Kicks? As in balancing on one leg while the other is up in the air trying to hit a moving target? I’m shark bait.
The shark in question forms us into a curving line so we can watch each other’s fights while we wait. I catch Clay’s eye from where he stands at the end of the line, and I must look nervous because he shoots me a “Don’t sweat it” smile before turning his attention back to the coach. At least Melusine’s not in this class; seeing her land what I imagine would be a series of perfect roundhouse kicks would make me crazy jealous.
Kelsey goes first. She punches the coach twice in the torso then stands back to try a kick. It’s not very high, but it hits the coach against her upper leg pad with a solid thwack!
“Nice job,” I say as she comes to stand next to me.
“Thanks. It’s not so bad. You’ll do fine.”
I doubt it. My lower half tends to work as a unit, since naturally it’s one tail and not two legs. That’s why walking and running were hard to learn at first. One leg kicking by itself sounds like a face-plant waiting to happen.
One by one, the other students go. While I wait, I practice by discreetly raising one foot a few inches in the air and making a baby kick. The next few girls are the class glamazons, and they make it look easy. One girl, Genevieve, lands a kick so high it strikes the coach’s upper arm. Why can’t I move like that?
My turn. I move forward, trying not to look anxious. My first step onto the squishy mat almost throws me off balance, but I manage to hold my ground. Coach Crane stares at me with hard eyes and beckons me forward without a word. She plants her feet one at a time, reminding me of a sumo wrestler. I throw a punch aimed at her torso, imitating Kelsey, but Coach Crane blocks it before I get close. I try again, aiming for her left side, but she snaps her arm out, blocking me again. “Come on, Nautilus, you need to make contact. Use your legs.”
I grit my teeth and lift my right leg. At the last moment, I chicken out, and kick so low I only manage to tap the side of my foot against her shin.
“You have to do better than that.”
I take a step forward, lift my leg, and swing it forcefully back. In that glorious instant, I can visualize it hitting her in an impressive kick to the waist that bows her entire body and finally shuts her up. Instead, my leg misses her, and the momentum behind my kick swings me around so hard I fall onto my butt.
Clay sees the whole thing.
Coach Crane doesn’t offer me a hand up. She just calls, “Next!” while I’m left to struggle to my feet on the too-soft mat before the next student can step on me. Why does physical education have to be a graduation requirement?
Face hot, I move to the sidelines while the glamazons giggle. Genevieve, the crowned princess of high kicks, walks over, her BFF Jaclyn in tow.
“Friendly advice? Work on those moves or you’ll never get a boyfriend,” Genevieve says.
“Maybe you can take one of those stripper pole classes. Loosen up a little,” Jaclyn suggests.
My face gets even hotter. “Thanks … I’ll keep that in mind.”
Oh, no. Clay’s heading straight toward us. As if this could get any more humiliating.
Jaclyn gives a flirty wave. “Hey, Clay.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just stands next to me and stares at them.
They exchange a look, half-confused, half-nervous. The moment drags, and Clay stares.
“Later, Lia,” Genevieve says as they hurry away.
Now that Clay’s close to me, the muffled notes of a guitar riff fill the air between us. He must have earbuds hidden under the hoodie he’s wearing with his gym uniform. I want to thank him for stepping in. But all that comes out is, “How can you listen to that so loud?”
“It drowns out the morons.” He nods his head to where Genevieve and Jaclyn whisper to each other on the other side of the mats.
“They meant well,” I say, not really believing it.
“No. They didn’t.”
With Clay radiating silent support, I’m reminded of another moment like this one. It’s a moment I try hard not to think about, but right now, I can’t help it. In that long-ago moment, having him next to me made a much bigger difference than he realized.
It was last year, right after I’d first started Malibu Hills Prep. Once I could maintain my new legs for a whole day at a time without trouble, my parents had proclaimed me ready. I was used to the feel of shoes by then (well, flat shoes, anyway), and my older sisters had taken me on a few excursions to shopping malls, so even the feel of so many humans close by was familiar. But the idea of actually having conversations with humans? Of trying to make friends? That was totally different territory.
The first few days passed in a blur of new faces and adrenaline. Everyone seemed interested in me simply because I was new, so I spent every day evading question after question: Where did I grow up? Why hadn’t I gone to middle school with all of them? How come I didn’t want to come to so-and-so’s pool party? I tried to smile as I gave all the fake, well-rehearsed answers Em had used flashcards to quiz me on, but saying them out loud to real people wasn’t the same as saying them in my living room. After an entire week, my head swam with all the excuses and half-truths. Each one plunked into my stomach, heavy as a stone.
I’d spent months—years!—imagining what it would be like to finally go to human school, to finally make human friends. But how would I ever make real friends if every answer I gave, every word I spoke involved some kind of lie? No one would get to know the real me. Duh. The real you is half fish. How could you think that wouldn’t matter? My thoughts berated me, called me a fool. How could I have been so naïve, so hopeful? As I sat in the cafeteria, looking around the table at all the classmates I’d never be able to get truly close to, a wave of disappointment washed over me with so much force I wanted to cry, wanted to run to the grottos and never come back to this place where I so clearly didn’t belong.
