Real Mermaids Don't Sell Seashells

by Helene Boudreau

  This was definitely the touristy part of town. The tumbledown shacks and narrow alleys were gone, replaced by high-end shops selling jewelry, perfume, and clothes.

  “Oh,” Cori exclaimed between waving lollipops, “Lainey said we should totally go to the Straw Market. She got this really cool conch ring from one of the booths when she was here with her parents last year but lost it, so I promised I’d try to find her another one.”

  Lainey Chamberlain and I had never been the best of friends, but we’d struck a truce at the Fall Folly dance after she’d discovered her own father’s mer secret. While Lainey might never become my best bud, it was nice to see Cori talking to her again since they both loved fashion and Cori had long since given up on improving my “shabby chic” style.

  I leaned over the seat in front of me and whispered to Dad. “Does this lady’s pay get docked for every minute she’s late dropping us off?”

  “What did you drop? Want me to get it for you?” Dad yelled and hunted under his seat.

  “No, it’s okay, Dalrymple. And no need to yell…” Mom patted Dad on the back and he bumped his head on the seat’s crossbar as he sat back up. Mom cringed. “It’s just over that bridge, Jade. Not long now.”

  We crossed the long bridge separating Nassau and Paradise Island, and I got my first good look at the blue Caribbean waters. I could see three huge cruise ships docked along the piers, all gleaming white and cheery.

  “I wonder—” I caught Cori’s eye and waved a hand in front of me in a fishy, mermaid-tail motion.

  “Jade, we talked about this, remember? Dry, on land,” she said then mouthed and human so the others wouldn’t hear.

  “Yeah, yeah. I remember.” But with all the beautiful, crystal blue waters surrounding us, I had a feeling I’d need more than a three-line mantra to switch from mermaid mode to vacation mode.

  Once we got to the other side of the bridge, the shuttle van wove its way through the smooth streets and manicured grounds of Paradise Island and Faye dropped the first couple at their hotel. I thought the hotel was called “the Asylum,” though as we got closer to the sign, I could tell someone had rearranged the letters and it was actually the Alyssum. It looked nice enough, though the balconies all looked out onto the parking lot and I thought I saw a group of college-aged frat boys going through the lobby with blow-up dinosaurs around their waists.

  After traveling a few more streets by pristine grounds, manicured lawns, and perfectly shaped shrubs, we arrived at the Eutopia Resort. Faye pulled the van up to the glittering lobby doors, stopping next to a super-long stretch Hummer limousine.

  “Isn’t that Taylor ’n Tyler?” Cori jumped up and down in her seat and pointed to an extremely tanned, bleached, and sunglassed young man and woman all dressed in white.

  “As in the singers Taylor ’n Tyler?” I asked. Taylor Ariella and Tyler Green had been the “It” couple of the pop music scene for the past year. They’d recently collaborated on an album that had hit platinum in its first week of being released. But what were the odds that we’d be booked in the same hotel as the famous duo that had been on every cover of every entertainment magazine in the past six months? “Nah…what are the chances?”

  The Taylor ’n Tyler look-alikes and their entourage were escorted into the lobby by two hotel staff members who came out to greet them.

  Dad and Mom and the other adults got out of the shuttle van first, while Cori and I managed to clamber out from the backseat, but not before one of the Sticky Boys’ lollipops got stuck in my hair and I was left with a gooey grape glob hanging from my ponytail.

  “You guys wait here while I go check on our reservation!” Dad yelled to us as he went into the lobby while Mom helped unglue the lollipop from my hair and Sticky Boy #1 screamed his head off because I “stoled” his treat.

  “Well, if he hadn’t tried to Wingardium Leviosa his brother out of the van, his lollipop wand might not have gotten stuck in my hair,” I muttered to Mom as she tried to untangle the goopy mess.

  “Not to worry. I think that’s all of it,” Mom said as she wiped her hands with a wet wipe from the plane.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Faye was just finishing unloading all the bags from the back of the van. She plunked my Dalmatian-print rolling suitcase next to me. “No way you’re gonna lose that one, are you, honey?” she asked kindly.

