Lights at Midnight : A Mermaid Story (Lights at Midnight Series Book 1)

by Orchid Leigh

  I went back to Carle’s to check there. The other boys were buckling back into their car with their mixed slushies in hand. The car door was still open, and one of the laughing kids smiled at me when I passed by. I glared at him and sent a mean thought missile in his direction before turning into the store.

  Peter wasn’t in Carle’s. I grabbed some snacks from the store and started toward the lake, feeling depressed and alone. But the thought of the lake soon had me skipping, and when I turned down the road in front of it, I smiled.

  Peter had made it there ahead of me. He was sitting at the end of the dock, eating his bag of chips. I walked over to him, passing his abandoned coat on the beach, and threw mine on top of it. I guess I was being too quiet because he didn’t notice me as I approached. He was lost in thought and looked miserable for it.

  “Hey, Peter,” I called a little too loudly. He jumped in his seat, staring up at me without a word. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

  He scrambled to his feet. “Oh, no. I was just leaving.” He started to go.

  “No, wait,” I said. “Can’t you hang out?”

  He turned back and narrowed his gaze, looking confused and unsure. “You want to hang out with me?” he asked, like the question didn’t make any sense to him.

  “Yes, pleeease,” I begged, drawing out my plea in a long sigh that made me sound lonely and pathetic—but I was.

  His narrow eyes held tight to their uncertainty.

  “Come on,” I tried again. “I got candy.” I brought my backpack up in front of me and propped it in my arms.

  Peter glanced around again. “Yeah, okay. I guess,” he said with a shrug, but I thought he seemed happier than he was letting on.

  “Good,” I said happily. I moved to the edge of the dock and sat down. I patted the space beside me, motioning for Peter to sit. He hesitated for a second, then followed.

  I had spent the rest of my birthday money at Carle’s, and I poured a pile of too much candy between us.

  “Help yourself,” I said. I pulled a Twizzler out of the pack and started to chew. Peter was quiet beside me. He seemed anxious and fiddled with his hands. I could tell by the way he was side-eyeing the candy that he wanted to have some. He was just being polite or shy about it or something.

  “What do you like?” I asked, smacking my Twizzler filled mouth noisily at him. He shrugged. I placed my hand on top of a bag of Skittles. “Hmm?” I questioned, holding my head at a tilt while I waited for his answer.

  “Sure,” he said.

  I picked up the Skittles. “Give me your hand.”

  Peter put out his hand to me. I held it in place while I poured too many Skittles out into it. The small pieces spilled and pinged quietly as they hit the dock.

  “Oops.” I laughed. “The birds can have those, I guess.”

  “Thanks,” he said, closing his hand around as many as he could.

  I smiled at him, then turned back to the water. “So how long have you lived here in Ocean Lake?”

  Peter sighed. “My whole life,” he said, sounding exhausted by it.

  “And how long would that be?”

  “Fifteen years,” he said, popping a Skittle into his mouth.

  “Me too,” I said. “My birthday was just last week.”

  “Happy birthday,” said Peter.

  “How come you don’t like it here?” I asked.

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  Peter shrugged, looking uncomfortable. He stared at his handful of Skittles, obviously not wanting to talk about it.

  I eyed him, trying to think if I should pester or change the subject.

  I glanced at the lake and then back at Peter again. “Hey,” I said, leaning into him and reaching for one of his candies. “Five bucks I make it past that big crack in the ice.” I pointed him toward a large crack in the middle of the lake.

  “Okay,” he said with a smile.

  I took my Skittle and geared up to toss it. I looked over my shoulder at Peter. “Are you sure?” I asked. “You know, I used to play softball.”

  “You’re on,” he said, smiling at me.

  I loaded my arm and threw. The Skittle sailed through the air and landed just an inch or two past my target.

  “Yes! Ha!” I screamed. I reached my arms up and held them high, reveling in my victory. I lowered them and turned to Peter with a sneer. “Someone owes me five bucks.”

