As I paddle out to the lineup with the five other surfers in my heat, I try to leave all my negativity back on the beach. Being extra careful, I duck-dive under the oncoming waves, letting the ocean flow over and into me, taking strength from its dark blue depths. This is my space...my world. It’s where I belong. With every stroke, I feel stronger.
Out past the breakers, I straddle my board and float, facing the beach. People cover every possible inch of sand for miles. I know exactly where Lo is because I can feel the magnetic pull of him even as far away as I am, but I keep my eyes averted, searching instead for the red flag of Jenna’s hair. Instead a distorted, misshapen face beneath a wide-brimmed hat catches my attention, and I blink, my stomach dipping in fear. But when I look back, the hulking figure is gone. Shaking my head to clear it, I spot Jenna, jumping up and down and waving madly. I wave back and drop down to grab the rails of my board.
The waves are breaking in perfect sets, with glassy blue faces and white-tipped crests. Sawyer’s right—conditions couldn’t be more perfect. Paddling effortlessly, I streak past one of the other surfers to grab the second wave in the set. I pop up and carve steeply down the face of the wave, marveling at my human body’s muscle memory. Everything feels fluid, as if my bones are one with the wave.
Exhilarated, I trail my right hand across the wave’s face and then crank my hips up and over so that the board shifts into a sharp cutback. I’m gliding over the foamy crest, nearly suspended in air for a breathless moment and then slipping back down onto the face. By the time the wave starts to run out of steam, I’m on fire, adrenaline rushing through my entire body.
The cheering from the beach is deafening as I pump a triumphant fist in the air and somersault off my board over the back of the wave. I surf several more waves, even doing a three-sixty spin and a back flip off the last one, before heading back to the beach.
But once I’m back and surrounded by unfamiliar faces, I remember the figure I spotted from the lineup. I summon Speio and tell him in a few short words what I might have seen.
His eyes widen as he scans the crowd. “Are you sure that’s what you saw? A hybrid?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was a trick of the sunlight.”
“I’ll check it out.”
A grinning Sawyer thumps me on the back, along with a giant throng of people yelling out all kinds of greetings, as Speio melts into the crowd.
“Feel better?” Jenna asks me with a knowing smile.
“Yeah.”
“Good. You totally rocked it out there. No one,” she says pointedly, “could keep their eyes off you.” The lurch of happiness in my chest is squashed by the sudden warning look in her eyes at someone over my shoulder. “Speaking of...”
“Jenna, help me with these boards, will you?” Sawyer yells out. She throws me an apologetic look and shrugs, mouthing, Sorry. As she leaves, I turn around to face a very impressed Lo and his not-so impressed entourage of Cara and her cronies.
“You were brilliant,” he breathes, extending his hand for a high five. I slap it with mine, wincing at the torture of the too-brief contact, and fight the urge to beat a hasty retreat up the beach behind Jenna.
“Thanks,” I murmur, glancing at the others beside him. “Cara,” I manage civilly.
In response, she drapes a possessive arm around Lo’s waist. “Oh, hey, Nerissa, didn’t know you were back.”
Sure she didn’t. Last semester, I found out that Cara had lived with a foster family before enrolling at Dover, where her uncle—Cano—was principal. In some small way, she, too, was an outsider trying to fit in. She and Lo became friends, probably because they connected over the whole foster-life similarities. Lo told me that she’d never felt she could confide in anyone until she met him, and he liked being able to help. Deep down, I know I shouldn’t fault Cara. Of all people, I know what it’s like to want to run away from who you are—I did that for the past few years, and my people paid the price. I just wish she wasn’t so smug and obnoxious all the time, but then again, maybe that’s a front, too.
“Yes,” I say. “Back for the semester.”
Cara’s voice is an insidious purr. “I think you’ll find that senior year is going to be a lot different from junior year. There’ve been a few interesting changes. I can help you work those out if you like.”
