Lana is still getting her makeup done, so I tell her I’ll meet her in her suite in half an hour to help her get dressed.
One hour until the wedding!
The people around the palace are buzzing and hopping and getting everything ready. I peek into the ballroom to see what it looks like, and there are at least a hundred gold chairs set up with an aisle down the middle.
I practice my wedding walk all the way back to my room. Heel-toe, heel-toe. Slow and steady. I try to keep my shoulders down like my nana always tells me to.
I miss my nana. She would be so proud to know that I’m the Little Mermaid’s maid of honor.
I change into my yellow maid-of-honor dress in my room, and then hurry over to Lana’s door to see how she’s doing. I knock once. Twice. Three times. I can hear her inside, but she’s not answering.
Oh, right. She can’t talk.
Finally she throws open the door.
She’s in her full veil and wedding gown. Her hair hangs loose and curly around her shoulders. She looks gorgeous. Sure, she always looks gorgeous, but now she looks extra gorgeous. Like a princess. Like a real princess. No — like a fairy tale princess.
“You look beautiful,” I breathe.
She shrugs.
Then I notice her face.
Her eyes are wide, her skin is pale, and she’s biting her lower lip so hard, I think it might be bleeding. She also has her right hand wound through her hair and appears to be pulling on it. Hard. She looks terrified.
“Lana, you don’t look so good. I mean, you look gorgeous, but you also kind of look like you’re about to barf.”
Just what every bride wants to hear on her wedding day. Maybe I’m not the world’s best maid of honor, after all.
Lana closes her eyes and then opens them again, looking even sicker.
I’m not sure what to do. Or what to say. As maid of honor, it’s my job to make her feel better. To get her to the altar. But how can I convince her to go through with a wedding when she’s so clearly unhappy? On the other hand, if she doesn’t marry Prince Mortimer, what will happen to her? Nothing good. Something bad, in fact.
Someone pounds on the door. “Guys, it’s me! Jonah! Can I come in?”
“Yup,” I say, nervously watching Lana.
“Everyone’s waiting,” he says, waltzing in. “Are you two ready?”
Jonah looks adorable. He’s in a black tux with a mustard-colored bow tie. I wish I had a camera to take a picture and show my parents. Although then they would wonder why we were at a fancy event without them. It might be hard to explain.
Lana takes a deep breath. Then she nods. She marches out of the room, and we trail behind her. She’ll be happy, right? This will all work out.
It has to work out. Has to, has to, HAS to.
And the pit of fear in my stomach has to go away.
We follow Lana down the stairs and toward the ballroom. For some reason, this feels more like a funeral march than a wedding. Maybe that’s just how weddings always are? It’s not like I’ve ever been in one before. What do I know?
Vivian is waiting for us at the bottom. “You look beautiful, Princess Lana! You, too, Abby. Take your bouquets.” She hands us both bunches of yellow roses and white baby’s breath, tied together with gold ribbon.
Ohhhh, pretty.
Jonah waves to us and slips inside so he can sit down with the rest of the crowd.
I peek through the open doors and see that the room is packed with at least a hundred people. Prince Mortimer is also in a black tuxedo and a mustard-colored bow tie, and he’s already at the altar. Yellow flowers are everywhere — roses, tulips, daisies, and other kinds that I don’t know the names of. The room looks really beautiful. I can’t believe they put this all together in three days. It must be a world record.
Violin music begins to play.
“Abby,” Vivian says. “You’re first. Then Lana.”
My turn! I look back at Lana. “You’re okay?”
She nods and motions for me to go.
I don’t want to leave her by herself, but I guess that’s my job. I take a step. Heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe. I’m doing it! I’m doing it! This is fun! I am so acing this. Heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe! I did it! I made it the whole way without tripping!
When I get the altar, the prince is smiling at me.
I smile back. Maybe he’s not so bad. He loves her, right? He’ll make her happy?
He is smiling at me, right? I look behind me and realize he’s actually smiling at his reflection in the stained-glass window.
