“I’m sorry,” Arthur said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Claudia said. “I would have done it, y’know.” She made a fist with her right hand, then crashed it into her open left palm. Then she wiggled the fingers on her left hand and moved them away, making an explosion sound.
At that, Arthur let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I believe you woulda hit Matt.”
“And he woulda gone down, too,” Claudia said.
“How’d you get so tough?” Arthur asked.
“Two brothers,” she replied. “One older, one younger. Both pains in the butt.”
Arthur nodded as he shuffled along the side of the road. He looked down the street and saw the ocean on the horizon, and toward the right, the lighthouse on the shore. Home. He thought for a moment about what was waiting for him there.
His dad. It was just him and his dad.
But he still felt like he was all alone.
“It’s okay, you know,” Claudia added. Arthur turned his head slightly to the right, cocking it, looking at Claudia as if to say, What are you talking about?
“Not having a mom. I don’t have a mom.”
“You don’t?” Arthur asked.
Claudia shook her head, then shrugged. “It’s okay.”
Arthur kicked a rock down the middle of the road. “I didn’t know about your mom,” Arthur said. “I’m sorry.”
Claudia smiled. “I’m sorry about your mom, too.”
Then Claudia stepped in front of Arthur and kicked the next rock before he had a chance.
“I was going to kick that,” Arthur said.
“I know,” Claudia replied.
Chapter Six
“THOSE STOMPING FEET CAN ONLY mean one thing—someone must be here to steal the beacon! The ships are doomed! Dooooooooomed!”
Arthur sighed. That was one of his dad’s favorite jokes. Every time he trudged up the stairs making heavy footsteps, and didn’t call out, Hey, Dad, it’s Arthur, Tom would make the joke. This had been going on for years.
It wasn’t very funny. At least, Arthur didn’t think so.
As he clomped up the spiraling steps toward the lighthouse beacon, Arthur looked down at his feet, and the well-worn boots, and shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, Dad, it’s Arthur,” he said, closing the loop on the father-son joke once again.
When he got to the top of the lighthouse, he saw Tom, wrench in hand, as he loosened a nut on the beacon assemblage. “Gotta make sure everything’s working properly. Don’t want any ships running into the dining room,” Tom said, clearly in a good mood. “You done with your homework?” he asked.
Arthur nodded.
“Great. You ready to give your old man a hand?”
Arthur nodded again.
“Great. You gonna nod until your head falls off and rolls all the way down the stairs?”
Without thinking, Arthur nodded, then realized what his dad had just said. He managed a weak smile.
“You’re here, but you aren’t here, are you?” Tom said. “Hand me that rag, will ya?”
Arthur reached inside his father’s toolbox and grabbed an old rag spotted black with oil. He offered it to Tom.
“Anything in particular or everything in general?” Tom asked as he took the rag and wiped the oil off his hands.
“S’nothing,” Arthur said, avoiding his father’s eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Tom arched his back, then reached for the mug that was sitting on the floor near him and took a sip of coffee. “So, it’s nothing, and you don’t want to talk about it. Which means it’s something,” Tom said, looking at his son. “I have a crowbar somewhere around here. I suppose I could use that to pry it out of you. Might hurt a little.”
Arthur managed a slight chuckle.
“What is it, kid?” Tom said, concern in his voice. “Something happen at school?”
Arthur shook his head. “Not at school.”
“Field trip?”
Arthur nodded.
“Let me guess,” Tom said, setting the cup of coffee down on the floor, and picking up a screwdriver. “Mike and Matt. Again.”
“Sort of. A little. But not really, I guess,” Arthur said.
Tom went to scratch the back of his head, stopping an instant before as he realized it was the hand that held the screwdriver. “I’m confused. So . . . what happened, exactly?”
“When we were at the aquarium, Mike and Matt were busting on me like usual,” Arthur started. “And Matt pushed me up against a tank.”
“Did he hurt you?” Tom asked, a note of anger creeping into his voice.
