Fish out of Water

by Natalie Whipple

  “I’ll do the head,” Shreya says.

  “I was just gonna say you should. I’ll do the rest—it’s mostly scales.” I grab the sketchbook, and we spend a few minutes collaborating on the look of it to make sure our pieces will match. Then it’s time for the fun to begin.

  I start from the top. We learned pretty quickly that starting anywhere else was bad. I begin by smoothing out the upper arch, so that the shape is just right, and then I hand pack ridges for the spine scales. Now that morning is in full swing, the beach is bustling with people. Many of them watch us work, which made me nervous when we first started getting serious about sand sculpture. But now I’m used to the camera clicks and the kids who stare on as if we’re the goddesses of sand. I’m also used to the annoying people who ask if it’s really sand.

  “Yes, it’s definitely sand,” I say to a man watching on. He doesn’t look convinced.

  “You can pack it all next time, sir, if you’d like proof,” Shreya says. “Just show up before dawn with a shovel. We’d be happy for the extra manual labor.”

  He snorts and walks off.

  Once I have the large spinal scales as crisp as possible, I start on the tedious process of adding small ones to the whole body. I’m just starting to remember why it’s been a while since we did a dragon when I hear, “Mika?”

  I look up, blinking a few times because the scale pattern is burned into my retinas. Creepy mustache and running shorts just a touch too short. His sulky companion glares at me.

  “Supervisor Clark?” I choke out.

  “Hey! What a coincidence!” He pats his nephew on the back. “Dylan, look, it’s Mika.”

  “I have eyes.” Dylan wears running gear, too, except his fits much better than his uncle’s. The red shirt clings to his form, revealing way more muscle than I expected. His black shorts hit at the knee. His shoes look flashy and expensive. I hate to think it, but he looks like he stepped out of an ad for running wear.

  “That’s Dylan?” Shreya says, clearly taken in by this version of him.

  I want to say he looks a lot worse in the AnimalZone uniform, but I have a feeling I’d insult my boss. “Yeah. This is my best friend, Shreya.”

  Clark holds out his hand, and they shake. “Nice to meet you.”

  Dylan turns to the ocean, clearly trying to pretend he’s not here. I give Shreya an I-told-you-so look.

  She smiles. “Looks like you guys went running.”

  “Yup.” Clark nods in Dylan’s direction. “It might not look like it, but he does like to run. And I’ve always liked Lovers Point, touristy or not.”

  “Us too,” I say.

  “I had no idea you made sand sculptures.” Clark looks over our work, which is maybe one third done. Something in me starts to squirm. I’m positive I mentioned it to him before, because I told him I had to have Saturdays off. “How long have you been doing this?”

  “Pretty much every good-weathered Saturday since we were ten,” I reply. That’s when Shreya started at my elementary school. We became instant friends, and we’d go to the beach and build sandcastles. “The sculptures just got bigger.”

  “Right.” He glances at Dylan like he wants to kick him for being a jerk. “So, let me guess … a dragon?”

  I nod. “Maybe you’ll have to come back in a few hours when it’s done. It doesn’t look like much right now.”

  “Or we could stay! I didn’t get to treat you to lunch the other day like I wanted—you deserve it for putting up with Dylan. I could run and get something, be back in like thirty minutes.”

  Dylan looks over his shoulder, glaring at his uncle. “I’d rather shower.”

  “Being dirty builds character,” Clark says to him, and it feels like I’m missing something. “Hang out with the girls. Maybe you could even help.”

  His jaw slacks. “But, Unc—”

  “No buts! I won’t feed you if you leave.” Clark sprints off. “I’ll be right back with sandwiches!”

  I watch in shock as he gets farther and farther away. “Did he seriously plan this?”

  “Yup.” Dylan sits in the sand. “And I fell for it.”

  Chapter 9

  “You can just leave,” I say to Dylan as I work. “Clearly you don’t want to be here, and I don’t want you here, either.”

  “Mika!” Shreya says, seeming surprised. “When did you get so mean?”

