in time.
The anthem ends with its high crescendo, and everyone in Kensington Oval cheers. I get teary-eyed when I look around at Daddy and Ahkai, hooting in their West Indies cricket shirts.
I take Mummy’s handkerchief out of my pocket and dab the corners of my eyes. I cry at everything now, not just sad moments but happy moments too. Like if a couple is laughing over dinner, or when siblings hug and make up after a huge fight. Daddy almost banned me from watching Christmas movies—families singing carols around a tree is a guaranteed one-hour bawling session.
Now that my pipes are unclogged, it’s difficult to control the flow of tears, but I don’t mind. It feels good to let everything out.
“Did you know that Sir Garfield Sobers was only sixteen when he first played cricket for the West Indies in 1953?” Ahkai asks me. I didn’t, and now it’s one of my new goals. I have five years to train.
Ahkai is already nose deep in a book about the legendary batsman. I’m not sure the live match can pull his attention away from the pages, but I’m still glad he’s somehow involved in the game. His forehead is shiny from layers of coconut oil Miss Mo applied to prevent more sunburn. Now that he’s taking swimming classes twice a week, he’s a shade darker.
Daddy reaches into our cooler for a cold soda. You can still see a faint outline of the spiral mark on his chest. At first, I was terrified he’d go searching for Mariss. I wondered if she allowed me to survive only to watch her take him away from me again, but he stayed by my side for the entire time at the hospital.
I remember how Daddy refused to leave the cave without me, and, of course, a tear runs down my cheek. I’m so thankful to be alive, and I intend to enjoy every moment, savor every emotion, release every tear …
The crowd cheers again, and the sound of conch shells fill the air. The West Indies have won the toss and decided to bat first.
“Daddy, I want to go to the practice nets,” I say, after refusing a drink. Daddy frowns at me and looks over at the nets like they’re nylon cages. He hasn’t gone back out to fish yet, though the coast guard found Joanne rocking against the tide toward the shore, on her way back home.
Just another strange phenomenon in Fairy Vale.
“It’s just there,” I say, pointing at the nets a few feet away. The Fairy Vale boys are already gathered in the area, probably gushing about which player held their hand on the field.
Daddy nods, and I dart away before he can stop me. I look back and see that he’s leaning forward in his seat, stretching to see if I’ve made it down the steps without dying.
The security guard tries to stop me but Coach Broomes gestures to him to let me come into the area. He knows I’ve been ill and most likely feels sorry for me. Yeah, I had to get bitten by the poisonous child of a mythical sea spirit for him to be nice to me.
Daddy, Ahkai, and I decided to keep the real truth a secret. We had no proof, and no one would believe us anyway, except Mrs. Edgecombe. She visited me in the hospital a few times—well, “visit” is too strong a word. She would peep into the room to make sure I was still alive, and then hurry away.
Oh, there’s also Casper. We told him the whole story at the fish market. He kept staring at the rock, muttering prayers and making the sign of the cross on his chest. A few days ago, Casper—in actual English—whispered that a fisherman claimed he heard sweet singing and loud crying coming from the rock, but people said the guy must have been drunk. But then Casper also told us Elvis stole a jacket from his clothesline that morning, so who knows?
I didn’t bother to tell the real story of Daddy’s disappearance to Miss Mo. But she did pray for us, and insisted we walk out of the sea backward. No one questioned Mariss’s sudden disappearance either, except Ramona, whose belly is growing at an oddly fast pace. One day, she waddled up our pathway with a bottle of perfume and a loaf of sweet bread for Mariss. She was very upset when we said we didn’t have any way to contact her.
I’ve also not been back to my spot under the silk cotton tree at Coconut Hill. I haven’t told anyone about how Mariss came to live at my house, not even Ahkai, but thanks to Miss Mo, I’m not worried.
No one else will be foolish enough to carve into that tree.
I’m enjoying the freedom of swinging at stumps. It’s strange … Though I’ve spent the last few weeks in the hospital, my pace seems to be quicker. My sprained knee is as good as new.
It’s like it healed itself … just like the silk cotton tree. Just like Mariss. I shiver at the thought.
“Good ball,” says a deep voice behind me. I turn to see Omar Taylor, the Jamaican opening batsman for the West Indies. He’s shorter than I expect, with a low afro and black patches under his eyes to help block the sun’s glare. Omar smiles at me, and I try to return it, but I can’t stop looking at him with a dopey expression.
