by Seven Steps
“Mermaid dreams,” Daddy spits.
“They may be. But they’re my dreams. My mermaids. You can drag me back home, but I will never stop trying to make it here. I won’t give up. Not now. Not ever.”
Daddy’s expression darkens.
“Ariel Swimworthy, after these shenanigans, I can guarantee your foot will never again touch another drop of water while I’m alive. Now come along. We’re going home, and I won’t hear anything else about it.”
I set my chin stubbornly, though my heart is pounding. I won’t be intimidated. Not after I’ve come so far.
“I’m not going. I’m staying here and swimming.”
“I did not fly two hours to watch you run away again. Now come along.”
“No.”
“I am warning you, Ariel, if you don’t move this very minute, I will ship you off to boarding school in the arctic tundra!” His calm voice turns into a roar. “Do you hear me?”
I swallow again.
“As long as they have a pool,” I reply.
Daddy goes beet red. It’s so red I worry he’ll have a stroke right now. His voice drops low, and he speaks to me with bared teeth and flaring nostrils.
“You are just like your mother.”
Then he lets out another roar and storms off.
My stomach clenches so hard I’m nauseous.
Is he going to get the police? Or perhaps he’s going to find some rope and a neckerchief so he can tie me up and drag me back to New York.
I stand my ground and wait for his next move.
His long legs march through the crowd, and to the door of the arena. Then he swings it open and walks inside.
I look at Bella, her father’s arms hugging her tight.
My eyes widen, and my feet move before I know what they’re doing.
I sprint through the crow and follow my father into the arena. His tall build, gray hair, and no doubt scowling face send the other kids scurrying to get out of his way. He marches straight into the main floor and right up to Coach Fish.
My heart feels like it’s trying to sledgehammer its way out of my chest.
Is he going to blame the coach for this? Is he going to have him fired, or worse, arrested?
“Fish!” Daddy’s voice booms through the small arena.
Coach Fish sees him, and his eyes go as wide as Olympic medals.
“Mr. Swimworthy. I see that you have located Ariel.”
“That I have. She is here to swim on your team. I expect you will make all necessary arrangements.”
My heart stops. My eyes bulge.
Did he just say what I think he said?
He must’ve, because Coach Fish’s face goes pale.
“But, Mr. Swimworthy, the entrants have been added.”
“So add another one.”
My coach looks from me to my father.
“Now,” Daddy barks.
“Yes, sir.”
And then he’s gone, running off to the judging booth.
Daddy swings around to face me. “You aren’t swimming in that, are you?”
My eyes begin to well with tears. “No.”
“Then get changed and get in the water. If you’re going to be an Olympian, you’re going to have to move faster than that.”
I throw my arms around my father, hugging him of my own accord for the first time in a long time.
He pats my back twice and his voice turns from a commanding general to a grizzled and gruff old man that is my dad.
“If this is the only way to keep you from fleeing the state whenever a competition comes up, then so be it. Now, hurry up then. Don’t keep the judges waiting.”
I squeal and run to the locker room, anxious to once again put on my swimsuit.
It’s time to swim for my life.
54
Mama used to tell stories of mermaids. She’d stand on the shore and pretend to search the water. Then, she’d yell, “There they are.” That was the moment my sisters and I would jump in the water and swim, chasing invisible creatures we all swore we saw.
Mama called it Chasing Mermaids.
That’s what I’ve been doing all of my life. Chasing Mermaids.
Maybe this will be the day I’ll finally catch one.
I step onto the blocks at one end of the pool.
My suit fits snuggly today. Probably from all the junk food and lack of exercise. But I don’t care.
This is my chance.
My shot.
My time.
The crowd roars, and I look to my left. Vanessa steps onto the blocks. Her goggles are down and she’s bouncing from one foot to the other and shaking out her shoulders. Then she starts her pre-swim chant.
“All eyes on me. All eyes on me. All eyes on me.”
To my right, my entire family, plus Bella, her father, Cole, Eric, and Alfred Grim cheer me on.
I look at the water and say a silent prayer.
“Please, God, let me win this race.”
The starting horn sounds.
And then, an ethereal peace takes over me.
I’m six years old and back on the beach with Mama and my sisters.
Somewhere in my mind I hear Mama shout, “There they are!”
And I’m off the blocks. Swimming hard. Harder than I’ve ever swum in my life.
There’s no crowd.
There’s no pool.
There’s only me, in the water, chasing mermaids.
I paddle arm over arm.
One. Two. Breathe. One. Two Breathe.
My legs kick fiercely.
One. Two. Breathe. One. Two. Breathe.
I’m in the home stretch now. My entire body shoots through the water like a rocket. Every fiber of my being stretches forward.
I want to touch the wall.
I need to touch the wall.
One. Two. Breathe.
One. Two. Breathe.
I’m almost there, only inches away. I kick hard, darting forward.
