Siren Sisters

by Dana Langer

  Of course, Emma changes right up front, by the mirror. She gets to be a mermaid in the festival, which doesn’t even make any sense. Coach Bouchard overheard me telling Jason about it the other day. The eighth-grade theme is “Indigenous Foliage,” and Jason was dressed up as a pinecone. “You know,” I told him, “mermaids aren’t even shellfish.”

  Coach Bouchard shook his head. “They’re mammals, I guess.”

  I looked up at him. “They are?”

  “Of course.”

  “How do you know?”

  He chuckled and flipped his hair back. He’s tall and has really long hair that he usually keeps tied back in a ponytail. He also rides a motorcycle around town on Sunday afternoons, and he’s been known to say things like “groovy” in response to the girls’ lacrosse team winning the state championship. I think the ponytail and the motorcycle are a little silly, but the thing I like about Coach Bouchard is that he never gets too mad when I complain about stuff or have a bad attitude—which, I have to admit, is pretty much always. “Lolly, part of participating in the festival is learning to be a team player. Now, you go out there and do the best you can with the part you’ve been given. Play the hand—or, in this case, the shell—you’ve been dealt.”

  As a mermaid, Emma gets to wear a sparkly clamshell bikini top and a long, gauzy skirt, and she’s even started bringing her own cheerleader pom-poms from home, because, she explains, she likes to “go the extra mile.” I, on the other hand, have to wear antennae and a cardboard shell strapped to my back. Anyway, I’m pretty certain that nobody ever heard of a mermaid cheerleader.

  Today, Emma changes into her costume and then hops up on the bench to tack a flyer to the highest point of the bulletin board.

  IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENTS!

  SAILING TRYOUTS: TODAY!

  HOMECOMING DANCE: FRIDAY NIGHT!

  HALLOWEEN REGATTA: OCTOBER 31ST!

  Then, instead of just climbing down from the bench, she decides to perform a cartwheel that ends with her in a full split on the concrete floor. Everyone gathers around and applauds.

  “I can do that,” I whisper.

  Emma gets up and puts her hands on her hips. “What did you say?”

  I finish rolling up my kneesocks and straighten my antennae. “I said I can do that.”

  “Yeah, right. You’re just a snail. Anyone who can do that would be on the gymnastics team and playing a mermaid in the festival.”

  “First of all, mermaids can’t even do gymnastics. They don’t have legs. And secondly, I was on the gymnastics team. I had to quit.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I—I had other things to do.” I turn away from her and start struggling into my shell.

  “Oh.” She sniffs. “Things.”

  “I have to help at my family’s diner.”

  “That’s cool.” You can tell by her tone that she doesn’t think it’s remotely cool.

  “Just watch.”

  She stands back. “Go ahead.”

  I put my shell down on the floor and sink into a split to match hers.

  “Whatever,” she says. “Any snail could do that. That just means you’re flexible. That’s not gymnastics.”

  I stand up and brush my hands off on my shorts. “What do you want me to do, then?”

  “I dare you to do a back walkover. Here. Down the aisle.”

  “Fine.” I look at the floor for a second, calculating, and then I turn around and arch my back until my hands are planted on the floor. It’s a move I’ve done a million times before and on much trickier surfaces than this. But then, right as I kick my legs up and start to flip over, my injured elbow sends a wave of electricity up my arm, and the next thing I know, I’m lying on the ground with my cardboard shell crumpled beneath me.

  Everyone is watching.

  Emma is standing there shaking her ponytail. “That was a total disaster,” she says, like I don’t already know it. “I really think you should just stick to being a snail.”

  “What’s going on in here?” Couch Bouchard is suddenly on the scene, shoving his way through the crowd, blowing his whistle in sharp, short blasts. “You girls were all supposed to be out there five minutes ago! Lolly, why are you on the floor?”

  “She tried to do a back walkover,” Emma explains. “But she didn’t make it.”

