Forgive My Fins Page 18

  I click back over.

  “Hey, Brody,” I say. “Sorry that took so long, I—”

  The honking wail of a dead phone line cuts off my apology.

  I slam the receiver back on the base, wondering, yet again, how Quince manages to ruin everything.

  In trig on Monday, Mr. Kingsley pairs us up to work on tangents. In some great grand scheme of fate or luck or both, I get paired with Brody.

  Quince gets stuck with Tiffany (aka Courtney-in-training).

  Finally, an entire class period of uninterrupted—except by Kingsley’s occasional lectures and reprimands—one-on-one time for me and Brody.

  “Sorry about the—”

  “Sorry I had to—”

  We laugh, together, since we’ve spoken at the same time.

  He smiles and says, “You first.”

  “I just wanted to say sorry I was gone so long on the phone last night.” I glance at the offending interrupter, who—although bent over the textbook with Tiffany and seemingly intent on his work—is somehow watching me without looking at me. He’s reading about tangents, but I just know that he’s focused on me. Thank you, bond. “I couldn’t get rid of the person on the other end.”

  “That’s funny,” Brody says, leaning over our paired desks. His right arm brushes against mine. “I was going to apologize for having to hang up. I had to go help with the dishes or Dad was going to ground me for a month.”

  I force a laugh, but all I can really think about is the way the soft, curly hairs of his forearm are tickling across my skin. It’s the most intimate touch we’ve ever shared, to be sure. A sensation of warmth floods me, from my heart outward. My cheeks heat up and I feel—

  I look up and find Quince’s eyes burning a hole in me.

  He would. He just would ruin this moment for me by doing nothing more than look at me.

  Fine. I can play dirty, too.

  “So, Brody,” I say, leaning closer, making certain Quince sees me rest my fingers on Brody’s wrist. “What else were you going to say last night?”

  I have to suppress my glee when I see Quince’s muscles tighten, one by one, starting with his jaw and moving over his shoulders and down his arms. It makes me feel powerful to know that I can make him so…jealous.

  Ha! All this time, I’ve been using Quince to make Brody jealous, and it turns out I’m making Quince jealous in the process. Bonus.

  “I wanted to ask you a question,” Brody says.

  “Ask me now.”

  His beautiful golden-brown eyes look directly into mine, and he asks, “Are you and Fletcher really an item?”

  “Are we—” My jaw clenches. I do not want to be talking about Quince right now. Not when Brody and I are finally having an extended moment. So, rather than create a bigger mess of things, I simply say, “No. We’re not.”

  That charade is definitely over. I’m done with playing the pretend fake girlfriend.

  Brody leans back—away from me—and smiles. “Good.” He folds his arms behind his head. “Because you shouldn’t waste your time on that loser.”

  My eyes flick to said loser, who is resolutely pretending to focus on his work. Emphasis on the pretending part.

  I’m not sure why, but Brody’s comment irritates me. Quince may be many things—blowfish, biker boy, rude, obnoxious, arrogant—but he’s not a loser. Just because he’s not a news anchor or a swim star doesn’t make him a worthless member of the student body.

  Wait a second. Why am I sitting here defending Quince? (Even if it was only mentally.)

  “We’d better get to work,” I say, pulling out my textbook and opening to our assigned page. “We’ve wasted half the class.”

  As we begin wasting the other half hurrying to finish all the work problems, my mind can’t focus on math—as if it ever can—and keeps thinking about Brody. And not the usual crush-fantasy-come-true thoughts, either. No, I keep wondering why he’s suddenly showing an interest. Why now, of all times? Is it because seeing me with Quince made him realize he has feelings for me? Or is this not about me at all? When the bell finally rings, Brody hurries off, saying he’ll see me at the after-school news-team shoot.

  I’m still zipping my backpack closed when I sense his presence at my side.

  I pretend he’s not there.

  “You and your partner get your work done?” he asks. The question is simple, but his tone isn’t.

