“Wafa gee mon tuyu?” asked the salesman.
“No Mermish, please,” said Treeva.
“Sorry about that. Loads of Mermish-only folks here today. Now, what can I get you?” he asked, his pink cheeks covered with deep scars.
“Marina, get anything you like…except for those Poseidon-awful bras. Totally demoralizing,” she scoffed.
“Hmm, well, who’s good?” I asked.
“Ah, the eighty-one is a demon—always wins. Not the best personality, but if you go for winners, he’s your driver,” said the salesman.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“Kyle Zale,” the salesman answered.
“Oh, ew,” I grumbled.
“I’d go for the eight hundred eighty-eight if I were you,” whispered Troy.
“We’ll take one of everything in the eight hundred eighty-eight…not the bra, though,” said Treeva, still glaring at them.
“Good choice. Always in the mix of things, he is. And, might I say, a right side nicer than the eighty-one lad. Here ya go,” he said, passing the bag to me while Treeva paid. “Enjoy folks, and thanks.”
“Thank you!” I said, watching him zoom off to the next customer.
“Troy, we’ve been in line long enough. I’m pretty sure Marina gets the whole waiting-in-line-in-a-mermaid-world thing, and I’m getting cranky,” said Treeva, looking annoyed.
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Troy. “You okay with that, Marina?”
“If you’ve waited in one line, you’ve waited in them all, I say.”
“Go through the private entrance,” said Troy.
“Ah, to be a prince and princess,” I mused, while Treeva masterfully zipped around and out of traffic.
Treeva and Troy shared a knowing glance and laughed. Evidently, I was outside of something. Eh, I didn’t care. I had loads of souvenirs calling my name—time to channel my seven-year-old self and play with my toys.
Yeah. Okay. Since when did happy things like toys make someone’s stomach queasy? Never mind, I’ll answer—since the moment your pretend mermobile had a tiny version of your boyfriend waving from the window…and the second the flag cheered “TROY TOMBOLO” when waved.
“I…what…you…drive?” I said, unable to blink my saucer-wide eyes.
“Yep, baby brother, here, is one of the Gulf’s most talented mermobile racers,” said Treeva, gliding her craft through the crowd.
“You do what inside which on where?!”
“You impressed?” asked Troy proudly.
“Impressed, amazed…and I’d throw in a distraught for good measure.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m good…I’m really good,” said Troy, clutching my limp hand.
I really just want the flag I thought was so adorable to shut the eff up. “Oh, totally, yeah…and…so…yay,” I said in a completely fake whoo-hoo voice, while trying to fold the dang cheering flag. “Um, I thought I just had to stop waving the flag to get it to shut the hell up.”
“Looks like you got a defective flag,” said Treeva. How wonderfully fitting. “Here,” she said, grabbing Troy’s trident, “Muteafy.”
“Thanks,” I said, shoving the now quiet flag back in the bag.
As cool as this whole event looked, I couldn’t fully enjoy it. My stupid mind kept repeating the same annoying facts: my boyfriend was a mer-racer, and he races against Kyle Zale, a lunatic with the sound of murder in his heart.
As we soared over the parking lots, I watched as thousands of merps exited their mermobiles and hustled to one of about ten small holes circling the stadium. I continued watching them until they reached one of those dark holes, where—oh holy crap—large strands of seaweed darted out, encased their bodies, and literally sucked them straight down.
Jumping in my seat, I stammered, “Holes…seaweed…strangled…croak…bad.” I could barely understand what I just saw, much less what my mouth tried to say.
“No, sweetie, it’s okay. Aw, Troy, she’s shivering,” said Treeva, placing a hand on mine.
“Marina, they didn’t get strangled. They were pulled into the stadium and placed right in their seats,” said Troy, stroking my hair. “Saves loads of time.”
“Convenient,” I grumbled, still unable to blink.
“Hope you think so,” said Treeva, “because we’re about ready to take one.”
Before I could digest her words, four large seaweed strands shot out from a little dark hole and engulfed our vehicle. Gah! This must be what it feels like to be sucked in by the Bermuda Triangle: blurry, nonsensical, and ridiculously fast. In mere seconds, we emerged on the other side, right behind Troy’s sunken pit box.
