by Anna Davies
“You’re sending me to rehab?” Miranda asked in disbelief. A knot of rage was forming in her stomach, threatening to explode. “Why? I wasn’t drinking on the boat. It was an accident.” Miranda said helplessly.
“Not rehab. Just a place where you can really focus on your, ah, emotional well-being in a way that will be helpful to you and your family,” Headmistress Wyar said smoothly.
“It’s a good idea, Miranda. It’s clear you’re miserable. I can’t lose you, too,” Eleanor said. “You’ll go to Arizona,” she decided.
“Well, we’ll leave you all to figure everything out, and we’re here when you need us. We’re happy to write recommendations when the time comes for you to apply to college. And we wish you good luck,” Headmistress Wyar said, standing up and offering her hand to Miranda, clearly relieved the conversation was over.
Miranda glared up at Headmistress Wyar, rage bubbling inside her, threatening to spill over. “So that’s it. I’m no longer your problem? How many parents paid to have me kicked out?” Miranda hissed.
“Now, it’s not like that,” Dr. Carlson began.
“Then what’s it like? Because I didn’t ask for any of this,” Miranda said.
“It’s the best decision,” Eleanor said firmly, clasping her hands in her lap and turning toward Headmistress Wyar. “As you know, I’m raising Teddy and Miranda by myself, and I’m in over my head. I need Miranda to be safe,” she added. “You’ll understand, princess,” Eleanor said, using the pet name she hadn’t called Miranda in years.
Miranda gazed at Eleanor with fury. She was not a princess. She was the witch who cursed an entire family, an entire community.
“Fine,” Miranda said simply. Fine.
“Really, darling?” Eleanor asked in surprise.
“Yes,” Miranda said, standing up and walking out of the guidance office, not bothering to say good-bye to Dr. Carlson or Headmistress Wyar. She didn’t bother to hold the door open for her grandmother, allowing the door to click closed with a thud. She stood outside, gulping the crisp fall air. It was probably for the best. She needed to get away from this island, from whatever magic or curse had been laid upon her, to a place where mermen or betwixtmen didn’t exist and friends didn’t die and people didn’t get blamed for things that they had no control over.
“Thank you,” Eleanor said, sidling up to her. Her cheeks had reddened into two bright red circles on her face, and her hair was askew under her hat. “I was worried you’d make a scene. You really surprised me.”
“I want to go now,” Miranda said.
Eleanor pursed her lips. “Well, darling, we have the Ferries benefit tomorrow night. It wouldn’t look right if you weren’t there. I think Sunday would be ideal. It would give you time to pack your things, to say good-bye . . . no one’s kicking you out.”
“Right,” Miranda exhaled. “I need to go home,” she said.
“Of course. That’s where we’re going. Roger’s just getting the car.”
“I’d just like to apologize to Coral before the party,” Miranda said dully. She’d felt bad about the way she’d stormed off the Sephie yesterday, and wanted Coral to know that she wasn’t angry. Maybe it had been Coral’s roundabout way of explaining that Christian wasn’t to be trusted. And she’d been right.
“Of course,” Eleanor murmured as Roger drove up to the curb. Taking Miranda’s hand, Eleanor wordlessly led her to the car as if she were a small child.
“CORAL! ARE YOU HERE?”
“Miranda,” Coral said, emerging from the winding staircase that led to the upper deck. “How are you? It’s lovely to see you. I’m passing out busy trying to prepare for the benefit tomorrow, and I welcome any excuse to take a break . . .” She trailed off, noticing Miranda’s blotchy face and pained expression. “What’s the matter?”
“I came to say good-bye,” Miranda said in a burst of words. “I’m being sent to Arizona,” she added.
The sky rumbled, and a few fat drops of rain fell, splashing on the deck.
Coral smiled. “Shall we go downstairs?” she asked. Miranda nodded.
