Suppressed: A Little Mermaid Retelling

by Wendi Wilson

  As he falls into step beside me, I say, “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You don’t know me. It’s easier for people like you to assume the worst.”

  “People like me?” I say, my hackles rising once more. “What do you mean people like me?”

  “Santa Lorelei Island people,” he says, as if he’s discussing the weather and hadn’t just insulted me. “Closed minded, stuck up, rich people.”

  We reach his driveway, and he turns off, walking away without another word as I bristle with indignation. I start to retort, scream at him that I am not closed minded, stuck up, or rich. That last bit cools me like a bucket of ice water over my head. I start walking, picking up the pace until I’m in a near run.

  Everyone at school knows I’m nothing more than a servant to Ms. Coraline. She makes a point to blab around town about her housemaid and her ungrateful brat of a daughter. That’s why I don’t have any friends other than Ana. She’s the only one who would ever take a chance on me, getting to know me rather than judging me on my status as “the help.”

  I slow to a walk as I head onto Ms. Coraline’s driveway. I realize Bryce is absolutely right in his assessment of the people on this island. They are closed minded and stuck up. They are definitely rich. I can’t really fault him for lumping me in with the rest. Or maybe I can. He is being closed minded by assuming I’m rich and haughty. Screw him. I’m over it.

  I want nothing more than to slam through the front door and bang it closed so hard Bryce will hear it all the way at the McCormick place, but I know better. Ms. Coraline is here somewhere, and I have to be careful or she’ll put me to work. I close the door gently behind me, then tiptoe up the stairs to my room.

  Once my bedroom door is closed behind me, I sigh a breath of relief. I pull open my backpack and sit on my bed, pulling out my homework. If I get it all done now, I’ll have time for a swim later. I crack open my math book and start reading the problems but the words blur and I can’t concentrate.

  The vision of catching Bryce checking out my butt in the office is playing on a loop in my head. I just don’t get it. I would think it meant he liked what he saw, but his words and actions proved otherwise. He was distant and outright rude to me for most of the day.

  I swipe my book off of my lap and stand, walking over to the mirror on the back of my closet door. I turn and, lifting up the back of my flannel, twist my head to see what I can of my backside. It’s just as big and round as it always has been. I groan and walk back to my bed. Ana always tells me she’d kill for my butt because hers is as flat as an ironing board. I would switch with her in a heartbeat. Trying to find jeans that don’t accentuate its gargantuan size is nearly impossible.

  Thinking of Ana, I wonder why she wasn’t at school. I would call her but I don’t have a cell phone. We can’t afford it on mom’s measly pay, and asking Ms. Coraline to use the house phone is out of the question. The one time I made that mistake, she laughed and told me phone privileges were not meant for the servants. God, I hate her. So much.

  Knowing I won’t find out about Ana until I see her, I decide to skip the rest of my homework and head out for a swim. I’m not getting anything done anyway. I can’t concentrate, and I need to clear my head.

  I undress and quickly slip on my favorite teal one piece. It has a thin skirt that helps to hide most of my butt. It makes me feel more secure even though I know no one will be down at the beach. There’s no access, except from the houses, which is only ours and the McCormick place.

  I pause just outside my door and huff. I guess I should start referring to it as the Howell place now. My heart starts to race. What if he’s down there? Maybe I shouldn’t go. It would ruin my swim if he were there, taunting me with that cryptic smile.

  Steeling my spine, I close my door and walk quietly down the stairs. I refuse to let the thought of that boy ruin my one joy. If I allow the possibility of him showing up dictate my swims, I’d never go in the ocean again. That’s unacceptable.

  I grab a towel from the rack on the back porch, wrap it around my waist, and head down the wooden staircase that leads to the beach. A chilly breeze washes over me, bringing with it the scent of the sea and the sand. I breathe deeply, centering myself. This is my happy place- the one place where I can be myself. No pretenses.