Then it’s there.
Cold.
Smooth.
Beautiful.
The wall.
I’ve done it. I, Ariel Swimworthy, have touched the wall. But was it enough?
I snatch off my goggles and stare at the board, waiting for my name and time to come up.
“Hey!”
I hear Vanessa’s voice, but I don’t look away from the board. I have to know if I’ve made it. I have to know if my dreams are about to become a reality.
The blackboard lights up, and my name appears in a list of twelve.
I hold my breath as I look at my ranking and time.
Ariel Swimworthy. Twenty-five twenty.
Number one.
Tears rain down my face. Distantly, I hear someone call my name, but I can’t move. My heart is beating so hard I fear it might explode.
The feeling of achieving your dream, even if it is a little one, is indescribable. It’s happy. It’s sad. It’s overwhelming. It’s energizing. But, for the most part, it’s pure joy.
I climb out of the pool, still in a daze. I can’t believe I’ve placed first.
First.
Me.
“Hey.”
Vanessa comes up to me, her hands on her hips. She’s glaring.
“Where did you learn to swim like that?” she demands.
I shake my head, trying to come up with a clever answer, but all I can come up with is the truth.
“From my mother.”
I walk around her and toward my family, who has already begun spilling out of the benches and running toward me, cheering.
“You did it!”
“We’re so proud!”
All six of my sisters rally around me, and my father holds his arms around us all. In that moment, for the first time in a long time, it feels like we’re a real family. A family who’ll be there for each other no matter what.
Even through tragedy.
Even through achievement.
We’ll never give up on each other ever
again. And that’s the best feeling of all.
55
It’s almost evening.
Everyone decides to eat an early dinner before heading back to New York that night. We dine on steak and potatoes and rich desserts. But nothing tastes as good as victory. Nothing in the world.
After dessert, everyone goes back to the hotel to lie down for a while, but I’m too restless to relax. Too high on adrenaline from my race and my recent adventures.
I pace the lobby, then walk around the hotel, smiling at tourists and watching the kids play in the kiddy pool. A stiff breeze cools my already cold skin. The sun is beginning to set, and the temperature plummets from near eighty to what feels like closer to sixty.
When I grow tired of watching kids shiver in the small pool, I head toward the man-made beach at the edge of the resort. It’s not really a beach. It’s more like a lake surrounded by imported sand. But, water’s water. I sit in an empty chair and stare at the choppy waves, wondering where to go from here.
Qualifiers for the national team are only a few weeks away. I’ll have to train twice as hard. Be twice as determined. Yes, I won today, but, as Coach Fish said, there will always be a race tomorrow.
Somewhere in the distance, the sky rumbles, announcing an impending storm. The breeze picks up, and I run my hands up and down my arms to stop the shivering.
It’s mid-January, and the air’s chilly, but the water looks so inviting.
I can’t resist.
I stand, strip off my jacket, step out of my shoes, and wade into the lake, ignoring the No Swimming signs. When the water’s deep enough, I turn on my back and float. Black clouds race past me, but I figure I have a few minutes before the storm really kicks up. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a beach, just floating. I stare up at the sky in awe. Even in its fury, the sky is beautiful.
I close my eyes and focus on the water splashing against my ears as it carries me deeper into the center of the lake.
This is where I belong. Surrounded by water, feeling it slip between my toes.
Maybe Mama was right.
Maybe I am half mermaid after all.
Then I feel it. The tingling in the pit of my gut. There’s no mistaking this feeling.
Eric.
I lift my head and spot him at the shore, hands clasped behind his head, watching me.
I change my position so I’m upright, my arms and legs moving slightly to keep me afloat.
His mouth moves, and a second later I hear my name.
But I’m still so angry with him. He betrayed me not once but twice.
I can’t let him fool me again.
When I don’t respond, he kicks off his shoes and wades in the water.
I turn and swim hard.
I have to keep myself away.
I have to keep my heart protected from him.
I make it to the center of the lake, then stop and turn my head to see how close he is.
But he’s not close.
In fact, he’s nowhere at all.
I look left. Then right, but there’s no sign of Eric. It’s as if he’s vanished.
Has he left the beach?
Deep down in my heart I know he hasn’t, and my soul fills with dread.
“Eric!” I call.
But there’s only the sound of choppy water. No one’s around.
Then I see it.
A hand. It waves once, then disappears beneath the waves.
No!
My heart pumps fuel through me. My legs kick powerfully behind me.
I quickly reach the spot where the hand was, but it’s gone. I dive beneath the dark, choppy water, searching.
Nothing.
I come up, fill my lungs with air, and dive a little deeper, my hands and feet kicking desperately, hoping to touch human flesh.
Still. Nothing.
I rise above the growing waves, take a huge lungful of air, and dive deep again. The water is dark with sand, seaweed, and general debris, blinding me. I vaguely wonder if there are any alligators around.