Coral led Miranda to the living quarters of the ship. In contrast to the deck, which had seemed so expansive, the actual living quarters were cozy. The furniture was heavy, dark wood and blue velvet coverings, and Miranda felt like she’d taken a step back in time. None of the surroundings matched Coral’s whimsical, bohemian personality. The room felt stuffy, and Miranda found herself having a difficult time catching her breath.
“Are you okay?” Coral asked, gazing at her intently.
“Yes,” Miranda choked. The sensation in her throat reminded her of the accident, when she’d gasp for air and suck in water. She held her hand on her sternum and concentrated on taking deep breaths. Coral sank down next to her, her hand on her shoulder, watching with a concerned expression.
“Sorry,” Miranda shook her head, trying to shake away the sensation, which had now dissipated. Had she imagined it? “I had a rough day,” she added, gazing down at her lap. Her legs were covered with goose flesh. She hadn’t realized until then how cold she was.
“Tell me about it. And I’m so glad you came to me. I know you left abruptly yesterday and I was worried I was too harsh about that boy from the beach. It’s just that I’d hate to see someone hurt you,” Coral said.
“You were right about Christian. I should have realized,” Miranda said.
“What should you have realized?” Coral interjected sharply.
Her violet eyes seemed to be glowing and Miranda felt her blood turn to ice. Did Coral know Christian’s secret, too? But if so, how . . .?
“Just . . . he’s not good for me,” Miranda said. She couldn’t tell Coral everything about him saying he was a betwixtman. Even if Miranda was beginning to believe it, she still couldn’t make sense of it. And at the end of the day, how much did it really matter? She was going away, and she’d never have to think about it again. Arizona definitely didn’t have betwixtmen or whatever.
Coral nodded sagely. “I can see why. From everything you’ve told me about him he sounds dangerous. No family. Living on the beach. Clearly obsessed with you. . . .” Coral shook her head. “What you need is someone safe. Someone who you can count on.”
Miranda nodded. “But I’ve never felt more safe than when I’m with him,” she said, half to herself.
“Why? Just because he keeps telling you he saved you?
“You can’t believe it, can you? From all you’ve told me, it simply doesn’t seem possible. It seems like maybe he was saying it because he wished it were true.”
“Or maybe it is true,” Miranda realized, glaring at Coral. Who was she, anyway, to suddenly come in and think she knew everything about the island?
“I’m leaving,” Miranda said. She felt claustrophobic, as if the room was about to close in on her. Her heart was thumping in her chest. She knew that she needed to find Christian before it was too late.
“No! Stay!” Coral persuaded, edging closer to her on the loveseat. “I didn’t mean anything by it, it was just talk. I’m not one to sugarcoat things. I’m also not one to put my head in the sand and ignore reality. That boy is bad for you,” Coral said, her violet eyes gleaming.
“I need to go,” Miranda said firmly, and she ran up the stairs, down the ramp, and toward Bloody Point. She needed to see Christian.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, darling!” Coral yelled behind her. It sounded more like a threat than a promise.
By the time Miranda got to the Point, the rain had turned into a full-fledged storm. The beach was lit by a greenish glow, courtesy of the lightning that crackled in the gray air. The trees were swaying wildly in the wind.
“Christian?” Miranda called, the wind whipping her hair around her face. “Christian!” She called, louder this time, hoping against hope he was somewhere nearby. And then, she saw a figure emerge from underneath the water.
Christian. He was wearing the same cargoes as before, although he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
His muscles rippled under his sparkly skin. Miranda couldn’t stop staring. He’d come from the water.
“Miranda!” he called, running from the waves, up the shore, and toward her. Miranda felt frozen in place, a million thoughts running through her head. It couldn’t be real, and yet . . .
He reached her and stopped short, as if he were about to embrace her, and then thought the better of it.
“I’m so sorry.” She shivered, hating the distance between them, wanting him to know that it was okay if he wanted to hug her, but not knowing if that was what he wanted. “I’m sorry,” she said again, covering her eyes with her hands, a habit left over from toddlerhood when the real world got just too overwhelming. But then, he pried her hands off her eyes and looked down at her. Without waiting for permission, he leaned down and kissed her.
