Fins Are Forever

by Tera Lynn Childs

  “Everything will be fine,” Aunt Rachel insists. “You’ll do the best you can on the SATs, and who knows, you might do great. Besides, you have the interview with the director of the program at Seaview Community. You will be amazed by what a face-to-face meeting can accomplish.”

  My mood brightens, and I’m about to ask if she really thinks so when she adds, “No matter what happens, we’ll figure things out.” Her voice drops to a more serious tone. “That’s what life is. Facing challenge after challenge and figuring out a way to get through.”

  I take a deep breath. I know what her change of tone means.

  Between us we’ve already faced a lot of challenges, like she’s faced figuring out how to go on after losing a sister—my mom—and I’ve faced having to grow up without a mother. And then there was the challenge of finding myself magically bonded to a boy I thought I hated but who really turned out to be my perfect mermate. That one turned out rather well, by the way, so maybe not all challenges are all bad.

  Right on cue and reading my mind as always, Quince swings open the kitchen door and walks in. “Morning, Aunt Rachel,” he says, giving her a respectful nod. Then he turns to me. “Lily.”

  Yes, that particular challenge turned out pretty much perfect.

  I launch myself at him. Arms around his neck, cheek against his shoulder. I’d probably be planting one on his lips if Aunt Rachel weren’t standing right there. He slides his arms around my waist and rests his chin on my head. I send my worries downstream for a while, sinking into the comfort of his embrace.

  “Good morning, Quince,” Aunt Rachel replies. “Did you eat?”

  I feel him shake his head. “Missed the alarm the first few times.”

  “I’ll fix you some peanut-butter toast.”

  “I wouldn’t put you out,” he says, slipping into the southern-gentleman mode he seems to save for my relatives, “but my stomach would be most appreciative.”

  “I’ve missed you,” I say, leaning back but not releasing him. “We’ve barely seen each other since Doe showed up.”

  I know he’s feeling it, too. There’s a hint of longing in his eyes, and somehow I know it’s about me. Moments like this make me daydream, make me wonder whether there’s a teeny-tiny filament of the bond still connecting us. I ignore this thought, which invariably leads to a vain hope that Quince can one day return to Thalassinia. That’s something I can’t think about right now.

  He grins. “Let’s change that this afternoon. I can take off from work and we could . . .”

  He trails off when I give him a sad look.

  “I can’t,” I explain. Why do the important things always seem to be in conflict? “I have an SAT prep class after school. It lasts until six.”

  Quince knows how much getting into college means to me, now that I’m going to be staying on land. He’s been nothing but supportive of my desperate efforts to improve my chances at decent scores. But I also know he wishes we were spending more time together.

  “How about this weekend?” he asks.

  “I have that interview on Saturday morning.” I release him so he can take the peanut-butter toast Aunt Rachel offers him. “After that I’m totally free.”

  He pulls out a chair at the kitchen table and takes a bite of toast, consuming almost half the triangle in one chomp. He nods while he finishes chewing. “Sounds good.” Holding the rest of the triangle in front of his mouth, he says, “I thought we might take a ride down the coast,” before the toast dis-appears into his mouth. “You’ve never seen the Keys, right?”

  “Nope, never,” I say.

  I glance at Aunt Rachel for approval. She’s usually pretty tolerant with me, letting me have my freedom and independence—one of the perks of having a hippie holdout for a guardian—but sometimes she puts her foot down. Like about last year’s state swim meet.

  Managers aren’t invited to go unless the entire team qualifies. Since only Brody and one other swimmer from Seaview made the cut, my official presence was not required in Orlando. I wanted to go anyway, though, to support the team. And to spend quality time with Brody, of course.

  Aunt Rachel had said absolutely, unequivocally, one thousand percent not on your life. She couldn’t leave the studio for that long, and she wasn’t about to let me go, unchaperoned, to another part of the state with no one officially looking out for me.

  The fact that I’d have been practically alone with my crush probably didn’t help my argument.

  I’d been devastated, but in retrospect, I know she was right.

