by Liz Kessler
I pretended to be asleep when I heard Mom come in. She tiptoed into my room, kissed me on the top of my head, and smoothed the hair off my forehead. She always does that. I wish she wouldn’t. I hate having my bangs pushed off my forehead, but I stopped myself from pushing them back until she’d gone.
I lay awake for hours. I’ve got some fluorescent stars and a glow-in-the-dark crescent moon on my ceiling, and I looked up at them, trying to make sense of what had happened.
Actually, all I really wanted to think about was the silkiness of the water as I sliced through it — before everything went wrong. I could still hear its silence pulling me, playing with me as though we shared a secret. But every time I started to lose myself to the feeling of its creamy warmth on my skin, Mandy’s face broke into the picture, glaring at me.
A couple of times I almost fell asleep. Then I suddenly would wake up after drifting into panicky half-dreams — of me inside a huge tank, the class all around me. They were pointing, staring, chanting: “Freak! Freak!”
I could never go in the water again!
But the questions wouldn’t leave me alone. What had happened to me in there? Would it happen again?
And no matter how much I dreaded the idea of putting myself through that terror again, I would never be happy until I knew. More than that, something was simply pulling me back to the water. It was like I didn’t have a choice. I HAD to find out — however scary it might be.
By the time I heard Mom’s gentle snores coming from her room, I was determined to get to the bottom of it — and before anybody else did, too.
I crept out of bed and slipped into my swimsuit. It was still damp, and I winced and pulled my denim jacket over the top. Then I silently climbed up onto the deck and looked round. The pier was deserted. Along the promenade, guesthouses and shops stood in a silent row of silhouettes against the night sky. It could have been a stage set.
A great big full moon shone a spotlight across the sea. I felt sick as I looked at the plank of wood, stretching across to the dock. Come on, just a couple of steps.
I clenched my teeth and my fists — and tiptoed across.
I ran to the pilings at the end of the pier and looked down at the rope ladder stretching beneath me into the darkness of the water. The sea glinted coldly at me; I shivered in reply. Why was I doing this?
I wound my fingers in my hair. I always do that when I’m trying to think, if I don’t feel like pacing. And then I pushed the questions and the doubts — and Mandy’s sneering face — out of my mind. I had to do it; I had to know the truth.
I buttoned up my jacket. I wasn’t getting in there without it on! Holding my breath, I stepped onto the rope ladder and looked out at the deserted pier one last time. I could hear the gentle chatter of halyards clinking against masts as I carefully made my way down into the darkness.
The last step of the rope ladder was still quite a distance from the water because the tide was out. It’s now or never, I said to myself.
Then, before I had time to think another thought, I pinched my nose between my thumb and forefinger — and jumped.
I landed in the water with a heavy splash and gasped for breath as soon as I came up. At first I couldn’t feel anything, except the freezing cold ocean. What on earth was I doing?
Then I remembered what I was there for and started kicking my legs. A bit frantically at first. But seconds later, the cold melted away and so did my worries. Instead, a feeling of calm washed over me like the waves. Salt on my lips, hair flat against my head, I darted under the surface, cutting through the water as though I lived there.
And then — it happened. I swam straight back to the pier, terrified. No! I didn’t want this — I’d changed my mind!
I reached out but couldn’t get ahold of the ladder. What had I done? My legs were joining together again, turning to stone! I gasped and threw my arms around uselessly, clutching at nothing. Just a cramp, just a cramp, I told myself, not daring to look as my legs disappeared altogether.
But then, as rapidly as it had started, something changed. I stopped fighting it.
Yeah, so my legs had joined together. And fine, now they had disappeared completely. So what? It was good. It was . . . right.
As soon as I stopped worrying, my arms stopped flailing around everywhere. My head slipped easily below the surface. Suddenly I was an eagle, an airplane, a dolphin — gliding through the water for the sheer pleasure of it.
