The second day of school was awesome, because Ms. Karp’s science class was awesome. She had the class examine themselves from head to toe, suggesting that each of them could expect to find at least five things on their bodies or clothes that they had never noticed before. Even the naysayers from the day before enjoyed scrutinizing their arms, legs, skin, hair, shirts, skirts, shoe soles, and watchbands. Grace’s other classes were okay, too. She was super psyched to learn that in English class they’d be reading one of her already all-time favorite books, The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg, along with a bunch of books she’d never read before. She ate lunch with Alfie again, and this time she bought the ice creams with her Stuey-sitting allowance. Thankfully, the school day breezed by, and before Grace knew it she was riding her bicycle en route to another special research project. What she planned to do was too risky to try at home, where she might be interrupted at any time by her mother or Stuey. Also, she knew her parents had all sorts of ways to check up on how she used the family computer. Anonymity and a high-speed connection were of the utmost importance for what she had in mind. Where better to find both these things than the public library?
There wasn’t a person under the age of fifty at the La Toya Public Library. No doubt all the kids were at the beach, soaking up the last of the September sun before heading indoors to do their homework. In the reference section Grace sat at a computer and typed the word Echolocation into the search engine field.
A bunch of links popped up. Grace read the top four thoroughly. The basic gist of echolocation was that it was also called bio sonar, the “bio” part distinguishing it from regular radiowave-type sonar, because it was used by and produced by all sorts of animals—bats, dolphins, and other cool creatures, too. These animals would emit sonar calls and listen for the echoes that returned to them when their sonar calls bounced off objects nearby. They used echolocation for navigation and to find food. Probably an echo coming back from a bunch of seaweed would sound different to a dolphin than if it had bounced off a school of minnows. Or one large Minnaugh, thought Grace, with a grin.
While echolocation clearly helped dolphins get from place to place and allowed them to find food, Grace surmised, it didn’t explain how the dolphins at the Dolphin Intervention Program talked to Grace. When she tried searching for dolphin communication through senses, she got a whole bunch of information about how dolphins communicate through body language. Apparently, dolphins arched, flexed, played dead, wagged their heads, bit, head-butted, held hands, kissed, and nuzzled to communicate. The dolphins at the DIP had definitely done some of those things to Grace, and she had the bruises to prove it. But how was it she could understand them? Grace wondered. It was almost as if they were transmitting their thoughts directly into her brain, like some kind of Star Trek mind meld. Maybe mermaid-hood came with some kind of dolphin language plug-in.
She typed mermaid, hit “search,” and was immediately bombarded with links to articles, books, and movies about mermaids. Grace spent the next two hours reading everything from Hans Christian Andersen to Norse legends, from Greek myths to dubious mermaid sightings reported in tabloid magazines. She even skimmed the screenplays for the movies Splash and The Little Mermaid. All the mermaids she read about were born mermaids, and if they changed into girls, they remained human thereafter. They didn’t flip back and forth, Dr. Jekyll-and-Mr. Hyde style, as Grace had done every time she got in and out of the seawater.
Grace heaved a deep sigh. She was right back where she had started, clueless and frustrated. When she tried a search under sea creature, the results were equally useless. She might be a freak, but she wasn’t a poisonous squid-like blob, or a man-eating deep-sea monster. But that wrong turn got her thinking, and as much as she hated to admit it, she had to try. Grace typed in freak and held her breath.
Instantly Grace was confronted with a lengthy list. There they were—her kindred spirits, her bizarre compadres. Grace read story after story about circus freaks with pig’s tails, lion’s manes, eagle’s claws, and horse’s hooves. On closer inspection it was clear that Warbling Wally the Winged Wonder’s wings were just very flabby upper arms, and Leonardo the Lizard Lothario’s leathery, dimpled skin was just a bad case of full-body acne. Sure they were “freakish,” but of a different order entirely.
Then Grace saw her. There was no denying the jolt of recognition she felt when she scrolled down the screen to “Fish-tailed Fanny the Femme Fatale From Far Below.” Grace gulped and forced herself to read Fanny’s story.
