“What’s it for?” I ask.
Quince smiles, taking the key and inspecting it like he’s never seen it before, but I get the feeling he has. “A Toyota Corolla, if I had to guess.”
Aunt Rachel nods.
“A car?” I gasp.
“Your father and I agreed,” she says, “that you will need your own transportation once you begin college.”
If I begin college, I almost say. The pressure of tomorrow’s SATs is enough to make me think I’ll never get accepted.
But today is a celebration, and I refuse to dwell on the negative. And besides . . . I have a car!
“A car! It’s an amazing gift, Aunt Rachel,” I say. I wrap her in a tight hug. “I just hope I can learn how to drive.”
“I’ll teach you,” Quince says.
I raise my brows. “Just like you’re teaching me to ride Princess?”
When I came back to Seaview, he promised to teach me to ride his motorcycle. Let’s just say that the couple lessons we’ve had have ended roughly. No blood, but a few scratches—on both me and Princess. One more trip into the garbage cans, and Quince will rescind his promise to teach me.
“By the time I’m done with you,” he says, “you’ll drive like a NASCAR champ.”
I grin back at him. If anyone can teach me how to handle a car, it’s Quince.
I don’t see how this surprise party could get any better.
At the other end of the table, Tellin shoves back in his chair and stands.
“I regret to say I have no gift for the birthday girl,” he says. Reaching for his water glass, he continues, “So I would like to offer a toast instead.”
Everyone else stands and lifts their glasses as Tellin speaks. I stand, too, because I’m not sure what else to do.
“To my guppyhood friend,” he says. “The princess of our hearts. A kind and generous and openhearted person who would give up anything and everything to be with the one she loves.” He flicks me an unreadable look. “Even her title. To Lily.”
He lifts his glass, and everyone else says, “To Lily,” and follows suit.
Everyone except me. And Quince.
They’ve missed the subtle shark attack Tellin lobbed into the room.
“What does he mean?” Quince demands.
I swallow hard. “About what?”
I throw Tellin a glare—does he know what he’s done?—but he just smiles and lowers himself back into his chair. He knows exactly what is about to happen. This is all part of his plan, part of his proposal.
“You know what,” Quince says, his voice deceptively calm. “Giving up your title? He’s not serious.”
“Quince,” I say, glancing around at the eager eyes watching the shipwreck in progress, “can we talk about this late—”
“What does he mean, Lily?” His voice has taken on that tone that says, Tell me the truth right now or I’m walking.
“By Thalassinian law,” I begin, “any royal princess who is not bonded by her eighteenth birthday . . .” It’s hard to say this out loud, but I have to. “Loses her title and her place in the succession.”
Quince’s Caribbean blue eyes bore into me, his brows drawn together in a look of utter confusion. He shakes his head, like this can’t possibly make sense.
“As of midnight on Tuesday,” I explain, “I will no longer be Thalassinia’s future queen.”
Everyone still standing drops into their chairs, except Quince and me, accompanied by various sighs and gasps. Doe already knew this, of course, but it’s a shocker to the rest of the party.
The look in Quince’s eyes could melt a hole in the hull of a battleship.
He’s about to say something when the waiter pops in and asks, “Are we ready for cake?”
I don’t take my eyes off Quince, who closes his eyes, shakes his head, and drops back into his chair. Whatever argument we’re about to have isn’t over, but I get the feeling he doesn’t want to ruin the party. At least not for everyone else.
“Yes,” Aunt Rachel says with forced cheerfulness. “Now would be an excellent time for cake.”
I slowly lower into my chair, not bothering to pretend I don’t know why Quince is upset. This is the one teeny-tiny part of the staying-on-land bargain that I’ve neglected to mention. I was going to wait until after my birthday, until after Tuesday and the ritual was done, before telling him all about it. Partly because this is the reaction I expected. Partly because the decision is a personal one. Mine and mine alone.
Thanks a lot, Tellin. I throw a glare his way just as the lights in the room go dark and the waiter, followed by the hostess and two sushi chefs, walks in with a candlelit birthday cake.
As everyone breaks into a chorus of “Happy Birthday,” I try to enjoy the moment. To enjoy celebrating my eighteenth year with my closest land friends and family. But even though he’s forcing out the words, all I feel is anger rolling off Quince, in tsunami-sized waves.
“Make a wish,” Aunt Rachel says.
I take one look at the round white cake, decorated with blue-and-green waves and the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LILY, and tears fill my eyes. Closing them quickly before anyone notices, I suck in a breath, quickly compose my wish, and blow.
When I open my eyes, the candles are smoking and everyone is clapping. Everyone but Quince.
There’s still hope for my wish, though. Because I didn’t wish for something as fleeting as for Quince to not be mad at me. I wasn’t about to waste the potential birthday magic on something that can be solved with a very long conver-sation.
No, I’ve been thinking about my wish a lot in the last couple weeks, preparing for this moment. In the end, it wasn’t hard to figure out what I really wanted.
My wish is for Quince to be able to return to Thalassinia with me one day.
Let’s hope birthday-cake magic has some bite.
