Forgive My Fins

by Tera Lynn Childs

  I’ve untucked the blouse and tugged it up a few inches in order to pass Aunt Rachel’s chaperone test. No way she’s letting me out of the house with my cha-chas hiked up for the world to see.

  “You look like a pirate princess,” she says, setting down the camera and stepping closer. She gets that sad look in her eyes, and I know she’s thinking about Mom again.

  I never knew my mother, but I’ve seen pictures. I know I got my blond curls from her—although hers never looked frizzy. I know she was always smiling. Always at the beach or in the pool. And I know that, until three years ago, I thought she was a mermaid. When I found out she was human, it was like my entire world crashed against the shore. Imagine finding out at fourteen that you were adopted and your real parents were the king and queen of France. (I know France doesn’t have a monarchy anymore, but this is a hypothetical imagining.) That’s how amazed and startled and confused and excited I was.

  Some merfolk hate terrapeds. They think humans are a plague upon the seas who should be banned from the waters they so often abuse. But not me. And not Daddy, obviously, since he fell in love with one. I’d always been a little intrigued by humans and their culture—how very Little Mermaid of me, I know—but when I found out I was half human, then my interest became more personal. The longer I live among them, the more connected I become. I don’t even think of them as terrapeds (the mer term for humans) anymore. That connection I feel will never go away. I belong in the sea, but hanging out on land has its perks (aka Brody, Aunt Rachel, Shannen, and, you know, lip gloss). Plus, it makes me feel closer to Mom.

  The look in Aunt Rachel’s eyes now is the same look she had when I first showed up at her front door. Sorrowful joy.

  “Thanks,” I say quietly.

  “With that makeup on, you look twenty-five.” Her eyes, green like mine, fill with tears, but she smiles like she’s trying to hide them. “You look just like your mother.”

  Before she can erupt into sobs, I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. Even though it makes her sad sometimes to have me around because I remind her of Mom, I think we’re both glad to have a new way of connecting with her. For Aunt Rachel, I’m the living heritage of her sister. For me, my aunt is the scrapbook of Mom’s life.

  We stand there for a few minutes until I hear a horn outside.

  “That’s Shannen,” I say, stepping back. “I have to go.”

  “Have fun tonight, Lily.”

  “I will,” I say with a smile. “Tonight’s going to be special, I just know it.”

  Her brow wrinkles into a concerned frown. “You’re not going to do anything reckless, are you?” Her eyes search my face. “You have to be careful. You’re not like other girls.”

  Don’t I know it.

  The horn sounds again.

  “I promise.” I say. “Nothing reckless.” Although our definitions of reckless might not match up perfectly.

  Before she can say more, I press a quick kiss to her cheek and dash out the door. “I’ll check in when I get home.”

  Prithi meows in protest of my departure.

  Honk, honk.

  “Don’t rush into anything,” Aunt Rachel calls as I hop down the front steps.

  Don’t rush into anything? I laugh, hurrying down the sidewalk. I’ve been waiting three years for this night. That’s taking it slow for a sea slug.

  “Nice costume,” Shannen calls out as I approach her car. Through the passenger window I can see she’s dressed as—you guessed it—a mermaid. “Where’d you get it?”

  “Actually, I—”

  “From me.”

  My entire body tenses.

  Speaking of sea slugs.

  I should have known he wouldn’t let a chance to humiliate me go by. I spin around in the direction of his voice. In the setting sunlight, I don’t see him at first. Then he shifts and I see him leaning against his front porch, just a few feet away, that cocky, one-sided smile making him look like an arrogant blowfish. Which he is.

  But Shannen and Peri and I all agreed that I should let him help me—whatever that means.

  “Yes,” I bite out. “From Quince.”

  “You make a pretty pirate wench, princess.”

  I open my mouth to retort, but then I realize…that might have been a compliment. At least the closest to one Quince has ever gotten.

  The polite thing to do would be to thank him.

  I turn and yank open the car door.

  “You know,” he says, his voice velvety soft, “you could go to the dance with me. Jealousy would grab Benson’s attention.”

