Fish out of Water

by Natalie Whipple

  Contents

  Title Page

  Also By Natalie Whipple

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Acknowledgements

  Natalie Whipple

  Copyright

  ALSO BY NATALIE WHIPPLE

  Transparent

  Blindsided

  For my grandma Carole, who, though I never quite understood her, I loved just the same

  Chapter 1

  The goldfish are uneasy, but who wouldn’t be when their potential killer stares them down so gleefully? The little boy bounces in front of the tank while his mother looks at bowls. I stand at my little island in AnimalZone’s Aquatics department, hoping they’ll leave without buying one of my precious fish.

  “How many goldfish can live in these?” The woman holds up a one-gallon bowl, seeming slightly irritated by her squealing son.

  “Actually … ” I glance at the boy, who is now banging on the guppy tank and giggling as the fish scatter, “those bowls are intended for betta fish. That’s not big enough for one goldfish. They need at least ten gallons to do well—twenty, for some varieties.”

  She gives me the “Are you crazy?” look. “Really?”

  I nod, wishing I could point to where my nametag says Aquatics Expert. “They produce a lot of waste, so it would be most humane for the fish to live in a filtered, large aquarium. The ten-gallon starter is only fifty.”

  “Well, aren’t you the little saleswoman … ” She glances at my nametag. “Mika. I’ll take the bowl, some fish, and some food.”

  “Okay.” Apparently Aquatics Expert means nothing to this woman. I do as I’m told, not bothering to recommend some rocks and plants in the bowl. That way the fish could hide when her son comes to enthusiastically torture them each day of their short, horrible lives.

  “That one! No, that one!” the boy screams as I try to capture the fleeing fish. He’s pointing to the one with the black spot on its forehead, but I really like that one and can’t send him to his death. His mother tells me to grab three of whatever and hands him a candy.

  I bag each fish and say a prayer that they’ll go peacefully. People like to think fish don’t have feelings, but as I watch the last guppy squirm in his bag his eyes plead with me to put him out of his misery. I get the sense he knows just as well as I do that bad things are on the horizon.

  “It would be good to buy water conditioner,” I say as I hand over the fish. “The chlorine in tap water can kill them.”

  “Right. Thanks.” She takes the fish and heads to the front, not even a glance at the conditioner.

  There will definitely be a fish funeral in less than a week, which is why I don’t mention they can return dead fish within two weeks for a replacement. At least not to people like that, who are clearly here for a “cheap, easy pet.”

  I check on the remaining goldfish guppies. They’re huddled in a tight mass, traumatized by the little boy. I don’t blame them—it’s like a crazed maniac coming into your house, flailing and screaming, and then leaving just as quickly as he came. How can you not huddle there in shock?

  “Mika?”

  I whirl around, finding the storeowner, Clark Wainwright, at my station. He’s a nice guy, despite his looking a little shady—I blame the creepy mustache and gold watch. But I couldn’t ask for a better boss.

  There’s a new face next to him, one that doesn’t seem particularly excited to be here. He doesn’t look at me while I take in his dark eyes and messy hair that walks the line between brown and blond. He wears the signature ugly AnimalZone uniform—lumpy black polo and pleated khakis.

  “New employee?” I ask.

  Clark nods. “This is my nephew, Dylan. He just graduated and will be working here for at least the summer, maybe longer.”

  “Not longer,” Dylan says. He makes no effort to be friendly, as if he’s pretending with every fiber of his being not to be here. I can’t tell what he’s like past the serious slouching problem and sullen expression.

  “Better get your act together if you think that. Probably couldn’t get a job at all without nepotism.”

  “Whatever.”

  Clark looks back at me. “He doesn’t have much work experience, but he’ll pick up on things quick.”

  “Cool.” I try to put on a nice face, though I doubt he’s right. “If he’s anything like you I’m sure he will.”

  “Suck up,” Dylan coughs under his breath.

  Hard as it is, I ignore the comment and smile, which earns me a disturbing glare. “I’m Mika, by the way.”

  “Figured, since it’s on your nametag,” Dylan says.

  So he’s gonna be a jerk like that. Great. If Clark weren’t here, I’d ask Dylan if he were PMSing, but instead I force my smile wider. “Oh good, you’re observant. That’ll help.”

  Clark pats him on the back. “I’ll give Dylan the run-down today, but I thought we’d start him on Aquatics for training, since you’ll be volunteering at the Aquarium this summer, right?”