  This trip is different. I think. It’s not overnight and it’s not Brody. Also, I’m older by a year and she adores Quince. She’s been pretty vocal about how glad she is we’re together. Hopefully this translates into trusting him enough to take me on a mini road trip.

  When she nods, whew, I say, “Sounds like fun.” I drop into the chair next to him at the table. “I miss riding on your motorcycle.”

  He gives me a surprised look—because I used to hate Princess, aka the beastly death trap on wheels. My first couple motorcycle-driving lessons didn’t end real well, but being a passenger is way different. I love the feel of the wind in my face and my hair whipping behind me. It’s like swimming in air.

  Since getting a ride from Aunt Rachel that first day to get Doe registered, though, the toadfish cousin and I have been walking to school. No room for two passengers on Princess, and no way am I leaving Doe to her own devices. Who knows what kind of trouble she could find on her way to school.

  “You can get over that,” Doe declares as she walks into the kitchen, Prithi faithfully at her heels. “I’ve got a ride.”

  Quince waves at Doe, his mouth full of toast.

  “What do you mean,” I ask, “you’ve got a ride?”

  Doe looks just as fashionable as she has all week in an ankle-length skirt that changes from a deep purple at the bottom to almost white at the waist, a plain white tank top, and a big, silver multichain belt that hangs low over her abdomen. Even her briefcase doesn’t distract from the fact that she is obviously a cool girl.

  Three days on land and she’s at the top of the social ladder.

  How does she do that?

  Plus she’s managed perfect makeup, perfect silver manicure, and perfect, nonfrizzed hair. Life is so unfair.

  “Brody’s picking me up,” she explains as she pours herself a glass of grape juice, which she’s decided is a tolerable substitute for kelpberry juice. She turns to face me, glass in hand. “He didn’t want me having to walk all the way to school again.”

  All the way? I snort. It’s six blocks.

  As much as I’d like to ride to school with Quince and not spend the extra fifteen minutes each way in dedicated one-on-one time with Doe, the idea of her and Brody alone in his car sends off warning bells.

  “You can’t ride with Brody,” I say.

  Doe downs her glass of juice before asking, “Why not?”

  “Why not?” I echo. I’m starting to feel like a broken record about this. Does she really not get it? Or is she just trying to drive me insane? Both are viable options at this point. “Because he’s a human. Because you’re not. Because you’re only going to be here a short time—”

  “Because you still have feelings for him?”

  I jerk back at Doe’s accusation. “What? No,” I answer after a heartbeat of shock. “Of course not.”

  I glance at Quince. I mean, he must know that I’m totally over Brody, right? Because I am. The only boy who gives me butterflyfish in the stomach anymore is Quince. I’m ruined for other boys. I know that’s a cliché, but it’s true.

  He just kind of shrugs and rolls his eyes at Doe’s suggestion, chomping the last bite of his toast. He has his mildly jealous moments, but I guess this isn’t one of them. Brody isn’t a threat anymore.

  Doe sets her glass in the sink. “Then I don’t see what the problem is.”

  “You don’t?” I push to my feet. “It’s just . . . well, you . . . and he—”


  I look helplessly at Quince and Aunt Rachel, hoping that one of them will know how to get through to Doe. Quince shakes his head, and Aunt Rachel actually says, “I don’t see the harm.”

  Am I the only sane person who sees this as a shipwreck in progress?

  “Then it’s settled,” Doe says. A loud honk, honk blares from the direction of the driveway between our house and Quince’s. “That’ll be Brody. See you later.”

  She grabs her briefcase and heads out the kitchen door. Dazed, I follow her, leaning out the door to watch her climb into Brody’s Camaro. He has his arm over the passenger seat, and when Doe sinks into the leather he tries to lean in for a kiss. Before I can shout “No!” she pulls back and laughingly pushes him to his side of the car.

  Well, at least there’s that. She’s not entirely without sense.

  I can’t imagine what kind of disaster it would be if she let him kiss her and they wound up bonded. D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R. On a melting-polar-ice-caps scale.