  “I’ve been trying to be nice all week. I’m tired.”

  Dylan sighs. “I can’t leave. He really won’t feed me if I do. All the food at the house is locked up.”

  Shreya and I exchange a puzzled glance. Clark has always seemed like a nice guy to me, but that sounds a little weird. “Can’t you go buy something?” I ask.

  “I don’t have any money. Not even my wallet.”

  I stick my carver in the sand and tromp over to the cooler I brought. Setting a sandwich down in front of him, I say, “Eat this and leave, then.”

  “So I’m supposed to tell him I stole your lunch and left? Do you know how much trouble I’d get in? He’d probably starve me all day, and I’m already dying from running.” He lays back, looking pretty tired. “Jerk didn’t even leave water.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Why is he doing that?”

  “Not your business.” He covers his eyes with one arm. “Can you leave me alone? I really am exhausted.”

  “She’s only asking because it sounds batshit crazy,” Shreya points out. “Like you’re a prisoner. And I thought my parents were strict.”

  “Seriously, shut up, your voice hurts my head,” he says.

  That does it. Nobody talks to my friend that way. Grabbing my cooler, I pluck out the first cold water bottle I see, unscrew the top, and pour it right on his crotch. He flies up, and I fling the rest of the water in his face. He gasps for breath, his eyes full of fire. “What the hell?!”

  “Either apologize to Shreya or leave. Because I’m so done with your crap.”

  “You can’t make me leave.”

  I fold my arms. “But I can scream about the weird guy who peed himself and is bothering us. Or maybe … is that … You were doing what in public?”

  His face goes slack with shock. “You wouldn’t.”

  “You wanna bet?”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  I take in a deep breath, but only get out a partial scream before he lunges at me and covers my mouth. His weight takes me off guard, and I hit the sand. I stare at him, his face just inches from my own, his wet hair dripping onto my forehead. He glares at me, seething. “Are you crazy?”

  He doesn’t move his hand, so I don’t know how he expects me to answer. He just stares and stares, and I don’t know why but I keep looking at him, too. There are gold and green flecks in his brown eyes that you’d never see from a distance. And his lips glisten from the water. Maybe it has been too long since I had a boyfriend, because his weight on me …

  “Get off her!” Shreya yells.

  That snaps him out of it, and he springs back. People gawk at us. One woman even has her phone out, as if she’s just about to call 911. I pull myself up, brushing off the sand and whatever it was I felt. When she sees I’m okay, she lowers her phone, but I can feel her eyes on me.

  “Well,” I say. “You did a good job humiliating yourself all on your own, didn’t you?”

  Dylan sits in the sand, his head to his knees. His ears are vibrant red, and I’m pretty sure it’s not a sunburn. I purse my lips in an attempt not to laugh. Grabbing another water bottle, I hold it out in front of him. He doesn’t take it.

  “C’mon, I know you’re thirsty. And it’s not like you can stand up to get your own drink.”

  He looks up at me. I expect something mean to come out of his mouth, but he takes the water and cracks the top. In about five seconds, the bottle is empty. He doesn’t say thank you.

  “Don’t think I’ve let you off on the apology. But you can save it for later if you need to rehearse.” I go back to sculpting. I have to go slow because my han
ds are shaking. I’m not sure why, since I’m not mad anymore. Better just focus on the scales.

  “Sorry, Shreya,” Dylan says after about five minutes.

  She gives him a puzzled look. “Thanks, I guess.”

  “Here’s the deal,” he continues. “When my uncle gets back, I’m betting he’ll have some excuse to leave again. If we don’t play nice, he’ll probably keep trying to orchestrate these run-ins. So can you pretend we get along while we eat, and then I’ll leave you alone?”

  “Why is he doing this, anyway?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Thinks I need new friends. You’re the only person my age he knows.”

  “Great.”

  “Yeah … ” Dylan stares out at the waves, where a few people are surfing. He does seem genuinely exhausted. I almost feel bad for him, and a small part of me wishes he wouldn’t be so determined in his rudeness. He might not be so bad if he’d talk nicely like he did about the koi legend.