  “All right,” he said, laughing. “How about double or nothing? If I make it past that second crack, then we’re even.”

  He was pointing to a crack much farther than mine, and it was highly doubtful he would make it.

  “Okay,” I said, unfazed. “Go for it.” I nodded toward the ice.

  He stood up.

  “Hey, you’re cheating!”

  “We never said.” He shrugged and smiled at me slyly. He hurled his candy through the air. It flung from his hand impressively but fell short by half a foot.

  “Oh, yeah!” I screamed. I got to my feet and punched a happy fist into the air. “You owe me ten bucks!” I shouted in Peter’s face.

  He laughed, reaching into his pocket for the money.

  “Oh, no,” I said, putting my hand on his arm to stop him. “I’m just playing. You don’t really have to pay me.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” I said with a gentle punch to his shoulder. “I’m not going to bankrupt my new friend.”

  “Your friend?” he asked, sounding surprised.

  “Yeah.” I nodded at him. “If you want?”

  He smiled but seemed hesitant. “Well, ten bucks wouldn’t bankrupt me,” he said, sitting back down on the dock.

  “Oh yeah?” I asked, finding my seat beside him. “Where are you getting so much money?”

  “Shoveling, mostly.”

  “Well, keep your money,” I said. I had yet to work for any money in my life and was suddenly feeling guilty—and very lazy, for that matter. “It sounds like you earn it.”

  “Okay,” said Peter. “I’ll just buy you something with it later.”

  “Oh, no . . .” I started to protest, but he was already shaking his head at me.

  I conceded with a smile and fixed my eyes on his cute freckles.

  “What?” He wiped at a spot on his nose, thinking I had seen something.

  “Oh, nothing,” I said, not realizing I had been staring.

  “You sure?” He was still wiping at his nose.

  “Yeah,” I said with a chuckle to myself. “You’re good.”

  I peered at the lake, still smiling. I turned back to Peter, who was being quiet again. He was looking pensive and somber and thoroughly defeated.

  “Do you like music?” I asked, reaching for my backpack.

  He turned to me. “Who doesn’t like music?”

  “Here.” I handed him an earbud. “Snow Patrol . . . good for the melancholy blues,” I said with a sympathetic smile.

  Peter smiled back weakly. “Why are you melancholy? Because of the move?”

  “Yeah, I was,” I said, “but I’m starting to think it won’t be so bad.”

  Peter held the earbud to his ear. “‘Chasing Cars’?” he requested.

  “Sure,” I said, pushing play on the song I already had open.

  I leaned back, pulling the attached Peter with me. We lay on the dock and stared at the clouds. I closed my eyes and got lost in the music for a while.

  I opened them again and looked over at Peter. His eyes were closed and there was a small tear drawing a line at the corner. He turned his head toward me and met my gaze. The song was still playing, and we stared at each other quietly while it drifted through our ears.

  I pulled the earbud from my ear and let the music linger quietly in the background. “What’s your last name, Peter?” I asked.

  “Evans,” he answered.

  “You have good eyes, Peter Evans,” I said, staring at him.

  Peter pulled his earbud out and brought a
finger up to wipe the tear. “Good eyes?” he asked, his voice husky and weak.

  “Yeah, good. Like, I can tell you’re a good person just by looking at them. Has anybody ever told you that?”

  He laughed. “No. No one’s ever told me that.” He paused for a second, staring back. “You’ve got good eyes too. They’re big and stormy, like the ocean.”

  My heart skipped a strange beat when he said “ocean.” I tried to hang on to the odd feeling, but it faded like a dream.

  I sighed and stared back at Peter. His good eyes on me were glazed and lost somewhere cold. “So why are you melancholy?” I asked.

  He turned back to the clouds. “Because you played ‘Chasing Cars,’” he said with a smile.

  I laughed. “Yeah, maybe it didn’t help like I thought it would. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” said Peter. “It’s nothing . . . Just life, ya know?”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He shook his head against the dock. “Not really.”

