The Mermaid Girl

by Xequina

  Chapter 21

  Drawing Mermaids

  The summer school art class got me started in drawing, and I taught myself how to draw mermaids from the book I got out of the library. It showed me how to put circles and triangles together to make a mermaid shape, then you add the details and paint them if you want. Of course, my mermaids didn’t look anything like Mermary, and she didn’t know what they were when I first showed them to her.

  After a while I didn’t need the book anymore, I could draw a mermaid from memory. My mother saw the drawings.

  “Nice, Camile,” she said. “Did you learn this in your art class?”

  I shook my head and showed her the book from the library. “But they don’t look like these mermaid drawings.” On the cover of the book were three beautiful mermaids with long hair and harps.

  “Cammie, the people who draw these went to school for years to study art. They drew for thousands and thousands of hours to get good enough to be published in a book.”

  She brought tracing paper home the next day. “If you trace the mermaids, you might get a feel for how to draw them more realistically.”

  So I started tracing the mermaids in books. Even the tracings didn’t look like much like the drawings until I got good at it. After a while I traced pictures of other sea creatures as well, like fish and octopi and sea horses.

  I took some of my drawings and tracings to school one day and showed them to my art teacher after class. First she looked at the ones I drew with circles and triangles.

  “Cute!” she said. “I love the way you painted them, the watercolors go out of the lines and look watery.”

  I hadn’t done it on purpose, I just had a big brush so I couldn’t keep inside the lines very well.

  “I’m glad you’re practicing drawing at home,” she said. “Have you tried copying the mermaids free-hand?”

  I knew that meant drawing without tracing paper. I shook my head.

  “Give it a try, just to see what you can do,” she said. “Something else you can try, is tracing the basic shape of the mermaid, then add features like the hair, or their eyes and mouth and nose without tracing them. And you can try making up the background instead of copying what you see in the book. It will develop your art imagination.”

  After my check-in with Mermary, when she went into her rest state and was curled up in her shell, I traced a mermaid outline from one of my books, then filled it in free-hand, trying to copy the picture in the book, but I didn’t like it. I showed it to my mother when she got home.

  “It’s all right Camile,” she said. “This is just a first try. Keep doing it, and you’ll find your own way. And don’t compare your work to the pictures in the books because you might get discouraged.”

  So I tried it again. I traced the basic mermaid shape, then closed the book. I drew in scales and fins, and gave her big eyes and a smile, and I put a pearl necklace on her. Then I made up the background to be a mermaid’s house. It looked like a human house, so I drew furniture like a mermaid would have, with a mirror vanity and shell decorations. I drew a big shell for her bed with a pillowy mattress.

  When I was done I drew it again, this time without tracing. I thought the house still looked too human, so I drew fish coming in through the windows like birds so it would look like it was supposed to be underwater. Then I made a cat-fish, only I made the top half a cat, and the bottom half a fish. And instead of house plants, I drew a sea-flower growing from the sand. When I used my imagination I liked my drawings better.

  I tried drawing Mermary when she was swimming, with the fins where they were supposed to be on her back and arms. It didn’t look like her, but at least you could tell it was a mermaid, and it was really fun drawing her. Plus, the drawings got better the more I drew.

  The next week I took my drawings to school to show my art teacher, and she showed them to the whole class.

  “Maybe you’ll be an illustrator when you grow up, Camile,” she said.

  Chapter 22

  An Invitation

  The end of summer school was coming up. After that, there would be two weeks before school started, which would be the last week of August. I still sat next to Libby sometimes, but once she asked me crossly why I never talked, and another time told me to stop stalking her, so I didn’t for a few days. Then on Monday, the last week of summer school, I sat next to her again in writing class.

  Libby looked at me and I blurted out, “Want to come over?”

  Libby stared at me and I was afraid she was going to say I was stalking her again. But instead she said, “What?”

  “Do you want to come over?”

  “You mean, to your house?”

  I nodded. I had asked my mother already, and she said to invite Libby for Tuesday, so she would have time to ask her parents for permission. She said she’d leave work early so she could meet my friend. She got chocolate chip cookies for us. She acted more excited about it than me.

  “My mother said I could invite you.”

  “You asked your mother if I could come over?”

  I nodded, then I said yes, remembering Libby had gotten after me for not talking.

  “When?” Libby asked.

  “Tomorrow? Ask your parents tonight.”

  “Okay!”

  The next morning while everyone was getting seats for movement class, Libby came over to me. Her hair was in a ponytail, and she was wearing a yellow T-shirt and red overalls that looked newish. Even her glasses looked clean.

  “Hi, Camile,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey, I brought something for you.” She put her hand in her pocket and brought out a yellow-and-black butterfly pin, sort of like a monarch.

  “Thank you, Libby.” I pinned it to my T-shirt. The pin was a little bent, so she helped me.

  “Are we still going to your house after school?” she asked. Her voice sounded funny, kind of wobbly, not her normal loud voice, like she was afraid I’d changed my mind. I nodded.

  “Are we going to take a shuttle?”

  I nodded again, and Libby grinned. She didn’t seem so bad when she smiled.