Aunt Rachel drives me home in my car—my car!—because I’m in no state for a driving lesson. Between the pending fight with Quince, tomorrow’s SATs, my interview, and the truth of the situation behind Tellin’s news flash (aka un-becoming a princess), I’m a mess of nerves and nausea.
“It’s a standard transmission,” Aunt Rachel explains, moving the big stick in the middle of the car as we pull into our driveway, “which might take some extra getting used to, but it’s better in the long run.”
I nod absently, but my mind is on Quince. He’s leaning against the front porch of his house, waiting for me, looking full-on rebel boy in his beaten-up jeans, snug-but-not-too-tight black T-shirt, and lovingly scuffed biker boots. He is so breathtakingly handsome that I don’t want to get out of the car and ruin the image.
Even in the faint glow of streetlamps, through the drizzling rain, from a moving car, I can read the tension in his shoulders.
I am such an idiot. Why didn’t I tell him the truth before? I never lied exactly, I just neglected to tell him something. Something kinda big, true, but it’s my decision. I knew what I was signing up for.
Still, we’re supposed to be partners in this relationship. We’re supposed to share everything, and I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain. I’m about to pay the price for that.
Aunt Rachel puts the car in park and shuts it off.
“I’ll be inside in a little while,” I say. As I reluctantly push open the passenger door, I whisper, “I hope.”
“Be understanding,” she advises. “This was a big piece of news, and he probably feels a little blindsided.”
“I know.” Boy, do I know.
She pats me on the thigh in encouragement, and then I climb out of the car, into the drizzle. I straighten my shoulders, deciding to let him have the first words in this discussion. It won’t help for me to begin all defensive and full of excuses.
I round the corner of his house to find he hasn’t moved. He is staring, unseeing, at the mailbox at the end of his front walk, oblivious to the rain. I don’t say a word, just take the spot next to him on the porch rail and lean back. Waiting.
; I don’t have to wait long.
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
His voice is far more calm than I’d expected.
Deciding that honesty is the best possible path at this point, I admit, “I don’t know.”
He forces a laugh. “You don’t know?”
“If it came up,” I explain, “I would have told you. After my birthday, probably. But, truthfully, I didn’t think it was any of your concern.”
“None of my concern?” he roars. “You’re planning on giving up your royal future for me, and you think it’s none of my concern?”
“My decision,” I argue, “was not entirely about you. It’s also about my mom, about the human heritage that I’m only just beginning to understand.”
I sense his mood softening at the mention of my mom. Even though his dad’s a deadbeat, he still has both parents around, so he’s extra sympathetic about my losing her before I even knew her.
“And also about Aunt Rachel and Shannen,” I continue. “And about me. About having choices in my life, my future, and wanting more than a lifetime of negotiations and decrees and royal events and—”
“Bull.” He crosses his arms over his chest, and I have to stop myself from wrapping my hands around one well-developed biceps. “You’re giving up too much,” he says. “Just because you think all that stuff sounds boring right now doesn’t mean it always will. You’re too young to make that kind of permanent decision.”
I take a deep breath. “You were ready to make that decision for yourself.”
When we were bonded and my feelings for him were just beginning, he begged me to preserve the bond, because he had already loved me for so long. Even when I told him what he would be giving up—his future on land, being there for his mom, everything he had always known—he still wanted to go through with it.
He was willing to sacrifice everything for me. But he doesn’t want me to do the same for him.
“That’s different,” he argues.
“How?” I demand, pushing away from the porch and moving into his line of sight. The rain is soaking my hair, and I shove it behind my ears to keep it from sticking to my face. “You were ready to give up everything for the complete unknown of the ocean and an uncertain future with me. I’ve already been living on land for almost four years, so I know what I’m getting into up here.” I step close and rest my palms on his forearms. “And I know what I’m getting into with you.”
For a moment I think he’s going to relent, admit to being foolish, and take me in his arms for some makeup making out. But I sense the instant his mood shifts. Back to anger.
“You’re being a fool,” he barks. “I won’t let you give up your world, your royal future, for me.”
He uncrosses his arms, dislodging my hands and breaking our point of contact. Without another word, he grabs his leather jacket off the railing, shoves away from the porch, and heads around to the driveway between our houses.
I follow, my flip-flops slipping on the wet grass, seriously worried for the first time. He’s pushing me away as hard as he can.
“Why?” I shout, following him up the gravel path. “What’s the difference if you make the sacrifice or I do? The end result is the same.”
He doesn’t answer as he shrugs into his jacket. He grabs the helmet hanging from his motorcycle handlebars and slips it in place over his head.
“It’s different,” he finally says as he buckles the strap into place, “because you’re worth it.”
“And you’re not?”
“I’m not.”
He turns the key, and Princess roars to life. Even as the sound assaults my ears, I can’t move. My eyes fill with tears, and blinking only seems to make it worse. At least he can’t see them in the rain.
How can he say that? How can he think that? Does he really think so little of himself that he can’t imagine anyone making a sacrifice for him? My heart starts breaking into tiny little pieces, breaking for him.
Suddenly I don’t care anymore about the fight or my renunciation or Tellin’s proposal or anything except wanting him to realize how exceptional he is.
