by Vera Strange
The sea witch’s cackling followed her out into the parking lot, where her mother’s car waited for her. But as soon as she hopped in and slammed the door, the cackling ceased.
What is happening to me? Am I going mad?
And . . . what am I going to do?
Shelly hoped dinner would take her mind off everything.
Takeout containers littered the cafeteria table at the aquarium. Colorful murals of fish, sea turtles, dolphins, coral reefs, and other marine life covered the walls. The floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over Triton Bay, where the sun was dipping into the ocean. Soon darkness would fall. She, her brother, and her father had gone to the aquarium after school to order Chinese food.
But Shelly’s father had been so busy with a leaking tank on the upper ocean deck that he’d forgotten to call in the order. So Shelly had taken matters into her own hands, locating the crumpled takeout menu and his credit card. By the time the food showed up, they were famished. Dawson was even starting to drum his fingers on the table. She had thrust the lo mein at him the second the food arrived, along with chopsticks, even though he ate with his hands.
“Sorry about dinner,” her father said, digging into his chicken and veggies.
“No problem,” Shelly said, reaching for the kung pao shrimp, her favorite dish of all time.
“Lo mein is like salty spaghetti,” Dawson said, slurping up the noodles. “Isn’t that cool?”
“It sure is,” their father said.
Shelly cracked open the container she was holding and shoveled some shrimp into her mouth. But as soon as it hit her tongue, she almost gagged. She spat it out on her plate in disgust.
Her father shot her a strange look. “What is it, honey?”
Dawson cracked up. “Shelly’s going to puke!”
Shelly set the kung pao shrimp aside, her stomach rumbling, and settled for plain rice instead. What is wrong with me? Usually she loved seafood. She had an uneasy feeling this had something to do with her wish, too.
She wouldn’t be surprised.
“Kiddos, it’s really nice to have you here,” their father said, looking up from his food. “Honestly, it gets kind of lonely during the week, even with all our fishy friends for company.”
“Yeah, Dad, we miss you, too,” she said, and she meant it.
She quickly wiped away a tear and finished her rice.
* * *
After dinner, while her father worked on the leaky tank and Dawson released his pent-up energy in the interactive play area, Shelly wandered through the labyrinth of the aquarium’s corridors. It felt like a different world down there—wild, exciting, alien, and free. She loved being there more than anywhere in the world, but problems weighed heavily on her heart like an anchor.
She glanced down the halls, which were empty and dimly lit. It was after hours, but many of the staffers and trainers were still working, cleaning up after the busy day of visitors or tending to the many animals in their care. Usually, she’d love to check the pH of the tanks with her father or feed the dolphins their gleaming silver fish, but that night she wanted to be alone.
She pressed her face to the glass of Queenie’s tank. “I wish you could talk to me. . . .”
The octopus seemed to understand. She swam up to the glass, her eight tentacles undulating in the eerie underwater lighting that filtered through the tank.
“You see, I have all these problems,” she said to the tank, soothed by Queenie’s graceful movements. “But I can’t tell anyone about them . . . and it’s the worst to feel alone—”
“Hey, Shelly, what’s up?”
The voice made her jump, but then she relaxed.
It was only Enrique.
“Oh, hey,” she said, playing it cool even though he’d caught her talking to an octopus.
“You know, I talk to them, too,” he said, flashing a conspiratorial grin. He studied Queenie. “I think they understand us. Or maybe it’s just my imagination. What do you think?”
How much could she tell him about what she knew? That there was deep magic in Triton Bay? That, indeed, some of the life down there could very likely understand them?
“Yeah, I think they do,” she said.
“Right?” Enrique was staring at her woolen scarf. “Haven’t seen you around much.”
“Oh, I’ve been busy with the new swim season,” she said, suddenly brightening. For a second, she forgot about her troubles. “I even set a new record time in practice.”
“Wow, congrats!” he said with a genuine smile. “Glad you’ve improved since your plunge into the ocean. Just kidding, of course.”
