Maybe I’m wrong.
“He’s going to hate it,” I grumble. “I don’t know anything about what he’d want. See, we’re totally unsuitable.”
“You never know,” Peri says, admiring the sand dollar. “Maybe he’ll love it.”
I shrug off her suggestion. It doesn’t matter. I’m not about to spend all day making a stupid gift for a stupid test because my dad won’t grant the stupid separation. Quickly locating some chorda, I braid together a makeshift string that I know will dry into a ropelike finish when it hits the air. In a few minutes, I’ve finished the cord and strung the sand dollar at the center.
To seal the blue color, I hold the sand dollar between my palms and flash-freeze it.
“What do you think?” I ask, holding it up for Peri to inspect. I’m actually pretty proud of my creation.
“I think,” she says, eyeing the necklace and then me, “that I don’t understand why you hate him so much.”
I scowl. Where did that come from? I tie the necklace around my neck so I don’t lose it.
“I don’t hate him,” I admit. “Not really. Sometimes I think I do, but he’s not really an awful guy all the time.”
“So what then?” Peri swims up and studies my face. “Why throw away a perfectly good bond?”
A perfectly good bond? I’m not sure what’s going on here. I mean, Peri is on my side. Isn’t she? She knows how I feel about Brody. Why is she encouraging me to keep Quince—as if he’s mine to keep anyway?
“You know why,” I say, my water-dulled frustration coming out as mild annoyance.
“Brody,” she says, sounding disappointed.
“Yes,” I reply. “Brody. The guy I’ve been in love with for three years. The guy I’m supposed to be bonded with.”
“Don’t get defensive.” Peri waves her tail fin back and forth in an agitated gesture. “I just don’t understand why Brody is so much more appealing than Quince. Explain it to me.”
“Quince is…” I whip around in a circle, trying to gather my thoughts. “He’s everything I don’t want. He’s rude and pushy and loves tweaking me at every opportunity. He is a land lover with two capital Ls.” I stop spinning and try to face Peri, but the world around me keeps whirling for several seconds. “Did you know he couldn’t even swim before last weekend?”
“So?” Peri argues. “Now he can.”
“You don’t get it,” I complain. “I belong in the water. Brody belongs here too.” I take a breath, picturing Brody swimming the butterfly. And then Quince on his disaster of a motorcycle. “Quince belongs on land.”
Peri studies my face, my eyes, like she’s trying to read my deepest thoughts. If anyone can, it’s her. But I don’t get to find out what she sees. In the end, she gives me a gentle smile. “I’m sure everything will work out how it’s supposed to.”
Yeah, with me and Brody together under the sea, while Quince stays safe and permanently dry, where he belongs.
“I hope so,” I say as we begin our ascent. “I desperately hope so.”
As we break the surface, I don’t see Quince and Dosinia anywhere. Which is troubling, because Calliope said we couldn’t leave the bounds of the island. If Dosinia tricked Quince into breaking the rules, I’ll strangle her. The last thing I need is this Challenge voided so we have to start over or something.
Then I hear giggling from beyond the shrubby bushes on the north side of the island.
“You are so good with your hands,” Doe coos in her boy-hunting sultry voice. “I can’t think of a merman in Thalassinia with that kind of skill.”
Quince’s low laughter carries, though I can’t hear his response.
With a growl, I launch myself up onto the sand, transfiguring into my finkini on the fly. She doesn’t even like humans. Does she have to flirt with every boy with a pulse? I mean, is she too oblivious to see that this is kind of a delicate situation? Can’t she put the flirt on pause just this once?
No, I don’t suppose she can.
“Dosinia!” I snap as I stomp through the grass in the direction of her voice. “What are you—”
But when I reach the clearing of the sandy beach, I am stunned speechless by what I see. Quince and Dosinia are sitting side by side, shoulder to shoulder, facing the beach. At my shout, they both turn to face me. Dosinia, now facing his back, wraps her arms around his waist and hugs herself along his spine.