Omar walks over to the stumps and gets into position. He gestures for me to bowl. Everyone—Coach Broomes, the cricket team, and some spectators—is looking at us.
I focus on the middle stump behind Omar, take a breath, and move to do my run-up. I remember to take an extra four steps back, like Coach Broomes suggested so long ago. I glance over at Coach Broomes. He taps his chin and then puts up one finger.
I take one more step
back.
I run toward Omar, who moves his bat up and down, preparing for my ball. He takes a step forward, exposing one of the stumps. I adjust my grip on the ball, changing the angle at the last moment, and release the ball.
Omar swipes at the ball and misses. It knocks the left stump to the ground! Omar looks around at the dislodged stump in disbelief.
Everyone around me starts to cheer, even the crowd! I can hear Daddy shouting, “That’s my chile! That’s my girl!” and a continuous “Whoop! Whoop!” from Ahkai. A sting of tears comes to my eyes so I pretend to wipe sweat from my forehead with my shirtsleeve.
The Fairy Vale cricket team is applauding, all except Jared, who is pumping his fist and cheering almost as loud as Daddy. I feel my ears burning and my heart does a somersault.
Omar comes over to shake my hand.
“Mi hope sey mi do better ’gainst England,” he jokes. “Is yuh coach dat?” he asks, gesturing toward Coach Broomes. I don’t know what to say, so I just nod.
“Coach, yuh ah de boss!” Omar calls to Coach Broomes, and then pats me on the back. “And back straight like arrow. Likkle girl, yuh ah star bowler!”
Omar walks back to the dressing room, swinging his bat. Coach Broomes looks me up and down, tapping his chin. All of a sudden, Jared tosses a ball at me, and as a reflex, I reach out and catch it with one hand.
Coach Broomes shakes his head in a slow, deliberate manner, but then he reaches into a bag and tosses a white-and-blue cricket shirt at me. I catch it and raise it in the air like a prized trophy.
“Finally!” Jared exclaims with a gleam in his eyes. “You’ve come a long way from hiding behind the tamarind tree.”
I realize my mouth is hanging open, and I close it quickly, trying to regain some sort of dignity. But I am so embarrassed, thinking about myself crouching in the grass, trying not to laugh at his silly Ossie Moore jokes. I groan and hide my face with my hand. Jared laughs and turns back to his, I mean my, teammates.
I return to Daddy and Ahkai, tossing my new ball into the air.
Daddy is relaxed, legs stretched out and eyes fixed on the field. Ahkai is bopping his head to his favorite imaginary song. Daddy grins at me and kisses me on the forehead when I sit down.
“Vincent! How are you? And Josephine, you look much better!”
It’s Miss Alleyne, wearing a maroon West Indies shirt, but with a red flower in her hair. It reminds me of the fresh flowers she brought to my hospital room every week when she came for her physical therapy. She’s mostly recovered now, and Fairy Vale Academy has decided to hire her full-time, even though Mr. Atkins is due back next term.
“Hi, Aurora.” Daddy smiles, but he doesn’t get up from his seat. “Just spending some time with Bean. She been looking forward to this match for a long time.”
“Soon we’ll be watching her from the stands,” Miss Alleyne replies, beaming at me.
Before I can answer, the crowd starts to clap. The opening batsmen are coming out from the pavilion. Omar walks backward onto the field before facing front to head to the pitch.
“He’s very superstitious!” says Miss Alleyne with a laugh. Daddy, Ahkai, and I exchange a knowing look.
“Well, I better find my seat. See you later!” Miss Alleyne walks away. Daddy opens his mouth to say something, but then changes his mind. Instead, he kisses my forehead again and takes a sip from his can.
“Miss Alleyne!” I call after her. “Sit with us.”
I squash onto the seat with Ahkai, leaving space for her to sit next to Daddy.
Daddy looks at me, eyebrow arched, silently asking the question. I shrug my shoulders. Ahkai’s face is still down in the cricket book, but he gives a nod of approval and continues to bop to music in his head.
Miss Alleyne squeezes in beside me.
“Comfortable, Jo?” she asks, looking down at me with a warm smile. She puts her arm around my shoulders and pulls me close.
I rest my head against her arm and get a whiff of her perfume.