Their eyes met—and he held her gaze. She thought of how he’d saved her by pulling her out of the ocean. But then her hand returned to the scarf around her neck. She couldn’t risk him, or anyone, finding out about her gills. She felt them flare. “Uh, right. Hey, I have to help my dad with the leaking tank.” And with that, she ran off and left him standing by Queenie.
Why did she always act so awkward around him?
The truth was she liked him.
But somehow she always found a way to ruin it.
She always ended up acting, well, as Attina would say, hashtag lame.
What else could possibly go wrong?
* * *
After they had finished up at the aquarium and gone back to her father’s apartment to watch an animated movie, Shelly tossed the half-full takeout containers into the fridge.
“Okay, time for bed,” their father said, switching off the TV.
“You’re the coolest dad in the whole universe,” Dawson said with a toothy grin.
“And you’re the coolest kid,” their father said, mussing Dawson’s hair. “Now brush your teeth. We’ve got a big day at the aquarium tomorrow.”
“Just like old times,” Shelly said from the kitchen. She’d always loved their family weekends at the aquarium. It was their little tradition.
Her father smiled. “Yup, just like old times.”
Shelly started down the hallway. That was when she remembered she had to share a room with Dawson. He was a total mouth breather. After they had both brushed their teeth, changed into their pajamas, and wiggled into their twin beds, Shelly stared up at the ceiling.
“Isn’t this cool?” Dawson whispered in the dark. “It’s like we’re having a slumber party!”
Shelly glanced in his general direction. “Uh, yeah. Totally.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew that all the recent change must have been hard on him.
“Want to tell scary stories?” he went on excitedly. “Rex told me a good one about sea monsters called sirens that sing beautiful songs to lure in sailors to eat them!”
“Usually, I’d love to hear your stories, but I’m exhausted,” she replied. And it was true. She could barely keep her eyes open. It had been the longest day in a series of long days. She was looking forward to a cozy Saturday at the aquarium.
“Okay.” His voice sounded sad. “I wish I had Mr. Bubbles. He always stayed up. Until . . .”
The day he went to the ocean in the sky, she thought, finishing his sentence in her mind. Shelly felt even worse for being a lousy sister. She closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than sleep.
Drip . . . drip . . . drip . . .
Shelly woke with a start. She didn’t know how long she’d been sleeping. If she had to guess, it was the middle of the night. She heard Dawson’s snores. Was that what had woken her?
She listened in the darkness.
Drip . . . drip . . . drip . . . It wasn’t loud, but it was driving her crazy.
She climbed from the bed and plodded out of the room and across the apartment on autopilot. Just as she had thought, the kitchen faucet was leaking. She tried to shut it off, but when she turned the knob, the faucet started dripping even more. And more. Puzzled, she tried twisting the knob the other way, but the water kept flowing. She flicked on the light and put her head near the opening to study the problem. Suddenly, murky black water gus
hed out of the faucet.
It didn’t look like water. It looked more like . . . squid ink.
Like the kind she’d poured onto her hands from the shampoo bottle in the locker room.
And it was filling the sink, nearly spilling over its brim.
Then seaweed tendrils shot out of the sink drain and wrapped around her neck. They tightened and started pulling her face toward the putrid black water.
Shelly struggled to get them off, prying the sinewy plant with her fingers. She wanted to scream, but she could barely get out a breath, and then her face was plunged into the sink. Under the contaminated water, garbage floated by. She tried to breathe, but plastic bags clogged her gills and made it impossible. Stars danced in her vision. A voice sounded in her ears.
You poor unfortunate soul! Don’t forget our deal—or else!
She screamed under the black water.
Shelly’s father flipped on all the kitchen lights.
“Hey, you okay? I heard you scream.” He wore pajamas, and his hair was tousled from sleep.
Shelly looked at him in a panic, clawing at her neck, but nothing was wrapped around it. Fortunately, her father was still half asleep, and it was dark, so he couldn’t see her gills. But that was the least of her troubles. She had almost drowned in the kitchen sink, which, now that she looked at it, was empty, no black ink or plastic garbage in sight.