Okay. This is it. You might have guessed by now, or you might not. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you promise never to tell anyone:
I had become a mermaid.
It’s not exactly the kind of thing that happens every day, is it? It doesn’t happen at all to most people. But it happened to me. I was a mermaid. A mermaid! How did it happen? Why? Had I always been one? Would I always be one? Questions filled my head, but I couldn’t answer any of them. All I knew was that I’d discovered a whole new part of myself, and nothing I’d ever done in my life had felt so good.
So there I was, swimming like — well, like a fish! And in a way, I was a fish. My top half was the same as usual: skinny little arms, my bangs plastered to my forehead with seawater, black Speedo swimsuit, and a very soggy jean jacket.
But then, just below the white line that went across my tummy, I was someone else — something else. My suit melted away and, instead, I had shiny scales. My legs narrowed into a long, gleaming, purple-and-green tail, waving gracefully as I skimmed along in the water. I have to say that I had never done anything gracefully in my life, so it was kind of a shock! When I flicked my tail above the surface, it flashed an arc of rainbow colors in the moonlight. I could zoom through the water with the tiniest movement, going deeper and deeper with every flick of my tail.
It reminded me of the time we went to World of Water at summer day camp. We were in a tunnel under the water with sea life all around us. It felt as if we were really in the sea. Only now I really was! I could reach out and touch the weeds floating up through the water like upside-down beaded curtains. I could race along with the fat gray fish that were grouped in gangs, weaving around each other and me as though they were dancing.
I laughed with pleasure and a line of bubbles escaped from my mouth, climbing up to the surface.
It seemed as though I’d only been swimming for five minutes when I realized the sky was starting to grow pink. I panicked as a new thought hit me: What if I couldn’t change back?
But the second I’d pulled myself out of the water, my tail softened. I dangled on the rope ladder and watched, fascinated, as the shiny scales melted away one by one. As my legs returned, they felt odd, like when your mouth goes numb after you’ve gotten a filling at the dentist.
I wiggled my toes to get rid of the pins and needles in my feet. Then I headed home with a promise to myself that I would be back — soon.
Bob, the swimming instructor, was standing in front of me, talking into a cell phone. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Somebody grabbed my shoulders.
“This the one, is it?” a snarling voice growled behind my ear. Bob nodded.
I tried to wriggle free from the man’s clutches, but he was holding my shoulders too firmly. “What do you want?” my voice squeaked from my mouth.
“As if you didn’t know,” the snarly voice snapped at me. “You’re the freak.” He shook my shoulders.
“I’m not a freak,” I shouted. “I’m not!”
“Stop pretending,” a woman’s voice replied.
“I’m not pretending.” I wriggled under the hands holding my shoulders. “I’m not a freak!”
“Emily, for Pete’s sake,” the woman’s voice said. “I know you’re not really asleep.”
My eyes snapped open to see Mom’s face inches from mine, her hands on my shoulders, shaking me gently. I bolted upright in my bed. “What’s happening?”
Mom let go of me. “What’s happening, sleepyhead, is that you’re going to be late for school. Now get a move on.” Sh
e parted the curtain in the doorway. “And don’t forget to brush your teeth,” she said without turning round.
Over breakfast, I tried to remember my dream and the things I’d been shouting. It had felt so real: the capture, the voices. Had I said anything out loud? I didn’t dare ask, so I ate in silence.
It was on the third mouthful that things went seriously wrong.
Mom was fussing around as usual, shuffling through the huge pile of papers stuffed behind the mixer. “What did I do with it?”
“What is it this time?”
“My shopping list. I’m sure I put it down here somewhere.” She leaned across to a pile of papers on the table. “Aha, here it is.”
I looked up in horror as she picked up a piece of paper. Not just any piece of paper. A sheet of purple writing paper!
“NO-O-O-O-O-O!” I yelled, spitting half a mouthful of cereal across the table and leaping forward to grab the paper. Too late. She was unfolding it.
Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the sheet, and I held my breath.
“No, that’s not it.” Mom started to fold the paper up. I breathed out and swallowed the rest of my mouthful.
But then she opened it again. “Hang on a sec. That’s my name there.”
“No, no, it’s not. It’s someone else, it’s not you at all!” I snatched at the paper.
Mom kept it gripped tightly and ignored me. “Where are my reading glasses?” They were hanging around her neck — as they usually are when she’s looking for them.
“Why don’t I just read it to you?” I said in my very best Perfect Daughter voice. But as I was speaking, she found her glasses and put them on. She studied the note.
I tried to edge away from the table but she looked up on my second step. “Emily?”
“Hmm?”
She took her glasses off and waved the note in front of my face. “Want to explain this to me?”
“Um, well, hmm, er, let’s see now.” I examined the note with what I hoped was an I’ve-never-seen-it-before-in-my-life-but-I’ll-see-if-I-can-help kind of expression on my face.
She didn’t say anything, and I kept staring at the note, pretending I was reading it. Anything to avoid meeting her eyes while I waited for my lecture.
But then she did something even worse than lecture me. She put the piece of paper down, lifted my chin up with her hand, and said, “I understand, Emily. I know what it’s about.”
“You do?” I squeaked, terrified.
“All those things you were saying in your sleep about being a freak. I should have realized.”
“You should?”
She let go of my chin and shook her head sadly. “I’ve been an idiot not to realize before now.”
“You have?”
Then she took my hand between her palms and said, “You’re like me. You’re afraid of water.”
“I am?” I squealed. Then I cleared my throat and twisted my hair. “I mean, I am,” I said seriously. “Of course I am! I’m scared of water. That’s exactly what it is. That’s what all this has been about. Just that, nothing more than —”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I looked down at my lap and closed my eyes tight, trying, if possible, to squeeze a bit of moisture out of them. “I was ashamed,” I said quietly. “I didn’t want to let you down.”
Mom pressed my hand harder between hers and looked into my eyes. Hers were a bit wet, too. “It’s all my fault,” she said. “I’m the one who’s let you down. I stopped you from learning how to swim, and now you’ve inherited my fear.”
“Yes.” I nodded sadly. “I suppose I have. But you shouldn’t blame yourself. It’s okay. I don’t mind, seriously.”
She let go of my hand and shook her head. “But we live on a boat,” she said. “We’re surrounded by water.”
I almost laughed, but stopped myself when I saw the expression on her face. Then a thought occurred to me. “Mom, why exactly do we live on a boat if you’re so afraid of water?”
She screwed up her eyes and stared into mine as if she was looking for something. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I can’t explain it, but it’s such a deep feeling — I could never leave King.”
“But it doesn’t make any sense. I mean, you’re scared of water, and we live on a boat in a beach resort!”
“I know, I know!”
“We’re miles from anywhere. Even Nan and Granddad live at the other end of the country.”
Mom’s face hardened. “Nan and Granddad? What do they have to do with it?”
“I’ve never even seen them! Two cards a year and that’s it.”
“I’ve told you before, Em. They’re a long way away. And we’re not — we don’t get along very well.”
“But why not?”
“We had a fight. A long time ago.” She laughed nervously. “So long ago, I can’t even really remember what it was about.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Then Mom got up and looked out of the porthole. “This isn’t right; it shouldn’t be like this for you,” she murmured as she wiped the porthole with her sleeve.
Then she suddenly twirled around so her skirt flowed out around her. “I’ve got it!” she said. “I know what we’ll do.”
“Do? What do you mean, do? I’ll just take the note to school, or you could write one yourself. No one will ever know.”
“Of course they will! No, we can’t do that.”
“Yes, we can. I’ll just —”
“Now, Emily, don’t start with your arguing. I haven’t got the patience for it.” Her mouth tightened into a determined line. “I cannot allow you to live your life like this.”