He doesn’t even react.
“Took you long enough,” she says with a sneer. “Quincy’s been done for ages. I’ve been…entertaining him.”
Quincy? My eyebrows shoot up…and then dive into a scowl. Before I know what I’m doing, I stalk up to them, grab Doe by the arm, and yank her to her feet.
“Get out of here!” I give her a push toward the water. “You’re not part of this test. No one’s making you stay inside island lines. Go home.”
Quince, who has scrambled to his feet by the time I’m done, catches Doe before she stumbles to the ground.
“What the hell, Lily?” he demands.
I feel tears filling my eyes, and I don’t even know why. The bond is messing with my emotions so much, I can’t think straight.
Dosinia, who has never known when to back down, sneers and says, “If you want him to yourself, then why don’t you stay bonded?”
“What?” I glare at her. “This isn’t about him,” I insist. “It’s about you. About how you always take such joy in making my life miserable.”
I turn, prepared to stomp away, but then turn back. “You know what? The two of you have that in common.”
Then I run through the grass to the other side of the island. It’s not nearly far enough away. As soon as I clear the grass, I drop to the sand. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I let my head slump and I try to use deep breathing to keep my tears away.
What is the matter with me? I never used to be this emotional. I never used to lose my temper or yell at anyone—well, no one but Quince. Now I feel like I’m snapping at everyone.
The grass behind me swooshes with the sound of someone walking. I fully expect it to be Peri, my best friend, come to calm me down. No one else knows me well enough.
But the feet I see through my tear-blurred eyes do not have Peri’s pretty, copper-tipped toes. They’re big, bare masculine feet.
I huff out a sigh.
“That was a little harsh,” he says as he lowers himself to the sand at my side.
I gaze up at the sky. “I know.”
“She’s jealous of you.”
“Who?” I ask, scowling. “Dosinia? Not likely.”
Quince makes a noise that sounds half like a laugh and half like a growl. “Sometimes you can be so blind when it comes to people, princess.”
Like he knows anything? He’s known Doe for a week—and barely that. I almost point that out…but something about his off-the-wall statement rings true.
“What would she have to be jealous of?” I demand. “She’s the pretty one. The flirty one. The one all the boys chase after.”
He gives me a half smile. “Not all the boys.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say. “She’s been awful to me since long before you showed up.”
“Lily,” he says, his tone serious, “you’re the princess. The golden child. The entire kingdom looks to you for their future. She’s just…your little cousin. Second string.”
I never thought of it that way. All I ever knew was how jealous I am of her, of her anonymity and her easy way with boys and her classic beauty. She’s everything I’m not. I never thought she might have something to be jealous of, too. I never thought I was worth anyone’s jealousy.
“Just food for thought,” Quince says, pushing back to his feet. He extends his hand, inviting me to take it. “Now let’s go back and exchange gifts so we can get to the next part of this Challenge.”
As I slip my small, pale, freckled hand into his big, tan one, I wonder how it happened that the boy who always made my life so miserable could now make me feel so
calm. For the first time, I start to think that Quince and I might wind up friends.
Long after Peri and Dosinia have gone, Quince and I sit on the beach where we traded gifts. He looked happy enough with the necklace—the smile he gave me might have been the first genuine one we’ve shared—but it was nothing compared to his gift for me.
“I can’t believe you had time to do all this,” I repeat, sounding like a broken record. It’s a small miracle. I shake my head. “How did you learn to do this?”
On the beach before us, just beyond the reach of high tide, is a massive sand castle. But this is not just any sand castle with uneven walls and bucket-shaped turrets. No, this is an almost-perfect scale replica of the Thalassinian royal palace. Complete down to the curtains on my bedroom window.
Quince shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but I can feel his pride at my obvious pleasure. “My dad used to take me to the beach a lot. He liked to build sand castles, so I got plenty of practice.”