Hrm. Well, at least he’s smiling. Smiling’s still good, right? He could be frowning at his reflection. That would be worse.
I look up and spot Lana, waiting at the doors.
Everyone stands up and turns to her.
She really does look stunning. She only looks a little bit like she’s going to barf, and I’m probably the only one who notices.
The violinist begins to play the “Here Comes the Bride” march.
Lana doesn’t move. She just stares. And stares.
Uh-oh. I motion for her to come.
She stares some more. She pulls her hair. She takes one step forward.
She takes one step back.
And then another step back. Then she spins on her heels and runs the other way.
A rumble goes through the room.
The prince looks at me in surprise. “Did she just leave?”
“Um …” It definitely seems like she did. “Maybe she had to pee or something?”
“She couldn’t have waited until after the wedding?”
“A girl’s gotta go when she’s gotta go,” I say, not really believing that:
I’m talking to a prince about pee or
Lana actually had to pee.
“Why don’t I go see what the issue is?” I say nervously. And then, without waiting for a response, I hurry back down the aisle — no time for heel-toe now — and run out of the ballroom.
Should I really check the bathrooms? I realize there’s no need to, because as soon as I step out of the ballroom, I see that the front door is wide open.
Lana left the palace. She’s officially a runaway bride.
I run right after her and spot her already at the shore, holding up her dress, up to her knees in the water.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “You’re supposed to be getting married!”
She shakes her head.
“You’re not getting married?”
She shakes her head again.
“But what about the prince?”
More shaking.
“But you know what this means! If he marries someone else, you’ll die!”
Her eyes fill with tears and she nods.
I pace up and down the sand. This is not good. Not good at all. If the prince does marry someone else, she’s in serious trouble. We’re all in serious trouble, because that’s not a happy ending at all. That’s a terrible ending. That’s the same ending as the original ending! I take a deep breath and try to calm down. It’s not like he’s going to marry someone else today. We have some time to figure this out. Maybe the prince will learn to be less of a jerk and she’ll change her mind. Maybe we can find another prince that she would want to marry, and that would work instead.
I hear Jonah’s voice from the palace door. “Abby! What’s happening?”
I guess I have to tell them the wedding’s off. Had I known that canceling a wedding would be part of my maid-of-honor duties, I might not have been so excited about the job. “You stay here,” I say finally. “Don’t go in the water. I don’t want you drowning. I’m going to talk to Prince Mortimer.”
She closes her eyes in relief and I slowly make my way back to the palace.
Everyone looks up at me as I enter the ballroom.
“She better be coming now,” Prince Mortimer barks. His face is bright red. He looks furious.
“Um, I don’t think she is,” I say timidly from about halfway down the ais
le.
“Darling, how long will she be?” the queen asks, checking her gold wristwatch.
“A pretty long time,” I say. “I think she wants to …” I have to just say it. “I think she wants to cancel the wedding.”
Several hundred gasps echo through the room. I wince.
“You’re kidding!”
“Cancel the wedding?”
“Not marry the prince?”
“Is she crazy?”
Prince Mortimer’s face falls. “I can’t believe she would do that to me,” he cries, looking genuinely pained.
As insensitive as he’s been, I can’t help but feel bad for him. No one wants to be left at the altar.
The queen jumps up. “How dare she run off like that!”
The king stands up beside her and turns to the crowd. “Dudes, we know you all came to see a royal a wedding today, and we will have a royal wedding today. Morty, there must be someone else here that you could marry.”
My heart stops. What? Is he kidding? He must be kidding.
The queen nods. “Yes! Princess Alison is here today. Morty, would you marry her?”
“Let me see her,” Prince Mortimer says.
The queen motions to Princess Alison. “Sweetie, will you stand up, please?”
Princess Alison stands up and curtsies. She has tight spiral curls and looks familiar. I know! She’s the girl from the school, the one who got help after we found Prince Mortimer on Crescent Beach! She’s the princess of Watermelon? Not surprisingly, she’s wearing a satiny red dress, with a green sash and green shoes.