“But you don’t —”
“What I do is my own business,” she snapped. “Now please stop answering me back.” She paused for a second before opening her address book. “No, there’s nothing else to do. You need to conquer your fear.”
“What are you going to do?” I fiddled with a button on my blouse.
She turned away from me as she picked up the phone. “I’m going to take you to a hypnotist.”
“All right, Emily. Now, I want you to breathe nice and deeply. Good.”
I was sitting in an armchair in Mystic Millie’s back room. I didn’t know she did hypnotism, but according to Sandra Castle, she worked wonders on Charlie Hogg’s twitch, and that was good enough for Mom.
“Try to relax,” Millie intoned before taking a very loud, deep breath. Mom was sitting in a plastic seat in the corner of the room. She had said she wanted to be there, “just in case.” In case of what, she didn’t exactly explain.
“You’re going to have a little sleep,” Millie drawled. “When you wake up, your fear of water will have completely gone. Vanished. Floated away . . .”
I had to stay awake! If I fell into a trance and started babbling about everything, the whole plan would be ruined. Not that I had a plan, as such, but you know what I mean. What would Millie think if she found out? What would she do? Visions of nets and cages and scientists’ laboratories swam into my mind.
I forced them away.
“Very good,” Millie breathed in a husky voice. “Now, I’m going to count down from ten to one. As I do, I’d like you to close your eyes and imagine you are on an escalator, gradually traveling down, lower and lower, deeper and deeper. Make yourself as comfortable as you can.”
I shuffled in my seat.
“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .” Millie said softly. I closed my eyes and waited nervously for the drowsy feeling to come.
“Seven . . . six . . . five . . .” I pictured myself on an escalator like the one in the mall in town. I was running the wrong way, scrambling up against the downward motion. I waited.
“Four . . . three . . . two . . . You’re feeling very drowsy. . . .”
I waited a bit more.
That’s when I realized I wasn’t feeling drowsy at all. In fact . . .
“One.”
I was wide awake! I’d done it — hooray! Millie was a
phony! The “aura” thing had been a fluke after all!
She didn’t say anything for ages, and I was starting to get fidgety when a familiar noise broke the silence. I opened my eyes the tiniest crack to see Mom in the opposite corner — fast asleep and snoring like a horse! I snapped my eyes quickly shut again and fought the urge to giggle.
“Now, visualize yourself next to some water,” Millie said in a low voice. “Think about how you feel about the water. Are you scared? What emotions are you experiencing?”
The only thing I was experiencing was a pain in my side from trying not to laugh.
“And now think of somewhere that you have felt safe. Somewhere you felt happy.” I pictured myself swimming in the sea. I thought about the way my legs became a beautiful tail and about the feeling of zooming along with the fish. I was on the verge of drifting into a happy dream world of my own when —“Nnnnnuuurrrggggghhhh!”— Mom let out a huge snore that made me jump out of my chair.
I kept my eyes closed tight and pretended I’d jumped in my sleep. Mom shuffled in her chair and whispered, “Sorry.”
“Not to worry,” Millie whispered back. “She’s completely under. Just twitching.”
After that, I let my mind drift back to the sea. I couldn’t wait to get out there again. Millie’s voice carried on in the background, and Mom soon started snoring softly again. By the time Millie counted from one to seven to wake me up, I was so relieved I hugged her.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
“Just a thank-you, for curing my fear,” I lied.
She blushed as she slipped Mom’s twenty-dollar bill into her purse. “Think nothing of it, pet. It’s a labor of love.”
Mom was quiet on the way home. Did she know I hadn’t been asleep? Did she suspect anything? I didn’t dare ask. We made our way through the town’s narrow streets down to the promenade. As we waited to cross the road, she pointed to a bench facing oceanside. “Let’s go and sit down over there,” she said.
“You okay, Mom?” I asked as casually as I could while we sat on the bench. The tide was out, and little pools dotted the ripply sand it had left behind.