I mumbled an excuse to the too-cheerful strangers around me and headed away from the crowded cafeteria as fast as my new legs would take me. Malibu Hills Prep boasted a sprawling, palm tree-lined campus up in the mountains. I didn’t know where most of the paths led yet, so I let my instincts carry me along one that wound up to the top of a hill.
When I rounded a bend, my breath caught. Stretched out before me lay a stunning view of the ocean far below the mountains. A solitary turquoise bench stood at the overlook, and I sank onto it. The crashing of the waves posed a challenge to my leg control but also soothed me with its rhythmic familiarity. I’d always have the ocean. And my family, and Caspian … So what if I wouldn’t be able to make real friends at the place I’d be spending seven hours every day? It didn’t matter.
Except it did.
“You’re in my spot.”
My head spun around. I’d been so caught up listening to the clashing waves and getting lost in the whirlpool of my own thoughts that I hadn’t heard anyone approaching. I swallowed as I drank in the sight of the guy standing in front of me, looking better in a t-shirt and jeans than anyone had a right to. My eyes darted from his dark hair to his jawline to the unmistakable outline of his biceps under the sleeves of an open leather jacket.
I was supposed to say something. Talk, damn it! “Oh, I … ”
“Scooch over,” the guy said. My thoughts were still flopping around like fish in a net, but I must have done as he’d asked because a second later, he slid next to me on the bench. “No one else ever comes up here.”
“Really?” The waves rolled beneath us, majestic as they crested white and glinted in the sun before smashing against the rocks. “But it’s so beautiful here,” I said.
“Yep. It’s a great view.” He took a sidelong glance at me and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Especially today.”
My face heated, so I trained my eyes on my lap. “I … um … I just came up here ‘cause … ” I didn’t know how to finish that sentence without seeming like an antisocial freak.
“You needed to get away for a while. To regroup.”
I blinked. Turned to look at him again. “Yeah. It’s just, I’m new, and everyone was asking me so many questions … ” and I was telling so many lies …
“Hey, you don’t have to explain anything to me.”
After a week of being asked to do nothing but explain myself when I couldn’t, those words—his words—sparked a rush of relief so palpable, my body sagged against the back of the bench. “Thanks.”
“Oh, don’t thank me. It’s a strategy.” He said it like he knew something I didn’t. Like he knew everything. I wasn’t sure whether the cockiness irked me or made me more curious.
Who was I kidding? Who wouldn’t be curious? “A strategy?”
“Sometimes I think you get to know a person better when you don’t question them.” Did that mean this boy with his sculpted features and confident voice wanted to get to know me? “Sometimes,” he continued, “you learn the most about a person from what they don’t say.”
He crossed his legs, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. The move shifted his weight until we were only inches apart. I let the silence fill that remaining space between us. After what he’d just said, it seemed appropriate.
When several seconds had passed and I hadn’t said anything, he smirked as understanding dawned on his face. Silence was fine with both of us.
His eyes met mine then. I had to resist the urge to take his face in both my hands and study them up close. As the afternoon sun hit them, the hazel came alive with golds and greens and rich browns.
I was probably gaping at him like a codfish. With all the effort I could muster, I dragged my gaze back toward the view. So did he.
Without the need to make conversation, I didn’t need to lie. I could finally relax.
And I did. Sitting there next to him in silence, I felt like myself at school for the first time. “I really love the ocean,” I whispered.
We stayed there like that until a bell sounded from down the hill, signaling the end of lunch.
Then he finally spoke again. “You’re Lia.” It wasn’t a question. “But you spell it cool.” Also not a question.
“Yeah,” I sputtered. He’d noticed me enough to find that out? “Lia Nautilus.”
“I’m Clay.” He swung on his backpack and faced me, pinning me to the spot with his first full smile of the afternoon. It was dazzling. “See you around, Nautilus.”
And he did. He seemed to be there on that bench whenever I needed to get away. He was the only one who didn’t bombard me with questions I couldn’t answer, who just let me talk when I was comfortable. Soon, I talked more and more.
Without knowing it, Clay totally saved me those first few weeks. He showed me someone could be my friend even if I couldn’t say everything I wanted to. Instead of going home and pleading with my parents to re-enroll me in Mer school, I had the confidence to stick it out because of Clay.
Spending time with him proved even if I couldn’t be completely open with humans, I could at least be genuine. So, I started making more of an effort with a few other people—including Kelsey, who told me (after I dodged yet another of her questions one day after school) that every girl deserved to have an air of mystery.
At first, I definitely included Clay on my growing list of new friends. I still met up with him on the outlook bench often and sometimes sat at his table in the library or spent time with him in the courtyard after school, exchanging jokes and banter.
But the day he casually took my hand to lead me up that same winding path, then leaned in close to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear, I knew the attraction was undeniable. If I’d been anyone else, I could have kissed him, right then. The problem was there was no way I could get involved with a human.
Letting myself be tempted would put my whole Community at risk. As hard as it was, I did what I had to and started putting distance between the two of us. I just couldn’t be around him without wanting to do something I shouldn’t, so I started spending more time with my other friends and made sure Clay and I weren’t alone together. And I stopped going to that bench entirely.