  “Yup.” I beam, not at all embarrassed to show my excitement. My parents are marine biologists at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, and I finally convinced them to let me “intern” with them. It’ll look amazing on my college applications. “Sounds great. I’d be happy to train him.”

  “Don’t underestimate her, Dylan.” Clark points to me. “She might be younger than you, but she knows her fish and you better listen.”

  Dylan doesn’t answer. I have a feeling listening isn’t one of his strong suits. As I watch the two head back down the aisle, I regret agreeing to train him already. He’s clearly going to be a pain in my side.

  After a quick lunch and wardrobe change, I hop on my bike and head for the Aquarium. The weather is beautiful now that the morning fog has worn off, and even over traffic the ocean can be heard. AnimalZone is pretty close to the Aquarium, so it doesn’t take me more than ten minutes to hit Cannery Row in all its touristy glory. It sits right on the water, a collage of old industrial buildings that don’t quite match with the beachy bungalows in this area of Monterey. What were once canning factories for seafood products are now rows of outlet shops and restaurants. It’s one of the “must see” places for visitors, so it’s always bustling with people and choked with traffic. The Monterey Bay Aquarium stands at the very end, a monument to all the environmental repairs made to the bay after the canning industry nearly destroyed it.

  Even if it’s kind of fake, I don’t mind so much. My parents told me a lo
ng time ago not to be one of those jaded locals who complains about the tourists. Mom and Dad would be out of jobs without them, since the Aquarium is non-profit and depends on people visiting.

  I lock my bike outside the entrance, where Mom told me to meet her today. She and Dad usually work at the research facility nearby, but she often comes to check on the Aquarium animals in the public buildings.

  After I get through the line, I use my season pass to get in. Since I’m the daughter of prominent and long-time employees Stan and Yumi Arlington, I’ve had a free pass for as long as I can remember. This place is almost like a second home, the Living Kelp Forest and Outer Bay exhibits as familiar as my own bedroom. I’ve always dreamed of volunteering here, but you have to be at least eighteen. Except all that’s about to change. Finally, finally, Mom and Dad have given into my constant begging, though I’m still seventeen.

  Mom stands by the information desk, chatting with an obviously star struck receptionist. She has that effect on people. With her long black hair and youthful face, she oozes intelligence and beauty all at once.

  “I hope it will be a busy summer!” she says, her Japanese accent barely there. She tries hard to mask it at work, but I love that it still slips out, a reminder of where she came from. She spots me and smiles wider, leaving the desk to meet me. “Mika! There you are.”

  “Hey,” I say as she gives me a hug. “So what are we doing today? Checking on the otters? Taking water samples? What?”

  Her face lights up. “Actually, I have good news to tell you first!”

  I tilt my head, unable to imagine what could make this day better. “What?”

  “Do you remember that grant from Stanford we applied for?”

  I nod. Of course I do. I was drooling over the proposed studies they’d be doing in the bay. There was supposedly a lot of stiff competition for the money, but Mom and Dad are rock stars in their field. “Did you get it?”

  “We did!” She bounces a little, she’s so excited.

  I join in. “That’s awesome! Please tell me I get to help.”

  “We have to take on a few interns, but as far as I know, yes.”

  “Sweet!” I selfishly hope they are attractive male interns. “I didn’t think this summer could get any better!”

  Mom puts her arm around me. “You’ve earned it. You’ve worked hard at the pet store, and you take such good care of our aquariums at home. We know how serious you are about pursuing this, and we’re so proud.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” I lean on her shoulder, soaking in the moment. “What are we doing today then?”

  She laughs. “Well, I hope you aren’t too disappointed, but your father and I actually have a meeting with the grant administrators in about thirty minutes. So you’ll have to wait a little bit longer until we get all the details worked out.”

  “No worries.” While I’m a bit disappointed not to be starting right now, it’ll be worth the wait. “I guess I’ll just have to go home and be lazy or something.”

  “It is summer break.”

  “See you later.” I float out of the Aquarium. I’m so high on the awesomeness of my impending summer that I treat myself to some ice cream and decide I deserve a present. I end up back at AnimalZone. My eyes dart back and forth as I check to see who’s on the floor. I hope Clark doesn’t spot me. He always teases when I come in after my shift, especially when I come back for the reason I have today.

  Dylan stands at my Aquatics island, looking as bored as humanly possible. It takes him a second to recognize me in my sundress and leggings, but when he does his eyes go wide. His sour expression comes back as he says, “Aren’t you off for the day? Or do you live here?”

  I clench my jaw, determined to hang on to my good mood. “Thought I’d come back and give you a test.”