  Libby was really nice to me that day. She sat next to me for each class, and in the cafeteria brought me over to where Nancy and Gigi were sitting, but they didn’t seem to mind because we sat opposite them.

  “Hey, you guys,” Libby said.

  “Hey, Libby,” Gigi said.

  “Hi, Camile,” Nancy said.

  “What are you guys going to do for the rest of the summer?” Libby asked them while we were eating.

  I thought I saw Nancy poke Gigi with her elbow.

  “Nothing much,” Gigi said. “How about you?”

  “Oh, babysit my little brothers. Today I’m going over to Camile’s house.”

  “Good,” Gigi said.

  “Where do you live, Camile?” Nancy said.

  “A block from the beach,” I said. Then I remembered what my mother told me about making conversation. If someone asked you a question, ask them a question back, even if it was the same thing. “Where do you live?”

  Nancy and Gigi looked at each other, then at Libby.

  “Over near the mall,” Gigi said.

  I looked at Nancy, but she didn’t answer the question. Instead, she asked, “What’s your favorite class in summer school?”

  “Movement,” I said. I unwrapped my cookie, then put it down. “How about you?”

  “I like writing. Mr. Mildigger makes it seem so easy.”

  “I like Green Jerry’s class,” Libby said. “He’s so funny.”

  I was surprised. I thought Libby hated that class because she tried not to do anything, and Green Jerry was usually too busy to notice. But maybe that’s why she liked it.

  Libby hung around me all during his class. She even did everything Green Jerry asked her to do, as long as it was the same thing I was doing. We were putting the compost we made on all the plants around the community center. Libby stuck by me like she thought I wo
uld leave her behind or something.

  When we got on the shuttle after school, I heard someone say, “Oh no, there’s Libby.” It was a guy at the back of the bus. “Why is she taking the shuttle?”

  “Hey, Libby, get off the bus,” his friend said. “You live right around the corner.”

  “I’m going over my friend’s house, so there,” she said. We got a seat together and sat down.

  “She’s with that psycho girl,” I heard his friend said. “What a team.”

  People said I was shy and never talked, but I never heard anyone say I was psycho. I knew it meant a bad kind of crazy. I just ignored them, but Libby turned around and glared at them.

  “You guys better shut up,” she said. “I’ll go back there and kick your butts.” She looked like she was actually going to do it.

  “Hey, no fighting on my bus,” the driver said, standing up. “Take it outside.”

  “Ooooo, I’m sca-a-a-red,” the first guy said.

  “You better be,” Libby said.

  I was afraid the bus driver was going to throw us all off the bus, but Libby turned around. We heard the guys giggle and mumble something we couldn’t hear, but Libby ignored them.

  “What’s your favorite TV show?” she asked me.

  “Sometimes I watch science and history channels, but mostly I don’t watch TV.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. When I was little I watched cartoons on the weekends. How about you?”

  The shuttle was full and we took off.

  “I still watch cartoons, but just with my brothers. They’re still little. What do you do then, if you don’t watch TV?”

  “My homework. Or I read. Sometimes I draw.”

  “Oh, yeah. Can you show me how to draw mermaids?”

  I nodded. After a while I pulled the ringer. “This is my stop,” I told her.

  As we got off the shuttle, the guys at the back said, “Whew, now we can breathe again!”

  “Yeah, open the windows, man!”

  Libby looked at them and I was afraid she was going to go back there and get in a fight with them, but she laughed and waved as if they were her friends. “See you in sixth grade, suckers!”

  “Which one is your house?” she asked.

  I pointed at our light green house one block away. “My mother will be home soon.” We started walking.

  “Your mom’s not home?”

  I shook my head. “Is that all right?” I had heard some kids say they couldn’t go over someone’s house if their parents weren’t there.

  “Yeah. Where is she?”

  “At work.”

  “What does she do?”

  I told her, but Libby didn’t know what that was, so I explained it to her.

  “Can we go down to the beach?”

  “I’m not allowed. Anyway, this is my house.” I pointed to the bungalow.

  “That color makes your house look like it’s cool inside,” she said.

  “It is,” I said.

  We went inside and Libby looked around at everything. “Wow, your house is nice, and it’s so tidy! How do you get it to smell so good, like cinnamon?”

  “My mother drinks cinnamon tea. She boils cinnamon sticks with a lot of water. She also puts a stick into her coffee. She says cinnamon helps her think,” I said.

  “Can we have some?” Libby asked.

  I nodded. I went into the kitchen and plugged in the electric kettle, then got two cups ready with cinnamon tea bags in them. I couldn’t make it the way my mother did unless she was home. Besides, that took a long time.

  “Do you have your own room?” Libby asked. I nodded. “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

  “None. I’m an only child.”

  “Wow, you’re so lucky. I have two little brothers and my mother’s going to have another baby. Can I see your room?”

  We went upstairs. I had told Mermary I was going to bring someone home so I knew she would be hiding.

  “Wow,” Libby said. “You have a really pretty room! Did you decorate it?” She wandered around, looking at the canopy bed with heart pillows and my stuffed animals and pink-and-white striped walls.

  “Me and my mom did,” I said. “I mean, my mom and I did. What’s your room like?”