  I trudge through the sand, its cold temperature a balm to my bare feet. It’s mid-November, so the water would probably be freezing to, well, everyone. The Pacific never gets very warm to start with but by this time of year it’s downright arctic. The cold doesn’t affect me, though. I don’t even notice the chill of the water as I drop my towel and wade out as fast as I can. As soon as I hit thigh-depth, I dive forward and swim out under the waves.

  I cut through the water like a fish, swimming as far out as I can last before coming up for air. As my head breaks the surface, I tread water and look back toward the shore. I’ve made it farther than usual. Ms. Coraline’s house looks like a doll house on a shelf from here. I smile. I love it when I beat my personal best.

  I stretch out and start a slow breast stroke, letting my muscles lengthen and pull me through the water. After what I think is a mile, I turn in the water and head back in the other direction. I feel wonderful, the water chilling my skin as I dive under once more. When I come up for air again, I look and see that I’m back near the house. I flip and start a backstroke toward shore.

  When the water is shallow enough, I stand and dunk my head backwards beneath the waves to slick my hair back. I turn and trudge toward shore, smiling at the freedom the ocean gives me. When I get close to the line where the waves are breaking, movement catches my eye. I look to the right where the old McCormick place stands tall and looming past a thicket of trees.

  Standing on the back deck is a figure. I squint my eyes in the fading sun but I can’t make out any features. I get to the edge of the water and walk quickly toward my towel, reaching down to grab it and wrap it quickly around my torso. Shading my eyes with my hand, I look over at the neighbor’s deck once more. It’s empty. Whoever was there, watching me, is now gone.

  Chapter Three

  Dinner is a quiet affair. My mother and I eat at a small table in the kitchen after she serves Ms. Coraline in the main dining room. Mom is exhausted and not very talkative. She makes a half-hearted attempt to ask me about my day but after a few noncommittal shrugs from me, she falls into silence. I help her clean the kitchen before heading up to my room.

  I grab my books, plug earbuds into my ears, and sit on my bed to finish my homework. I finish quickly, the music keeping my mind free of distractions. I pack everything away, turn my music off and get ready for bed. Turning off the light, I slide beneath the covers, my muscles wonderfully tired from my swim.

  My mind wanders back to the figure I saw watching me. I wonder if it was Bryce, then quickly shrug off the thought. He has no interest in me. There would be no reason for him to spy on me like that. Maybe it was one of his parents getting some air. Whoever it was probably didn’t even see me. I drift off with these thoughts and have a deep, dreamless sleep.

  I wake to my alarm, the blaring noise jerking me awake. I reach for the snooze button to stop the offensive sound. It’s half past five, time to get up and start my chores. With a groan, I rise and head for the shower.

  “Kailani! Where is the cream? I need cream for my tea!”

  Ms. Coraline’s voice grates on my nerves as she bellows from the parlor where she takes her morning tea. I flinch, silently berating myself for forgetting the cream. It’s never a pleasure, serving her, but when I mess up, it’s unbearable. She’s a nasty old witch.

  I walk quickly from the dining room where I was polishing the wooden table. My mom gives me a look as she hands me the cream. I take it and quickly walk from the room before she can start in on me. I don’t know which is the worse of two evils, Ms. Coraline’s reprimands or my mother’s disappointed facial expression.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I say, setting th
e cream on her tea service tray.

  “Ungrateful chit,” she sneers. “I take you in, let you live in my home, and this is what I get? An idiot who can’t even remember simple instructions?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I repeat.

  She dismisses me with a snarl, and I run quickly from the room. My mom meets me in the hall and tries to place a comforting hand on my shoulder. I jerk away and stalk back into the dining room. I scrub the table furiously, taking my frustration out on the already gleaming wood surface.

  I can’t understand why my mom makes us stay here. Ms. Coraline is horrible to both of us. She treats us like trash and yet, my mom stays, refusing to try to find another job in town. Anything, and I do mean anything, would be better than this. She’s steadfast though, that this is where we need to be, and she won’t explain why.