“Uh, I—I think I was sleepwalking,” she stammered. The lie slipped from her lips.
He screwed up his mouth. “Everything okay?”
“No. I mean, yes. I’m fine,” she said, working to slow her breathing.
Her father grabbed a glass and filled it from the tap, and she watched, frozen in horror.
But only clean water filled the glass.
Shelly breathed out in relief as her father took a slow drink. Once the glass was empty, he grinned and held it up to the light.
“I don’t know why everyone insists on buying expensive filters these days,” he said. “Triton Bay tap water is crystal clear—and it tastes great.”
Shelly smiled and rubbed her eyes. “Right. Yeah. Well, I’ll just be heading back to bed.”
* * *
Shelly didn’t sleep a wink. All night, she listened for the steady drip, drip, drip of the kitchen faucet. She kept thinking about the seaweed wrapping around her, pulling her into the contaminated water. Finally, morning arrived. She threw back the covers and ran her hands through her hair, but something felt weird. Her hair was snagged between her fingers. She pulled them back to inspect them, and her stomach dropped. No. It couldn’t be.
Her fingers were webbed.
Panicking, she glanced at her feet.
They were webbed, too.
Thin, translucent skin stretched between her fingers and toes, connecting them. Terrified, she waited for Dawson to get up and leave the room, then rustled through the hall closet until she found an old pair of her father’s work gloves. Combined with the scarf, it was the best she could do to hide her new abnormalities. She knew she looked ridiculous, but fortunately her family wasn’t the type to judge her various clothing phases.
Across the kitchen table, her father eyed the old work gloves paired with the wool scarf. “The new fashion trend, eh?” He chuckled. “Back in my grunge days, I wore my dad’s work boots and flannel to school.” He patted her on the back, making her worry that the scarf would slip down. “Glad my old gloves are good for something,” he added with a wink.
* * *
The aquarium—which usually cheered Shelly up—wasn’t any better than her sleepless night.
Instead of chatting with the staff while they worked or feeding the dolphins or reef sharks or any of her favorite sea animals, she searched for somewhere to hide. The tunnels under the main exhibit seemed like a good choice. She entered the dark corridor. It was lit only by the eerie light that filtered through the water, casting strange shadows. Fish and other marine animals darted past the portholes. The taunt of fish lover echoed in her head. She tried to shake it.
“Maybe they’re right,” Shelly whispered to her reflection. “This is where I belong.” She pressed her face to the glass, feeling alone and misunderstood. Every fish that swam past reminded her of what was happening. Her eyes fixed on the sunken pirate ship and the trident. The trident was corroded, covered in barnacles, but underneath she caught a shimmer of gold.
That trident was old and warped. How could it be shimmering like that?
She studied the forked spear.
It happened again.
Another flash of light. Another shimmer of gold.
Suddenly, a tentacle slapped the glass.
Shelly jumped back with a start.
But it was only Queenie again. At least this time Shelly knew she wasn’t losing her mind. Queenie was real. The sea witch . . . well, she couldn’t be real, but then how else could Shelly explain her webbed digits and the neck gills? She shuddered. The octopus floated by the porthole, almost as if she were saying hello. Her long tentacles undulated.
“Hey, Queenie,” Shelly said. At this point, the octopus was practically becoming her best friend. “Do you know what’s happening to me?”
The octopus seemed to shake her body as if answering no.
But Shelly knew it was only an optical illusion caused by the water.
“Yeah, me neither,” Shelly whispered. “I didn’t mean for this to happen . . . not like this.”
Glancing around to make sure she was alone, she slowly peeled off her glove and studied her hand. Webbing stretched from each finger. When she touched it, it felt like her own skin. She pinched it and winced at the sting. She couldn’t even bear to take off her sneakers to look at her toes. Tears pricked her eyes. Hiding in the dark by the fish, she sank down to her knees and wrapped her arms around herself. She didn’t notice the figure watching her from the corridor.