  “Yes,” I say, hitching my backpack up on my shoulder and pushing to my feet. Quince is standing right there, so I end up face-to-face—or, since he’s got a few inches on me, face-to-chest.

  “Move,” I insist, accompanied by a shove.

  “What?” he asks, his voice mockingly light. “Problem in paradise?”

  “No,” I snap. “Everything is just perfect.”

  I push harder, finally moving him out of the way. But before I can get to the door, he moves in front of me, blocking my exit.

  Rather than waste my breath, I just scowl.

  “You’re a fool, you know,” he says, sounding all superior and condescending. “You’re not his type.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I try to sound amused, but he’s definitely hit on a sensitive spot. Like I haven’t worried about that exact thing for the last three years. “Then how come he called me last night? Why is he paying attention to me and flirting with me?”

  Although part of me just wanted to throw that in Quince’s face, another (skeptical) part of me wants to see if he confirms my doubts about Brody’s sudden turnaround.

  “Because,” Quince says, leaning forward until I step back, “he’s a little boy who doesn’t like other people playing with his toys.”

  “His toys?” I gasp. I’ve never wanted to slap someone more in my life. “How dare you? I’m not his toy!”

  Quince snorts. “You might as well have been. And now that I’m on the playing field, he has to up his participation in the game so he doesn’t lose you to me.”

  “Lose me to—” I feel my fragile control dissolving and clench my fists to stem the tide of fury. I might need an extra-long bath tonight to ease away all this anger. “You think this is about you? I never knew you were so self-centered. You’re just jealous.”

  He doesn’t deny my claim. He doesn’t say anything at all as he stares down at me with a kind of questioning look in his eyes. Then, when I almost can’t stand it anymore, he finally says, “He’ll never accept you. Not after you tell him the truth.”

  “You’re wrong,” I insist, keeping my voice low so no one overhears. “He will. When he learns that I belong in the water just like he does.”

  “God,” Quince roars, “you are so delusional! He’s a shallow, small-minded, popularity-obsessed jackass who will see you as a freak rather than a treasure.”

  I feel every derogatory word as a slap in the face.

  “You’re wrong,” I repeat through clenched teeth, as much for myself as for Quince. “He has depths you could never imagine. As soon as I tell him, we’ll—”

  “Why haven’t you?”

  I blink at his interruption. “What?”

  “Why haven’t you told him already?” He steps back, finally giving me some breathing room, and slips his hands into his back pockets. “If you’ve loved him so goddamn much for the last three years, why haven’t you told him?”

  “Because I—”

  “Because you know the truth,” he says, again not letting me finish. “You haven’t told him—about yourself or your feelings—because deep in your soul you know that it will mean the end of your fantasy.”

  He turns to walk away, out of the classroom and into the hall, but the fury welling up in me at his ridiculous statement bursts out. “You’ll see! I’m going to tell him and he’ll fall head over heels and we’ll be bonded before Daddy can finish the last line of the separation ritual!”

  He doesn’t stop, doesn’t look back, just waves his hand back over his shoulder and says, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  Aaargh! He makes me
so flip-flopping furious. I’ll show him. I’ll tell Brody and he’ll think it’s the coolest thing ever, and he’ll confess to secret feelings for me, too. I’ll be done with Quince and ready to move on with my future. With Brody. In Thalassinia.

  I’ll tell him. After the city championship on Thursday night.

  What could be more perfect?

  21

  The week that I thought would drag on forever—like the time Peri and I sat outside Daddy’s office waiting for our punishment for sneaking away to spend a day on Paradise Island—actually races by faster than I could imagine. Before I know it, I’m sitting on the bleachers in the natatorium, swim-team record book open across my lap, watching Brody swim for the city championship.

  I’m still committed to the idea of telling Brody, as the adrenaline racing through my veins can attest. I’m both terrified and thrilled and, to be honest, totally nauseous. But there’s no time like the present, and—not that I’d admit this to him—Quince was right. I’ve put off going after my dream for too long.