“No, he— It’s hard to explain,” Arthur said.
Tom took a breath. “Give me a shot.”
For the first time since he’d entered the lighthouse, Arthur looked at his dad. “I was staring at the fish in the tank, and . . . I . . . I felt something.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. It was just a . . . feeling. I can’t really explain it. And then all the fish were watching me.”
Tom looked at his son sharply. “Watching you? What do you mean, watching you?”
Arthur nodded. “I mean they were watching me. They were all up against the glass just . . . looking at me. And . . . and when Matt shoved me against the tank, this shark . . . this shark sorta rammed into it.”
“A shark rammed into the glass?” Tom asked. “That was just a coincidence, Arthur, you can’t—”
“It hit the glass twice, Dad. In the same spot. It wasn’t a coincidence, it . . . it was . . . weird. The shark actually cracked the glass,” Arthur said. His voice was trembling.
“Are you okay?” Tom moved next to Arthur, holding his son by the shoulders, looking at him as if checking for wounds. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m not hurt, I’m just . . . ,” Arthur replied, his voice trailing off. “It’s like . . . I don’t know, it’s like, somehow, the fish, and me . . . like I could feel what they were feeling? And like they knew how I was feeling or something. Like they were . . . like they were trying to protect me. That’s what it felt like, anyway.”
For the next minute, neither father nor son said a word. Tom stood there, holding his son.
Then, at last, Arthur said, “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? You have nothing to be sorry about,” Tom said. “I’m the one who’s sorry. Sorry that you have to go through this. Sorry that I can’t do anything to make it easier for you.”
“I just . . . They call me a freak, and I . . . I don’t want to be a freak. I just want to be a kid.”
“You are just a kid, Arthur,” Tom said, trying to console his son. “But you’re also something more. You’re just . . . different, that’s all.”
“I don’t want to be different,” Arthur said. “Different hurts.”
“We are what we are,” Tom said. “And part of you comes from me, and part of you comes from your mother. The things that made her different are what make you different, too.”
“I don’t want to be different!” Arthur yelled, the force of his voice surprising his father.
Tom looked at his son, eyes full of sympathy, struggling to find the right words. “Your mother loved you very much, Arthur. Seeing you, listening to you talk . . . it’s like part of her is here with me, right now. I wish she could be here to help.”
“If she loved me . . . if she loved you so much, why isn’t she here now?” Arthur said bitterly.
Stunned silence followed as Arthur stormed out of the lighthouse.
Chapter Seven
HE KICKED A ROCK, TAKING A CLUMP of wet sand with it. The rock shot out toward the ocean, inches above the surface, before hitting the water and sinking with a tiny plop.
“Dang,” Arthur said, realizing that he had gotten sand inside his boot in the process. “Now I’m a jerk and I have sand in my boot.”
Why did I say that to Dad? Arthur wondered. I shouldn’t have. It’s not his fault Mom left. It’s not his fault, right?
H
e stopped walking along the beach and sat down in the sand. Untying his boots, he took them off and removed his socks. He stuffed them inside the boots, then tied the laces from one boot to another. Standing up, he slung the shoelace strap over his shoulder, and started to walk again, this time closer to the ocean. Close enough so the rolling tidewater would come in and cover his feet.
Gazing out into the distance, he saw the rocks that lined the shallows. When the tide went out, you could walk to the rocks and sit on them. And when the water rolled back in, they would be covered again. Right now, they were partially visible.
He walked closer to the rocks, trying to clear his mind, which proved next to impossible. Arthur couldn’t stop replaying the conversation with his father over in his head. And he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened at the aquarium. What was happening? What was going on? Why did everything have to be so, so . . . difficult?
Arthur heard the sound of splashing water. It was almost like nature responding to his internal dialogue, the splash punctuating his unspoken sentence.
Then came another splash.
Then another.
“Hey, Topo,” Arthur said, though there was no one else to be seen.