  “It was a gift from my grandmother,” I replied with a smile, remembering how Gran had gone to three different stores with me to help pick out a suitcase. She’d felt bad she couldn’t come but wanted to send me off to the Bahamas in style.

  “You have a Dalmatian?” Faye asked. “My granddaughter Rayelle has always wanted one. Ever since she was a little girl and saw that Dalmatian movie. Not so little anymore.” She chuckled. “Rayelle, dear. Come out and say hi, sweetie.”

  That’s when I noticed that the passenger in the front seat still hadn’t gotten out of the van. The door opened and Rayelle unfolded herself from the front seat. She looked like she was a year or so older than Cori and me, and had tight dark curls and long brown legs. Really long legs.

  “Hi!” Cori was the first to stick out her hand to introduce herself. “I’m Cori and this is Jade.”

  “Hi,” the girl said quickly.

  “Rayelle’s just hitching a ride from school to her mama’s work at the Straw Market. She doesn’t have a school break in the fall like you lucky girls,” Faye said. “You all like shopping?”

  Cori’s ears perked up like a puppy’s do when you ask if it wants to go for a walk. “I love shopping.”

  “Well, if you can be ready, my next stop here is in an hour. I’ll be swinging back by the Straw Market and can drop you off on the way back to the airport,” Faye said as she shut her van’s back door.

  “Oh, could we?” Cori turned to my mom.

  I eyed Cori’s celebrity magazines. Honestly, the only thing I wanted to do for the rest of the afternoon was find a lounge chair next to the pool and park myself there until I was all caught up on the Brangelinas and Taylor ’n Tylers of the celebrity world. I could only hope that the lollipop boys were not going to be anywhere near our room because their Sticky Boy antics were starting to make my head ache.

  “I don’t see why not,” Mom replied with a smile.

  Foiled.

  “Perfect then. And call me anytime you need a ride anywhere on the island.” Faye fished a few business cards from her pocket and gave them to each of us. I stuffed mine in my bag.

  “I’ll be at my mom’s booth,” Rayelle said. “Come find me and I can give you a tour.” “Excellent!” Cori said, rolling her hot pink suitcase onto the sidewalk beside me.

  By then, a group of hotel guests going back to the airport had accumulated, and Faye and Rayelle busied themselves reloading the back of the van with luggage. Soon, they were all packed up and Faye tooted her horn as they drove away.

  “I wonder what’s keeping your dad.” Mom looked over her shoulder at the reception area. “Are you guys okay here if I go check on him?”

  “Sure,” I replied, sitting on my Dalmatian-print suitcase.

  “Once we get all settled in our rooms, we can catch the shuttle back to the Straw Market. Maybe we can find some cute sarongs for the wedding and a beachy tropical shirt for your dad. All he brought are T-shirts,” Mom said as she pushed through the lobby doors and disappeared inside.

  “We should find out about this paddleboarding excursion,” Cori said, looking through a brochure she’d nabbed at the airport tourist kiosk. “And windsurfing. And sea kayaking. Oh, and they have this thing called Snuba diving!”

  So much for my plan to chillax.

  That’s when Sticky Boy #2 upchucked all over my Chuck Taylor sneakers.

  Turned out (after ditching my beloved “upchucked” Chucks, washing my feet in the ocean, and rooting through my luggage to find a pair of flip
-flops) that the Eutopia Resort didn’t have a record of our reservation after all.

  “You have no room for us?” Dad yelled. I wasn’t sure if he was yelling because he was angry or because his ears were still blocked from the airplane, but either way, people looked over from the hotel lobby bar and a burly-looking security guard came over to investigate the situation.

  “Sir, there is no reservation on file for a Dalrymple Baxter. I’ve checked several times,” the hotel attendant said, looking up from her computer.

  “I’d bet you any money that Taylor ’n Tyler and their entourage stole our reservation,” Cori whispered to me as we saw the large group of tanned, bleached, sunglassed people follow an army of bellhops pushing carts full of Gucci and Prada luggage toward the bank of elevators.

