Sea Change

by Aimee Friedman

  By the time Althea returned with more Popsicles, CeeCee finally decreed a silky lavender dress with wide straps to be “the one.” I didn’t relish the prospect of stripping down in front of the three girls, but I managed to execute my locker-room change, pulling the dress over my head while quickly unbuttoning my shirt and wriggling out of my jeans. Once the dress was on, I saw that the price tag was still attached, and I heard myself swallow at the three boldfaced digits.

  “Listen, guys,” I said, fidgeting as CeeCee zipped me up and Jacqueline brought over a selection of shoes. “Let’s not go overboard, okay? I still want to look like myself.” I held up my hand to refuse the silver thong sandals Jacqueline held out to me; I’d worn my black flats, knowing they wouldn’t be as offensive to the girls as my Converse.

  “Oh, come on, Miranda,” CeeCee cooed, undoing my ponytail and steering me over to the edge of the bed in one swift motion. “Live a little.”

  I sat down and reached out for my hair band, but CeeCee gave it to Jacqueline, who tucked it into the pocket of her orange dress.

  “It’s healthy to change up your look,” Jacqueline chimed in, passing CeeCee a tall can of styling mousse.

  “Exactly,” CeeCee said as she pumped a dollop of mousse into her hand. Automatically, I recoiled, but CeeCee pulled me forward. “You can pretend to be someone else for a night,” she added, “as if you’re at a masquerade or”—her eyes brightened with inspiration—“you’ve had a charm put on you, like Cinderella or Ariel!”

  “Who’s Ariel?” I asked, forgetting to protest as CeeCee worked the mousse into my hair and Jacqueline approached me with a tube of mascara.

  “Would y’all keep it down?” Virginia huffed beside me. She noisily turned the page of the magazine.

  “Hello, the Little Mermaid?” CeeCee cried, rolling her eyes and fluffing my hair.

  “Honestly, what were you doing between the ages of five and twelve if not watching old Disney movies?” Jacqueline asked, rolling the mascara wand over my lashes. She didn’t pose the question cruelly; she truly seemed bewildered.

  “Science experiments,” I muttered with a shrug.

  I heard Virginia snort.

  “You’re so weird,” CeeCee said fondly, going back to her vanity to retrieve a pot of lip gloss.

  Mermaid, I thought. I felt a funny little pang.

  “Hey,” I said, having trouble talking as CeeCee dabbed gloss on my lips, “can I ask you guys something totally insane?”

  “What’s up?” Jacqueline asked, holding a powder puff over my cheekbone.

  I began picking at my nails—my manicure was starting to chip, anyway—but CeeCee moved my hand away.

  “Do any of you know,” I began, trying for nonchalance, “about something called A Primer on the Legend and Lore of Selkie Island?”

  “No,” CeeCee and Jacqueline replied at the same time, while Virginia said, “Of course.” I whipped around to look at her on the bed, and CeeCee cursed over my smudged lip gloss.

  “It’s this book some dude wrote in the early nineteen hundreds,” Virginia drawled, stretching across the bed. “It was supposedly all controversial, because he wrote it like an anthropological study, but really it was just all these superstitions.”

  I blinked at Virginia, realizing it was one of the first times I’d heard her speak of something not pertaining to boys.

  “Oh, wait,” CeeCee said, turning my chin back to her. “This sounds familiar. There’s, like, a pirate ghost who haunts the island?”

  Jacqueline laughed, smudging blue shadow in the gap above my eyelids. “Is that why there’s that monsters sign that hangs over the harbor?”

  “I think there’s some stuff about a pirate who married a mermaid, and how mermaids live in the water off Siren Beach.” Virginia yawned. “And maybe fish with wings or whatever. Mama used to tell me those stories when I was little.”

  I closed my eyes so Jacqueline could rub in the eye shadow. Did my mother tell me stories when I was growing up? If she’d tried to, I was sure I’d either stopped her or tuned her out.

  “So the stories aren’t true, right?” I asked, hoping I still sounded casual, and not as if I’d ever entertained the idea.

  “Oh, please.” I heard Virginia scoot off the bed and watched as she went to turn up the volume on CeeCee’s iHome. “Everyone knows they’re just hoaxes, like the kinds P. T. Barnum used to play on the people who went to his circuses.”