  “Oh,” Libby said, her smile going away. “It’s kind of small. It has old brown wall paper with tiny flowers on it. The ceiling is slanted, and it’s really hot in the summer and cold in the winter.” She saw the aquarium.

  “Hey, you have goldfish!” She got up close and looked in. “They’re really pretty. What are their names?”

  “Actually, they’re guppies,” I said. “The one with the zebra tail is Buckaroo, and the orange-and-blue one is Orange-Gina.”

  She opened the lid. “Hey, why do you have a block of wood in here?”

  “Oh, sometimes I put my dolls on that and play mermaid.” I was getting nervous, even though I couldn’t even see Mermary.

  “Really? Do you have mermaid dolls?” she asked.

  “Only one.” I brought all my dolls out and lined them up in front of the tank with the little basket of clothes next to them. Libby picked up the mermaid doll and turned her from side to side. Then she put a little plastic crown on her head, and then tried to put Mermary’s mirror in her hand. Finally she put it down and looked at the other ones.

  “What are your dolls’ names?”

  I told her. Libby picked up each one and touched their clothes and their little shoes. “They’re so cute! I love all their little clothes.”

  All the while I kept looking past Libby at the tank. Once I noticed Mermary peeking at Libby around the wide leaf of a water plant.

  “How many dolls do you have?” I asked.

  “One that’s missing its arms. My brother pulled them out. I have another that I found in a lot near my house, but it doesn’t have any clothes. And I have a sock monkey my grandmother made. I sleep with him.”

  I heard my mother’s car pull into the driveway.

  “My mom’s home. Let’s go downstairs so I can introduce you.”

  “Okay.”

  Libby went out and I turned back to look at Mermary and wave. My mother came in and put her bag and papers down. Libby had her hands in her pockets and stood quietly until I introduced them.

  “Nice to meet you, Libby. Is that short for Elizabeth?”

  “Yes, but only my grandfather calls me that.”

  “What do you like to be called?”

  “Elizabeth. Libby’s okay too.” She smiled.

  My mother went into the kitchen. “You haven’t had your cookies yet, girls. Why don’t you sit down at the table and I’ll bring you your tea.” She took the cookies out of the box and put them on a plate for us and gave us napkins. She also brought over a bowl of fruit. I took a tangerine and started peeling it.

  “What’s that?”

  “A tangerine. I’ll split it with you.”

  “It smells good.”

  My mother sat down with us and asked Libby questions, like where she lived and how many were in her family, and what her mother and father did. Her mother stayed home and her father worked at the Hazardous Waste facility outside of town. Libby was on her very best behavior and said “please” and “thank you.” She was actually really nice, and I wondered why she didn’t act like that all the time.

  “I got to go to summer school because I got a special scholarship,” she told my mom.

  “Why that’s wonderful, Elizabeth. You must be really smart.”

  Her smile went away again, but she didn’t say anything. After we had cookies, my mother went to work at her computer. I got out my paper, pencils, and crayons and showed Libby how to draw mermaids. We drew and colored for a while.

  “I better get home,” Libby said. She seemed sad.

  “Would you like to stay for dinner?” my mother asked.

  “No, I better not.”

  I put down my crayons. “Should we call your mother?”

  �
��Oh, she doesn’t have a car. I can walk,” Libby said.

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t think of it,” my mother said. “I’ll take you. This way I can meet your mother too.”

  Libby seemed uncomfortable about this, but she didn’t say anything. She sat in the front seat and I sat in back. She was quiet on the way to her house except to give my mother directions. Her house looked small, and there were dry weeds in the yard, and an old wooden fence with broken slats. We pulled up and I saw a woman with a big stomach sitting on the porch and two little boys in the yard. She saw us and frowned.

  “Where have you been, Libby? You were supposed to be home hours ago.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth,” my mother said. “Didn’t you ask for permission to come over?”

  “I forgot,” Libby said. My mother got out of the car, and Libby turned around and whispered, “She wouldn’t have let me.”

  “Hello,” my mom said. “I’m Inez, and this is my daughter, Camile. We had Libby over today. I didn’t know she didn’t have permission.”

  “Hello Inez and Camile,” she said. “Glad to meet you.” She didn’t sound glad. “Libby is supposed to tell me where she’s going to be. She has chores.” She glared at Libby. “You better get in there.”

  Libby waved at me. “’Bye, Camile, I had a really nice time today. Thank you, Inez.”

  “You know better than to call grown-ups by their first name,” Libby’s mom said.

  “Oh, yeah. Thank you, Mrs. Barcela.” She picked up the smaller boy and took the other one by the hand and went inside.

  “Next time ask me if you want to play with Libby,” Camile’s mother told me. “My daughter forgets these things. I was worried.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I will.” My mother apologized too.

  Libby hung out at school with me for the rest of that week, but I didn’t think to ask for her phone number. My mother drove me over to her house one day after summer school was over. Libby’s mother answered the door.

  “Hello, Mrs. Jones,” I said. “Can Libby come over for a play date?”

  “No,” Libby’s mother said. “She has to stay here today.”

  I was really disappointed.