No one else, except a small octopus. The creature pulled itself out from the ocean, and onto one of the rocks in the shallows. Arthur now stood about ten feet away from the octopus, and he smiled at it. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” Arthur said out loud. “You been busy with octopus stuff?”
The octopus sat on the rock, minding its own business, splashing a tentacle in the water.
“All the time I talk, you just splash,” Arthur said, starting to walk again. “It’s like you’re an octopus or something.” The octopus slid off the rock, back into the water. Topo kept pace with Arthur, using its tentacles to scoot along in the shallow water, as Arthur walked.
“I don’t know what’s happening, Topo,” Arthur said. “I mean, we’ve always been friends, since I can remember. But what happened today at the aquarium was . . . super creepy.”
Looking over his shoulder, Arthur saw Topo splashing in the water. Maybe he saw something good to eat?
“I don’t know, maybe I thought I was just some kind of . . . octopus whisperer or something. Seeing all those fish just floating there like that . . . and then the shark. I mean, the shark was seriously frightening.”
Arthur jumped in the air and stamped down into the sand, squishing it between his toes. “But it wasn’t frightening, y’know?”
Splash.
“The shark . . . the shark didn’t look like it wanted to hurt me,” Arthur said, thinking out loud now. “It looked like it wanted to hurt Matt. And Mike, I guess. It was like the shark was trying to protect me somehow.”
Splash. Splash.
“I know, weird, right? And . . . I keep having these dreams. There are sharks in the dream,” Arthur said slowly.
Splash.
“The sharks, they don’t hurt me or anything. They’re just . . . there. I don’t know what’s going on, Topo. I just . . . I just . . . ,” Arthur said, grasping at the words.
He was quiet for a moment, then Arthur turned to look at Topo. Arthur stopped walking, and Topo stopped scooting through the water. The two remained there, in silence, regarding one another, until Arthur said, “I am telling my problems to an octopus.”
Chapter Eight
BY THE TIME ARTHUR ARRIVED AT the front door of his house, it was dark. He had been out on the beach for a few hours, long enough for him to lose track of time. He clasped the doorknob in his right hand, turning it slowly, trying not to make any noise. So far, so good. But when he pushed the door open, it creaked loudly.
Busted.
Not that he would have been able to sneak in anyway. His father was sitting there at the kitchen table, waiting for him, his omnipresent mug of coffee in front of him.
“Your dinner’s in the oven,” Tom said, not looking up from his coffee. “I kept it warm for you.”
Arthur gave his head a little nod. “Thanks.” He closed the door behind him, then walked over to the sink, washing his hands. Then he opened the oven door. Inside was a foil-wrapped plate. He removed the plate using a pot holder, then set it down on the table. Sitting down next to his dad, Arthur removed the foil. Meat loaf and mashed potatoes, with a side of green beans. There was a napkin on the table, along with a fork. He unfolded the paper napkin and put it on his lap, then took the fork in his right hand.
“Thanks, Dad,” Arthur said softly.
“Sea fork,” Tom replied, pointing at the utensil in Arthur’s hand.
Arthur managed a smile.
He cut off a piece of meat loaf, then set his fork down. “I’m sorry. About before, I shouldn’t . . . I was mean,” Arthur said.
“It’s okay,” Tom said, his voice calm and low.
“No, I was mean, and I shouldn’t have been. And then I came home late, and missed dinner, and—”
“It’s okay, Arthur,” Tom said, putting his hand on Arthur’s. “I understand. I get it. If I were in your shoes, I’d probably have reacted the same way.”
“My shoes are full of sand,” Arthur said.
“Yeah, well, a hazard of living on the beach,” Tom replied.
Arthur raised the fork to his mouth and took a bite of meat loaf. “S’good,” he said, mouth full of food.
“Maybe it’s time,” Tom said.
“Time for what?” Arthur asked, taking a forkful of mashed potatoes.
“Time that you knew a little more about your mom,” Tom said. “And why she really had to leave.”