  I am so stunned by his suggestion that I don’t even correct Brody’s name. I am frozen, hand on the door handle. Then I feel warmth at my back, and I know he’s standing right behind me.

  My skin prickles.

  Tonight he still smells of mint toothpaste, but instead of leather the other scent is something…earthy. Like Aunt Rachel’s garden after a rain.

  “Um, no,” I stammer. “No thanks. I’ll stick with the original plan.”

  I feel something brush the back of my neck.

  “Your loss, princess,” he whispers in my ear.

  The warmth disappears, and I know he’s gone. My body erupts in goose bumps at the sudden chill. Without turning to look, I open the door and slip into the passenger seat.

  “Let’s go.” My voice sounds breathless.

  When Shannen doesn’t start the car right away, I look up. She is staring at me. Did something happen to my makeup? I’ve actually managed—with Aunt Rachel’s help—to successfully apply some mascara. But maybe it smudged during pictures or something. I flip down the visor to do a spot check. Nope, everything still in place. Maybe she’s just not used to seeing me with face paint—

  “What,” she asks, “was that?”

  Oh. That. Since I don’t know what that was, I can’t exactly answer. I think Quince just enjoys toying with my sanity. He’s pretty much beyond comprehension.

  “Nothing,” I assure her. “He just wanted to make me nervous.”

  She stares at me a few seconds longer before shrugging and pulling out into the street. She knows Quince defies explanation.

  All the way to school, my insides quiver and churn like rough seas in a squall. I don’t know if I’m going to make it through the night. Then, as we pull into the parking lot, I see Brody get out of his Camaro dressed—just like Quince told me—as a pirate. For the first time in three years, seeing him actually settles my nerves instead of agitating them.

  That’s when I know everything will be okay. Brody is my mermate, and tonight is the beginning of our future. Nothing is going to stand in my way.

  7

  The library is dark and empty when I slip through the glass double doors at nine fifteen. I know I’m early, but I want a little time to calm down, to prepare myself. For the last hour, I’ve been dancing and talking with friends, trying to have a good time despite my looming appointment. In just fifteen minutes I’m going to confess my feelings to the boy I’ve been seriously in love with for what seems like forever.

  A girl needs a little time to reflect.

  For three years, I’ve watched Brody from afar. Loved him even as he looked right past me for the most part. Occasionally I wonder why, exactly, I love him so much. I mean, we’ve never even shared a meaningful conversation that didn’t revolve around swimming or news team.

  Maybe it’s his charm. On my first day at Seaview I walked nervously through the cafeteria on wobbly land legs without a soul to sit with. As I scanned the unfamiliar setting, searching for an empty place to eat, I lost my balance and tumbled, tray of enchiladas first, into Brody’s lap. Instead of freaking out or yelling or humiliating me (like some boys), he laughed and helped me clean up the mess. He’s one of those guys who can make everyone—even an awkward mermaid on her first day of human school—feel special.

  Or maybe it’s how he seems to be comfortable in any situation. No matter where he is at the moment, Brody always belongs, and for a huma
n transitioning to the mer world, I think that must be a key character trait.

  And the fact that he’s so at home in the water is a major bonus in the potential mermate category.

  Whatever the reason, my heart flutters every time I see him, and I can’t deny that. I don’t want to. My body and my heart know things my brain doesn’t necessarily understand.

  The fifteen minutes race by. Before I know it, I’m staring at the clock as it ticks past nine thirty. Nine thirty-five. Nine forty.

  At nine forty-five I decide he’s not coming. Rather than freak out, I try to rationalize. Maybe that’s a good thing. After all, he thought he was meeting Courtney. Clearly he doesn’t even want to see her long enough to get his ring back. That must mean he’s totally over her. Right?

  Then, just as I’m buying into my argument, a shadow appears in the doorway.

  My heart slams once against my chest, freezes for a good ten seconds, then starts beating faster than ever.

  He’s here. He’s actually here.