  “Well, yeah,” I laughed, relieved but still unsettled. “I didn’t really believe—”

  “All done!” CeeCee announced, taking a step back and surveying me with a grin. “There’s only one more thing to make it complete…” She flew over to her vanity, scooped up her silver charm bracelet, and brought it over to me.

  “CeeCee, I can’t wear your bracelet,” I said as she hooked the lobster clasp around my wrist. “What if I lose it?”

  “Don’t be silly,” CeeCee scoffed. “I have others. Besides, a real Southern girl should sport a James Avery charm bracelet on special occasions.”

  “Virginia and I each have one,” Jacqueline affirmed.

  “I’m not a real—” I began, but then I studied the charms. There was a miniature birthday cake with diamond candles; a tiny ferryboat that resembled Princess of the Deep; a treble clef; a pair of ice skates.

  CeeCee caught me staring, and she smiled triumphantly. “Cute, huh?” she said. “My favorite is the treble clef, even though I don’t like piano lessons. My grandma gave it to me.”

  I nodded. To have a grandmother who gave me charms—or knit me scarves or baked me pies, or said things like “mullygrubbing”—was a foreign concept. My Merchant grandparents had died before I was born, and Isadora was…Isadora. Though maybe if Isadora had been in my life, she would have gifted me with a James Avery bracelet so that I, too, could be a real Southern girl. A strange thought.

  “Now,” CeeCee said as she took my hand and pulled me up, “you are officially ready to see yourself.” She walked me over to the vanity, Jacqueline stepped aside, and I faced the large mirror.

  I gasped.

  I wasn’t sure what kind of witchcraft CeeCee had worked, but my hair fell in soft, dark ringlets. My lips were crimson, my lashes long, and the blush on my cheeks made my skin creamy white, not sheet pale as usual. The charm bracelet looked natural on my wrist, and the lavender dress, though loose in the bust and too short—CeeCee and I had vastly different proportions—was a flattering shape. I looked…

  “Gorgeous!” CeeCee exclaimed.

  “Much, much better,” Virginia remarked, coming over to join us by the mirror.

  “Like a princess,” Jacqueline put in.

  Like Isadora, I thought.

  I looked like my grandmother.

  It was undeniable. The plain, hard evidence was staring at me. The Isadora in the living room photograph, in the painting, was there in the mirror. I felt my pulse pounding in my throat. Now I understood. I understood the comparisons. I really had been granted some of Isadora’s genes.

  Was this what Mom saw whenever she looked at me? Did she see the monster?

  “Oh, no,” CeeCee said, bringing her hands to her mouth. “You hate it.”

  I realized that my expression was as stricken as if I’d seen a ghost. I glanced away from the mirror, breaking the spell.

  “No—I don’t,” I said, looking at CeeCee. “It’s just—different.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Jacqueline said, putting her arm across my shoulder.

  “So will T.J.” CeeCee giggled, clapping her hands.

  My pulse pounded harder.

  “Cecile LeBlanc Cooper, can you put on your outfit already?” Virginia grumbled, turning away from the mirror. “I know you think you’re Selkie royalty, but they’re not going to delay the fireworks show for you.”

  CeeCee dressed and applied her makeup, and the four of us trooped downstairs, where Althea let us out. I was glad that Delilah was not around; her inevitable comments about how muc
h I resembled Isadora would have freaked me out further.

  The evening was warm and mosquito-filled, and the clear sky was darkening. We took the shortcut to the docks, and I couldn’t help but think of Leo as we walked down the pebbly path, CeeCee and her friends stumbling in their heels. How was he spending the Fourth? Was he, too, trying to forget about me, or had he moved on already?

  When the docks came into view, I found myself searching the harbor for a glimpse of dark golden hair and green eyes. Instead there were countless summer people, dressed to the nines and boarding their private boats, bottles of Champagne and wicker picnic baskets in hand.

  At the far end of the harbor, though, a small fishing trawler had docked, and the men unloading the crates of fish caught my eye. The men wore plaid shirts and baggy pants, and they bantered as they worked. A large fish with gray and green scales flopped out from one of the crates—still alive, desperate to return home—and thrashed its body against the dock. My heart constricted at the sight, but then one of the fishermen, who had a thatch of thick white hair and broad shoulders, lifted the fish and tossed it back into the water. I wondered, momentarily, if I had just seen Leo’s father.