Arthur put the fork down and stared at his father. “Why did she leave?” he asked.
“I told myself that you had to be old enough; that’s why I haven’t shared everything. But if you’re not old enough now, I don’t know when you’ll be old enough. Finish your dinner, and we’ll talk.”
They sat on the couch, the photo album spread out on the small coffee table in front of them. There was a baby picture of Arthur. A photo of his father. Then a picture of Tom with Arthur’s mother, Atlanna. Then, finally, a photograph of Atlanna holding baby Arthur.
“I wish you could remember her,” Tom said.
“I wish I could, too,” Arthur echoed. “But I don’t understand . . .”
“It was to protect you,” Tom began. “To protect us. Your mother . . . your mother was . . . is . . . a queen.”
“A queen?” Arthur asked, incredulous.
“A queen. Of Atlantis. But she found happiness here, with me. With you,” Tom said, his voice growing smaller.
“Atlantis?” Arthur asked quietly. “Like . . . city-under-the-sea Atlantis?”
Tom nodded. “Continent, actually,” he said softly. “That’s where your mother is from. She wanted to stay here. With us. Forever. But she knew she couldn’t.”
“Why couldn’t she?” His question sounded so innocent.
“Her people wouldn’t let her,” Tom said. “They would do anything to take her back. And if anyone got in their way? Well, they’d get rid of them.”
“You mean you and me,” Arthur said flatly.
“You and me,” Tom answered. “They came for her once. Not many, just a few.”
“Who were they?” Arthur asked.
“Her people,” Tom said. “Atlanteans. They were soldiers. Trained to fight. But she was able to stop them, your mother was. She knew there would be more of them, though. Lots more. And if she didn’t leave, they would take away everything she loved.”
Arthur stared at the picture of his mom holding him. “But she had everything taken away from her anyway.”
Tom rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But at least we’re alive, Arthur.”
“At least,” Arthur said.
Chapter Nine
HE COULDN’T BREATHE.
His lungs felt like they were going to explode from the inside. From the outside, he felt incredible pressure, like someone had placed a stack of bricks on his chest and decided
to jump up and down on them.
Arthur felt a tugging sensation all around him, like he was being pulled in all directions at once. Was something there? And where was he? It was so dark, he couldn’t see. Then he realized it was water. The water was yanking him this way and that, its strong current pulling Arthur along. And then Arthur knew where he was.
He was in the ocean again.
He tried to swim, to break free of the current, but it was no use. The current was too strong, and it yanked him along, deeper and deeper. Arthur tried to scream out, but there was no sound. He sucked water in and started to panic.
This isn’t like before, Arthur thought. The ocean’s always been peaceful to me, but this . . . this . . . It’s like I’m being attacked!
Why was the ocean trying to take him? No matter what Arthur did, no matter how hard he struggled and kicked his legs, he couldn’t seem to break free of the current. Deeper and deeper he went, eyes glancing upward at the tiny pinprick of light that he could see, and even that was now fading into distant memory.
This isn’t like before . . .
His muscles ached like crazy, and he just wanted to close his eyes.
You can’t! Don’t stop!
Dragged along with the current, Arthur saw something in the murky depths moving up ahead.
Shark?
The shape seemed to be swimming, moving, back and forth, back and forth. What it was, Arthur couldn’t tell. He strained his eyes, feeling like they might pop right out of his head. But he still couldn’t see what it was.
His chest hurt. He desperately needed to breathe.
But he couldn’t. And his body felt so heavy. So, so heavy . . .
The shape swam closer to Arthur, but it was still so hard to see. What was it? He reached out with his arms, trying to scoop the water, to pull himself toward the shape. It looked vaguely human. There was something about it . . . something that seemed safe? Arthur couldn’t understand why he felt that way.
The shape was coming closer, closer than it had before, and Arthur swore he could see that the shape had . . . a face? Long hair swirled around the shape’s face, and as Arthur looked, he saw beautiful, strong features. The shape seemed to smile at Arthur.
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