I don’t know much about Quince’s dad other than the fact that he’s not around. I think Quince sees him once a year. I can’t imagine having a living parent not be part of your life. If would kill me if Mom were alive and just…absent.
But maybe it’s better than nothing.
“Your dad,” I begin, suddenly interested in learning more about Quince’s life. “Where does he—”
“The necklace is great,” Quince says abruptly, as if that’s the logical next moment in our conversation, and not a diversion tactic—which it obviously is.
I almost call him on it, forcing him to at least listen to my question. Until I see the faraway look in his eyes…and feel the underlying pain.
I’m not that cruel.
“Compared to your castle,” I say instead, “my necklace looks like a cheap tourist trinket.”
“No,” Quince insists, his mood lightening. He lifts the sand dollar from his chest and studies its cinquefoil design. “It’s perfect. One of a kind. You can’t even take my gift home.”
“I have a mental photograph.” I flash him a smile. “I’ll remember it every time I see the real thing.”
When I say that, his gaze shifts out over the ocean, to the horizon, like he can see all the way back to the mainland. The air falls silent, even the breeze stills, and I feel a surprising sadness—whether it’s his or mine I’m not sure. I expect him to say something—I’m not sure what, though I’m almost eager to hear it—but he just kind of sighs and gives me a lopsided smile.
Something urges me to fill the silence. “You know—”
“There you are, darlings,” Calliope’s singsong voice trills. “I thought you might have left.”
We both turn to see her walking toward us from the other side of the island.
“No, ma’am,” Quince says politely, rising to his feet and holding down a hand to me. “Wouldn’t want to violate the rules of the Challenge.”
Judging from the blissful look on her face, I can see that is just the right thing to say to her. “Excellent,” she coos. “Excellent.”
I let him pull me to my feet, standing and dusting the sand off the back of my finkini.
“How was your first test?” she asks. Then, noticing the sand sculpture behind us, says, “Ooh, Lily, that is a perfect replica of your palace. What a wonderful gift for Quince.”
“Actually, ma’am,” Quince says, ducking his head as his cheeks turn an adorably dusky shade of pink, “that was my gift to Lily.”
“Oh,” she says, her eyes wide. “Oh, my.”
Feeling left out—and completely outshined by Quince’s gift—I reach over and slip my hand beneath his sand-dollar pendant. “This was my gift.”
Calliope walks closer and leans in to inspect. “It’s beautiful, my dear.” She smiles up at me. “Just beautiful.”
“Yeah,” Quince agrees. “It is.”
Calliope steps back and studies us for a moment. I have a bad feeling about the suspicious look in her eyes. But then she just smiles and says, “Time for my test. Let’s move to the western shore so we can watch the sun set.”
A minute later, she’s arranged us on the sand, Quince and me sitting cross-legged and facing each other, with Calliope to one side between us.
“Let me first explain the rules of my test.” She pulls a clipboard out of the satchel she’s brought with her, flips to a specific page, and then reads aloud. “During the execution of the I Say, You Say test, participants must remain facing each other, they must maintain eye contact while making each proclamation, and they must continue until the Challenge administrator deems the test complete.” She lifts her eyes from the page long enough to ask, “Understood?”
We both nod, although I’m sure Quince is as clueless as I am.
“Excellent.” She sets down the clipboard. “Now here is what we’re going to do. First, I would like each of you to say three positive things about the other. It may be a compliment or an encouragement or just something you like or admire.”
Panic tightens around my throat. I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m afraid I won’t have any nice things to say about Quince. But a tiny part of me says it’s because I’m worried he won’t have any nice things to say about me.
I’ve always been pretty awful to him.
“Now, let’s see.” Calliope studies us once again. “Who should go first?”
Not me, not me, not me, not—
“Lily,” Calliope finally declares. “Why don’t you start us off? Say something positive about Quince.”
“I, uh…” Words won’t come. My brain freezes. My eyes lock on Quince’s, and I block out the anticipation I sense he’s feeling. I hate being put on the spot, even if it’s only two pairs of eyes waiting for my next move. Finally, out of desperation, I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “He has pretty eyes.”