  I don’t care if he’s here to meet Courtney—he’s here and I’m about to take the biggest chance of my life.

  In the dim light from the hall I can make out the red bandana tied over his head. I watch, in awe, as he walks through the library, weaving through the sea of tables, heading directly for my hidden corner. He moves like a deep sea current—smooth and powerful. It’s like I’m watching him walk for the first time.

  Then he’s right in front of me.

  I can only make out his outline, but I get the feeling he’s looking directly into my eyes.

  Tell him! That’s why you’re here. Open your mouth, form the words, and—

  His hand cups the back of my neck, and before I can think, he dips down and our mouths meet. For a split second I worry that he thinks he’s kissing Courtney. But the instant the warmth of his soft lips spreads into mine, all thoughts dissolve. Pure feeling is all I have left. Little electric sparks zip through my bloodstream, making sure every nerve in my body is focused on his amazing mouth.

  Instinct takes over, and I lift my arms to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. My fingers brush against his cheek, feeling the rough stubble of an unshaven face. An uncontrolled growl bursts from deep inside me, and I pull him even closer.

  He tilts to the side a little, opens his mouth, licks his tongue across my lips, and then—

  Pulls back.

  My mind whirls. My lungs struggle for oxygen. I feel myself start to transfigure, my body reacting as if I am in water and need my gills. Shaking my head, I regain a little control and stop the change.

  My emotions, too, are going insane. Not only do I feel my own raging joy and passion, but because of the new connection we just forged, I can feel some of his, too.

  “Wow,” I gasp. “That was…”

  I can’t find the words.

  He can. “Incredible.”

  My eyes pop open and I am instantly alert. That didn’t sound like Brody’s voice. That sounded more like—

  “Bet Benson could never kiss you like that.”

  “How was your night, dear?” Aunt Rachel asks when I stomp into the house.

  “Fine,” I snap, slamming the front door behind me. “Just perfect.”

  I ignore the muffled “Ow!” followed by loud banging.

  “Lily,” he shouts, “let me in.”

  Aunt Rachel looks at me. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” I answer sweetly, “of course not.”

  Bang, bang. “Let me explain.”

  “Is that Quince?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I say, and start up the stairs to my bedroom.

  Bang, bang. “I never planned to kiss you.”

  I freeze, one foot hovering above the next step, my heart hammering in my chest. I can feel Aunt Rachel’s sharp gaze focus on me.

  “Oh, Lily,” she gasps, “you didn’t.”

  I whip around. “No,” I blurt out, tears floating just below the surface, “I didn’t.” I stomp down the stairs, walk to the door, and fling it open. One finger, shaking with fury, points at the pirate-clad nightmare standing on our front stoop. “He did!”

  The nightmare, apparently thinking my opening the door is an invitation, takes a step forward. I slam the door harder.

  “Ow!”

  I hope his nose is broken.

  “Wiwy,” he says in a voice that sounds like he’s squeezing his nose—victory! “Just wet me expwain—”

  I throw the dead bolt.

  “I’ll be in my room,” I announce, and head for the stairs again.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Aunt Rachel says, grabbing me by the arm as I go by. “You have some explaining to do yourself, girl.”

  For a second I am a rock, utterly unemotional and ready to tell Aunt Rachel to leave me alone. The next, all the emotion and craziness of the last half hour—from the moment I kneed Quince in the squids until I slammed the door in his face for the second time—just bubbles up to the surface, and I explode.

  I whirl around to face her. “It was going to be perfect. I was going to tell Brody how much I love him, and he was going to realize how perfect we are for each other, and we were going to begin our life together.” I swallow over the lump in my throat. “Perfect.”

  “My sweet, innocent girl,” Aunt Rachel whispers, gently wiping a tear off my cheek. She shakes her head like she’s disappointed in me—which is completely unfair since I’m not the one who caused this mess. I’m totally the victim in this situation.

  “Perfect,” I repeat with a snap, startling the sad look off her face. “Until he messed it up. He showed up instead of Brody. He kissed me and made my fins curl. He”—I shout loud enough to be heard through the door—“ruined my entire life.”