  “You seem kinda stressed,” Shannen says. “Something wrong?”

  Unable to look away from the pool, I start to say, “No, I—” But something stops me. I’m about to tell Brody the whole truth, but what about Shannen? She’s my best human friend. It feels kind of wrong to tell Brody when she doesn’t know. If I can’t tell my best friend, then how on earth can I tell my future mermate?

  Besides, it’ll be good practice.

  Handing the record book over to the freshman towel girl, I stand. “Can we talk outside for a second?”

  Shannen looks confused but follows me with a shrug. We slip out the back door—passing by Quince, who’s busy skulking in the back row of the bleachers—to the steps overlooking the parking lot. The night air is cool with the ocean breeze whistling through the palm fronds above.

  I take a deep, calming breath.

  “Shannen, I have something to tell you.” I step down into the parking lot, wrapping my arms tightly around my waist so I won’t spend the entire confession fidgeting. Shannen sinks onto the bottom step, and I walk over and sit next to her so I can whisper. “This is something I’ve never told another soul.” Then I have a mental wince. “Except Quince.”

  But that almost doesn’t count, because I didn’t really have a choice.

  “Okay…” She sounds a little dubious, like maybe I’m too much of an open book to have any juicy secrets.

  Boy, will she be surprised.

  “Before I came to Seaview,” I explain, squeezing my arms tighter around my waist, “I didn’t live in Fort Lauderdale.”

  Aunt Rachel and I came up with that cover story when I first moved in with her. We thought it would be easier to use something as close to the truth as possible—and we couldn’t just say Daddy was dead, because, well, first of all, that just feels wrong, but also because I might let it slip that I was going to visit him or something, and that would be really awkward to explain.

  “Oh,” she says. Then she gets this kind of appalled look on her face. “You’re not from the panhandle, are you?”

  A little laugh escapes. “No, I’m not from the panhandle.” I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and say, “I’m from Thalassinia.”

  “Where’s that?” she asks. “Georgia?”

  “It’s about forty-five miles east of here.”

  “East?” she repeats, confused. I can tell from her tone that it doesn’t make sense. “But the only thing forty-five miles east of Seaview is…”

  “Ocean.” Ready to deal with her shock, I turn to her and say, “Thalassinia is a mer kingdom. I’m a mermaid.”

  She looks out over the parking lot, eyes narrowed like she’s putting puzzle pieces together in her head. Shannen’s a brainiac, so I can bet that she’s getting a pretty complete picture. Pursing her lips in consideration, she says, “You’re a mermaid.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Then her brown eyes turn on me, evaluating me head to toe as if she might have missed some scales or gills or something.

  “Well, that makes sense,” she finally says. “You do have an obsession with ocean-related terminology. Though I am surprised by your affinity for sushi. I thought mermaids were supposed to be friends with fishes.”

  “Only in animated movies,” I say with a laugh. Leave it to Shannen to intellectualize the fact that I’m a mythical creature.

  She falls silent, studying the pavement. This is when the worry first hits me. What if she’s flipping out? What if she thinks I’m some kind of freak of nature and she never wants to talk to me again? I might have just lost my best human friend by telling her the truth about me. And if Shannen, who’s been like a sister for three years, can’t see past my mer side, then how on earth will Brody? What if Quince is right, and Brody will never—

  “You didn’t trust me,” she finally says, stopping my snowballing mental freak-out.

  “Of course I did,” I insist. “I do! That’s why I told you.”

  “But you didn’t,” she replies. “Not until tonight.” The look of hurt in her warm eyes makes me want to cry. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me? And why did you tell me now?”

  “I wanted to, Shan,” I insist. “Oh, how I wanted to. But we have to be so careful about revealing ourselves to humans. The laws are insanely strict. There were some incidents, back in the eighteenth century, when the sea was swarming with pirates. Our world nearly made front-page headlines.” I take her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “I trust you, but the safety of my entire kingdom comes first.”

  “Then why are you telling me now?” she asks.

