by Vera Strange
“My dear, as you wish. You have twenty-four hours to return to my lair and sign the contract, or our deal shall be rendered null and void. No takebacks. No second chances.”
Six black tentacles suctioned around the glass, cracking the crystal ball.
Seawater rushed back in, silencing Shelly’s scream.
Shelly woke, gasping for breath and clawing at her throat.
Gradually, the nightmare released its dark hold on her as she sat up. Her eyes adjusted to the dawn light streaming through her bedroom curtains. Her pillow was damp, and her pajamas were soaked. For a second, she feared that her dream had been real, that her bed was wet from being underwater. But then she realized that she was just feverish and very sweaty.
“Only a dream,” she panted. “Only a nightmare . . . not real.”
The piercing alarm on her phone erupted, making her jump. It was intended to make sure she wasn’t late for school, but mostly it just gave her a scare every single morning it went off. She jabbed at the phone in annoyance, silencing it, then lay back and tried to recall her dream before the details faded away. She remembered following a strange, pulsing light into Dawson’s room. . . .
Why on earth had she dreamed about that?
But then more details surfaced. The nautilus . . . pulsing with yellow light. And when she had touched it, she was teleported into a dark underwater cavern . . . where Ursula offered to grant her a wish. I want to be the fastest swimmer. That had been her wish. She could remember it clearly. The details were fresh and sharp in her mind. But it wasn’t real, she reminded herself.
With that reassurance, Shelly climbed out of bed, padded to her closet, and examined her appearance in the mirror. She didn’t look feverish. She ran her fingers through her curly brown hair, still mussed from sleep. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least.
Shelly changed into her pink tracksuit and turned back toward her bed—and that was when she saw it. Her skin pricked. A soft gasp escaped her lips. “No. That’s impossible,” she blurted.
She rushed to her bedside table and blinked, thinking she must be seeing things. But no matter how many times she batted her eyes, it was still there, right beside her mermaid lamp.
The nautilus.
The one from the beach.
The one from her nightmare.
How had it ended up back in her room?
She studied it. Water had pooled around it. She struggled to understand how it got there. Dawson probably was snooping around her room again, like he always did. That was it! He probably left it there by mistake. How else could she explain it?
Feeling a surge of irritation—at both the nightmare and her snooping little brother—she reached for the shell. But then she hesitated. She didn’t want to touch it. She remembered that touching it in the dream had transported her to an undersea lair. She didn’t want to take any chances, even though she knew it was just a nightmare. Quickly, Shelly used a sock to protect her hand while she tossed the shell to the bottom of her laundry hamper. I’ll deal with you later, she thought as it vanished among dirty clothes.
With that, she flew from her room and to the kitchen. She quickly poured herself a bowl of cereal. A few minutes later, Dawson’s voice rang out. “Mom, I can’t find my shell!”
Shelly tried to ignore him and focus on her soggy cornflakes. But it was a lost cause.
A second later, her little brother charged into the kitchen with an indignant expression on his face. He wore a striped T-shirt, khaki shorts, and a red sheet tied over his shoulders like a cape. He had the same olive complexion and brown eyes as his sister, but his dark hair had an uneven, choppy bowl cut from when he had tried to give himself a new hairstyle, much to their mother’s horror. Now he was banned from playing with the scissors. He put his hands on his hips and squared off to face her. “I bet Shelly stole it!” he added.
Shelly glared at him. “I didn’t steal it. Besides, why would I give it to you just to take it?”
“Because it’s special,” Dawson said. “And you’re Shell-fish!”
Shelly rolled her eyes. “You probably lost it in that dumpster you call a room.”
Their mother ambled into the kitchen, workbag slung over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Mom, Shelly stole my shell,” Dawson whined. “And now she’s lying about it!”
Shelly rolled her eyes. “Mom, I didn’t steal it. He probably lost it.”
“Liar pants!” he cried.
“Shelly, did you take it?” her mother asked. “Maybe on accident?”