Vanilla.
Hmmm … it’s different, but still nice.
I guess sometimes change can be a good thing.
My journey began when I was nine years old and told my cousin that there was a baby trapped under the bed. He was very skeptical, and it took a lot of backstory and character development to convince him. So thank you, cuz (I’m not allowed to name, lest I damage his reputation) for challenging me to tell an authentic story.
Thanks to my mother, Sandra, who went along with my prank, then had to call my auntie to take my scared cousin home. Thanks also to my little sister, Akeeba, who tried to save me when I ventured under the bed to rescue the baby and got “captured” as well.
Of all the books I read in English Literature at school, a short story about a fisherman who became obsessed with a strange mermaid stuck with me, so when I made the rash decision to bang out a first draft in three weeks for a writing competition, Josephine was there waiting for me to tell her story. I want to thank everyone involved in the CODE Burt Award for Caribbean Young Adult Literature, and judges, Karen Lord, Alex Wheatle and Janet Smyth for choosing this story as a finalist and changing the direction of my writing career.
I will be forever grateful to my agent, Marietta Zacker, the fearless literary mermaid who read this manuscript when it was half its size, took a chance on me, and became a tenacious champion for my stories. Thanks also to my fairy god-agent, Erin Casey, who plucked this manuscript out of the slush pile, slammed it onto Marietta’s desk, and stared at her until she read the text (this is how I imagine it went down).
Words cannot describe how lucky I am to have an editorial genie like Mallory Kass. Your editorial letters are such gifts, which I plan to frame and hang on my wall. Thank you for being such a fierce advocate for the Fairy Vale crew.
Thanks to the entire Scholastic editorial, sales, publicity, marketing, and production teams, especially Maya Marlette, Josh Berlowitz, and Mary Kate Garmire, who made my manuscript sparkle; Alan Smagler, Elizabeth Whiting, Jackie Rubin, and David Levithan, who were early champions of the work; Lyn Miller-Lachman for her guidance; and the wonderful art director, Keirsten Geise, and too-talented-for-words illustrator, Edge, who made this book more visually stunning than I could ever imagine.
I am not a mushy person, but I have to make an exception for my friends, who believe in me more than I can ever believe in myself. Lloyda gives constant encouragement, and many people (including Lloyda) would be horrified to know I get most of my advice from her.
Every writer, no, every person in the world needs a cheerleader like Liesl. She is embarrassingly supportive, and is known to shame me with her effusive love on social media, whether I win an award or successfully bake a loaf of bread.
Malissa is a bottomless well of support and works logistical magic behind the scenes, just so I can have the space and peace of mind to write.
Special shoutout to Roger Alexis, Ramona Grandison, Gina Aimey-Moss, Shelly Seecharan, Lisa Springer, Sharma Taylor, Ayesha Gibson-Gill, Shakira Haynes, Crystal Chase, Danielle Dottin, Deirdre Dottin, Tanya Batson-Savage, and Joanne C. Hilhouse. This book would not be the same without your encouragement, intelligence, and creative insight.
I also want to thank everyone I forgot to mention. Don’t fret; I plan to write many more books so your name will make it into one of these acknowledgments eventually. I appreciate your support in advance.
To Gibbzy, my partner in life, who has been with me on this book’s entire journey, and like my own personal Lagahoo, changes into whatever form I need, whether it be arms of comfort, words of encouragement, or a creative wall on which to bounce ideas. In my darkest moments, you are an unwavering source of light.
It is a true blessing that Josephine and Ahkai exist in real life, and they are just as smart, loving, brave, and mischievous as the fictional ones. I can’t wait until you both are old enough to read this book. I hope this story brings even half as much joy as you bring to me.
To the aspiring Carib
bean author, the world is waiting for your story.
Shakirah Bourne is a Bajan author and filmmaker born and based in Barbados. She once shot a movie scene in a cave with bats during an earthquake, but is too scared to watch horror movies. She enjoys exploring old graveyards, daydreaming, and eating mangoes. Learn more at shakirahbourne.com.
Copyright © 2021 by Shakirah Bourne
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available
First edition, July 2021
Cover art © 2021 Ejiwa “Edge” Ebenebe
Hand drawn type by Maeve Norton
Cover design by Keirsten Geise
e-ISBN 978-1-338-64211-7
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