Coral

by Sara Ella

  The empty space beside him said everything.

  It was no longer 100 percent about his mom. He liked the girl who related to him in a way no one else could. He liked her, emotions and mood swings and all, and he’d completely blown it.

  “Will you be needing this to go, dear?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yes,” he said. Because he needed to go.

  He’d fight for the girl who drove him insane and made him want to be better.

  He’d do the thing she’d described if it came down to it.

  Merrick would cross an ocean. He’d search land and sea.

  He would not abandon her now. He had pinky promised, after all.

  So he paid the bill and dove headfirst into what he was sure would end up as either (a) a complete disaster or (b) the best decision he ever made.

  As he headed for the beach, Merrick was certain he heard the latter calling his name.

  Thirty-One

  Coral

  What was it about being alone that grew stale after a spell?

  Loneliness—solitude—was an enchantment, the curse Coral had subjected herself to and suddenly longed to break.

  “True love makes life, even a broken one, worth fighting for.”

  Coral heard her oldest sister’s words as if she were sitting in the sand beside her. She missed her desperately. Some days a new wave of grief would fold over Coral, pulling her into a tumult that was impossible to escape. Logic became nonexistent. There was no up, down, left, or right. She let that wave take her. She didn’t fight. She simply allowed it to consume every part that remained.

  What would happen if I dove off the pier? If I went for a swim when the tides grow strong? Would anyone miss me? Would anyone care?

  Coral took out her phone and checked her rather sad and friendless social media account. No tags. No notifications. It had been weeks since she’d submitted her entry to the Young Literary contest. Miss Brandes told her she should expect to see the finalist list posted by midsummer. Now it was the first week of July and still nothing.

  Not that it mattered. What difference would winning a contest make?

  Maybe it would mean I’m worth something. Maybe it would give me a reason to stay.

  Coral stretched her legs before her in the damp sand. Bubbling foam washed over her feet. The ocean froze her skin, her muscles, her bones in time, providing relief and the most luxurious feeling of nothing. Her eyes closed and her thoughts wound back through the past months. The day of Red Tide. The night Merrick found her. Then the night he found her again. She’d agreed to help him, believing he’d lead her to the prince. Coral held her breath and went under, diving into what began as a means to an end.

  In one brief moment that Merrick probably didn’t even remember, everything had changed.

  * * *

  They sat across from each other on the bench that day in May, a basket of sweet potato fries between them. Merrick chose tartar sauce, but Coral preferred ketchup. The inventor of all things weird and gross—Coral soon learned—Merrick decided to mix the two and create a new sauce he dubbed “tarchup.”

  As much as she hated the way he broke through her barriers, Coral laughed and rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure that’s already been invented.”

  Merrick’s expression exuded mock hurt. “How could you?” His hand flew to his heart. “Tarchup is an original creation by yours truly and I am appalled you would accuse me of plagiarism.”

  He spoke her writerly language and Coral’s amusement betrayed her again. “Forgive me. I did not mean to offend thee, sir.”

  Merrick tossed another fry.

  Revenge became sweet, and what was meant to be a meeting in which they discussed clues turned into an hour-long game of “Would you rather?”

  “Would you rather encounter a shark in the water or a tiger on land?” He dunked a fry into his sauce mash-up and shoved the entire thing in his mouth.

  Coral pondered, then answered, “A shark on land.”

  “You can’t change it, cheater. A shark on land would be dead.”

  “Exactly!”

  He chucked a fry at her arm.

  “You’re wasting them.”

  He shrugged. “So we’ll get more. There will always be more.”

  Had he been referring to the fries or something else entirely? She didn’t ask, instead joining in his game of fry-tossing.

  He pulled out his harmonica for a while after that. His seamless playing became the perfect background to her writing.

  “You’re good at that.” She rolled her neck and flexed her hand. “Where’d you learn?”

  “Some stuff Ojii-Chan—my great-grandfather—taught me before he died. The rest I winged.” He set the instrument down and nodded to her notebook. “How about you?”

  “Winged it. I’m that awesome.” Her own fleeting confidence startled her, but Coral didn’t take the words back. “I’m ready to cool off. Up for a swim?”

  They grabbed their things and Merrick followed her down to the water. Coral walked into the ocean fully clothed. She welcomed the coolness of the waves, relished each lap at her skin.

  A full minute passed before she noticed Merrick had stopped short of the line separating wet sand from dry sand. He stood there, hands in his pockets and brow furrowed.

  “Come on!” she called, splashing a bit of sea toward him.

  He half smiled but didn’t budge from his place on the shore.

  She watched him closely after that. They would meet at the beach or near the beach. The water called to Coral, especially as the days grew warmer. Her clothes stuck to her skin and she had to pull her hair back in a braid or a knot by noon. But Merrick never joined her in the water. He never even dipped his toes in.

  Was he afraid? An awareness overcame her. Merrick had faced his fear the night of Red Tide.

  It was the first time Coral questioned if her sister’s theory about humans had been wrong.

  * * *

  A new wave of grief rolled over her, but this one was not caused by a memory of her sister. Coral missed Merrick. She had pushed him away.