Shelly felt sick. She shrugged, not sure what to say. Had she stolen it? Had she been sleepwalking and taken it? Had Dawson been snooping around and left it in her room? All she knew was that she couldn’t afford to get in trouble. Not with the first swim meet coming up.
She had enough to worry about already.
Before she could respond, her mother checked her watch. “I’m going to be late for work,” she sighed. “You two need to stop fighting all the time. Now please apologize.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Shelly said, feeling guilty. “I’ll do better. I promise.”
After their mother kissed them each goodbye and headed for the door, Shelly approached Dawson. “Hey, bud, it’s time for school,” she said gently. “Listen, I’ll help you look for the shell tonight, okay? After I get home. And maybe we could clean up your room a little, too. Okay?”
Dawson snuffled but then relaxed. “Okay, thanks. I love you.”
She ruffled his hair. “I love you, too. Now let’s go!” After Shelly raced to the front door to grab her backpack, her eyes darted to her bedroom door, where a stain had formed on the carpet.
Wet footprints led from Dawson’s room to her door.
Probably from him taking a shower and not drying off.
But it still sent a tingle up her spine. The nightmare flared in her mind.
You have twenty-four hours to return to my lair . . . No takebacks. No second chances.
The sea witch’s voice echoed through her head. She shook it off, deciding to revisit everything soon. She didn’t have time to worry about it all now or they’d be late for the bus.
* * *
The bell rang, and Shelly darted from the bus into Triton Bay Middle School.
She wove through the crowded hallway, hoping that no one would see her. She missed her private school, which was smaller and less chaotic. She headed straight for her locker, scanning the halls for Kendall and the twins in hopes of seeing her friends. They would cheer her up after her nightmarish morning. They knew that Dawson sometimes got on her nerves. But to her dismay, she didn’t see them anywhere.
A few minutes later—though it felt like an eternity—she reached her locker. “Come on,” she whispered, twisting the combination lock and tugging it, to no avail. Ever since she had gotten to middle school and had to change classes throughout the day, she had been having stress dreams in which she forgot her locker combination. She tried again. Click. It unlocked, and the metal door swung open.
Right as a group of students walked past, rotten fish spilled out of her locker. They spewed onto the floor, their eyes wide and pale, along with a pile of plastic garbage—straws, plastic bags, old coffee cups, plastic bottles. It was the kind of trash that washed up on the beach.
The stench was overpowering, making Shelly gag. Worse yet, she stepped on a fish and lost her balance, hitting the floor with a thud and shouting out. The other kids turned to stare at the scene as more and more fish spilled out in a heap that coated Shelly’s body on the floor.
She tried shoving them away, but they kept gushing out of her locker and all over her, their lifeless eyes staring. Now everyone in the hall had stopped to look.
Normie laughed. “Fish lover!” he whooped, nudging his friends.
“They’re n-not mine!” Shelly stammered, pushing the slimy bodies off her and standing, holding on to the wall of lockers to keep from slipping back into the rotten fish pile.
Her mind st
ruggled to come up with a rational explanation. Maybe her archnemesis, Judy Weisburg on the rival swim team, had planted them to intimidate her before the first meet? They’d face off that night in the hundred-meter freestyle. Judy was famous for pulling off elaborate pranks. Legendary, even. But then again, where would Judy have gotten all those fish? They looked exactly like the ones they fed to the dolphins at the aquarium. And also, how would she have snuck them into the school without being seen? More puzzling, how would she have gotten the combination to Shelly’s locker?
“Fish lover!” kids chanted.
Shelly’s face flushed. Now she was completely soaked in awful-smelling fish juice. She backed away from her locker. The fact that her family owned the aquarium made matters worse.
The other kids kept taunting her. “Fish lover! Shelly wants to marry a fish!”
“Tuna for lunch?” one kid quipped.
Shelly had never wanted so badly to disappear. Her cheeks felt as if they were turning into molten lava, like from an underwater volcano. She opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say.
“Look! She looks like a fish out of water!” someone cracked, followed by more laughter.