  “Thanks, Emma.” Couch Bouchard pats her on the shoulder. “That’s useful information.” Then he bends over and blows his whistle in my ear. “Lolly! Did you hit your head?”

  I sit up slowly. “No. I fell on my shell.”

  He blows his whistle again to signal that he’s finished dealing with our nonsense, and then he waves everybody out of the locker room. “Okay, let’s go, ladies! Emma, you take Lolly to see Nurse Claire.” He reaches into the pocket of his wind pants and pulls out a blank pad of paper and a miniature pencil. “I’ll write her a note so she knows what happened.”

  “Is she coming back?” Emma asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lolly. I mean, she looks pretty hurt. She should probably take her bag and stuff in case she needs to stay with the nurse all period. Or even, like, go home or something for the day. I’ll carry it for her.”

  “Sure, Emma. Thank you. That’s good thinking.”

  We make it about three quarters of the way to the nurse’s office before we get in a fight. I’m still wearing my snail antennae and Emma’s still wearing her sparkly mermaid bikini. She’s carrying my bag like she can’t wait to toss it out the front door. “You might have been a big deal in elementary school,” she explains. “You know, because of gymnastics and your sisters. But it’s not the same here.”

  “I don’t think I’m a big deal.”

  She glances at me. “I know what you said about me.”

  “What are you talking about? What did I say?”

  “Don’t try to deny it. Jason told me everything. He and I are really good friends now, in case you didn’t notice.”

  We reach Nurse Claire’s office and stop walking.

  “But I didn’t say anything!”

  “I think you’re lying.”

  Lula always tells me that if I’m ever in an argument with a really mean girl, I should just look her in the eye and say, simply: Ew. I’ve never tried it before, but this seems like the right time.

  I narrow my eyes and put my hands on my hips. “Ew.”

  It works. Emma is momentarily speechless, and you can tell she’s racking her brain for what to say next. But then she thinks of something. “You know the whole town thinks your mom drove off that bridge on purpose.”

  “What are you talking about? That’s not true.”

  “It said in the police report that she was speeding. She was going, like, fifty miles an hour when she plowed into the barrier. My parents read about it in the paper. I mean, my cousin works at Sunrise County General, and everybody knows your mom was checked in there half the time you said she was on tour, so it all kind of made sense. And now your dad won’t even live in the same house as you.”

  “He does too live in our house! He has an apartment upstairs from the diner because he needs to practice his music.”

  “Yeah, sure. Everybody knows that your dad doesn’t want anything to do with you guys. He’s, like, too cool for you.”

  “He’s not too cool for us!”

  “Whatever, snail!”

  “I’m not a snail!”

  “Girls!” Nurse Claire opens the door and glares at us like we’re a couple of sea monsters that just crawled out of the cafeteria sink. That’s the worst thing about turning twelve. Suddenly adults stop looking at you like you’re a harmless little kid and start looking at you like you’re a potentially explosive device and they’re not sure whether to disarm you or duck under a table. “There are students in here trying to take naps! Now, what is all this commotion? You can’t just walk down the hallway yelling like this.”

  Emma hands her the note. “This is from Coach Bouchard,” she says. “Lolly
fell on her arm.”

  Nurse Claire leans against the doorjamb while she reads the note. She’s recently started wearing high heels and dangly silver earrings with her lab coat, which I think looks really weird. “Wait here, please,” she tells us and shuts the door.

  Emma and I sit next to each other on the bench between the nurse’s office and the principal’s office with our bodies aimed as far from each other as the bench will allow. She has her arms folded across her chest and her legs crossed, and I have my feet up and my arms wrapped around my knees. We hold on to ourselves and look off in separate directions.