Miranda kissed him back, tentatively at first. So much was wrong, her whole life was falling apart, and she had no idea what was real or what wasn’t, who was crazy or who wasn’t, but in this moment, the kiss was all she needed to remind herself that despite everything, she was alive. And if she was alive, she had to be okay.
Christian pulled away first. “I brought you something,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a familiar gold chain, its charm now badly tarnished. “It’s yours. I thought if I showed it to you, then you’d know . . . but then I thought that you’d think I stole it . . . and I guess I did, and I don’t even know what to think, except this is yours, and I kept it, and I’m sorry,” he said.
“Thanks,” Miranda took the chain from him. Forever and a day was engraved in tiny script on one side of the heart; the second half to the bedtime good night she and her mother had always said to each other. And, she realized for the first time, probably what Eleanor had said to her mother. Her heart clenched in sadness at all that she’d lost.
“I didn’t mean to take it,” Christian said.
“I’m glad you had it,” Miranda said finally. “I know you were there that night. And even though I don’t really understand, I believe you. I’m sorry I freaked.”
She held out her palm, but instead of dropping the necklace in her hand, Christian reached toward Miranda and fastened it around her neck.
A crack of thunder sounded, and Christian and Miranda both stared at each other. Rain was pelting harder and harder on the beach and the sky was full of dark clouds. “We need to go,” Christian said suddenly.
“But . . .”
“You’re not safe. I’ll explain later. But right now, we need to go,” Christian said, more insistently.
“I’m not safe?” Miranda asked. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll explain once we get away from the beach. It’s not safe here.”
“Okay,” Miranda said uncertainly. Another crack of thunder sounded.
“Let’s go,” Christian said urgently, glancing over his shoulder as if they were being watched.
“Okay,” Miranda whimpered, grabbing his hand and half dragging him through the palmetto trees, past the woods, and onto the dirt-paved road. The only place to go was back to her house, a full three miles away. It would be easy if she were in soccer shape, but that distance was daunting with the storm and with Christian in tow.
The roads were practically empty, and the drooping trees, already starting to lose their leaves, made it feel like they were strangers in some exotic land.
“Where are we going?” Christian yelled breathlessly.
“Just follow me,” Miranda urged. Hopefully, they’d be able to sneak into the pool house and then . . . well, she didn’t know what would happen then. She didn’t know what to think. Her brain and her feet were working at odds with each other. She was running on instinct, dodging into the line of trees whenever she saw headlights. She knew they were in danger, somehow, but she didn’t want to ask. Christian seemed different than he had before. It was more than him being a merman or a betwixtman or whatever he said he was, it was something in his eyes, or in the ferocious way he kissed. It was as if he’d succumbed to something.
Finally, the house came into view.
“Shhh,” Miranda whispered forcefully. “We have to be so quiet.” Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she was sure that Eleanor could hear it from here. She hated what her life had become.
She tiptoed around the back and gently turned the knob of the door to the pool house. The door clicked open and Miranda blinked in the semi-darkness. The entryway smelled like laundry detergent, mothballs, and moldy Fun Noodles from when she and Teddy were in elementary school. Eleanor never used it, and it had become a de facto clubhouse and party room for Teddy and Miranda. But neither of them had been in it since the accident.
A layer of dust covered the floor, as well as Miranda’s soccer uniform, pressed and ready for the showcase tournament. Miranda purposely looked away. She was not going to think about the past right now.
ONE MORE DAY.
It was odd, how humans felt safe and secure living in what was, essentially, a box. Why did they need to completely cut themselves off from the elements? It was so much better to be surrounded by air and water, to realize that there was a whole world around you. Cooped up underneath a roof, he felt claustrophobic, like he couldn’t breathe. It was hard to remember to keep doing it, the inhalation and exhalation seemed to take up most of his concentration and make him feel a curious mixture of dizzy and exhausted. But he knew that here, they were safe, at least for the moment.