  “Okay,” I said, getting back up and crossing my legs in front of me. “Then we won’t.” I reached for my bag and pulled out the water. “Here.” I handed it to Peter.

  He sat up and drank. “Thanks,” he said, handing it back to me.

  I took a sip, then returned the bottle to my backpack. I must have bungled the job of screwing the cap back on and water poured everywhere.

  “Agh!” I cried.

  “What’s up?” asked Peter.

  “My journal.” I pulled it from my bag and held it up. I grimaced at its soggy state. I waited for it to stop dripping, then placed it in my lap to examine the pages.

  “Is it okay?”

  “Yeah. Not too bad. It’s not really important, anyway. Mostly drawings and stuff.”

  “Can I see?”

  I hesitated for a second, then moved closer to him. “Um . . . try not to read my ramblings, if you can,” I said with a tentative smile.

  Most of my drawings were centered on the pages with my scribbled thoughts and daydreams surrounding them. I carefully pulled the sodden pages apart, trying to find one without much writing. I landed on a drawing that filled up most of the space.

  “Oh, wow. Dragons,” muttered Peter.

  “Yeah,” I said, smiling. “I really like dragons. The scales and wings are fun to draw.”

  “You’re really good.” He stared down at my drawing, admiring it with a look of disbelief. “Look at the detail on those wings—that’s incredible. I could never do anything like this,” he said with his eyes still fixed on the page.

  “Do you like to draw?”

  He sat back up. “Yeah. Well, kind of. I make comic books. They’re nothing like this, though.”

  “You’ll have to show me someday.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” said Peter. He frowned at my journal. “I’m sorry it got ruined.”

  “It’ll dry,” I said, unbothered by it. “I think it’s time to start a new one, anyway.” I looked at Peter, feeling happy. I thought I might be staring again and turned my eyes to the lake. “Maybe I’ll come back here and draw this. It’s so pretty.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Peter. “It’s a good spot.”

  “Why’s it so secluded, though?” I asked. “Like, why aren’t there any houses or people anywhere? It’s weird nobody’s here ice skating or fishing or anything. Doesn’t it seem strange to you?”

  “Yeah, well, I’m used to it,” said Peter. “Nobody ever comes here. That’s why I like it.”

  “Hmm . . .” I said, still lingering on the strangeness of this place. I gazed at the icy water in front of me and felt the urge for it again. “I’m sorry to tell you, but you just might have to share this lake with me.”

  “I’m okay with that,” he said.

  “Yeah?” I asked with a smile.

  He nodded.

  “It must be pretty here in the summer. I wish we could go swimming now.”

  “You like to swim?”

  “Not usually this much,” I said with a growing hunger in my voice, and I faded in a strange thought with the water somewhere.

  “It is,” said Peter.

  “What?”

  “Really pretty in the summer.”

  “Does it get crowded then?”

  “No, never,” said Peter. “It’ll be all yours.”

  “Ours,” I reminded him.

  He smiled weakly and looked away.

  I stared at his messy hair, feeling a little confused by his oscillating signals. “Why are you so leery about being friends with me?”

  Peter shifted uncomfortably. “Ah . . . I’m sorry. It’s not you. Trust me.”

  “Then what?”

  He swayed his head, throwing his struggled thoughts around. He sighed. “Ellie, you don’t want to be friends with me.”

  “Isn’t it obvious I do?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know why. And . . .”

  “And what?”

  He sighed and fiddled with a pebble caught between the doc boards. “Look,” he said, “I just don’t think I’m good for you.”

  I stared at him, thinking he was being really daft. “You know I can decide that for myself, right?”

  “Yeah, but . . .” Peter shrugged and was quiet. I waited for him to go on, but he remained silent. I nudged his elbow with mine, trying to coax it out of him.

  He sighed and threw the loosened pebble onto the lake. It dinged and bounced on the ice before stopping.

  “I don’t know,” he said finally. “It’s a small town, Ellie, and it’s hard to get unstuck once you get a peg in you. I don’t want to do that to you.”