“Out we go,” said Treeva, floating up.
“You can park here?” The stupidity seeping from my mouth was truly revolting.
“I’m his sister. I can do what I want,” she said, winking.
“Yeah, plus this is my back-up,” said Troy, running a hand down the side of Treeva’s beloved floatster.
“Like Hades it is!” Treeva growled. “So help me if one of your crew comes near my baby—”
“Kidding, Tree,” said Troy, slipping on a merman-style fire suit.
“You wear fire suits?” I asked, eyeing the delicate green and white suit as he slipped his fin in and zipped. I wanted to unzip it.
“Not fire suits. We’re in the ocean, remember?”
“Oh, right,” I said, biting my lip. Oddly, the desire to unzip his suit completely demolished my friendly feeling of idiocy. “So, um, uh, phew, it’s hot under here. Anyway, yeah, what kind of suit is it, then?” So help me, my hormones are ridiculous.
“Tracksuit,” said Troy flatly.
“Simplistic,” I said.
“Yeah, not really,” he said.
“Troy Tombolo! Hey, sexy.”
I’m not sure if they have boob jobs underwater, but I’m pretty sure this bleach-blond, trashy mermaid has balloons beneath her much-too-small shell bra…that has my boyfriend’s face painted all over it. Great. A chorus of come-hither comments echoed from a small group behind inflate-a-tit girl.
“Hey, Candy, how’s it goin’?” he asked politely, glancing at me.
First Sugar, now Candy. WTH?!
“Better now that you’re here, handsome,” said Candy. “The girls and I were hoping you’d be able to get away for a night this time.” Pushing her boobs against his chest, she ran her finger around his chin and whispered, “I guarantee you’ll have f—u—fun.”
“Uh, right, well, that’s real nice of you, but I have plans with my girlfriend,” said Troy, reaching back for my hand, which I promptly clasped around his.
“I see,” said Candy, backing off. “Maybe next time, then…when she’s not around.”
“Slut!” Oops.
“What did you call me, Normal?” asked Candy, her equally fake girls inching closer.
“She called you a slut, which you are, now go the hell away before I have you turned out,” said Treeva, gliding between Candy, the girls, and me.
“Come on, girls,” said Candy, leading her pack of scaly piranhas to feed on the next driver.
After they left, I stepped aside, folded my arms, and stared at Troy.
“First of all, I wouldn’t go within ten fins of those girls. Second, they’re kinda like racer groupies, always looking to hook up with racers. We call them pit-eels,” said Troy. “They’re nasty.”
“I’m satisfied,” I said, looping my arm through his.
“’Bout time you got here, kid! How’s it goin’, Tree? Still single?” A stocky older man with an enormous red fin, cherry nose, and rosy cheeks, twittered past Troy and over to Treeva.
“You dirty old man! Will ya please get that one-track mind out of the gutter, Tankster?” said Treeva, playfully fluffing his sparse gray hair.
“I’m just sayin’, should you ever want someone more mature and experienced,” he said, puffing out his belly.
“Sick old man,” said Treeva, giving him a little squeeze.
<
br /> “Sorry to cut it so close, Tank,” said Troy, “but we brought a special guest.”
“Marina Valentine,” he whispered. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m sorry to be staring so much. I’ve never seen a Normal. Ever.”
“First time for everything I guess,” I said, offering my hand for him to shake. Oh. God. What if he refuses to shake my hand? What if he just leaves it hanging out there? Ugh, how embarrassing.
“I will not shake your hand,” he shouted.
“Uh, oh, all right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said.
“Yes, well, next time don’t forget. Now, give me a big hug!” he said, his chubby arms outstretched.
“Tankster, you are one heck of a tease,” said Treeva, while I enjoyed the hug of a genuinely good merman.
“And don’t you forget it, Tree,” he said with a wink. “We need to get this boy by his mermobile. The anthem is getting ready to play. You gonna stand by his side, Marina?”