  Why did she run from him when she clearly wanted to head in the opposite direction? Maybe she didn’t know how. Or maybe it was too late to alter old habits.

  A shadow passed over her and Coral’s heart sang.

  “There you are. You’re a hard person to track down, you know.”

  Merrick stood a foot away, hands on his thighs, panting. “Is this where you’ve been hiding? Beneath the pier?”

  She shrugged. “It seemed like the best place to avoid you.” She bit her tongue at the forward admission. She’d been avoiding him. Would he be angry? Offended?

  “And that’s where you’re wrong.” He wagged his eyebrows and stared her down.

  What in the ocean was he up to?

  He backed away then, slowly.

  Coral touched her parted lips when Merrick kicked off his flip-flops and walked backward into the sea.

  She stood, brushing off the sand from her legs and knee-length shorts. She hadn’t bothered to wear shoes, as usual. When she joined him in the water, the waves kissing their knees, she asked, “I thought you had ocean-phobia.”

  “I did.” His honesty stormed her defenses. “I’m a grown man who never learned to swim. My father loved the ocean, so it was my way of rejecting all the things he wanted for me that I didn’t want for myself.”

  Coral drank in every word. She related and wanted to say as much, but when Merrick turned to her in the water and peered deep into her eyes, her voice vanished.

  “You love the ocean.”

  She nodded. How did he manage to see so much of her when she didn’t say a thing?

  “Those first weeks after we met, I’d watch you. Fearless. I wanted to join you, but I let my fear control me. So I enrolled in a swim class at the community center in town. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  She swallowed back the emotion threatening to break her. “You did join me, though. The night in wi
nter. My sister?” So many questions surrounded her heart. “Why?”

  “Because of you. I saw you and I knew . . .” His hands moved back and forth over the moving surface.

  “Knew what, Merrick?” Did she want to know the answer?

  “I love when you say my name.”

  “Merrick,” she said again.

  “I wish you’d tell me yours.”

  Her mouth turned down. “You know my name.”

  “Coral. You don’t respond right away when I say it. It’s as if that’s not your name at all. You don’t trust me completely yet. You’re afraid. And that’s okay. I’ll wait. However long it takes. I’ll wait for you.”

  With the sea swirling around them, they drifted far away though they stood perfectly still. The Disease warred within Coral, pushing and pulling her in all directions. When Merrick’s hands found hers beneath the surface, she pulled back. But Merrick stood there. Waiting for her to let him in.

  “I need time.” She didn’t know what to believe. Would she betray her sister if she fell for a human?

  “Time is what I’ve got. How about six o’clock tomorrow?”

  “What are we doing?” The corners of her mouth twitched.

  “You’ll have to trust me on this one.”

  Though it went against everything she thought she believed, she had grown to trust Merrick in the small moments. In the still minutes when time ticked by and he waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  Maybe the waiting would be over soon.

  Coral hoped by then she would have more answers than she did now.

  Thirty-Two

  Brooke

  After

  The college campus is greener than I expect, especially for the end of July. It’s hot, but not so hot everything’s dead. If anything, the heat adds to the vibrancy of it all.

  And green, I decide, is my favorite color today.

  Wide lawns and aged trees wait between old buildings with so much history in their bones, I think I might have traveled to another time period.

  But this is now. Deep breath, shoulders back. I can do this.

  “I’ll be right here when you’re done,” Jake says.

  She drove me two hours south to get here. Unspeakable gratitude expands my chest. I know it’s her job, but Jake cares. She takes an interest in my future when she could pass me off to someone else.

  I don’t get out of the car.

  “You’ll be fine,” she says. “Go on. Your student mentor will meet you in the library.”

  I gulp and gaze out the window. “Which one’s the library again?”

  “You’ll find it,” she says. Then, “You can do this. Don’t be afraid to ask for directions.”

  I know she knows where the library is, but she’s making me find it, helping me prepare for when I’m inevitably on my own. “Why am I doing this? I can’t afford—”

  “No buts. You’re here. You can worry about the financial part later. How are the meds?”

  “Good,” I say, and I mean it. “I think we found a regimen that works.”

  “Yess!” Jake punches the air, and I almost forget she’s my therapist instead of my friend. “Glad to hear you’ve found your normal. Now go. No more excuses.”

  I finally get out of the car and step into the midsummer sunshine.

  I’m turned around within ten minutes. I’m allowed to use my cell phone for the day so we can stay in touch. I check the time. I’m a little early and I make a beeline for the coffee cart. Caffeine fix plus directions equals my first win of the day.

  A line has formed so I dig through my bag and pull out the twenty Jake gave me for food. My tote is heavier than it should be. The last-minute decision to bring my bulky and half-filled leather-bound journal, along with my sea glass bottle, is one I’m starting to regret. My shoulder aches and I still have to carry this thing around the remainder of the day. At least I have a cookie for later. The napkin Mary included bears one word written in her messy hand.

  breathe.

  It’s identical to her tattoo and I make a note to tell Mary she needs to start her own brand. The word is a logo, a tagline, and a mission statement all in one.