The prince nods. “I’ll marry her. I like her hair. She’s pretty.”
The king claps. “Fantastic. Alison, would you like to marry our son?”
“Yeah, okay,” she says, twisting a curl around her finger and snapping her chewing gum. “He is cute.”
“And your parents? The king and queen of the kingdom of Watermelon? Do you agree to this union?”
“We do!” the king says, a big, smug smile on his face, a red-and-green checkered bow tie around his neck.
This isn’t happening. THIS ISN’T HAPPENING.
“This isn’t happening!” I yell.
Jonah tugs on my arm and whispers, “I’m pretty sure it is happening.”
“Great,” Prince Mortimer says. “Let’s start the music over. Do you want to do the whole walk-down-the-aisle thing, or just come up?”
“I’ll just come up,” Princess Alison says. She maneuvers her way through the crowd, fluffs her dress, and begins walking down the remainder of the aisle. “Excuse me,” she says to Jonah and me as she squeezes past us.
“What a perfect match,” a woman sitting near us says. “She’s a princess, he’s a prince. He’s handsome, and she’s beautiful. They go together like French fries and mustard!”
“What is wrong with you people?” I shriek. “Mustard does not go on French fries! Ketchup goes on French fries! Ketchup! Or mayonnaise, in some countries. Or maybe a mixture of the two, if you’re into that. But not mustard! Never mustard!”
Everyone stares at me.
Am I losing it?
“I totally agree,” Jonah says. “C’mon, Abby, let’s go. We need to help Lana.”
Yes, we definitely need to help her. Because Prince Mortimer is marrying someone else, which means that Lana is going to DIE in the morning.
Unless we can save her.
We find Lana sitting on the sand, staring sadly into the sunset.
“You need to go talk to the sea witch,” I tell her. Lana needs to convince the witch to reverse the spell.
She points to her mouth and then her chest.
“You can’t breathe underwater,” I say.
She nods.
“Any way we can get the sea witch to come ashore?” I ask.
Lana shakes her head and shimmies her hand so it looks like a tail.
“She doesn’t have legs,” I confirm. “But she’s a witch; she can do whatever she wants.”
“She probably doesn’t want to come on land,” Jonah says. He can be annoyingly logical.
Argh! We have to fix this! We’re running out of time!
“Maybe Princess Alison won’t really marry Prince Mortimer,” Jonah says. “Maybe she’ll pull a Lana, and bolt at the last minute.”
Just then we hear loud clapping inside the palace and choruses of “Congratulations!”
“There goes that idea,” I mumble.
“Oh! Oh!” Jonah shrieks. “What about that potion Carolyn talked about? Remember? The one that her great-great-grandmother used to go underwater? The spit potion?”
I shake my head. “Do you think that even works?”
“Well, she should try it. What other choice do we have?”
He has a point.
We find Carolyn in the kitchen, slicing lemons.
“Remember that potion you said your great-great-grandmother used to go underwater?” I ask.
“How could I forget?” she says with a laugh.
“Do you know how to make it?”
“Do I remember the ingredients? Of course I do. Mermaid’s spit, a tablespoon of sea salt, three fish eggs, a tablespoon of water, a teaspoon of club soda, and a pinch of algae. I’ve always wanted to make it, but finding the mermaid’s spit has been difficult.”
“We have the spit,” I say. “We need some potion so Lana can go underwater.”
“Of course,” she says, putting down her knife. “Anything for my favorite mermaid.”
She gathers all the stuff from the kitchen, mixes it up in a glass, and then runs with us outside and hands the glass to Lana. Lana spits inside, then takes a sip. Then she turns and hurries into the ocean, diving underwater. Two seconds later she pops up, gasping and shaking her head.
“I guess it doesn’t work,” I say.
“Maybe now that Lana has legs, her spit isn’t mermaid-y anymore,” Carolyn says.