“If Troy wants me there,” I said, my insides eager.
He took my hand and said, “No other place I’d want you to be. Tree, wait for Marina until after the anthem.”
“You want us in the pit box or in our private seats in the stands?” she asked.
“Stands. I’m not sure Marina is ready for the pit box,” Troy said.
“Why not?” I asked, slightly crestfallen.
“They’re not normal pit boxes. They move like the stadium does, only instead of sitting parallel with the track, they sit just beneath it. See, the crew chiefs watch the mermobiles and the track from below. They need to be able to watch how and when the track changes. When we pit, the pit box soars up out of the trench, makes adjustments, and then drops back down. It’s a lot of abrupt movement. I really don’t want you to puke.”
“Got it. No explanation needed.” I hated puking.
“Mermen and mermaids, welcome to the 1,700th running of the Marlamoxie 500 here at Gulf Super Speedway!” On one of two massive screens, a very self-important merman donning an official-looking badge stood behind a shimmering blue podium and addressed the thousands in attendance.
“Meric Merple,” whispered Troy. “Racing commissioner. Arrogant shellfish.”
“With tonight’s invocation, I give you our revered Merfather, Shelldon Smithe,” said Meric, handing the crystal crab claw microphone to an ancient man with a kind face and gentle eyes.
Upon his taking the microphone, nearly every merp, including Troy, bowed and placed their folded hands upon their hearts. Ravenflames were the only ones upright. Not wanting to associate with Ravenflames, I decided to do as the Fairhairs did.
“Let us bow our heads, place our hands upon our resting hearts, and allow our souls to gaze upon the blessings we receive. We ask for truth, peace, and love, for these times may be forcibly quiet, but they are not steady. On this night, we call upon our savior to give us strength, safety, and freedom.”
I wondered who The Rev. meant by ‘savior.’ I sure as heck hope he wasn’t talking about me. I can’t even save a crab from a pot of boiling water without the gags rendering me useless.
“Mernafey mongoish flotasha menyeaha,” said Merfather Smithe.
“What did he say?” I asked Troy.
Troy, looking somewhat pale, simply said, “Remember, freedom only lives if we live to save it.”
“Deep.”
“Yes,” he said, frowning.
“Thank you Merfather Smithe,” said Meric, retaking the podium. “For our anthem, please welcome Mayfair Finnegan.”
With her charcoal gray tail swishing from side to side, a cute Fairhair began singing a beautiful, lullaby-like song. Once over, I was ready for a nap.
“Thank you, Mayfair! Gentlemen, time to get strapped in and prepare for the command,” said Meric.
So, I guess now I’m supposed to kiss him, wish him luck, and walk away. The walking away part might be tricky. Before I could even look at Troy, he kissed me. He always knows exactly what I need.
“Promise to enjoy the race and not worry too much?” he asked, tucking a few loose hairs behind my ear.
“Promise not to die out there?”
“I promise,” he said, crossing his heart.
“Then I promise to enjoy the race.” I totally lied.
Kissing my nose, he waved for Treeva, who promptly dragged me away from him. Good thing she did, because I’m not sure I would have been able to leave otherwise.
“Strands, take us to the private section, please,” said Treeva.
The seaweed strands rapidly responded, jerking us upward, sideways, diagonal, and down, before placing us in our plentiful seats. We were in the foremost box, which was situated directly opposite the start/finish line. About ten silver and crystal chairs stood haphazardly to one another, with Treeva sitting just sideways and a little behind me.
“You didn’t chunk it up! Proud of you,” said Treeva, handing me what looked like a magnifying mirror with two sculpted handles.
“Surprised myself,” I said, choking down a gag. “What is this?” I asked, looking at the silver magnifier thing.
“It’s a mirmagbinio. Part magnifier, part mirror, part binocular, part radio transmitter. You get the best of all four things. You can see things at a distance as if they were right next to you. And you can listen to your favorite driver’s radio communications.”
“What about the mirror part?” I asked, fidgeting with the mirmagbinio.