  “Do you really think that’s them?” I asked, squinting through the crowded lobby.

  Cori flipped open an OK! Magazine to a photograph of Taylor Ariella holding an oversized bag with a dust mop of a puppy in it. It was the same kind of dog our “Taylor” was carrying in her handbag.

  “That doesn’t prove anything,” I said, inspecting the picture, though it sure did look like her. “Those guys over there could just be some rich kids on school break.”

  But still, if Taylor ’n Tyler and their crew did get us kicked out of our hotel, that was so not cool.

  “But I have the confirmation number right here!” Dad continued to yell, showing the paper he’d brought with him from our travel agent with all the reservation information.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the hotel attendant repeated for the umpteenth time while signaling for the security guard, “but your yelling is upsetting the other guests and there really isn’t anything else I can do for you. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  The refrigerator-sized security guard sprang into action and started loading our luggage onto a cart to escort us out the door.

  “Number! Confirmation number!” Dad insisted, waving the paper in the air.

  “Come on, Dalrymple,” Mom said quietly, taking his arm. “We’ll figure something else out.”

  After a series of phone calls to our travel agent, which probably cost as much in cell-phone fees as the plane tickets to the Bahamas, we finally got rebooked at a smaller hotel down the road.

  “The Asylum?” I said as we rolled our suitcases up the driveway after walking the half mile or so from the Eutopia. The straps of my flip-flops were already starting to make my feet ache.

  “A side of what?” Dad asked, tapping the side of his head with the heel of his hand as though trying to dislodge something from his ear canal.

  “The Alyssum,” Mom yelled to Dad, giving me a look. “It’s a type of flower.”

  “Oh,” he replied, still not looking like he’d heard what she said. Honestly, he’d be screaming his vows if his ears didn’t get unplugged in time for the wedding.

  “Well, judging by that gang of college frat boys I saw earlier, it might as well be an asylum,” I said.

  “As long as there’s a pool and a beach, that’s all we need, right?” Cori asked brightly.

  “Exactly. It’ll be fine,” Mom reassured me. “But since the Eutopia lost all our reservations, I need to rebook all the wedding plans too. The flowers, the wedding officiate to perform the ceremony, the music—I don’t know how I’m going to get it all done in time.”

  I gave myself twenty mental lashes for being such a dork. Mom needed me to step up to the plate and help her out with the wedding, not complain about something we didn’t have any control over.

  “We’ll help you. Don’t worry.” I put my arm around her as we walked through the lobby, trying to reassure her.

  “Yeah, I bet we can find lots of stuff at the Straw Market for decorations,” Cori suggested. “Isn’t this the other hotel where Faye stopped on her way to our old hotel? We can still catch a ride with her if we hurry.”

  Mom smiled and glanced over to Dad as he got us checked in to our rooms. The clerk at the registration desk looked wide-eyed as Dad yelled out our names to him, making sure he’d spelled them correctly.

  “Maybe I’ll send Dad into town with you to keep him out of trouble,” Mom suggested, “and I’ll stay back at the hotel to see if they can help us pull this wedding together in time for Saturday.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I agreed.

  •••

  We grabbed a quick bite before the hotel staff finished clearing up the lunch buffet and managed to catch Faye on her next run to the airport. Faye dropped Cori, Dad, and me off at the top of the lane leading down to the waterfront, where we met Rayelle so we could all walk down to the Straw Market together.

  “My run to the airport should have me back here at about five. Okay?” Faye called out from the driver’s seat.

  “Don’t worry, Mamie. I have my phone if we need you,” Rayelle called out to her as we started down the lane.

  “Remind me to look for a ring for Lainey, and I hope I can find one of those Pandora knockoff bracelets, and oh, do you think they’ll have Gucci purses?” she asked Rayelle.

  “I think Cori has found her people,” I joked with Dad.

  “Yeah, lots and lots of people here, eh?” Dad said as he nodded toward the crowds of tourists weaving in and out of market stalls. His hearing was starting to come back but he was still losing a bit in translation.

