Fins Are Forever Page 5

  “Hello there,” Brody says, the words drawn out in my slo-mo world. “I’m Brody.”

  Even though Doe hasn’t moved an inch, there’s something about the tilt of her eyebrows, the pull of her mouth, that tells me she is quite interested in the specimen of boy standing before her. Whether they’re human or not, she’s boy crazy on an incomprehensible scale.

  Doe has never been afraid to go after what interests her.

  And she usually gets it.

  When she sits up, holds out her elegant hand, and says, “I’m Dosinia,” my world finally bursts back into normal speed.

  “She’s my cousin,” I explain, jumping up to stand between them. Desperately clutching for the cover story we’ve agreed upon, before she slips up and reveals our fishy secret, I say, “She’s here as an exchange student. From the Bahamas. Just swam in this weekend. I mean flew, of course. Flew in. We picked her up at the airport.”

  Brody accidentally found out I was a mermaid once before. I had to mindwash him, and although I think it worked perfectly, it gave me a roaring migraine. I’d rather not have to do that again anytime soon.

  Oblivious to my panicked babbling, Brody leans to his left so he can see around me and makes the kind of eyes at her I’ve only ever seen him give his ex-girlfriend. When she wasn’t quite as exas she is now.

  No, no, no, no, no. This is bad. Brody’s a girl hound and Doe’s boy crazy. Bad, bad, bad combination. Especially when I glance back over my shoulder and see her flash him a seductive smile.

  I have to do whatever I can to keep these two apart. Besides the fact that Doe hates humans—cute boys included—and that Brody’s mind has been washed—by yours truly—to make him forget mermaids really exist, the idea of my baby cousin and my ex-crush hooking up is just . . . wrong. In every possible way.

  Desperate to derail this collision, I start to suggest, “Why don’t we—”

  “All set,” Aunt Rachel announces, pushing out of the front office, thankfully saving me from whatever lameness I was going to invent. “No problem with your, um . . .” She casts a wary glance at Brody. “. . . records.”

  Meaning that the records Daddy’s royal scribe forged to give Doe a land-based background and an academic history have passed administration muster. We did the same thing when I first came here.

  “Here is your class schedule.” Aunt Rachel hands Doe a computer printout. “You have economics first.”

  Before the terrified thought can even form in my head, Brody says, “Me too! Let me walk you.”

  He grabs Doe’s briefcase off the floor and does that chivalrous-guy thing where he holds out one arm toward the hallway, indicating that she should precede him in the direction they’re going. Brody’s being chivalrous. Doe’s being . . . Doe. This can’t end well.

  “This is bad,” I mutter as they disappear down the hall. “This is really bad.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Aunt Rachel says, laying a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

  “I hope so.” But my I’m not holding my breath. “Because a messy situation between Doe and Brody could make last week’s earthquake look like a slight drizzle on the scale of trouble storms.”

  Just call her Hurricane Doe. Category Five.

  I guess that makes me the emergency response. Any trouble Doe causes is ultimately my responsibility, my final duty as princess of Thalassinia. I’ll be the one on the floor with a sponge and a bucket.

  By lunchtime I’m a nervous wreck. Doe and I have not had a single class together—which isn’t surprising, since she’s enrolled as a sophomore—but besides knowing that she and Brody both had econ this morning, I found out they also have the same homeroom and fourth-period typing class. All that unsupervised time together, who knows what might have happened.

  Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe Brody just walked her to class and they haven’t spoken since. Maybe flying fish will hop up on land and start salsa dancing. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.

  Straining to see over the sea of bodies in the lunch line, I hunt for the blond and brown-haired pair in the cafeteria. But there are so many heads in my way, I can’t even get a good view on tiptoe.

  “What are you looking for?” Quince asks.

  I growl in frustration.

  “Dosinia,” I mutter. “I think she has her eyes set on Brody.”

  “Well, that’s not great,” Shannen quips.

  How observant. “Duh.”

  I try to jump, hoping to propel myself above the crowd while not spilling my trayful of lunch. My box of milk ends up on the floor.

  Quince, who’s brought his lunch as usual and is only keeping us company in line, bends down and retrieves my half pint. “Why are you so worried?”