  Then, before Aunt Rachel can say whatever is behind the shocked look in her eyes, I yank my arm free and run for my room.

  That’s it, I’m done with this human thing. I’m going back to the sea. Where I belong. Human life is too complicated, and humans—one human in particular—are not to be trusted. (Except for Aunt Rachel, of course. And Shannen. And Brody. And maybe my art teacher.) I don’t know what made me ever think I could handle this world.

  Dropping to my knees, I peer behind the grass bed skirt in search of a bag to pack my things. No bag. Then I jump up, hitting my head on my nightstand, sending my palmtree lamp crashing to the floor, and startling Prithi from her nap on my stuffed animal–covered bed. Whatever. I don’t need a bag. I don’t have anything to take.

  Sure, my room is full of random stuff I’ve collected over the past three years, but I won’t need any of it in Thalassinia. Water is rough on land-produced objects. Besides, all I want to do is forget the human world ever existed.

  Well, everything but Brody—

  “Lily.”

  What is he doing here?

  Aunt Rachel. She must have let him in to—

  The doorknob starts to turn, but I dive for it and twist the lock just in time.

  “Lily,” he repeats. His voice sounds disappointingly broken-nose-free. “Please, just let me explain what happened.”

  “No.” I grab a stuffed dolphin from my bed, sending Prithi leaping to the ground, and fling it at my door. It barely makes a soft thud before tumbling to the floor, but I feel better. “Go away.”

  Meow.

  “I really planned to help you snag Ben”—he clears his throat—“nett.” His voice drops to a mumble. “Figured if you spent more than ten minutes with him, you’d realize he’s a total pr—”

  “I’m not listening to you,” I shout. And fling a stuffed Shamu against the door. And a stuffed lobster. And a stuffed sea horse.

  Prithi, thinking it’s a game, bounds after my artillery. She takes possession of the sea horse and retreats under my bed.

  “What I mean is, I gave him the note. He was supposed to be there.” He clears his throat again. “Then I”—ah-hem—“saw him dancing with”—ah-hem—“Kiran Siman”—ah-hem—“and I thought I shoul
d”—ah-hem—“check on you. Damn, my throat is dry.”

  He breaks into a fit of throat clearing that soon turns into coughing.

  Great. Dry throat. I squeeze my eyes shut but can’t make it go away. The change is happening already.

  “Anyway,” he says when he’s through coughing for the moment, “you looked so…expectant standing there in the dark.” His voice sounds sad, but maybe that’s just the change, too. “Like you were waiting for the best moment of your life.”

  Cough, cough, cough.

  I look at the sad pile of stuffed sea creatures clustered around my door. He’s right, of course. I was waiting for the most perfect moment of my life.

  Then he ruined it.

  I fling another round of stuffed sea life at the door. “I wasn’t”—starfish—“waiting”—great white shark—“for you.”

  My bed is now empty of stuffed animals. I’m about to grab a pillow when I hear a plunk against the door from the outside. It sounds like a forehead smacking against the wood.

  “I know,” he groans. He coughs a few times before adding, “I couldn’t help it.”

  There is such a sound of despair in his voice that when he starts coughing again, I find myself pressing a hand to the door, as if that will heal him. Only I know it won’t, because he’s not sick. He’s changing. And I can’t just run away from this. Or from him.

  Even Prithi ventures out and meows softly at the door.

  “Water,” I say quietly.

  There is a long, silent pause before he asks, “What?”

  “Water,” I repeat. “You need a drink of water.”

  “It’s just a cough,” he insists. “Lily, I want you to understand why I—”

  “Go ask Aunt Rachel for a glass of water.”

  “I’m right here, dear,” Aunt Rachel offers.

  Great, a witness to my humiliation.

  “Listen to me, please,” he asks, his voice raspy like sandpaper.

  If he doesn’t drink some water soon—a lot of water—he’ll lose it altogether. Not that I’m interested in listening to him, but some little part of me does want to know why he, the guy who lives for my torment, kissed me.