Fishtailed Fanny, star of Mingling Brothers’ Traveling Circus in the mid-1800s, was a winsome beauty, with flowing blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Fanny was an oceanic marvel. When she was fully submerged in a small pool of seawater set on the Mingling Brothers stage, her shapely legs were transformed into a thick muscular fish tail. When her head resurfaced, her legs would reappear under the modest skirt she wore at all times. Fanny was one of Mingling Brothers’ main attractions from 1845 to 1855. Circus enthusiasts would return time and again to watch her switch from woman to mermaid and back again. Fanny never revealed any information about the origins of her unusual abilities. She left the show in 1856 to marry Horace Whipp, a wealthy industrialist, who forbade Fanny to perform after they wed. She retired to raise their two children, wearing a bustle and full skirts, and avoiding the seaside. Horace and the children died in a tragic railway accident in 1868. Fanny died in 1901 at the age of ninety-three. There never was, and never has been, anyone else like her.
Until now, thought Grace. Here I am, Mermaid Circus Freak Number Two! Grace examined the two old-fashioned etchings of Fanny posted on the computer screen. In one, Fanny leaned against a giant fish tank, wearing an old-fashioned petticoat and a demure smile. She had one leg jauntily lifted with toes pointed, as if to say “See? Two legs, Two!” In the second etching, Fanny was fully submerged in the tank. Her blonde hair pooled around her head in gorgeous waves, her smile wide. The gills behind her delicate ears were wonderful silvery things. Most noticeable, however, was her magnificent emerald-green fish tail, which swooped down from Fanny’s waist, nestled across the bottom of the tank, and curved up again by Fanny’s side. Granted, these were drawings—and not very realistic ones at that—but it was clear that Fanny and Grace were cut from the same cloth, or scales, so to speak.
Fanny had married, had kids, and lived a normal life after the circus. But the article said there had never been anyone like her. Grace mused. Perhaps other freaks of the mer-person persuasion in the 1800s kept their double lives secret. And why wouldn’t they, thought Grace, when revealing any kind of oddity meant becoming a circus freak to be gawked at by crowds, on display for all sorts of ridicule?
But what about now? It seemed quite possible there were other mer-girls like Grace out there, somewhere. But you couldn’t exactly advertise for those kinds of friends. Grace could just see it: “Attention. Calling all mermaids. Do you have a fish tail and gills? Call Grace Minnaugh at….” First off, it would be really hard to hide such a search from her parents, and Grace still worried that their response to her new situation would be less than enthusiastic. Especially her mom, who, despite taking an occasional jog on the beach, didn’t seem to be softening to seaside living in any big way. On the few occasions her mother had accompanied Grace and Stuey to the beach, the moment the waves came rushing up the sand, threatening to get her feet wet, Minerva high-tailed it back inside, to the safety of her studio.
And even if she wanted to search for kindred beings, where could Grace place such an ad? The local newspaper? Craigslist? Surely that would be opening the door for all sorts of weirdos to come calling. Not only fake mer-people, but real people who wanted to scrutinize Grace, snap photos of her and post them on the Internet, or worse, put her in some kind of side show. The last thing Grace wanted was to be a modern-day Fishtail Fanny and have other people stare at her body.
Grace left the reference section.
The way she saw it, she had two choices. First, she could stay out of the ocean forever and try to make more of a go of it as a new kid in a new school in a new town. Grace tried to imagine never swimming in the ocean again and got an awful pain in the pit of her stomach that was worse than the time she’d eaten an entire bowl of unbaked cookie dough. Or, second, she could make peace with her distinctive new body parts underwater. Could she do both? Grace wondered.
Grace decided she would try her best on land to make things work. Her new-found friendship with Alfie was a good start, and La Toya Middle School wasn’t all that bad either. When exploring her mermaid life, she’d be super-cautious and swim only when there was little chance of human encounters. One thing was sure, however: she would keep her fish tail and fins top-secret.
Grace needed a break from all this mermaid intensity. Before heading home, she stopped at the circulation desk and got a La Toya public library card. As a treat to her human side, she went to the juvenile section and selected five books. She couldn’t wait to get home and lose herself in someone else’s problems, even if they were the problems of a fictional character living a completely fabricated existence. It would be a whole lot easier than thinking about her own outrageous life.