  I try to concentrate on how much I dislike Emma instead of on the throbbing pain in my elbow. Her parents own Bishop’s Fish, a big company that exports lobsters and “other fine seafood” to places like Las Vegas and Cleveland. We’ve always competed against each other in gymnastics, but we officially became mortal enemies on the first day of coed volleyball. Jason was captain, and he chose us both to be on his team. But he chose me first. And then Emma proceeded to serve a volleyball into the back of my head. Coach Bouchard ruled it an accident, but the whole class saw, and we all knew what it meant. First of all, Emma Bishop is the most athletic person in our grade. There’s pretty much zero chance of her not being able to serve a volleyball over a net. And secondly, she might make it look that way, but Emma never does anything by accident. It was, as Ms. Cross would say, “a shot over the bow.”

  Finally, Nurse Claire returns. “Emma,” she says. “Your mother will pick you up after sailing practice today, and she’ll be stopping by for a conversation with me about all these little fights you’ve been getting into.”

  “What little fights?”

  “We’ll talk after school. Lolly, nobody is home at your house. Please have your father call me at his earliest convenience.”

  Emma raises her hand, very professional, like we’re still in class. “May I return to gym now?”

  Nurse Claire nods and avoids making eye contact with her. Sometimes, even adults are scared of Emma. “Yes you may.”

  Emma walks away without giving either of us a second look.

  Nurse Claire waves me into the office. “Come on, Lolly,” she says. “Let’s fix up that arm.”

  I follow her into the office and climb up on one of the plastic cots. My legs dangle over the side, and my antennae bob up and down.

  Nurse Claire starts pulling supplies out of the cabinet. A flashlight. A sling. A thermometer. She works part-time at my old elementary school, so we’ve known each other forever. When I was little, I used to love going to her office. Whatever was bothering me, a fever or a scraped knee, she’d make it better. And then she’d let me take a candy from the ceramic dish on her desk. Sometimes I’d even pretend to be sick just so I could go and see her. Of course, things are different now. Nurse Claire doesn’t even keep candy on her desk at this school. It’s all business here.

  Nurse Claire takes my arm in her hands and extends it gently, feeling the bones with her fingers. I close my eyes for a second and pretend she’s my mom. I can’t help it.

  “Gosh, you’re cold,” she says. “Your skin is like ice. Are you feeling sick?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “It’s always like that.”

  “Lolly, I’m actually glad you’re here. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something. Several of your teachers have mentioned your recent”—she lowers her voice—“behavior problems. There’s talk of attention issues, sleepiness, organizational difficulties. Skipping class. Now, you’ve always been such a good student. What’s going on?”

  “Oh.” I’d like to tell her that there is a very simple explanation for all of those behaviors and it’s a little thing called “becoming a siren.” Excuse me, I’d like to say, but I’m becoming a siren. I’m becoming a siren, and I want desperately to stop. Can you help me with that? But I obviously can’t say that. And anyway, this isn’t a problem that she can fix with tongue depressors and candy. Things aren’t that simple anymore. “I guess I haven’t been sleeping that well lately.”

  She lets go of my arm.

  “How are your sisters?”

  “Fine.”

  “Lily’s doing okay? Settling in at the high school?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, here. Before I forget—” She goes to the wall and retrieves a pamphlet with a picture of a dead tree on the cover. It’s called Grief: The Significance of the First Year. “I’ve been meaning to share this with you. I think you and your sisters might find it helpful.”

  “Thanks.” I slide the pamphlet into my bag.

  “Will you be going to the dance on Friday?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Oh.” She laughs, and her earrings dangle. “I was just checking. I’ll be a chaperone this year.”

  “I think I have to work. I mean, I have to help out at the diner. Friday nights are busy for us.”

  “I see. Well, this is just a bruise.”

  “Can I keep it in a sling?” I point to the half-open cabinet where she keeps ACE bandages and tape. “I think I’d feel safer that way.”

  She nods. “If you want to. Don’t be afraid to move it around, though, you know? You don’t want it freezing up on you.”

  “I know,” I tell her.

  “Lolly.” She pauses for a moment with the sling in her hands. “Remember in fourth grade when your mom had to go away for a while? You insisted that your leg was in excruciating pain and kept coming to my office wanting to borrow a set of crutches.”