Those pretty eyes crinkle at the corners, and I heave a sigh of relief. If he’s smiling, then I must have said something right.
“Very good, Lily,” Calliope says, “but I’d like you to use his name when you make your statement. Don’t anonymize him with a generic pronoun.”
That sounds a little like psychological hooey, but when I look back at him and say, “Quince has pretty eyes,” I feel it in my gut.
Calliope’s psychological hooey has some teeth.
“Wonderful,” she says. Then, to Quince, “Your turn.”
Quince doesn’t hesitate for a second. “Lily is fiercely loyal.”
I jerk back, stunned. Am I? I guess I never really thought about it, but I do stand up for my own. I might not defend myself all the time, but I’ll throw down with anyone who says a word against Peri or Shannen, or Daddy or Aunt Rachel. I’m more than a little surprised that Quince noticed.
“Perfect.” Calliope nods at me. “Your turn.”
I’m still reeling a little from his comment, but I try to focus enough to come up with something less…superficial than my first. For some reason, I think back to that moment in the bathroom stall after he stopped me from going after Courtney for making fun of Shannen. How he held me tight and reassured me. I take a deep breath and try not to think before I say, “Quince can be very tender.”
He winks at me.
Then, before Calliope can cheer my statement or tell him to go, he says, “Lily has no sense of fashion.”
“Hey,” I cry. “You’re supposed to say something nice.”
“No arguing, Lily,” Calliope chides. “This is not a dialogue.”
But Quince ignores her, keeping his gaze locked on mine, and says, “That was nice. I can’t stand trend chasers and wannabe supermodels. I like girls who are fresh and unique. Individual. Like you.”
Calling someone unique isn’t always a positive, but the way Quince says it makes it sound like a huge compliment. I kinda like the idea of being fresh and unique. Makes me sound like an exotic flower.
I’m picturing myself as a bird-of-paradise when Calliope says, “Your turn, Lily.”
Oh, right. My turn. The test,
Lily, the test. I try to rein in my floral fantasy and return to the task of figuring out what I like about Quince.
No one seems in a rush to hurry me up, so I have time to compose my thoughts. I try to distance myself from the situation and look at him with my fresh and unique eyes. He’s sitting there, watching me, as if we’re alone on the island. Calliope could be in the South Pacific for all he cares.
That gives me an idea.
I take a deep breath before finally saying, “Quince doesn’t care what others think of him.”
That’s the biggest compliment I can give someone. I mean, I can’t stop worrying about what others think of me. Boy, do I wish I could have that kind of carefree confidence. I just don’t have it in me.
He looks like he wants to respond, to say something about my compliment. I can feel a conflicting emotion in him. Some mix of pride and frustration and anger. I’m confused. Why would my comment make him angry?
Like I’m compelled to defend myself, I say, “I just meant that you—”
“I care.” The anger is there, an undertone in his voice. An intensity in his eyes. “Sometimes I think I care too much.”
His gaze falls away, shifting to the ground between us while he drags one finger in a swirling pattern through the sand.
“Eye contact,” Calliope chides. “Quince, it’s your turn.”
He doesn’t react immediately. For several long seconds he keeps making spiral designs with his finger. When he looks back up, the anger is gone, wiped away with one shutter of his thick-lashed lids. “Lily doesn’t think before she speaks.”
Grrr. I do think. I just sometimes think things I shouldn’t say out loud.
“Wonderful,” Calliope says, making notes on her clipboard. “Now we can—”
“Hey,” I complain, “we were supposed to say positive things. I bought your ‘no fashion sense’ argument, but how was that last thing a compliment?”
“Lily, you shouldn’t judge—”
“You don’t have a filter,” Quince interrupts. “You’re honest, sometimes to a fault, and straightforward. Too many people say what they think others want to hear.”
Forgive My Fins Page 15