He had heard everything she’d said. “Hey, Shelly, is everything okay?”
She looked up, startled. Her eyes fell on Enrique, who was leaning against the wall in the shadows, and she yanked the glove back on. She stood up and looked at him. Shame and fear mixed in her gut. Why did he keep surprising her like that? Didn’t he have better things to do?
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
“Not long,” he said. “But long enough to notice you seem a bit down.”
Had he seen the webbing?
“Well, I’m okay. Just tired,” she said. That wasn’t a complete lie.
His eyebrows met in a look of concern. He wasn’t convinced. She knew that she looked even more ridiculous with the gloves to hide her webbed fingers. She wanted to confide in him—to talk to somebody about her problems—but she couldn’t risk it. No one could see her like this. Not that he hadn’t seen her in a worse state. He had saved her from drowning in the ocean, after all. But still.
“I’ve gotta go,” she said. And with that, she bolted down the hall, leaving Enrique alone.
Shelly draped a towel around her neck and tucked her hands under her arms.
Then she dashed from the locker room to the big swim meet. She couldn’t let anyone see her fish anatomy. That was how she’d come to think of it. Kendall shot her a strange look but didn’t say anything. Kendall had her game face on. This was their rematch against Little River. That meant one thing: Shelly was facing Judy Weisberg again in the fifty-meter freestyle. But for now, Shelly could relax. The first event was Kendall’s—the breaststroke. Judy was swimming in the race as well, and Shelly was ready to root her heart out for Kendall. She was about to sit on the bench when Coach Greeley tapped her clipboard and said, “You’re up, Shelly!” She pointed to the middle lane starting block.
Shelly’s heart lurched. “But I don’t swim the breaststroke.”
“After that record-breaking performance at practice you do!” Coach crowed.
Shelly’s eyes darted to Kendall, who scowled like Shelly had never seen her scowl before.
“Um, okay,” Shelly s
aid, stepping up to the block. Now she had to swim fast enough to beat Judy but not so fast that she would upset Kendall.
Okay. She could do this. She just needed to pay close attention to where both Kendall and Judy were in the water at all times. Luckily, her lane was situated right between theirs.
Buoyed by her strategy, Shelly took a deep breath and glanced at Judy Weisberg.
Judy shot her a nasty look. “Good luck, fish lover. You’re going to need it.”
“Trust me,” Shelly said, keeping her towel over her shoulders, “you won’t beat me this time.”
The buzzer sounded.
Shelly dropped the towel and dove headlong into the pool. She cut through the water faster than ever before, her gills opening and closing and filling her with all the breath she could ever need and more, her webbed hands and feet propelling her through the water at high speed.
In fact, she was going too fast.
She tried desperately to slow down, but she couldn’t. No matter what she did, she kept swimming faster and faster. Her arms and legs seemed to have minds of their own. She started to panic, but there was nothing she could do except keep swimming.
Why couldn’t she slow down? With horror, it dawned on her. She had made a wish to become the fastest swimmer. The sea witch had granted that exact wish. What Shelly hadn’t realized was she couldn’t reverse it. She couldn’t swim slowly anymore. No matter what she did, she would always be the fastest swimmer. For all eternity. After her first flip turn, she was already several strokes ahead of Judy and the other swimmers. Then after the second turn, it was half the pool’s length. She swam faster than any human ever, possibly. After she had lapped all the other racers in the pool, she slapped her hand onto the edge and stayed put.
So I can stop swimming, she thought with relief. She glanced up at the scoreboard, and her eyes widened in joy—and fear. It was a new record, but while she’d wanted to beat Judy and win the race, she hadn’t wanted to win like this. She remembered Attina’s warning. Kendall would be upset that Shelly beat her top score in a real race. While everyone in the stands was focused on the scoreboard, Shelly slipped out of her lane and back under her towel, feeling defeated. From the bench, she watched the other swimmers struggling to finish the last lap.