Or maybe it isn’t a front...maybe she’s just Cara, plain and simple.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say coolly, refusing to let my eyes follow the motion of her palm against Lo’s rib cage. I fight an equally violent urge to smash her pretty face in with the sharp end of my board. Instead I look away with effort. “I think I can manage on my own.”
“You do that,” she says. “Lo, you coming? We’re going to get floats.”
“In a sec,” he says to her. “I’ll catch up.”
Cara shoots me one of her oh-so-familiar death glares of impressive proportions and I wink back, taking small pleasure at the instant heat blooming in her cheeks. Despite knowing that sinking to her level won’t solve anything, I can’t help giving in to the desire to make her suffer just a tiny bit for the grope-fest she just flaunted in my face.
“So, how amazing were you out there?” Lo says, shaking his head in admiration.
I try valiantly not to blush, or in my case, go all bioluminescent at his sincere compliment. “Thanks. Would you believe it if I told you that you used to surf pretty much exactly like that before?”
“There’s no way I could surf like you.” The warmth in his voice is deep and velvety, doing things to me that leave me breathless. And his eyes...I force my gaze away, looking for anything to stop those eyes from breaking me into a million pieces.
I swallow and force a smile to my lips. “You did, and you will. One day. It will all come back...all of it.”
“I hope so.”
His whisper is soft, wistful almost—I don’t know why it sounds like a promise, but something in it does. And for a second, looking into those earnest, bottomless blue eyes, I let myself hope, too.
5
Game On
It is dark and empty—a cavernous, echoless abyss. There’s no light, only oily black depths beneath and beside me. I am but a speck at its epicenter. I scream, but the only thing that escapes my mouth is a mute bubble that floats away into the ever-deepening silence. I thrash, my arms and tail caught in the motionless void. It is futile.
I am trapped.
Something snakelike slithers down my arm, and then another and another, until my body is fraught with it. Glowing red eyes appear in the distance, drawing closer and closer, blackened tentacles bleeding outward and encircling me.
Ehmora.
“You’re dead,” I say. “We killed you.”
“Did you?” The voice laughs, the sound like a volley of bullets. “Then why am I here?”
“You’re a ghost. A nightmare. Nothing more.”
“So it would seem....”
I jerk upward gasping, sweat dampening my neck and back. My entire body is shaking from the visceral dream. I can still feel her tentacles cutting into me like a fiery brand. Of its own volition, my gaze slides down to the vinelike navy tattoo winding around the tops of my shoulders and neck. I take a breath, banishing the remnants of fear. The tattoo is a mark of the bonding with Lo, nothing more. It’s not alive. There are no tentacles. And Ehmora is dead.
Still, the implication of the dream is haunting. I felt so powerless and alone in the abyss, unable to move or act. The phantom Ehmora’s last words were so utterly chilling...so knowing...that I can’t help the shiver winding its way through me.
Attempting to exorcise my irrational fears, I step out to the patio and into the cool night air and lie back on a lounger to stare into the dark sky. It’s a cloudy night, with no moon or stars visible above. The wind whistles through the tops of
the palm trees along the edges of the property, growing louder by the second. The unpredictable shift is in response to me—I’m sure of it.
I’ve always had a tempestuous relationship with weather, and while I’ve learned to harness my emotions, sometimes it’s impossible to keep it all in. For a heartbeat, instead of suppressing my feelings, I release my inner demons, watching as jagged lightning rips the sky into two. Sure enough, the first droplets of rain hit my face and bare legs. The ensuing storm is violent but brief, the angry purple sky fading as the clouds part to reveal a gilded sliver of moon. The release feels good as the rain intensifies into a pelting force and I relish the sting, letting it filter through me. Eventually the rain gentles to something more tender as my thoughts drift to Lo. The drops of water from above mix with the salty tears on my face, and I allow myself the luxury of crying for the first time in months.
A queen must show no weakness.
Curled into a ball with sobs racking my body, I don’t even notice the gentle stroking across my shoulder at first. But after a few seconds, I lean back into the person lying beside me on the lounger, hugging me from behind.