“You’re wrong,” I shout over Princess’s muffler. “You’re more than worth—”
“Why is Tellin here?”
“What?” I ask, startled by the change of subject.
“He’s not just here for a visit, Lily.” Quince refuses to look at me. “Why is he really here?”
I take a deep breath and wipe the water off my face. There’s no way I’m going to lie to him. Not now, not ever again. My lie of omission is already costing me too much.
“He wants to bond with me,” I yell. “In name only, a bond of convenience. So I can become crown princess and eventually queen. So he and I can rule together.”
Quince sits silent, staring down at the gray and white gravel, the thunderous roar of his motorcycle echoing between our houses. I don’t think I’m breathing. Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, he turns to face me.
“Bond with Tellin,” he says, soft but hard, and somehow I hear every word despite the noise. “Stay a princess. Become a queen.” He starts backing down the driveway, and I have to step back to protect my bare toes. “Forget about me.”
I can only manage to shake my head as he increases his speed, zipping down the driveway, into the street, and then, shifting into gear, speeding out into the night. I race down the gravel path, reaching the sidewalk just as Quince dis-appears around the corner at the next intersection.
I’m not sure how long I stand there, letting the rain soak me to the core, staring at the spot where he disappeared from view. Eventually the drizzle fades into a mist and then stops entirely. My skin prickles with eelflesh in the evening chill. The tears streaming down my cheeks dry into sad streaks. I’m not sure I blink at all until I feel a pair of soft hands on my shoulders.
“It’s time to come in, dear,” Aunt Rachel says. “You need your rest for tomorrow.”
I feel myself nod, but everything else is numb. Sometime later I realize I’m in bed, wide-awake and staring at the ceiling. I’m not sure what upsets me more: the fact that Quince left me, or the fact that he thinks so poorly of himself that he felt the need to.
One thing is certain. I can’t possibly follow his instructions. Nothing on earth will ever make me forget about him.
Chapter 13
For this section of the test you may use a calculator,” the SAT administrator explains, reading from the script she has to recite before each part of the test.
I reach down into my bag and pull out Shannen’s birthday present. As the administrator drones on, thoughts of Quince and Tellin and Doe and Brody and my future and my past keep trying to push their way into my brain, but I shove them away. I have to. When the test is over, I can soak in my worries. Until then, I need to maintain my focus. Whatever the future brings, I want to have choices. Can’t have choices on land without college.
“You may open your test booklet to the math section. You have twenty-five minutes to complete this section. You may begin.”
Forcing all thoughts beyond the world contained in the packet of papers before me to disappear, I tell myself I exist only for math. Groan. But every time I start to read a question, it’s like the words begin to swim around. It takes me a few questions to realize it’s because my eyes are swimming with tears. How am I ever going to do decently on the test if I can’t even read the questions?
When the administrator instructs us to put our pencils down almost half an hour later, I’ve managed to finish almost all of the questions. I have serious doubts that I even read them correctly, let alone answered them with any degree of success. And to be honest, I don’t really care. In the scale of things, my fight with Quince—one that might not be easily resolved—seems far more important than a single test. There will be other tests. There can never be another Quince.
After two breaks and another three equally incomplete test sections, the administrator finally announces that the test is ov
er.
Cheers go up around the room, but all I can do is slump my shoulders—in relief and in anticipation of what I have to face beyond the cafeteria doors.
Shannen is waiting for me in the parking lot when I step out into the bright sun. Yesterday’s rain is gone without a trace. Since I haven’t magically learned how to drive overnight, she brought me to school early this morning and promised to pick me up after.
“So . . . ,” she says. “How’d it go?”
“Froggin’ crabtastic,” I answer with a shrug.
“I’m sure you did fine.” She slides into the driver’s seat and starts the car. “Should we go celebrate?”
As if I’m in the mood to celebrate anything. I’m not even in the mood to talk. I just want to go home and see if Quince is there so we can work through this. I have to believe that we can. The alternative is unacceptable.
But I have an unavoidable responsibility to take care of first.
I shake my head as I drop into the passenger seat. “Can’t.”
“Plans?”
I heave a sigh at the thought of what I have to do. It’s not the most important thing to me at the moment, but it’s time sensitive.
“Tonight is the new moon,” I explain. “If I don’t separate Doe and Brody before moonrise, their bond will become permanent.”
A permanently bonded Doe and Brody couldn’t be good for anyone.
“How do you do that?” Shannen asks. “Separate them, I mean.”
“Daddy gave me the power to perform the ritual.” I tug at the seat belt where it rubs against my neck. “All I have to do is say the magic words and get the happy couple to sign the separation papers.”
“No big, then.”
“Nope,” I agree. “No big.”
As we drive the few blocks from school to my house in silence, I keep thinking about the next thing on my list of worries. Making up with Quince. This isn’t our first fight—heck, we’ve been fighting since long before we started going out—but this one feels more real. More significant. I don’t want it to linger any longer than necessary.
“How about lunch tomorrow?” Shannen asks, pulling her car to a stop at the end of my sidewalk. “Before you head home for your birthday celebration.”
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