  Mary has officially nailed down my nutrition plan but manages to fit cookies and brownies into everyone’s diet no matter what restrictions they have. This double-chunk-chocolate goodness happens to be gluten-free. Tossing the ingredient has helped my nightmares. Who knew a change in diet could also usher a better night’s sleep?

  When it’s my turn at the register, I ask for an extra-foam cappuccino and pay. I leave a tip in the jar, relishing the feeling it brings to purchase my own drink even if Jake technically paid the bill.

  Maybe I can do this.

  My phone says I have less than five minutes to find the library. I ask the barista for directions, and she points me toward a wide white building that belongs in a museum—either that or it is a museum.

  “Thanks,” I say and sip at my drink.

  She smiles and I head to the museum-slash-library.

  Inside, my steps echo and I am pretty sure I’m not supposed to have a drink in here. Out of nervous habit I touch my wrist. But my bracelet isn’t there. My heart soars. I pause and picture Hope, wearing the pearls I gave her for her birthday. She moved home last week and my heart broke. Soon I’ll leave Fathoms too.

  You’re brave, Hope. We both are.

  I promise to tell her over the phone as soon as this day is over.

  I find no one who appears to be waiting for me so I step outside the library door. My coffee’s still hot and I almost spill it when my phone vibrates in my bag. I’m about to peek at the screen when a girl wearing an outfit made for the runway jogs up the steps. In heels.

  She passes me, then does a double take. “Brooke?”

  “Nikole?”

  “Nikki.” Her genuine grin eases my jitters. “Sorry I’m late. I’m taking some summer electives and my human studies prof ran over time.”

  I beam at the way she says “prof.” Because it’s way too cool and I don’t think I could pull it off.

  Also, why is she so familiar?

  She seems to think as much about me because at the same time I ask, “Have we met?” she ventures, “Do I know you?”

  We laugh in sync and then she says “jinx” like we’re in elementary school.

  “Technically,” I tease, “we didn’t say the same thing, just at the same time, so jinx doesn’t count.”

  “You’re going to fit right in with the English majors, girl.” She winks and leads me inside. “Welcome to UC Berkeley.”

  * * *

  I thought the library was my favorite part of the tour until Nikki shows me the famous clock tower—the Campanile.

  She flashes her student ID at the man behind the front desk, then points to me. “Potential students are free too, right, Henry?” She winks and he blushes.

  “You know it,” he says in an accent I can’t place. “Go right on up, ladies.”

  “Thanks.” I picture myself in Nikki’s shoes next year. Anticipation stirs and hope wells to bursting. This is the first campus I’ve seen and I’m sold.

  We take the elevator, followed by a short flight of stairs. When we reach the top I’m speechless.

  “Isn’t this stunning?” Nikki steps aside, allowing me a full view.

  I step forward and peer through the bars at the city and campus below. The huge buildings don’t look so grand from up here, and the Golden Gate Bridge might as well be dollhouse furniture. My confidence builds. Where anxiety would normally surface, I only meet a sense of calm and accomplishment. Like I could tackle anything and I don’t know why I ever believed otherwise.

  I can totally do this.

  “So, you’ve seen most everything,” Nikki says. “What’s the verdict?”

  “It’s . . . big.”

  “You’ll definitely get your steps in here.”

  I nod.

  “So seriously, I can’t stop thi
nking we’ve met before,” she says.

  “I know. It’s been bothering me all day.”

  “Did you grow up in the Bay Area?”

  “No, I’m actually from the East Coast.”

  “Oh, what brought you to Cali?”

  I haven’t talked about this. Not even with Jake. I’ve written it. But saying the words unplanned, unhindered, and unedited is different. “I moved here when I turned sixteen,” I say slowly. Maybe that will be enough. Maybe she won’t ask for more.

  She does. “Family stuff?”

  “No. Sort of. Just me and my grandma—Mee-Maw.”

  “How funny. That’s what I called my grandma too.”

  It’s a small thing. A tiny thing. But sharing this with her feels like the seedling of friendship. I’ve ruined so many relationships in the past. Broken so many bonds. Maybe this is my chance to start something that can last. While my instinct says to shrink inside my shell and offer only what she asks, I know that can’t last forever. I told Jake I wanted to grow. To start over.

  No going back now.

  “Is your grandma here in California?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “She passed away when I was five, but Gramps is still here. I’m pretty sure he’s going to outlive me at this point. He’s a tough one. What about your grandfather?”

  “I never knew him. Only Mee-Maw.”

  “And your parents?”

  And here is where it gets real. My pulse picks up and I close my eyes. “My mom died and my dad—” I swallow, recalling the last time I heard his voice, feeling the disappointment in his gaze. “My dad and I had different ideas about what my future held.”

  “Any siblings?”

  I can talk about this. I should talk about this. I push myself to get real, off the page and unscripted. “Have you heard of Jordan King?”

  Nikki’s eyebrows shoot up. “The singer?”

  I nod.

  “She has that hit song. The one that’s dominated all the radio stations. What’s it called?”

  “‘Sirens,’” I say. “That’s my sister.”

  “She’s dating someone famous too, isn’t she? That music producer . . . um . . .”