That was when Kendall stepped into view with Attina and Alana, all dressed in their designer yoga pants and T-shirts. They stared at Shelly. Kendall shot her a worried look. Her dainty nose scrunched up in disgust at the stench.
But then Kendall set her hands on her hips and turned her ire on the other kids. “Hey, don’t you losers have better things to do than make stupid jokes about fish?” she called out.
The twins joined her. “Yeah, hashtag Losers. Capital L,” Alana said.
“Stop being lame and leave our friend alone,” Attina added with a sneer.
Our friend, Shelly thought, warmth spreading through her body.
So they were friends.
The second bell rang, causing the crowd to scatter and rush off to their classes. Shelly slumped against her locker. Hot tears spilled from her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. This was turning out to be the worst day of her life—and it was only beginning.
But then Kendall wrapped her arm around Shelly. “Hey, don’t worry about this mess,” she said. “It’s probably just Judy and her annoying pranks. But we’ll show her tonight at the swim meet. We’re winning that trophy this year. You’re going to fly past her in your race.”
“Thanks, Kendall,” Shelly said, sniffling. “And you’re so right.”
“Hashtag winning,” Attina chirped.
“Hashtag regional champions is more like it,” said Alana.
“Yeah, we’ll help you clean this up later,” Kendall said. “I’m not the swim team captain for nothing! I’ll get the whole team to help. You’re not alone in this. We’re on your side.”
“Come on. Let’s get you changed. I have an extra hoodie in my locker,” Attina said.
“Thank you,” Shelly said. As she followed her friends to class, she felt grateful for their support. But a sinking feeling also pooled in her gut. She couldn’t let Judy beat her again. She couldn’t afford to let Kendall down. Not after Kendall had just come to her rescue and defended her. She had to win her race at all costs. Winning meant she could keep her friends and prove her worth. And it meant getting revenge on Judy for her putrid prank. Her eyes drifted back to her locker, where the rotting fish and pile of trash still sat in the hallway, stinking it up.
Her nightmare flashed through her head again. The coffee cup she had dropped in the ocean. The sea witch. The contract and the offer to grant her wish. But she blinked to clear her head. The prank had nothing to do with her nightmare. It was Judy Weisberg messing with her.
I’ll show her, Shelly thought. And once I do, everything will be okay.
Shelly dove off the block into the pool as the buzzer sounded.
Her pulse thudded with adrenaline as she hit the cool water. Her arms tore through it with her feet kicking in rhythm. The straps of her new competition suit dug into her shoulders. Vaguely, she was aware of cheering echoing through the indoor arena. She could just make out Judy Weisberg’s purple swim cap in the lane next to her. It bobbed into view every time she turned her head to breathe. Shelly counted her strokes in her head. One, two. Then breathe.
As Shelly’s arms propelled her through the chlorinated water, everything that was on the line rushed through her head—beating Judy, keeping her friends—and she kept seeing the dead fish and trash spilling out of her locker. Anger rose in her, making her swim harder. She heard Kendall’s voice in her head. We’re winning that trophy this year. You’re going to fly past her in your race. She had to win for Kendall and her teammates. She had to win for her school. And most important, she had to win for herself.
She couldn’t let Judy get away with that prank. And she couldn’t disappoint her friends—not after they’d come to her rescue when the other kids were taunting her in the school hall.
One, two. Then breathe.
Shelly swam as fast as she could, slicing through the water with her arms and legs in perfect rhythm. But after the first flip turn, she started to lose speed. She still had three more laps to go, but her arms were starting to feel like molasses. Her legs were wearing out, too.
Maybe it was from almost drowning in the ocean the day before? Terrible memories swirled through her head, making it hard to focus. The nightmare. The nautilus. The contract. Fighting with Dawson. The dead fish and gross trash in her locker. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t focus or keep pace with the others.
Especially Judy.
The purple swim cap kept getting farther and farther away, no matter how hard Shelly struggled in the pool. The water fought her every stroke, every breath, every lap.