  “This isn’t going to end well,” I mutter as I turn back into the kitchen.

  Quince is there, wrapping his big, strong arms around me.

  “Things could be worse,” he says.

  “I don’t see how.”

  “Well,” he says, leaning back to give me a cocky grin, “I could make you drive Princess to school.”

  As much as I want to stay in a bad mood, I can’t help but giggle. “Yeah,” I concede. “That would definitely be worse. For everyone.”

  Quince winks. “Especially Princess.”

  “I’m off to the shower,” Aunt Rachel announces. “You kids have a good day at school.”

  When the sound of her footsteps on the stairs fades away, Quince asks, “Is she gone?”

  I peer over his shoulder, through the kitchen, and into the hall beyond. Before I’m done nodding, his lips are on mine. He gives me one of those long, soft, warm-all-over kisses that make me forget Dosinia and Brody and the SATs and anything that isn’t just enjoying this moment.

  Ah, yes, I mentally sigh. Everything will be fine.

  Seven hours of school plus three hours of test prep equals complete brain fry. I’m pretty sure the goal of the SAT class is to teach me how to improve my score, but right now there are so many four-syllable words and mile-long equations floating around in my head that I can barely think straight, let alone actually make sense of test questions.

  If I took the test right now, I’d probably score a negative number.

  For once I’m thankful for the walk home. Except for my nightly saltwater baths—which I’ve needed more than ever since Doe arrived, go figure—this walk is the first quiet time I’ve had in weeks. It should feel good to be alone with my own thoughts for a while. But as the whirlpool of test prep seeps slowly out of my brain, other thoughts flow in. Like worrying about my interview on Saturday. And Doe’s impossible interest in Brody. And the whole renouncing-my-title thing.

  Maybe it’s Doe’s presence, or the knowledge that I’m carrying out my final royal duty, but for whatever reason, thinking about the renunciation is getting harder and harder. I’ve made my choice, and I know I can do a lot to protect Thalassinia here on land. It’s still sad to think I won’t be Princess Waterlily anymore. I suppose it’s natural to have doubts about any major change. That doesn’t mean I’m making the wrong choice. It just means it’s a change.

  Besides, I tried the alternative—giving up land and Quince and Aunt Rachel for a duty-filled life under the sea—and I couldn’t stand it. I’ve made the only choice I can.

  With each step on the faded concrete I try to pound all those troubling thoughts out of my head. I can’t do anything about my worries right now. And dwelling on them will only lead to more stress and possibly an ulcer. Instead, I focus on the beautiful day around me, on the brightly colored flowers that line my street and the freedom of having time to myself. I focus on my breathing, thinking positive thoughts with every inhale.

  Each lungful of fresh air feels like a crash of waves pounding the confusion out of my mind. The murk starts to settle and the waters clear. I look up at the sky, a perfect peri-winkle blue—which makes me think of my best friend, Peri, and I wonder what she’s doing right now, so far away. I’ll see her again soon because her mom is making the gown for my birthday ball.

  Between the ocean breeze and thoughts of Peri and forced positivity, I’m starting to feel revived. Refreshed, like the crisp calm after a storm.

  The only thing that could improve the situation more would be a long soak in a key-lime-salty bath. The tub and I have a date later this evening.

  When I finally get home, I feel like a brand-new Lily and am looking forward to a post-school-and-test-prep snack. I think I’ve earned it. After bursting into the kitchen, I fling my backpack under the table and head to the fridge. There’s a sticky note from Aunt Rachel on the door, reminding us that she has a late class today and won’t be home until after eight. The good news is we’re going to order pizza.

  That will be a surprise for Doe.

  She ignored me at lunch today and didn’t speak to me in art. Her message was clear: I overreacted this morning about her and Brody. Maybe she’s right. I should have more faith in her, I guess. She may be a boy-crazy toadfish, but she’s not stupid and she’s still a merperson of royal descent. Duty and responsibility have been drilled into her since guppyhood, too. Even if she usually chooses to ignore them. She’s not going to accidentally reveal our secret or anything.