“Well, you sure won’t see your reflection. It only shows the true reflection of others. Aim it for that mermaid with the Kyle Zale hat, and then press the purple button on the handles,” said Treeva.
I looked at the handles to find the purple button. In between the blue magnifier button and the yellow binocular button was the purple mirror button; beneath the yellow binocular button was a bright green one for radio communications. Aiming the mirmagbinio at the woman, I pressed the purple mirror button. Oh my holy gosh. While to the naked eye the woman sat politely with her attractive friend, the mirror showed quite a different woman—one who glared at her friend and whispered, “I hate you. I knew Neil long before you. He should be with me. I bet if I chopped off your perfect hair he wouldn’t want you anymore. Bitch.”
“This brings a whole new meaning to being two-faced.” I backed away from the mirmagbinio and stared at Treeva. “You do realize I will want to play with this button instead of watching the race,” I said, swinging it around my finger.
Treeva started laughing. “It seems like that now. Just wait until the race starts.”
Until then, I played with the mirror function and garnered quite an assortment of sordid secrets.
“Hey, Treeva? If mermobiles glide, how can they drive on a track?”
“There’s a certain invisible pull between the track and the mermobile, enabling them to race as they would in your world. There are times when they will glide…and soar…and slide.”
“This I have to see.”
“And now for our command, please welcome the Gulf’s most winning racer, R.D. Hart!” said Meric.
“Gentlemen, START YOUR MERLORS!” shouted R.D. Hart in one heck of a hearty voice.
“Merlor?” I asked.
“Well, we don’t use engines. Merlors are fueled by a combination of crushed shells and belief,” whispered Treeva.
“Belief?” Am I ever going to stop asking questions?
“The driver must believe in the mermobile…and his own abilities.”
“Troy shouldn’t run out of fuel, then,” I mused.
“No, he certainly shouldn’t,” said Treeva, beaming. “Better strap in,” she added, fastening a silver belt across her middle. “Want to hear commentary from the booth? I have it turned off, but we can turn it on if you like.”
Strapping myself in, I replied, “Sure.”
“The pacer will pull off on this next turn, and then we’re ready to go racing, boys!” said one of the announcers. “This race is going to be especially tricky since the new
track tricks were installed. Elad, you drove this track not long ago. What do you think about the new tricks?”
“Aw, man, Kram, you know as well as I do how damn tough it’s gonna be…and I know you’re wishin’, like me, to be out there,” said Elad.
“We’ll have to see those new tricks first! Then I’ll let you know if I miss being out there,” said Kram to a chorus of laughs.
“Um, Treeva, what do they mean by tricks?” I asked warily.
“Ooh, look, they’re coming to the start/finish,” she said, patting my hand, totally evading the question.
Rolling my eyes, my gaze fell upon the roaring mermobiles heading straight for us.
“Pull those belts tight! In honor of a former racer…moolity, moolity, moolity, let’s go racing, boys!” said Kram cheerily.
Forty-two mermobiles zoomed by us like tangible thunder, and I quickly understood the need for belts. With every turn they made on the track, the stadium seats tilted up, down, and sideways, so we never missed a single moment.
“You okay?” asked Treeva.
“Awesome with a hearty helping of fricking! It’s like a crazy park ride. They should totally have these in my world!” I shouted over the insane noise.
“Kyle Zale immediately takes the lead. He’s got some mad skills,” said Kram.
“Mad skills…and a born jackass,” Elad added.
“Um, uh, well, there’s young Troy Tombolo right on his tail,” said Kram.
“There’s a kid with mad skills…minus the jackass,” said Elad.
“But Kyle is really moving. His mermobile looks a little loose coming out of turn two, but most of them look like they’re having some handling issues…except Tombolo. He has a rocket,” said Kram. “And he takes the lead from Kyle!”
“Banger, Banz, and Dweeller round out your top five. So far, it’s a two-man race between young Tombolo and the seasoned Kyle Zale, who has just retaken the lead. Tombolo’s not going to give it up that easy! Don’t these guys know we have two hundred and fifty laps to go?!” said Elad.
FINNED (The Merworld Water Wars) Page 20