  “So why are you here if Clark is so harsh on you?” I ask, going back to my endless scales.

  “It was the lesser of two evils.”

  “What happened to your parents?”

  “They got sick of me.”

  I pause. What his uncle said comes back, how this summer isn’t turning out how Dylan wanted. “So … they threw you out?”

  “Yup.” He slouches more, and I feel like I’ve been kicking a puppy that lost its two front legs.

  “I’m back!” Clark calls. He holds a few Subway bags, and Dylan runs to him like he can’t stand another second of not eating. His uncle holds the bags back. “Let me check something first. Mika, how was he?”

  My eyebrows raise. “What?”

  “Was he nice?”

  Dylan gives me the saddest look in the world, and somehow I know his eating relies completely on what I say next. I don’t like this pressure. He might be mean, but he doesn’t deserve this weird punishment. And I shouldn’t be the one to decide. “He was fine,” I say. “Quiet, mostly.”

  “Good. We’re making progress.” Clark hands Dylan his sandwich. He grabs it and steps back like his uncle still might take it away. “If you keep being civil, maybe I’ll give you food privileges soon.”

  Shreya and I look at each other, and I wonder if her “What the hell is going on?” expression matches my own.

  Clark hands us sandwiches, too, and then sighs. “Well, I got a call from Miriam at the store. Sounds like Tanya didn’t show, so I need to go in. Dylan, would you prefer to haul more pet food or enjoy the beach with Mika?”

  Dylan looks at me, feigning surprise. How did he call that? “You mean you’d give me a day off?”

  “I told you that’s how it works. If you make good choices, you get good things. Plain and simple.”

  Dylan nods. “I guess I’ll stay here then.”

  “Great! I’ll come back for you at six.” Clark turns to me. “Don’t let him leave, Mika.”

  I nod, feeling like a traitor.

  When Clark goes, Shreya and I head to our towels to eat. Dylan doesn’t join us. He’s maybe twenty feet away, devouring his lunch like he hasn’t had food in weeks. Shreya watches him, and I flick her leg. “Ow! Can’t I enjoy the view?”

  “What view?”

  She glares at me. “C’mon, Mika. You can’t tell me he’s not gorgeous. How did you not notice? Even I can see that and I’m not boy crazy like you and Olivia.”

  “Uh, hello? Did you hear anything that came out of his mouth?”

  She shakes her head, still staring at him. “I’m starting to forget.”

  I roll my eyes, even though I might agree with her more than I want to admit. With the afternoon heat upon us, the sand will start drying faster. We need to get the dragon finished before then. When we get back to work, I’m keenly aware of the fact that Dylan hasn’t left the beach yet. He occasionally looks at me, but mostly stares at the ocean. I can’t imagine what’s going through his head.

  Hours pass. Our dragon looks awesome. Shreya did an amazing job with his facial expression, and as we put on the finishing touches the crowd around us becomes a solid ring of people and camera phones.

  I spot Dylan on the cliff, looking down at our work from the same place I surveyed it this morning. I can’t quite tell, but I think he’s smiling.

  Chapter 10

  The koi gather at the edge of my pond in the backyard, right near my feet. They swim over each other, excited, and I smile. Who says fish are dumb? They know just as well as any pet that it’s feeding time, and they have an incredible sense of smell. They don’t react this way to anyone but me.

  My parents’ voices float out the kitchen window. I can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but the tones are not nice. Again. This has been the case for over a week now. My dad doesn’t want to stay home anymore. We all want Betty in a care facility, but it would cost like a third of their income even with Uncle Greg’s help. I don’t know what they’ll do with her if we don’t have the money. Hopefully not anything crazy. Like keep her around.

  I sprinkle the food over my koi, and they gobble it up like the endlessly hungry fish they are. At least it’s mostly peaceful out here. Our backyard is one of my favorite places. Though it’s small, there’s a giant tree that takes up most of the space. The limbs are so thick even an adult can sit on them. My koi pond is right under that, surrounded by bushes, with a small waterfall at the far end. The rest of the space is devoted to a deck with lounge chairs.