Chapter Twelve: Dear Mrs. Shelby,
Once home, Grace dropped her backpack on the hallway bench and wandered into the kitchen for a snack.
“Anyone home?” Grace called, peeling a banana.
A note had been left on the kitchen table.
Hi, sweetheart. I’m making a quick dash up to L.A. Stuey is in daycare. Dad will pick him up on his way home and take you both out for pizza tonight. I’ll be late, so see you in the morning. xxx Mama
Pizza again, thought Grace. Second time this week. Big whoop. Most kids would be thrilled, but Grace preferred her mother’s veggie stir-fry or her new favorite recipe, mock tuna casserole. Grace still hadn’t fully adjusted to the new, improved Minerva with the new, improved career which led to fewer home-cooked meals, less impromptu chatting, less orderly everything, less overall mom. Grace tossed the note in the trash and was about to leave when she spotted a letter addressed to Grace. She didn’t have to read the return address to know it was from Mrs. Shelby. Grace’s name and address were written in a dark purple ink across a violet envelope. A purple waxed seal decorated the flip side, engraved with lavender sprigs around the letters V. H. S.— Veronica Hortensia Shelby, a.k.a. Mrs. S.
Grace dashed to her room and eagerly opened the letter.
Dear Grace,
Greetings from chilly Floral Park. I imagine you there in La Toya, enjoying the sunshine and frolicking in the waves. I’m so glad you’ve discovered the joys of swimming. I’m sure there will be other things you’ve done or seen by now that are making you feel more and more at home out there. When you are older, you will look back at this time in your life and think, “Golly Gee, what a hullabaloo!” (Well, you may use other words to describe it, but you get my meaning.)
Things here in Ohio are same old, same old. Same old Mrs. S, same old Kitty, same not-so-old Nellie. I’ve hired Percy Gorelick to take over your pet-watching duties. Percy says you and he were in the same kindergarten class. Do you remember him? He’s not the brightest bulb on the tree, and I must admit, he’s nowhere near as pet-savvy as you. The other day he brought the poopy bags back into the house and threw them in with my household trash. PEE YEW!!!!
But he’ll do for now. Kitty seems to tolerate him, and while Nellie isn’t swimming quite as actively as she had, she’s still much better than before she met you.
Meanwhile, guess what? I’ve decided to get up to some shenanigans of my own. I’m taking a pottery class at the Senior Center, and I’ve also joined the Show Tunes Chorus. We’ll be doing a concert in the winter. I will send you a tape recording of the concert, as you sadly won’t be here to hear me sing. Besides, I wouldn’t let you come back because no one in their right mind—besides those of us who are stuck here—should have to endure Midwestern winters.
I loved getting your letter, so send more news soon.
Your friend,
Mrs. S. (and Kitty and Nellie)
Same dear old Mrs. S., thought Grace as she fought back tears. She hadn’t realized how much she missed her old friend. Send more news soon? Boy, oh boy, did Grace have news. Fish tail news, outlandish news. Would Mrs. Shelby believe Grace if she told her about being a part-time mermaid? Grace went to her desk and got out her half-started letter, and took a look at where she’d left off:
I think it’s because of this scientific phenomenon called echolocation. That’s—
Grace continued:
—when dolphins use sonar waves to send messages to each other through the water. The dolphins I met at this place called the Dolphin Intervention Program were bumping into me, rolling over, waving their fins, and I swear I could hear their thoughts in my head!
Meanwhile, I’ve made a real, live human friend. His name is Alfie. He’s really smart and nice and knows everything there is to know about shipwrecks. He also love, love, LOVES science stuff of all kinds. One day soon I’m going over to his house to see his collection of beetle carcasses.
My parents are still really busy, but I guess that’s okay. Better busy than blue, right? Hey, that sounds like something you would say! Stuey still annoys me, but sometimes I pretend he’s a dog. He’s like Kitty when she whines about going out or wanting more kibble.
Enclosed in this letter is a special present for you.