Come on, you can do this! She turned her head to breathe but swallowed a mouthful of water instead, choking and almost losing her stroke altogether, which would disqualify her. This was nothing like swimming in the salty open ocean, where she felt at peace. This felt all wrong.
For three more miserable laps, Shelly struggled, trying to catch up with Judy but only falling farther behind. The purple swim cap was now half a pool length ahead. Shelly wasn’t just losing to Judy Weisberg, though that was bad enough, especially since she still suspected that Judy had something to do with the dead fish. No. Shelly slapped the edge off the pool and popped her head up but didn’t bother reading the scoreboard. She knew that Judy had won the race by a long shot. And like she’d feared, Shelly had come in last. Dead last.
Demoralized and exhausted, she hoisted herself out of the pool. She was freezing and reeked of chlorine. One lane over, Judy celebrated her win with her Little River teammates. Their jubilant cheers only made Shelly feel worse.
Judy shot her an icy smile. “Better luck next time. Hopefully you won’t stink like a fish.”
The rival swimmers all laughed.
Heat crept into Shelly’s cheeks. So it had been Judy who planted the dead fish.
Desperately, Shelly looked for her friends, hoping for moral support. Kendall, Attina, and Alana huddled on the bench with the rest of the team, with towels wrapped around them, wet hair, and swim cap lines on their foreheads. There was no jubilant cheering in the Triton Bay stands behind them. Just glum faces and glummer conversation. Shelly tentatively walked to the bench for a towel.
“This, like, majorly sucks,” Kendall said. “I hate it when we lose.”
“Yeah, it sucks worse than straws,” Attina chimed in.
“Hashtag straws suck,” Alana added, but no one laughed.
Shelly’s friends looked crestfallen and deflated. She felt terrible for letting them down. Like next level terrible. The kind of terrible that made her want to curl up into a ball and disappear. As team captain, Kendall took all their races personally, even when she wasn’t the one diving off the starting block. While it was true that Shelly had swum as hard as she could—she’d tried her best—she hadn’t swum well enough to win her race. Judy had sailed past her. Shelly realized that the locker
prank had worked; it had gotten in her head. She had lost focus, had lost rhythm, and had fallen precious seconds behind. She caught Judy eyeing her with a triumphant expression on her face, but quickly looked away, feeling humiliated.
“I especially hate losing the whole swim meet,” Kendall told her teammates. “Little River will never let us live this down.”
Shelly wrapped a towel around herself. “What do you mean? We lost the whole meet?”
“Look at the scoreboard,” Kendall said, pointing across the pool, to where the other side of the stands was beginning to empty out as people filed from the room.
Shelly studied the scoreboard and saw the final tally for Triton Bay versus Little River. Not only had Shelly lost her race, but coming in dead last had caused her entire team to lose the meet overall, despite Kendall’s winning her fifty-meter breaststroke and Attina’s and Alana’s placing first and second in the hundred-meter backstroke. As if she could feel any worse.
“Next week is a new chance!” said Coach Greeley, their swim coach, in an effort to cheer them up. She peered at them through her thick glasses. Her dreadlocks pooled around her face. In front of her, she clutched her clipboard, on which she kept track of their times. “We’ll hit the pool hard in practice this week. Everyone rest up.”
Shelly followed the dejected team and their coach into the locker room. There, she and her teammates changed out of their competition suits. The new suits had looked so cheerful when they had put them on before the meet: deep navy striped with sunshine yellow, their school colors. But now they were sodden and balled up, and her teammates shot Shelly dark looks.
Shelly suddenly wanted more than anything to be alone in that instant. She glanced at Kendall, who had donned an expensive new athleisure outfit and was lacing her sneakers. The twins stood on either side of her, dressed and ready to go and glued to their cell phones.
“Hey, Kendall. I’m sorry I lost,” Shelly said, zipping up her tracksuit jacket. “I’ll work harder at practice this week, promise. I won’t lose to Judy again. I can’t believe she beat me.”