  Grabbing a pair of cheese sticks from the fridge, I decide I need to apologize. If I’m going to teach her to not hate humans, I’m pretty sure she has to not hate me first.

  String cheese is the perfect tension breaker and conversation starter—who doesn’t love peeling the stick apart string by string?

  And just in case that’s not enough, I grab a pair of juice boxes.

  Feeling optimistic, I bound up the stairs two at a time. When I get to Doe’s door—the room that, until last Friday, was Aunt Rachel’s sewing room—I kick gently at the base while pulling open one of the cheese-stick packages.

  No answer.

  Huh. I don’t know where else she could be. I mean, it’s not like she has extracurricular activities or an after-school job.

  Besides, Prithi is staring intently at the crack under the door.

  Doe must be in there.

  “Doe?” I ask as I turn the handle.

  Pushing the door open, my eyes scan the room for any sign of my cousin. As I look over the messy piles of clothes and the schoolwork strewn all over the floor and the unmade bed—Doe is clearly used to an extensive housekeeping staff—it takes me a few seconds to find her in the debris field.

  Correction, to find them.

  I get a view of way more Doe than I’d bargained for.

  She and Brody are lying on her daybed, arms wrapped around each other, clothing still intact but bunched and disheveled to the point of revealing skin that’s usually well and truly covered.

  “Omigod!” I gasp.

  I grab for the door handle, dropping the cheese and juice boxes in the process, and hastily pull the door shut, just as Prithi darts inside. That is something no girl should have to walk in on.

  Heart pounding, I lean back against the closed door and try to erase the mental image.

  But no matter how hard I squeeze my eyes, it won’t go away.

  If only I could perform a mindwashing on myself.

  I’m not sure how long it takes—two seconds? Twenty?—but all of a sudden it hits me. After blurring out the below-the-waist bit of the mental image, my focus shifts to their upper bodies. The part of the image at the top of her bed. Their heads.

  My humiliation evaporates.

  Fear and anger and utter panic flood my bloodstream as I whip around and throw open the door. It crashes against the wall and shakes the framed pictures of Mom’s family.

  “Dosinia Sanderson!” I shout.

  She and Brody are now busy rearranging their mussed-up clo
thing, trying to act as if nothing at all was going on. As if I hadn’t seen what I know I saw. Brody is on his feet, tugging his T-shirt back into place. Doe’s pretty much put back together, skirt hem down where it belongs with no inappropriate skin showing, and is busy smoothing out her hair.

  Too bad she can’t do anything about her lips.

  “What have you done?” I demand.

  I can’t tear my eyes away from her plumper-than-usual mouth.

  Casually, as if she’d just accidentally spilled her grape juice on the kitchen floor, she swipes one finger beneath her bottom lip, clearing away any displaced lip gloss.

  “What does it look like?” she replies with a smirk. “I’m making out with my boyfriend.”

  I don’t know how I manage to stay standing. By all rights I should collapse into a heap on the floor, next to the piles of shoes and dirty clothes. I feel like I’ve been caught up in a powerful current that is dragging me . . . wherever it wants to go.

  As it is, I have to brace my arms on the doorjamb to keep from pitching forward. Every awful thing I’d been afraid of happening just happened.

  Doe kissed Brody.

  And now they’re bonded and Brody is turning mer.

  D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R.

  Chapter 5

  Who’s ready for pizza?” Aunt Rachel singsongs as she walks in the kitchen door. “I’ve got Lorenzo’s on speed di—”

  She freezes when she sees the three of us—me, Brody, and Dosinia—sitting around the kitchen table. I’m sure none of us looks terribly happy.

  Brody, at least, has the grace to appear mortifyingly embarrassed. Good. He should feel like a froggin’ clownfish after I found him making the moves on my baby cousin. And in my own house!

  Not that I can be entirely furious with him. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what he’s gotten himself into—correction, what Doe’s gotten him into. He’s about to get the surprise of a lifetime, let me tell you.