I put thoughts of my own demise out of my mind, and, with my last bit of air, continue to search. Finally, my hand hits something solid. I reach out to grab what I think is a hand and, by some miracle, pull it up to the surface.
It’s Eric.
Relief fills me, but it’s short-lived. He’s taller and heavier than me, but he’s also unconscious. If I can get us both to the shore, it will be a miracle.
With one hand I hold his head above the water as best as I can, while with my free hand I pull us toward the shore. It’s like lugging a boulder through quicksand.
“Stay with me, Eric,” I whisper, swimming as hard as I can while trying to hold on to his limp, heavy body. “Please, please stay with me.”
I swim harder, using the current that flows toward the shore to my advantage.
“Please, stay with me.”
I beg.
I plead.
I pray.
The wind picks up, blowing hard against the water, pushing us closer and closer to the shore until, finally, exhausted and out of prayers, I pull Eric onto the sand.
My legs and arms feel like Jell-O, but I can’t stop now. Getting him to shore was only half the battle. The other half is getting him to wake up.
I pinch the bridge of his nose, like I’ve been told to do in lifeguard training and blow into his mouth. Then I place one fisted hand on his chest and a flat hand over my fist and pump.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Time passes like heavy molasses off a spoon.
I’m terrified. Terrified he’ll die on this beach. Terrified that the last emotion I felt for him was anger. Terrified I’ll never get to tell him how much I love him.
After thirty compressions he still doesn’t respond. All I can do is blow into his mouth and resume my count.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Please. Please. Please.
I don’t know when I start crying.
I don’t know when my heart shatters into a million pieces.
I don’t know when I find the strength to go on.
But I have to go on. There’s nothing else for me to do.
I blow into his mouth again.
One.
Two.
Please.
Please.
Please.
And then, his body bucks.
Once.
Twice.
Water shoots from his mouth, and he makes the most beautiful sound in the world. He coughs. Lake water and spit and snot land on my arms and legs, but I don’t care.
He’s alive.
My prayers have been answered.
He turns on his side, and I pat his back as he vomits up more water and bile.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and choked. “It’s okay. I’m here. Let it out.”
He coughs for a long time before he finally opens his eyes and looks up at me.
I hold his head in my lap, though my entire body is shaking with relief and happiness and delight.
“You’re alive,” I whisper. Then my relief quickly turns to anger. “I could kill you! Why did you do that? You could have drowned! What were you thinking?”
He reaches an arm up and pulls me close until my ear touches his lips.
“I…” His voice is raw, like someone has sandpapered his throat. He swallows then tries to talk again. “I… I didn’t want to lose you again.”
I close my eyes. My cheeks heat, and my eyes water.
“You’re crazy, do you know that?”
He smiles weakly at me, and I cradle his head in my lap while his words echo in my brain.
I didn’t want to lose you again.
56
Life seems dull after the excitement of the weekend. My sisters and their families stay in my apartment, shower me with love, memories, rebukes, and attention until Sunday, then depart, leavin
g Daddy, the twins, and me to trudge on with our new lives as a quartet.
But things have changed. Duckie’s no longer banished from the house. In fact, Daddy has personally invited her to have her wedding reception on the roof. He even started calling in contractors to build a retractable, heated dome up there. He’s Triton Swimworthy after all, owner of most properties in Manhattan, including this building.
The most surprising thing happened after all of my sisters left. Instead of Daddy spending the evening holed up in his office, he spent it in the living room with the twins and me.
I think my disappearance made him realize that even though he lost his wife, there are still seven girls who love and need him. Or perhaps he doesn’t want anger to color his relationship with his children.
Either way, I see a change in Daddy. It’s small and would need nourishment to grow, but maybe with enough love and trust and communication, we can finally have back the daddy we lost when Mama died. At least, I hope we can.
As Daddy is getting used to life outside of his office, I’m getting used to my new fashion accessory. Because of my willful disappearance and the fact I’ve inspired a national manhunt, the great state of New York has decreed that I’m under house arrest for thirty days. That means I can only go from school to home and back again. And if I do veer off somewhere, I have to be back in the house by six o’clock or else two nice men in a police car will track me down and carry me home.
I guess Sophia will be going to Ronnie’s parties alone for a while.
Crap on a stick.
I really liked those parties.
After the police leave, I hang out in the living room with one leg balanced on the table.
“Does it itch?” Adella asks, staring at my new anklet.
“A little.” I grab my nearby skewer from the kabobs we had earlier and slide it between the metal and my skin, giving myself a good scratch.
Ah. Heaven.
“How long do you have to wear it?”
“A month.”
“That sucks. How are you going to go to the winter formal with that thing on?”
“I’m not going to the winter formal.”
“What?” Alana asks, suddenly alert after staring at her phone for the past half an hour. “You can’t not go to the winter formal.”
I put down my skewer.