  A hand puts pressure on mine, halting my furious motions. I glance up and meet my mother’s green, sympathetic eyes. She pulls me up and wraps me in her arms, cocooning me in her warmth and love. I feel like crying but resist the urge with a deep breath.

  “You go on up and get ready for school. I’ll finish here,” she whispers.

  All I can do is nod. I’m rendered mute by my efforts to hold back tears of frustration. I hustle from the room and up the stairs before Ms. Coraline decides to call me back for more berating. I close my bedroom door and mechanically prepare for school. I dress once more in jeans and a flannel, my standard wardrobe for this time of year.

  I walk into the bathroom and pull my hair from its bandana, letting the flaming red lengths tumble down past my shoulders. I start to throw it up into a pony tail but change my mind at the last minute. Running a wide toothed comb through it, I part it on the side and swoop the front over my forehead. The loose waves frame my face as I apply some lip gloss and pinch my cheeks.

  I stop and stare into my own eyes, wondering why I’m suddenly trying a little harder with my appearance. I’ve never cared before. My blue eyes narrow as I decide to stop fooling myself. I know why I’m doing it. It’s because of him.

  Disgusted with myself but leaving my hair as it is, I turn off the light and head downstairs with my backpack slung over one shoulder. It’s a little early but I decide to leave anyway. Maybe I won’t see him if I leave now. I can get to school and slip into my seat in the back of homeroom, all without having to endure that smirk on his stupid, handsome face.

  I reach the end of our drive and turn right, staring at the ground in front of me. As I pass the driveway of the Old McCormick, uh, Howell place, a set of hiking boots appears next to mine, falling into step beside me.

  Startled, I look up at Bryce’s face but he’s staring straight ahead, not looking at me. I decide two can play at that game and face forward without speaking. I try speeding up but he stays on pace with me without even looking like he’s putting in any effort. I slow down, he slows down.

  “Ugh, what do you want?”

  “Good morning to you, too, Kai.”

  I can’t bring myself to regret my snappish tone. This guy was downright rude to me all day yesterday and now, suddenly, he wants to be friendly? I don’t get it, and his mood swings are giving me whiplash. I grunt in response and refuse to comment. We walk in silence until we reach the school parking lot.

  “See you later,” he says, speeding his steps until he’s well ahead of me.

  I slowly shuffle my feet as I watch his retreating back. I can’t believe it. He’s made it pretty obvious that he doesn’t want to be seen with me. He heads straight for a cluster of kids near the entrance of the building, smiling and waving hello. Laughter erupts as I near. I glance up and see several girls shooting me sly looks. Apparently, I am the butt of some joke they’ve made.

  I push past them and stalk to class, fuming. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. The nasty remarks and gossip have never bothered me before. I hate all these people, so why would I care? Suddenly, this new guy shows up, and I get offended. I’m ashamed of myself.

  My mood brightens as Ana walks through the door and makes a beeline for the seat beside me. Her long black hair gleams under the florescent lights as she plops into the desk beside me with a sigh. Her black kohl eyeliner looks smeared, and her nose has a reddish tinge, standing out from the light brown skin of her face.

  “You okay?” I whisper.

  “Yeah,” she says, sighing again. “I was sick all weekend but my fever broke last night and Mama said I had to come back to school today. I still feel like crap, though.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

  Ana smiles. “What did I miss? You look pissed.”

  The sound of many feet captures our attention, and we both glance toward the front of the room. A gaggle of girls walks in, giggling like a bunch of morons. Directly behind them, he walks in. I look at Ana, whose face lights up as her mouth forms a silent “O.” She slides her eyes to me, silently asking the question.

  “New kid,” I whisper. “He’s a jerk.”

  Ana’s eyebrows shoot up, and I know why. I groan inwardly. I never notice anyone enough to have a strong reaction to them. I go with the flow, letting insults and innuendoes fly over my head. She can tell this guy has gotten under my skin. I blush and look down at my desk, pulling out my notebook as Mr. Jonas clears his throat to bring silence to the room.