Grace turned the purple stone over in her hand. Most rocks ended up looking dull once they were dry. But this one still shimmered like a jewel. She continued writing.
You’ll never believe where I found it. At the very bottom of the ocean when I was swimming. Mrs S., go sit down somewhere before you keep reading this letter.
Okay, you’re sitting now, so here’s the news: Nellie is not the only fish in your life. When I put my head underwater in the ocean I turn into a mermaid. Honestly, I’m not fibbing. I have a fish tail, gills, even fish eyes! For now this news is top secret. I haven’t figured out how to tell my parents yet, and to be honest, I’m a bit wigged out about it all. I did some research at the library to see if anyone else out there in the world might be like me, and all I found was information about a woman who was a circus freak. People would pay money to stare at her as if she were some kind of scientific artifact. I don’t feel like a freak when I’m underwater, and I’m definitely no artifact! I feel wonderful and super powerful when I’m underwater. But I’m not sure anyone else in my life would think this was such a cool thing. I’d really love to tell Alfie, but it seems risky to spill too many sea-beans this early with such a new friend. For all I know he’ll be grossed out by my fishy side and not want to hang out anymore. Heck, the kid can’t even swim, so why would he want to be friends with a half-fish? And at the moment, he’s really my only kid-friend. So, Mrs. S., got any tips on how to manage this crazy new life of mine?
Okay, that’s all for now. I hope you like my present. Definitely send me a recording of your chorus concert. But I don’t think they make cassette tapes anymore so you’ll probably be sending me something called a CD.
Love,Grace
PS: BTW, your stationery rocks. It is so perfectly purple. As the fashionistas would say, “It’s SO you!”
Chapter Thirteen: Mirror, Mirror
Over the course of the next few weeks, Grace swam regularly and secretly, even on school days. She’d set her alarm for four a.m. and be down in the dark deep blue sea half an hour later. Even though it was still dark, her super-powered ocean eyes made it possible to see underwater foliage, burrowing crustaceans, and schools of multi-colored fish, just as if they’d been illuminated by a thousand lamps. She’d be out of the water by five-thirty a.m., showered, and dressed for school by six.
Staying awake during the school day was a challenge. Math and Global St
udies in particular were total snoozefests. When she felt herself nodding off, Grace would rub her hands together under the desk, smiling to herself—the skin on her hands was permanently pruned by all her swimming, and served as a constant reminder of her secret life.
Most afternoons Grace went to the public library after school to soak up all the information she could about sea life. Her mermaid-self had much in common with fish and marine mammals, especially dolphins. Their bulbous foreheads were actually called melons, she discovered. Some new-age scientists believed that dolphins had psychic abilities and other establishment marine biologists thought there might be something to the karmic connection theories.
While Grace’s forehead didn’t mutate into a giant melon—thank goodness!—her mermaid-brain did seem to give her some new sensations. Sometimes, it felt as if she knew she was about to see something before it actually appeared. It was one thing to pick up vibes from other animals, but what if Grace was sending out sonar waves from her own forehead without even knowing it? She was determined to find dolphins under water, to see if she had the same affinity with them that she had had with the DIP dolphins.
One Monday morning, Grace decided to swim farther from shore than she had ever swum before. She was on a mission to locate some real live ocean-dwelling dolphins. Grace wanted extra time, so she started her quest at the ungodly hour of three a.m.
The air was freezing as Grace dropped her towel and skittered across the dark sand to dive headfirst into the ocean. Once transformed, Grace plunged ahead, undulating her tail in giant arcs for over an hour. Her hair streamed behind her, and tiny bubbles tickled her neck as her gills worked overtime. If this had been a car ride, Grace would have long since asked her dad to pull into a rest stop so she could pee. But one of the cool things she’d discovered about life underwater was that every being down there took care of bodily functions anywhere, anytime, including Grace. Even mermaids have to pee. One little vent—hidden under her scales, midway down the front of her tail—took care of business as she swam. She was grateful that particular part of mermaid anatomy was fish-like but quite discreet, way more efficient than human anatomy.
The Tantalizing Tale of Grace Minnaugh Page 8