  “I’m just trying to absorb as much of the local culture as I can. Oh, cute!” Cori said as she skipped ahead. A huge, green frog statue greeted us at an ocean-side restaurant called Señor Frog’s at the beginning of the market’s booths.

  “That’s the biggest frog I’ve ever seen,” I said, following close on her heels.

  “I wonder if they have fancy drinks with umbrellas!” Dad said.

  “I bet they do,” I said with a smile. Dad had been joking for days that he couldn’t wait to get away from his work as an engineer and sit by the ocean with a fancy tropical drink. “Why don’t you sit on the balcony by the harbor and order one while Cori, Rayelle, and I look around the market?”

  The stalls of the Straw Market stretched along the waterfront from Señor Frog’s onward for a full city block.

  “I don’t know,” Dad said skeptically. “It’s not like we’re in Port Toulouse anymore. What if you get lost?”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Baxter. They’ll be completely safe with me,” Rayelle said, trying to reassure him.

  “Oh look!” Cori climbed onto a massive yellow Adirondack chair in the front of the restaurant. The chair looked like it could fit all four of us comfortably. “Get on, guys! I’ll ask that man over there to take our picture.”

  Cori hopped off the chair and was halfway down the sidewalk, about to ask a touristy-looking middle-aged guy to take our picture with her phone, when Rayelle chased after her and grabbed her arm.

  “Are you crazy?” Rayelle asked.

  “What?” Cori’s eyes widened.

  “You can’t just go around asking any random guy to take your picture. He could take off with your phone or hassle you, or who knows what,” Rayelle said. “So, keep your phone and wallet zipped up in a pocket of your bag and don’t set it down anywhere.”

  “I thought you just told my dad it was completely safe,” I said.

  Dad looked from Rayelle to me to Cori, trying to follow our conversation.

  “It is! But you don’t have to be stupid about it,” Rayelle said.

  I was a bit surprised at how blunt Rayelle was, but I decided her no-BS approach was kind of nice compared to some gossip hounds I knew back in Port Toulouse who were nice enough to your face but talked trash about you behind your back. Like those ladies yammering about Mom and Dad at Dooley’s Drugstore, for instance.

  Dad must have thought so too, because he smiled brightly at Rayelle as though he’d gotten the gist of what we were talking ab
out.

  “Well, it sounds like you’re in good hands,” Dad said, taking a seat on Señor Frog’s patio. “Enjoy your shopping and meet me back here in an hour.”

  “Oh,” Cori said as we stepped down from Señor Frog’s patio onto the busy Straw Market sidewalk. “Is there a place where we can get our hair braided?”

  “Yeah,” I pulled my ponytail over my shoulder, inspecting all the split ends. “Do you think my hair would stay in braids? I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  “My cousin braids hair on the beach by your hotel,” Rayelle said. “I can take you there tomorrow if you want.”

  “That would be great!” Cori said.

  A group of young people walked around with shell necklaces, trying to attach them around our necks.

  “A gift from our island,” one of the girls said.

  “Oh, thank you. That’s so nice.” I moved my hair over so she could attach the necklace.

  “Buzz off, Charla,” Rayelle said, coming to my side. She whispered in my ear, “They only tell you it’s free and then guilt you into buying it. Among other things.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling stupid.

  Charla gave Rayelle a sneering look.

  “You’re so brave here with your boyfriend nearby, huh, Raybies? Get a grip.” Charla nudged one of her friends and laughed at her own joke then headed off to find another customer.

  “Charming girl. How do you know her?” I asked.

  “Just a girl from school.” Rayelle grabbed my arm to come with her. She looked over her shoulder as we walked and muttered. “Going nowhere fast.”

  “The necklace business must be good because that is either a very expensive watch she’s wearing or an excellent knockoff,” Cori whispered to me as we continued along the main strip.

  “Any other Straw Market secrets we should know about?” I asked. I wasn’t much of a shopper but maybe I could find the perfect vacation T-shirt to add to my extensive ratty T-shirt collection. Then I could really say, “Been there. Got the T-shirt!” if anyone asked if I’d ever been to the Bahamas.