  “There they are,” Jacqueline said.

  I looked away from the fishermen to see T.J., Bobby, Macon, Rick, and Lyndon. They were standing in front of a sleek silver motorboat that was roped to the dock. They all wore sunglasses and polo shirts tucked into khakis, and Bobby held his own bottle of Champagne and wicker basket. I felt a tremor of excitement and took a breath.

  “Happy Independence Day, girls!” Bobby called as CeeCee ran toward him, her arms outstretched. Jacqueline flew into Macon’s embrace, and Virginia and I hung back.

  I’d never seen someone do an actual double take before, but that was just what T.J. did then—he glanced at me, took off his sunglasses, blinked, and then looked again, his eyes growing enormous.

  “Miranda?” he asked, his voice thick with disbelief.

  I nodded, and T.J. crossed over to me, smiling broadly. Heat spread over my face, and I smiled back. Enduring the girls’ makeover had been well worth this moment.

  “Wow,” T.J murmured as he had in The Mariner’s study, taking my hands and holding me at arm’s length. “Amazing. You do realize you look exactly—”

  “I do,” I cut him off, still slightly shaken up by the resemblance I’d seen in CeeCee’s mirror.

  T.J. continued to gaze at me, as satisfied as if he had created me himself. I wanted to discuss our parents with him, but he seemed far too distracted by the new and improved Miranda to talk.

  Suddenly, my heart thrummed and I wondered how Leo would react if he saw me this evening. Would he make such a fuss over the change in me? I glanced back at the fishermen, who were carrying their crates toward McCloud Way, the dirt path that led to Leo’s house. None of the summer folk on the dock appeared to even see them.

  “Can we board?” Virginia snapped, cutting her eyes at T.J. and me. “My shoes are killing me.” She click-clacked toward the boat, brushing past Rick, who watched her go with a smirk. T.J. looked amused as well.

  “We’re waiting for a couple more passengers,” Lyndon explained, and then began waving in the direction of the pebbly path, his face brightening. “And here they come!”

  I turned to see two girls whom I vaguely recognized from the Heirs party. They were clattering toward us, decked out in white straw hats, white eyelet dresses, and white gloves. It was clear that they’d dressed to upstage CeeCee and her girlfriends—and they’d succeeded.

  “Sallie! Kay!” CeeCee called with forced merriment. “What a…nice surprise.”

  “Ladies,” T.J. intoned, dipping his head. I looked at him, wanting to laugh. Was that the only greeting in his repertoire?

  Sallie and Kay merely smiled their superior smiles as Lyndon and Rick rushed forward to greet them. Without turning around, I could sense CeeCee and her friends tensing up, arching their backs like rams preparing for a battle. It crossed my mind that being part of the heirs wasn’t unlike living in the wild; there was the constant threat of unknown predators who were eager to disrupt the animal kingdom.

  In the style of Noah’s ark, we began boarding two by two: Bobby and CeeCee led the way, followed by Macon and Jacqueline. T.J., back to his usual gallant self, took my hand and guided me over the side of the swaying vessel. Then Lyndon and Rick helped up Sallie and Kay, leaving a fuming Virginia to clamber aboard on her own. As we all crammed into the low wooden benches, I smiled, feeling a little traitorous.

  The sky was almost completely dark, and the first pinpricks of stars were appearing as Bobby untied the boat from the dock. Romantic, I thought, aware of T.J. sitting right next to me. His cologne wafted toward me on the sea breeze. I wondered if its scent had always been so rich and pungent. Maybe he’d worn more than usual tonight.

  At the rear of the boat, Bobby settled himself behind the wheel. Tiny lights on the boat’s hull came on, and the engine roared to life. Everyone—even me—cheered, and Rick’s shout of “Ahoy, mateys!” elicited gales of laughter from Sallie and Kay.

  We sliced through the water at a speed Princess of the Deep could never have matched. Bobby made us bounce on the waves a bit before we joined the constellation of other boats out on the ocean. I realized that, by dint of the right genes or good fortune, I was precisely where everyone on Selkie wanted to be at this moment. And I was filled with giddiness and guilt in equal measure.

  “Y’all, crack open the Veuve and help yourselves to the grub!” Bobby called over the wind as he steered. CeeCee tottered over to him and draped her arms around his neck.