  Stooping down, I reach out to pet my fish. Shreya once told me that was creepy, but I don’t care. They aren’t slimy like people usually assume. It’s more like silky.

  “They sure like you,” Betty says, and I jump up in surprise. What is she, a ninja? She stands right next to me, her eyebrows raised high. “Sorry, I scared you.”

  “No, it’s fine. Just didn’t hear you.” I eye her warily, never sure of what I’ll get when she opens her mouth. The doctor my parents took her to said she was likely in the beginning of moderate Alzheimer’s, which I guess means she’ll need more and more help.

  She points her thumb back at the house. “Do they always fight like that?”

  I look away. “Actually, no.”

  “Ah, so it’s my fault.”

  “Yup.” I figure she should know how much she’s invaded our lives, even if she might not remember tomorrow.

  She stoops down by the pond, puts her fingers in the water. My fish scatter. “At least you have parents who care.”

  Though I don’t really want to talk to her, my curiosity betrays me because maybe I’ll get more stories about my dad. If he won’t tell me what happened, Betty is all I have. “You didn’t?”

  “I used to, until the war.” Her hand stops, one finger still in the water. “Gracie, why’d you have to go first? Everything would have been better if it was me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She shoots up, her face way too close to mine. In her eyes, I’m sure I see fear. “Do you know what happens in those homes? That’s where they send you when you’re too far gone. That’s where I’m going to die. Alone. I bet Martin won’t even visit me!”

  Whoa, talk about swift topic change. “You mean my dad, Stan?”

  “See? It won’t be long until I can’t say anything.” She bursts into tears, and I don’t know what to do. It seems cold just to stand there and watch her, but last time I tried to touch her she said she didn’t want my “dirty hands” on her. “I don’t want to die, but there’s nothing else left to do.”

  “Those care centers aren’t that bad. Have you talked to my parents about it?” Because this is way too heavy for me. Why does she always pick me when she wants to say crazy stuff?

  She wipes at her tears like an angry child. “They don’t like me. Honestly, I don’t like them very much either.”

  I don’t like you, either. “But you’d still rather stay here?”

  She nods.

  My stomach turns with guilt, thinking about how she’d rather be with
people trying to get rid of her. Her life must suck if she thinks that’s a good option. “Why?”

  Her face goes blank again, and I have a feeling she can’t remember. But then she sighs. “I miss my Stan, even if he never missed me, just like I miss my sister and my Greg and my Martin and my dad. Why do I still miss my dad? Why can’t I forget that instead?”

  “What happened to your dad?” I ask.

  That gets me one of the worst glares yet. “Go to hell, dirty Jap.”

  My eyes widen as I watch her storm back to the house. I stand there, stunned. No one has ever called me that to my face. It hurts. Even knowing she’s losing her mind, it doesn’t stop it from repeating over and over in my head. I’ve been as patient as I can with my grandmother, with this person who deserves no kindness from me, and this is what I get. I blink back tears as her screaming comes from the house.

  “You’re all going to hell! I hate you! You ruined my life! You ruined the world!”

  Screw it.

  My parents better put her in a facility tomorrow. I’ll even pack her stuff and drive her there as long as I never have to deal with this crap again. Instead of going inside, I head around the house to the front. Mom’s zen garden is finally back in place, and I hop along the stepping stones until I reach the porch.

  My bag is still inside. I haven’t eaten breakfast. I don’t even have my uniform on yet, just yoga pants and a t-shirt. But I unlock my bike and go.

  I have to get away from here, because if I tell my parents they’ll just freak out more and I’m so sick of drama. Give me my old life back, please.

  It would be nice if I could ride to a beach or the Aquarium to watch the fish all day. Better yet, I wish I had a boat so I could go out on the bay and be surrounded by the ocean. But I have work. Stupid work. I take the long way, trying to calm myself down so I won’t risk bursting into tears.

  Dylan would revel in that.