“It hurts too much,” I choke out.
“It’s okay, child.” Soren’s voice is soft, pulsing in our language. Her fingers are softer still, caressing my back in a soothing motion.
“I did it, Soren,” I whisper brokenly. “I made it happen.”
“No, my lady,” she says. “You could not have predicted any of this. You did what you thought was best to keep him safe. To keep all of us safe.”
“He should have been with me. In Waterfell. Not here. And not alone.” My words are raw, shattered gasps, clawing their way out of my throat. “He couldn’t have known what bonding would feel like, either. And I pushed him away, ripping us both apart when we should have been together. Thinking it would be better. For both of us. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t.”
Soren turns me around gently to face her, her eyes flashing green fire. “Don’t do this to yourself, Nerissa. It is what it is.” She wipes the tear-rain combination from my face with her thumb. “Lo is seeing the neurosurgeon this week. We’ll know more then on how we can help him.”
“We don’t know that we can help him,” I say in a defeated voice. “His human DNA is doing things that we have no experience with.”
“He’s Aquarathi, too,” Soren says. “Which means his capacity to heal is better than any human’s.”
I meet her eyes, hope blooming softly. “I hope you’re right.”
“See what the doctor says, and we’ll go from there. Come on, let’s get you back to bed. Big day of school tomorrow.”
“Soren, did you talk to Speio? About what I saw on the beach?”
Soren nods, her face grim. “No traces of anything.”
“Was he sure?”
She pulls me close in a warm embrace. “Don’t worry. Echlios will make sure Speio didn’t miss anything. Now, you need to get some rest.”
Despite Soren’s comforting words, I can’t help feeling a sense of dread, like an invisible net is closing in, one that we can’t see or avoid no matter how hard we try. I know what I saw earlier—it was one of Cano’s creatures...watching...and wanting me to see it. Taunting me...Cano’s way of saying I have no idea what’s coming next. And the truth is, none of us do. Not even with Lo. At the end of the day, he’s still a cross-species alien/human hybrid, and anything the neurosurgeon says will be speculation at best.
With a last look at the rapidly clearing skies, I allow Soren to walk me back to my room, where I fall into a fitful sleep.
* * *
“Come on, slowpoke!” Jenna shouts, slamming her locker shut. “English is this way. Forget how to navigate these hallowed halls already?”
I haven’t exactly forgotten, but the sight of Cara all over Lo at the far end of the lockers is already making me sick to my stomach. It’s not so much her flirting that’s getting me...it’s the look on Lo’s face, as if he’s enjoying every minute of it. Which, I remind myself, he’s bound to...he’s a boy.
I remember Jenna’s words from yesterday evening when we’d driven back from the beach. Fight fire with fire.
Of course, it didn’t help that she made me watch Grease for inspiration—girl-next-door tutorial on how to lure the quintessential bad boy—emphatically stating that there’s nothing that black leather pants can’t accomplish. Laughing, I told her she’d have to kill me before getting me anywhere near leather pants. But she has a point. He’s not exactly going to notice me if I’m a mute wallflower.
Smoothing my hair and cringing inwardly, I take a deep breath, lick my lips and strut past them.
“Hey, Lo,” I say in a breathy voice, blushing furiously at how ridiculous I must sound. But obviously he doesn’t think so. Neither does Cara. They both stare at me—him with an appreciative smile, and her, not so much. But I’m not there to win Cara over. I’m there for Lo. “You heading to English?” I ask him, ignoring her scowl. “I wanted to ask you something about Sawyer.”
“Yeah,” Lo says, grabbing his books. “What’s up?”
Elated, I ignore Jenna’s raised eyebrows and congratulatory wink from the rear of the room as we walk into class together. I turn slightly and see Cara trailing behind us, her face a hilarious combination of thunder and puke. Sawyer waves, and Lo plunks down in a vacant seat next to him. I take the spot next to Jenna and stifle a grin as Cara is forced to grab one of the few open seats at the front of the class.