  “A test. Sure.” He says it like it’s a joke. It was, until he mocked the idea.

  “Yes, I’d like to buy a fish.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Which one?”

  “Something easy to keep.”

  “A goldfish then.”

  “No.” I put my hands on my hips. “So fail. Big time fail. No fish is easy to take care of. They all have specific needs, and if you don’t respect those needs then you’ll kill the fish.”

  He sighs. “Great, I have to work with a crazy fish girl. Is this hell? I think I’m in hell.”

  All my happy feelings vanish. I get the strongest urge to push him out of my spot and tell Clark I’ll never train him. He obviously doesn’t care, and there’s nothing I hate more than people who don’t care about what they do. It shouldn’t matter if you work at a pet store or in the White House—you should do your best.

  “Yes, I’m a crazy fish girl. Get used to it.” I tip my head up with pride. “Don’t ever tell a customer fish are easy to care for—they already come in with enough misconceptions. It’s your obligation to make sure those fish get the best possible care.”

  “I thought I was obligated to sell pets.”

  My eyes narrow. “And if those fish keep dying, we not only lose money through replacements but people stop coming here to buy them. Healthy fish and educated customers make this place money.”

  His upper lip curls, but he says nothing.

  I smile victoriously and head for the goldfish guppies. “I’d like the one with the black spot on his forehead. Clark taught you how to bag a fish, right?”

  Dylan grabs the net and stands, stalking over like I challenged him to a duel. He looks over the fish. “I don’t see one with a black spot.”

  “Right there.” I point to my fish. “So much for observant.”

  His look is all daggers, but he sticks the net in and attempts to catch my fish. It takes a ridiculously long time, and I almost feel guilty for enjoying his struggle. After several failed attempts, he throws the net on the ground. “Get your own damn fish!”

  I stare at him as he heads back to the island. He has his back to me, and his shoulders rise and fall with angry breaths. I pick up the net, wondering what the hell his problem is. “Can’t put a contaminated net in there.”

  He flips me off.

  “I’ll have to talk to Clark about your customer service skills.” I lean over the island to rinse the net. “Because, wow, that was a serious mantrum.”

  Double flip off.

  I seriously wish I hadn’t come back here, because it’s ruining my good day. Dylan acts like I’m the one at fault here, and it makes me mad. He should at least be grateful his uncle is giving him a job, but he’s not even trying. I almost point this out, but it doesn’t feel worth it. So I prepare a bag of water and net my spotted friend in seconds. Then I give it a puff of air and tie it off. The guppy swims around happily—at least there’s one thing in this situation that’s nice. Smiling at my new fish, I head for the front counter to pay my twenty cents.

  “You really wanted that fish?” Dylan says when I’m half way down the aisle.

  I stop and turn around. “Yes.”

  His face softens only slightly, as if he’s curious. “So you weren’t just messing with me?”

  I shake my head, patting my water-filled bag. “I almost had to send this guy to an early grave this morning and decided he needs a real home. Everyone deserves one of those, right?”

  One of his eyebrows quirks. I don’t know what to make of the expression, so I wait for an explanation. Dylan just stares at me. A tiny part of me hopes for some kind of apology, though he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who says sorry. When it’s clear an answer isn’t coming, I continue on my way.

  Chapter 2

  Our place is a quaint beach house that’s, ironically, not very close to the beach. Juniper bushes guard our small front yard, which is zenned-out with rocks and sand, raked to look like water ripples. A single cypress tree shades the path to our door, and I park my bike on the porch.

  The house is quiet, or at least as quiet as it can get with so many aquarium filters humming. Dad jokes that if an earthquake hits, our house will flood
from all the tanks breaking. I never found it funny as a kid, picturing all my fish friends meeting such a traumatic end, but now that I’m older I get his joking. We have at least one tank in every room, if not several. Five of them are mine, and that’s not including my koi pond in the backyard.

  I head for my room, where my tanks are lined up against the wall. Each one contains goldfish—from comets to bubble eyes to blackmoors. It probably looks like overkill to most people, but there’s just something about goldfish that makes me happy.

  My new guppy is tiny. When I hold up his bag to my “Baby Fish” tank, I worry he might be too tiny even for that. I don’t want him getting pecked at, so I decide it’s time to move the biggest fish over to my “Teen Fish” tank. Opal, a pretty white fish with an orange forehead, doesn’t protest much when I scoop her up and place her bag in the adjacent tank. I do the same for my new fish, watching him as I decide on a name.