Until he’d Surfaced, he had no concept of what a day even was—Down Below, there was simply a shifting of shadows, a change of the light, no subdivided minutes and hours. He could see the dependence on the clock, on the ticking down of each second as a tool humans used to pretend they had control over time.
Right now, Christian didn’t feel like he had control over anything. Not his lungs. Not the night. Not his fate.
Back when he and Valentine were children, they would gather up their schoolmates and play War of the Worlds, between each other, assigning each other roles: Deva, mermaid, harpy, faery, betwixtman, phynnerdee, human. No matter what, no kid ever willingly chose to be a human. That role was always bestowed upon the slowest, chubbiest, most awkward merfolk in the group.
When they played a human, they’d have to close their eyes, hide behind one of the many stalagmites that covered the kingdom floor, and count slowly to one hundred. Only then were they allowed to search for the other children, who were supposed to find hiding spaces among the coral, grottoes, and seaweed that abundantly covered the kingdom. Usually, though, they all hid in a cavern together and laughed at the misfortune of the merman who was stuck playing the human.
The game would often end in tears and for a brief moment, when Christian was in year ten, it had been banned by Sephie. Children who played it were threatened with having their Surfacing taken away. Of course, the ban had been lifted when even the elders balked at punishing children who were playing a game they’d so enjoyed in their youth.
Illegal or not, Christian felt he was caught in the game all over again. And any way he looked at it, whether they were Up Above or bound by the spell of Down Below, it seemed he and Miranda were bound to lose.
“UPSTAIRS,” MIRANDA DIRECTED, DRAGGING CHRISTIAN UP THE carpeted winding staircase to the guest room. A clap of thunder sounded, rattling the windows.
It was just as she’d left it, complete with a half-drunk bottle of orange soda on the desk that Fletch must have left the last time they hung out. A Fiske Guide to Colleges was open on the bed, along with a legal pad full of pro/con lists for Stanford, UNC, and Michigan. It all felt like a lifetime ago. Miranda noticed Christian looking around at the walls, which were now devoid of any pictures. It was better that way. It was a chance for her to focus on the future, not the past. But Christian seemed nervous. He sat on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily.
“What’s wrong? What did you mean about not being safe? It wasn’t the storm,” Miranda realized.
Christian shook his head. “We coul
dn’t be by the water. And I don’t think that was a natural storm. Sephie . . .”
“Sephie?” Miranda parroted, remembering the name of Coral’s boat. “What about it?”
All of a sudden, Miranda heard the wail of sirens and saw red patches of light dancing across the walls. She and Christian locked eyes.
“Hide!” she whispered.
“Wait!” Christian said urgently. “You need to listen. Sephie is . . .”
“Shh!” Miranda hissed, swinging open the closet door. She heard the sound of the cars parking on gravel, heavy footsteps coming up the slate walk. “Be quiet,” she added, pressing her hand against his mouth.
“No, Miranda, please!”
“Shhh!” She hissed again, closing the door just as light flooded upstairs.
“Anyone in here?” a gruff voice yelled.
“I’m sleeping!” Miranda yelled, running a hand through her hair and trying to look tired and out of it, even though she was still wearing her drenched school uniform.
“She’s here!” Miranda recognized Eleanor’s voice and felt her stomach lurch.
Two officers entered the tiny room, their expressions annoyed. One had white hair and arms crossed over his chest, as if he had better things to do than handle a teen runaway situation, which was surely what they thought this was. His nametag read OFFICER LANE.
The other was lanky, and Miranda recognized him as Officer Beecher, the one who came to the hospital to question her about the accident. Over and over again, he’d asked what had happened in the moments before the wreck. Each time, Miranda had told him the same story: the joking, the crab, the fact she hadn’t been drinking, and no, she didn’t keep track of who had been.