Nerissa, one. Cara, zero.
Mr. Donovan clears his throat and pushes his spectacles up on his nose, smiling widely. “Welcome, class, we have a few new faces this week.” Everyone looks around in unison to check out the “new faces.” So far, it looks like one new girl and a guy who I thought graduated last year. Guess not. Oh, and me, which would explain why everyone’s staring at me as if I have a bull’s-eye tattooed on my forehead. Technically, I’m not new but, well, tell everyone else that. Mr. Donovan continues. “This week, we are going to start with The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde, which is one of my favorite plays.”
Amid the groans from the class, I smile to myself...finally something new that I haven’t read on my own. At least I can drown myself in that if things get rough—nothing like academics to take a girl’s mind off unrequited love. I glance at Lo through my lashes. He’s flipping through the pages of the play, his lower lip caught between his teeth. I can’t help noticing how cute he looks, yet how different. Gone are the rebellious flip-flops from last year, which aren’t part of the Dover Prep uniform, as well as his permanently sand-covered feet. Gone also are the days when he used to cut class just to go surfing. The old Lo would have been horrified to be in class on time or to be caught without an appropriately bored expression on his face. A part of me desperately misses that boy, but I know he’s in there somewhere...somewhere beneath the meticulously neat hair and immaculate uniform.
Mr. Donovan thumps his book on the desk, making me jump, and people swivel to the front of the class. “You are going to work in groups of four or five, and each group will be assigned a specific theme to discuss. As part of your midterm, there will be a debate between each of the groups to prove or disprove the theme you have been assigned. This will count toward half of your final grade in this class, so please take it seriously. The group assignments are as follows.”
The assignments are all alphabetical, so my silver lining is that Cara is an A last name and Lo is an S, but nothing prepares me for the pure venom that comes my way when Lo and I somehow end up in the same group. In this class there aren’t many last names between Marin and Seavon. Jenna is also in our group, as well as two other boys. Sawyer is with Speio, so he doesn’t look too miserable at having to split up from Jenna. The new girl—Rian Thorn—is with them.
Jenna catches my eyes and I can see her lips twitching as she nod
s at the theme that Donovan has just written up on the blackboard for our group. I almost snort—The Double Life. Someone definitely has a sense of humor, considering that there are two aliens pretending to be human in this group alone. Well, not that Lo knows that he’s alien, but who’s counting?
The rest of the morning passes in a bustle of activity, running from class to class, and getting myself reacquainted with the routine. After American Government, Advanced Math and French class, I trudge toward the cafeteria and toss my books and my food-laden tray down onto an empty table. Jenna, Speio, Sawyer and surprisingly Lo immediately join me. They look exactly how I feel. Wiped.
“Seriously,” I say. “Is senior year supposed to be death in a backpack? It’s only lunchtime, for crying out loud. How’d you guys survive weeks of this already?”
“Dover Prep prides itself on academic preparation for college-bound students,” Jenna intones, mimicking the opening statements on the Dover Prep brochure.
“Guess they didn’t include torture and cruel or unusual punishments,” Sawyer quips.
“I didn’t think it was too bad,” Lo says, and we all turn to him in unison, our expressions identical.
“Who are you and what have you done with Lo?” Sawyer says, widening his eyes in mock shock. “Oh, right, he’s on hiatus, which means new Lo loves schoolwork.”
Lo reddens. “I don’t love it. I just don’t think it’s that bad. Big difference.”
“Well, the old you couldn’t be bothered, that’s all,” Sawyer explains. “I mean, you haven’t even asked me to cut school once. So it’s weird seeing you, of all people, flipped around and all about the books.”
“Sorry.” Lo shrugs. “It’s just that I don’t know how I used to be, and it feels like I should be good in school because this stuff isn’t too complicated to me. If I do it well, why not do it?” We all start laughing and Lo gets even redder, realizing that that, too, is something the old Lo would never say. “Look, I’m just trying to figure out who I was. Give me a break, will you?”
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