  “Yes,” I tell her. “I remember.”

  “But really,” she continues, “there was nothing wrong. Your leg was perfectly fine.”

  “This isn’t like that,” I assure her. “But if you don’t want me to use the sling, I won’t. It’s fine. I just want to go back to class now.” Before I fall off this table and die of embarrassment.

  “No, here.” She hands me the sling. “You’re welcome to it. It’s just . . . there’s nothing wrong with looking for support and attention, you know, in other ways. It doesn’t always have to be a physical problem. We could talk about other things that are bothering you too.”

  “Okay, well, thank you.” I slip into the sling and grab my bag with my other hand. “This will be good enough for now.”

  I’m never coming back here again.

  “And, Lolly? Try not to let Emma get to you, okay? You girls—it’s like you hit twelve years old and you all become little monsters.”

  At the end of the day, I walk to Ms. Cross’s classroom and lean in the doorway. She’s just sitting at her desk grading papers, but I can’t figure out what to say to let her know I’m there. Hi? Excuse me? Nothing seems right. It’s like the connection between my brain and my mouth has been cut, and all I want to do is turn and run away. It’s funny how I was never this nervous around my teachers in elementary school. There, I was always just myself. And I knew exactly who that was, too. Lorelei Elizabeth Salt: vocabulary quiz champion, proud member of the highest reading group, rising star of the JV gymnastics team. But here I have all these secrets to keep. I have to pretend to be somebody I’m not, and honestly, it’s exhausting.

  Thankfully, Ms. Cross looks up then and sees me standing there. “Miss Salt.” She glances at the clock. “You’re right on time! Please, come in.”

  “I can’t.” I nod at my elbow. “I just came to tell you that I have to cancel my detention. I’m injured.”

  “I see.” She glances back down at her desk and shuffles some papers. “You realize, of course, that students are not allowed to cancel their own detentions.”

  “Yes,” I tell her, even though I actually didn’t know that.

  “Well,” she continues, “I’ve been here for a long time. I have a little leeway with the administration. How does tomorrow sound?”

  “I don’t know.” I look up at my Obon lantern, hanging slightly apart from the others by the far corner. I had to climb a bookshelf to get it up there, but I want
ed it as high and as close to the window as possible. “I’ll have to see how I feel.”

  She looks at me for a moment with this wondering expression, like she recognizes me from some other place and she’s waiting for me to explain how exactly it is that we know each other. “All right, then.” She picks up a pen and starts circling things. “Come back when you’re ready.”

  “I will,” I promise. And I mean it. There’s something about how calm and unhurried she is that actually kind of makes me want to stay, that makes me think maybe this is a place where I could sit for ten seconds without a bell ringing, or a locker slamming, or a volleyball flying at my head.

  “Have a good evening, dear. Feel better.”

  “Thanks, Ms. Cross. You too.”

  On my way back down the hall, I stop by the water fountain. Outside, the sun is starting to set, and the hallway is filled with dusty, tangerine-colored light. It’s already starting to get dark early. Soon the cold and the blizzards will set in, and then people won’t even want to leave their houses. I think that’s why the Salt and Stars Folk Festival is so important around here. It’s like our last gasp of summer.

  There’s a boy standing by the lockers. He looks familiar, but his profile is in shadow. I move a few steps closer and realize that it’s Jason. “Hey!” I call to him and wave. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You’re still here?”

  “Yup. Sailing tryouts start in fifteen minutes.”

  And then Emma comes around the corner. She’s traded her cheerleader-mermaid attire for a red polo shirt, shorts, and a matching visor. Emma has the right outfit for everything. She’s a lot like Jason that way. “Ready?”

  I feel like I’m living some sort of nightmare. “Ready for what?”

  “I’m not talking to you, Lolly.” She loops her arm through Jason’s. “We’re going sailing.”