Now, a year later, we still say hi to each other in the halls occasionally and talk in the classes we have together, but I’ve made sure we’re not close friends. Even though I sometimes want to turn back the clock, pull him toward me on that path (as if I’d ever have the nerve), and kiss him, I’m used to the way things are. Or, I was, before I had to watch him and Mel lip lock on a daily basis.
I sigh now as I stand in P.E. watching Genevieve and Jaclyn whisper about me. Clay standing there next to me makes me feel stronger. Just like it did back then.
Another muffled guitar riff from his hidden headphones reaches my ears a second before the coach calls his name. He lifts his hoodie up over his head without revealing even a hint of the earbuds and tosses it to the floor.
As he deftly spars with Coach Crane, getting not only several fast punches through her blocks but also some swift, clean kicks, I’m struck again not only by the surety of his movements, but also by the confident expression on his face. Like he’s sure he can take on any challenge and keep fighting. Does Melusine appreciate that confidence? Does she even know him?
I’m not obsessing about Clay. I don’t notice the way his dark hair meets the creamy skin at the nape of his neck. I don’t notice the stubble dotting his jaw or the arresting, serious expression he gets when he’s listening to someone, the way he is now. I definitely don’t notice the way he subconsciously strokes Melusine’s hand as he holds it across the desk. I’m focusing on social studies class. I’m dutifully taking notes. Is it my fault Clay and Melusine sit between me and the board?
“Watch the drool,” Kelsey whispers from the seat next to mine. She’s right. I thought I crushed this crush last year when I made myself stay away from Clay. I give Kelsey a look of wide-eyed innocence, like I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about, and try to concentrate on what Mr. Reitzel is saying.
“After reading your last round of papers, I got the impression that many of you feel disconnected from the material we’re studying.”
“No offense, Mr. Reitzel,” Kelsey says, “but we are kinda disconnected from it. By a couple hundred years.” Everyone chuckles, including Mr. Reitzel.
“It does seem that way, doesn’t it? So I guess my job is to help you realize that just because something happened a few centuries ago doesn’t mean it can’t affect you on a personal level today. That’s kind of a hefty order.”
I smell an assignment coming on.
“And your next assignment should accomplish just that.” He picks up a stack of assignment sheets and passes them out. “These explain the project that will take us through the end of the quarter.”
He hands me my assignment sheet. “Your Family History.” Oh, no! My family history is more suitable for a marine biology class than it will ever be for social studies. How am I going to flounder my way through this one? I make a conscious effort to keep my breathing even and not let my face show anything more than the typical annoyance most students are exhibiting at the extra work load. “You’re each going to go back as many generations as you can, using research tools that I’ll teach you about. Then, you’ll draw connections between every generation of your family and something you’ve learned in class about the historical events of the time. To keep things interesting,” Mr. Reitzel continues, “you’ll be working in teams of two.”
The room fills with subtle but discernible noise as everyone shifts toward their desired partners. Kelsey and I have already leaned close together over our assignment sheets, and Melusine has pushed her seat so close to Clay’s their thighs are touching.
“Not so fast,” Mr. Reitzel says, holding up a hand. “Since the point of this project is to learn new things and make new connections, I’d like you all to get to know someone new.”
Typical. Why do teachers wait until you’ve finally gotten accustomed to t
heir routines before yanking the sea grass out from under you? As if I weren’t nervous enough about this assignment already. Kelsey and I exchange disappointed glances. Then again, maybe this is for the best. Maybe I’ll get a stupid partner who won’t get suspicious when I have to fabricate my entire half of the project.
Mr. Reitzel starts reading off a list of pairs, and soon Kelsey is moving across the room to sit with Matt Greene. Matt’s nice and he gets good grades; the two of them will make a good team. Melusine looks none too pleased as Laurie Kennish sits down next to her. I smile. I wouldn’t want to have to put up with Laurie’s caffeine-fueled energy levels for an entire quarter.
Then Mr. Reitzel says my name. “Lia Nautilus and … Clay Ericson.” Now I have a whole new reason to be nervous.
Breathe, I tell myself as Clay’s eyes meet mine and he smiles at me. Time skips and he’s lowering himself into the seat Kelsey vacated. The seat next to mine.
“So, I guess we’re partners,” I say. Way to state the obvious.
“Yep. Got any family secrets I should know about now, Nautilus?” he jokes.
“You’ll just have to wait and find out.” Except that can’t happen. “How about you? Anything poster board worthy?”
“Oh yeah, tons.”
“Like what?”
He leans in close and whispers, “I’m a prince in disguise.”
“Really?” I ask, making my skepticism evident. “I didn’t know princes liked to wear jeans with so many holes.”
“I’m keeping a low profile.” He winks at me, and I hope I’m not blushing. What would he say if he knew I was the distant cousin of the ocean’s most infamous princess?
We read through the requirements of the project together: a poster board, oral report, and fifteen-page research paper.
“It’s going to be an awful lot of work,” I say. “We should probably get started sooner instead of later.”
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