  “What’s the Veuve?” I asked T.J., who immediately bugged out his eyes at me and started laughing.

  “You’re joking, right?” he asked. When I shook my head, borderline annoyed, he grabbed the Champagne bottle from where Bobby had set it on the boat’s cherrywood bottom. “Veuve Clicquot is the brand,” T.J. explained, as if I should have been born knowing that fact. Across from us, Virginia, Sallie, and Kay giggled, briefly united in their scorn.

  “Right,” I muttered, fiddling with one of CeeCee’s charms. The bracelet made my wrist sweaty; why did Southern girls wear these things? “Of course.”

  “You’re such a snob, T.J.,” Jacqueline piped up from where she sat on Macon’s lap. “You know, not everyone drinks Champagne.”

  “Pity,” T.J. said, grinning. With a movie-perfect pop!—If only Isadora’s trunk could open with such ease, I thought wistfully—he deftly uncorked the bottle and foam frothed out of its mouth. Everyone—except for me—cheered once more, and Virginia began removing chilled Champagne flutes from the picnic basket.

  “Still good with your hands, I see,” she told T.J., cocking one eyebrow at him and then looking pointedly at me.

  I blushed and glanced down at the mirrorlike surface of the water. I thought I saw a flash of gold beneath the blue-black waves.

  “For you, miss.” T.J. grinned, handing me a filled-to-the-brim flute. Virginia and Lyndon were filling up the rest of the flutes, and Jacqueline and Macon were busy unpacking lobster rolls from the basket and passing them around.

  “Thanks,” I replied, and T.J. clinked his glass against mine and downed his drink. I wasn’t sure that drinking on a boat at night was a great idea, but I kept the thought to myself, not wanting to sound too schoolmarmish. I watched warily as Rick took a giant swallow of Champagne and then mimed walking the plank.

  “Five minutes until the show!” someone shouted from a neighboring boat, and a seagull honked overhead. Someone in another boat burst out laughing.

  Figuring I might as well get into the spirit of things, I took a cautious sip of the bubbly. It tickled my throat and was more tart than I had expected. I was looking for a sturdy spot to set my glass down when my gaze landed on the orange life vests stowed beneath the bench across from me.

  I tapped T.J.’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t we be wearing those?” I asked, deciding not to care about the schoolmarm
thing. After all, in the study the other day, T.J. had basically admitted to wanting a good girl. “Like, by law?” I added.

  “Hmm?” T.J. glanced at me, midbite of his lobster roll. There was mayonnaise on the side of his mouth.

  “What, and ruin our dresses?” Virginia interrupted, smoothing out the creases in her own dress. “I mean, you can put one on, Miranda.”

  “Oh, we don’t need life vests,” T.J. told me, the mayonnaise staying put. “The patrol isn’t going to bust anyone tonight. And we’re not even out that deep.”

  “There are riptides, though,” Jacqueline said, handing me a lobster roll. “If you get caught in a riptide, even if you’re not in deep water, you’re—”

  “In deep trouble,” Macon put in, nodding.

  “Are you guys planning a mutiny or something?” Bobby hollered from the helm, where CeeCee was feeding him pieces of lobster roll.

  “The thing about riptides is, you just have to swim parallel to the shore.” T.J. shrugged. I couldn’t take my eyes off the mayonnaise. “And not panic.”

  Jacqueline and Macon nodded in agreement as they sat back down and began to eat. I glanced at my lobster roll and realized I didn’t have much of an appetite.

  “I never panic,” I replied truthfully. “But, um, T.J.?” I finally added. “You have something near your mouth.”

  Now it was T.J.’s turn to panic. “Really?” he gasped, frantically patting the wrong side of his face. “Do you have a mirror?”

  “No.” I knew there were some girls who carried mirrors wherever they traveled, but that was a foreign notion to me. “It’s right here.” I motioned to the offending spot, hesitant to touch T.J.’s strong jaw. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t want to touch him; we’d already kissed, after all. But our touching seemed unnatural, somehow.

  “I have a mirror,” Virginia said, managing to make that phrase sound suggestive. She leaned over and handed T.J. a seashell-shaped compact. Before he could open it, though, she leaned even closer and, using her napkin, wiped away the mayonnaise. She let her fingers linger near his skin longer than necessary before pulling back and smiling.