  She pulls out a piece of scrap paper and writes furiously for a few seconds. Folding the paper into quarters, she flicks it in my direction, landing it on my desk with unerring accuracy. I quickly cup my hand over it, hiding it from view as Mr. Jonas glances around the room. Once he looks back at his laptop, I pull the note into my lap and open it.

  Lunch outside. I need the scoop.

  I glance at her and nod quickly, crumpling the paper into a ball and shoving it into the pocket of my jeans. Class drags on as we are instructed to pull out our math books and complete the exercises on page eighty-five.

  I’m distracted again, unable to concentrate as I sneak several glances at Bryce. He’s sitting beside Lanie Thompson today. He’s making his way through the entire female population of the junior class and, for some reason, it pisses me off. He really is a jerk.

  As I watch, his shoulders twitch and he rolls them. Before I can look away, he glances over his shoulder and catches my eye. Before I can react, his eyes are back on Lanie’s book, and I’m still staring at the back of his head. A flash of heat sears my body. He caught me staring. Again.

  Ana doesn’t bring up the subject of Bryce until we’re sitting at a picnic table under the large oak tree behind the school. I am picking at my chili mac, trying to decide if it’s actually edible when she slides onto the bench next to me and pushes my tray away. She hands me a sandwich from her lunch sack and pulls one out for herself.

  “Thanks.”

  She waves it off. “Forget about it. Now, spill.”

  I groan but she waves that off too. “There’s not much to tell,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat with the lie.

  “You’re lying,” she says, her face brightening. Her face breaks into a self-satisfied smile. “I knew it. You like him!”

  “Shh. Not so loud,” I whisper, glancing around to see if anyone overheard.

  “No one heard me, Chica. It’s just us. Tell me everything.”

  I take a deep breath and lean in close. I tell her everything, even the fact that I caught him staring at my butt. When I’m finished, she leans back, her lips pressed tight and her brow furrowed. She absentmindedly takes a bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly as I start to fidget.

  “Well?” I ask, finally losing patience.

  “It sounds like he’s trying to make you jealous.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Boys are absurd,” she shoots back. “He was checking you out, so he must’ve liked what he saw. If I know you, and I do, you probably did a good job of ignoring him and pretending like you weren’t interested. Wait,” she says, holding up a hand as I start to interrupt at that bit about pretending, “You can pl
ay it off with him but not me. You’re interested.” She pauses for effect, and when I hold my silence, she continues. “So, he thinks you’re playing hard to get.”

  “I don’t know, Ana. That seems a little farfetched to me.”

  “Why?”

  “I mean...” I pause, trying to think of the right words. “You’ve seen him! He could have any girl at this school. I’m pretty sure most of them have already made an offer. Why on earth would he want me?”

  Ana grunted. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

  I shake my head at her. Of course, I’ve looked in the mirror. I’m a red-headed, freckle-faced freak. I don’t have the expensive clothes or jewelry that the rest of the girls here have. I have a huge rear end, and not in a good way, despite what Ana tries to tell me. My figure is definitely not what you’d call “hourglass.” I’m not overweight but other than the round curve of my butt, I have the straight lines of a boy.

  “I have, and I know what he sees when he looks at me. A ginger with small boobs and a big butt.”

  Ana frowns at me. “I really wish you’d stop calling yourself that! Even if I agreed with that term- which I don’t- you don’t even fit the bill. Your hair is a gorgeous shade of deep red that women all over the world pay good money to achieve and that tiny grouping of freckles across your nose is adorable.”

  “Okay, okay. I give up. I’ll stop calling myself a ginger but I still refuse to believe that Bryce Howell wants me.”

  “But you admit that you do want him?”

  “Hey now, I never said that!”

  “But you didn’t deny it either.”

  I give her a pained look but hold my silence. Honestly, I don’t know what I think about him. He’s very handsome. There’s no denying that. He’s also arrogant and at most times outright rude. He makes me angry almost every time I see him but I am intrigued. I’d love to crack his shell and see what’s really inside.