  “You think hanging out with you is going to mar my reputation here?”

  “It will,” he said.

  “Why? What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” said Peter with an exasperated sigh. “It’s my dad. He’s the drunk. He’s the one that ran out and left us with no money, no nothing. But it doesn’t matter here. If your dad’s a loser, then you’re a loser.” He shrugged. “And that’s what I am to everybody. That’s what everyone thinks, especially the kids here. They don’t even talk to me.” He threw another pebble at the lake. “Believe me. You’d just be better off without me.”

  I stared at him quietly for a minute, shaking my head the whole time. “Get up,” I said finally.

  He stared at me, startled. “What?”

  “Get up,” I repeated. I got to my feet and stretched out a hand to him. He grabbed it, looking unsure. I pulled him up to stand beside me, then walked down the dock a little, motioning for him to follow.

  “Here,” I said. I stopped and put my hands on his shoulders to straighten him out so the dock was directly behind him. I then reached for his hands and pulled them up across his chest. “Okay, stand like that.” I left Peter with his hands crossed at his chest, then moved around to stand behind him. “Okay,” I called out. “This is a trust exercise. I’m going to catch you.”

  Peter twisted and glanced over his shoulder apprehensively. “You want me to fall back?” I nodded at him. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You know,” I said. “You already know. Don’t do it if you’re not sure.”

  Peter turned, facing forward again. He took a moment and paused. His shoulders relaxed. They moved up and down with a steadying breath. Then, without hesitation, he fell straight back into my arms. I bent at the knees a little to counter his weight, but my hold on him was steady and strong.

  “See,” I whispered in his ear, still holding onto him. “You can trust me.” He got up and turned to face me, staring at me blankly. “I don’t care about any of that stuff. You can’t ruin a reputation I don’t care about. They can think what they think.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, they’re wrong anyway,” I said. “A bunch of wrong meanies from the sound of it.”

  He laughed at that. “How do you know they’re wrong? You don’t even know me.”

  “I’ve got those good eyes,” I said,
tapping at my temples. “But I don’t need them because it’s easy to see.”

  Peter took a step toward me. “Are you for real?” he asked with disbelieving eyes.

  “Um . . . I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I mean, you really are moving here, and you really want to be friends with me? And you’re really as nice as all this?”

  I tilted my head with a smile. “Yeah,” I said. “Really real.” I pinched some skin on my arm to prove it.

  “I think I’m supposed to pinch myself,” Peter said with a laugh.

  I brought up my arm and punched him gently on the shoulder. “There. Does that help?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “It’s just you’re not what you’d usually expect on a normal day in Ocean Lake. You’re like an angel or something . . . I feel like I could just kiss you,” he blurted out. “Sorry, I just mean . . . um . . . that . . . um . . .”

  I laughed as Peter struggled out of his mess of words. He grinned sheepishly.

  I put a finger to my cheek. “Go ahead,” I said. He laughed and leaned in and kissed the spot.

  “See, I’m real.” I smiled and twirled on my heels.

  I stopped to face Peter again. He shook his head and wore a dumbfounded smile that stretched across his face. Without a word, he walked back to the end of the dock and picked up my backpack and candy. He slung the bag over his shoulder.

  “Come on,” he said, pulling on my arm. “I want to show you something.”

  6

  “Where are we going?”

  “I want to show you the trails.”

  “The trails?”

  Peter was pointing down the beach to a densely wooded area.

  “I should check in with my um . . . well, my Millie first. She’s probably expecting me back soon.”

  “That’d be okay,” he said. “The main trail wraps around and exits in your yard.”

  “My yard? How do you know where I live?”

  “Oh,” said Peter, reaching down to grab our coats. He handed me mine with a guilty grimace. “Um . . . you guys moved into Granny Leira’s place, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, still confused. “How did you know?”

  “Small town,” explained Peter with a sorry shrug. “Everybody here knows everybody. And everybody here knows everything about them. Sorry.”