Lana leans over and carves into the sand: “I DON’T HAVE A TAIL BUT I WILL ALWAYS BE A MERMAID.”
“In that case,” Jonah says, “maybe a mermaid can’t use her own spit. Or maybe the spell only works on humans.”
“Lana’s a human,” I say.
Carolyn shakes her head. “She’s a mermaid. She just said so herself.”
Jonah tugs on my hand. “You know what that means, right? It might work on us.”
Huh? “Us?”
“Us,” he repeats. “We’re human.”
“I am, yes. I’m not always so sure about you.”
“Seriously, Abby. We’ll try the potion.”
“I doubt it will work,” I say, my heart hammering.
“I bet it will,” he says. “We’ll get to breathe underwater! It’ll be fun!”
“Sharks. Waves. Salt in our mouths. That doesn’t sound like fun. And it’s going to be dark soon. How will we see anything?” I can’t do it. I just can’t.
“Don’t you have a light on your watch?” he asks.
“Yeah.” As if one probably-waterproof-watch light is enough for me to go up against the entire ocean.
“Let’s just try. It’s our only chance.”
“Are there any other options?” I ask, my voice squeaky. “There must be. Maybe Carolyn wants to try it?”
Carolyn shakes her head. “Me? Are you crazy? I eat shark. I don’t let them eat me!”
“You eat shark?” Jonah asks, eyes wide.
She nods. “I’ll make it for you. It’s delicious.”
“No thanks,” we say in unison.
Jonah looks at me. “I think it’s up to us, then. Let’s do it!”
Goose bumps cover my whole body. He wants me to go underwater. No life jacket. No air.
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
I have to.
Slowly I nod.
Lana hands Jonah the cup.
“Cheers!” Jonah cries, and takes a big sip. “It tastes like sushi!”
I roll my eyes. “Have you ever even had sushi?”
“No,
but I bet this is what it tastes like. It could use some ketchup.” When Jonah’s done, he hands me the cup and scurries toward the water, diving right in.
“Wait, Jonah!” I yell, but it’s too late. He’s under.
He pops up. “It works! It really works!”
“Great. Just, um, great!” My hands shake. Before I sip, I ask, “But how will we ever find the sea witch?”
“Lana can make us a map,” Jonah calls.
Carolyn takes a pen and paper out of her apron and hands it to Lana. “Here you go.”
Lana starts to sketch. When she’s done, she writes “2 HOURS” on top.
“It’ll take us two hours to get there?” I ask.
Lana nods.
That’s a long time for us to be swimming. Two hours to the sea witch’s place, two hours back, plus how long to convince the witch to help us? At least we have twelve hours to work with.
“Bottoms up,” Carolyn says.
I nod, and then I swallow a gulp of the potion. I almost gag. But I keep swallowing because I have to.
P.S. My brother’s not wrong — a little ketchup would go a long way.
I hand Lana the glass and then carefully wade into the water. The dark water. This can’t be a good idea. I barely swim well during the day; how am I going to swim well at night?
“Just dunk!” Jonah orders me.
I bristle at being bossed around by my baby brother, but I know he’s right. Getting into the water is like taking off a Band-Aid. It always hurts less to just rip it off. I’m in up to my waist. I should go under now.
Okay, now.
“Time is ticking,” Jonah calls. “I’m going under again!”
“Jonah, hold on!” I yell, but then he disappears under the surf. At first I see bubbles rise to the surface but then they stop.
I don’t like bubbles that stop. My heart feels like it might pound out of my chest.
Now I have no choice. I grip the map in my hand, hold my nose with the other, seal my eyes shut, and go under.
Cold, cold, cold! I carefully open my left eye. At first it’s blurry, but then it clears up. This is a hopeful sign. It doesn’t sting or anything. I open the right eye.
Around me I see blue. Lots and lots of navy blue. I’m glad the sun isn’t completely gone yet.
“Hi!” Jonah says, swimming over to me. “How cool is this? We can talk!”
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