  “Because…I had to tell you before I—” The fear creeps up my throat again, but I swallow around it. Why am I suddenly, after three years of waiting for tonight, so full of doubts and fears? “Before I tell Brody.”

  “You’re going to tell him?” she gasps. “Tonight?”

  I nod, expecting her to squeal with excitement. To be proud of me for finally—finally!—taking action.

  Instead, she looks worried.

  “Are you sure?” she asks. “You trust him that much? You trust him with your kingdom’s safety?”

  All the air whooshes out of my lungs. She’s just voiced the same nagging doubts I’m trying to ignore. Do I trust him? Part of me, the part that’s mooned after him for three years, is screaming Yes. The rest of me, the part that knows all that mooning happened from afar with very limited personal experience, quietly whispers No.

  And it’s not like I can take the confession back—at least, not without an unpleasant mindwashing ritual.

  “Maybe,” I say, voicing my confusion. “Maybe you’re right. I can’t let Quince goad me into doing something stupid. This is more important than showing him up. I won’t tell Brody I’m a mermaid, but I will tell him that I love him.”

  But…that didn’t even sound right. It doesn’t feel right to call what I feel for Brody love. That’s just too—

  “No freakin’ way, Lil. You’re a mermaid?”

  Oh, no! I feel my eyes bug out at the sound of Brody’s voice. I didn’t hear the door open behind us—I was too focused on Shannen and her deep questions.

  “Omigod,” she whispers, so softly I almost don’t hear. I give her a pleading, panicked look, but all she can offer in return is wide-eyed sympathy. “I think,” she says, pushing to her feet, “I’ll leave you two alone for a minute.”

  I pop to my feet at her side, willing her not to go.

  She leans close and whispers, “I’ll be right inside if you need me.” Then she jogs up the steps and disappears through the gray metal door.

  My stomach takes a dive toward my feet. It’s in this instant, this moment of total fear, that I realize how wrong I was about Brody. How—Quince was right—delusional I’ve been. I’ve been living in a fantasy world, where Brody was safely removed from reality. Only in my imagination was he the perfect mate for me. If that fantasy were real, I wouldn’t be so utterly terrified right now.

  “Brody,
I—”

  “That is the coolest thing ever,” he exclaims, eyeing my body as he descends to ground level. His gaze lingers over my cha-chas. “Do you wear coconut shells?”

  My first reaction is revulsion. I mean, sure, there are some mermaids who wear things like skimpy shell bikini tops—cough, Dosinia, cough—but it’s not exactly tasteful attire. My second reaction is extreme disappointment. He heard me confess my feelings—or at least what I believed were my feelings—and he obviously didn’t care about that at all. He doesn’t care about me.

  And now he knows my kingdom’s secret.

  I have to take care of him. (No, not in a Mafia kind of way—remember, merfolk are peaceful people.) And if I can do it without resorting to a mindwashing ritual, then all the better. Because, seriously, the last thing I need right now is a weeklong killer migraine.

  Forgetting my terror and embarrassment and humiliation, I burst out laughing, trying to joke it off. “You thought I was serious?” I giggle like this is the funniest thing in the world. “I was teasing. I was playing a joke on Shannen.”

  At first Brody looks confused, like he’s not sure how he might have misinterpreted the situation. Then he shakes his head with a smile. “Nice try, Lil,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You wouldn’t play your best friend like that. You’re too nice.”

  It’s amazing how much your life can change in just a moment. An hour ago, I would have died to be in this position with Brody, close enough to feel him breathing, and with his attention fully focused on me and him finally knowing all my secrets. But now? I’ve never been so scared—for myself, for my kingdom—in my entire life. Not even when I had to lure those fishermen away from Quince.

  Quince! My mind flashes back to the moment on the beach when I told him the truth, when he threw back his head and laughed. There was no fear, no humiliation, just a little relief at finally telling someone my secret. Who’d have thought two weeks ago that I’d be terrified because Brody found out but fine with Quince knowing?