  I throw him a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. But when he doesn’t shake his head and say, “Omigosh, you’re right,” I lean close and whisper, “Think about what happened with us.”

  His lips spread into a very-pleased-with-himself smile.

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Now imagine that happening between Doe and Brody.”

  He shrugs. “Still not seeing the problem,” he says. “Your cousin is nice enough, and Benson’s not completely void of redeeming characteristics.”

  “Bennett,” I snap. “And that’s not what you said two weeks ago.”

  “Two weeks ago I was trying to keep your eyes off him, princess.”

  “Well, you were right before.” I try another jump and land on Quince’s foot. “He’s a shallow, self-absorbed jellyfish.”

  “I’m confused,” Quince says. “Are you looking out for Brody? Or for Dosinia?”

  “Both of them,” I half shout. Why is he being so dense about this? He knows all the possible complications that might ensue if anything happens between them. “The two of them hooking up is bad news no matter which way you look at it.”

  Shannen nods in girlfriend solidarity and says, “Prime-time trouble.”

  With a shrug, Quince strains up to see over the ocean of students around him. With a few inches on me, he easily scans the room.

  “They’re at a table together,” he says, coming back down to my level. “Want me to go out there and join them?”

  “Uh-huh.” I nod my head vigorously. As he heads off into the crowd, I shout after him, “And save us seats.”

  As Shannen makes it to the cashier, she says, “I know you don’t like your cousin, but is she really that bad?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Would she really kiss Brody?” she asks as she hands over her money.

  “I hope not, but with Doe it’s impossible to say.” I move my tray forward when Shan picks hers up. “I mean, she hates hum—” I jerk back, realizing what I was about to say in a room full of humans. “Well, you know. So that’s a point in the favor of sanity.”

  “But . . . ?” Shannen prods when I’ve collected my change and my tray.

  “But,” I say, leading the way between the lunch tables toward Quince’s dark blond head, “Doe is boy crazy and unpredictable. And she’s always been a little reckless. Consequences don’t mean much to her.”

  “A very bad combination.”

  “Oh, yeah.” We reach the table and I slide onto the seat next to Quince. Across from Doe and Brody, who are sitting way too close together for my nerves. “Hi! How’s your first day going?” I ask, maybe too brightly.

  “Fine,” she replies, not sparing me a glance.

  Brody, however, does. “Doe’s been telling me some great stories,” he says with a big, teasing smile.

  “I’ll bet she has,” I answer with a growl.

  Doe flashes her who-me-I’m-innocent eyes at me. As always, there’s hint of mischief in them.

  Quince places his warm, reassuring hand on my knee. Silently saying, Don’t freak out. Too late for that. I reach down and lace my fingers through his, squeezing out my frustration on his hand.

  “Doe says you’re an amazing swimmer, Lil,” Brody says, leaning forward. “How come
you never tried out for the girls’ team?”

  I squeeze Quince harder. I can’t exactly tell Brody it’s because I’m only a good swimmer in my mer form. The tail fin is a big boost in the underwater-speed department. With legs, I swim about as well as a rock.

  “It’s the competition,” Shannen says, coming to my rescue. “It stresses her out and she practically drowns.”

  Doe snorts.

  Quince laughs.

  I squeeze until I think Quince might lose all blood flow to his fingers.

  “Yeah,” I say, going along with the explanation, since it’s just about as believable as anything else I could come up with. “I don’t do well under pressure. I faint. I have to settle for being swim team manager.”

  “Besides,” Doe says, finally chiming in on the conversation, “Lily only swims in the ocean. She’s allergic to chlorine.”

  I force a laugh. Throwing her a dark look, I say, “That too.”

  She’s cutting it a little too close to the truth.

  Mermaids aren’t just allergic to chlorine. It’s toxic to us. If you want to call human susceptibility to arsenic an allergy, then yeah, I guess I’m allergic. A quick dip in a public pool wouldn’t kill me, but it would make me really sick. If I tried to stick it out for an entire swim practice, though . . . well, let’s just say that I wouldn’t have to worry about my SAT prep anymore.

  Quince, apparently realizing he’s in danger of losing his fingers—which would make working on his motorcycle really hard—reaches over with his other hand and pulls off my death grip. But instead of withdrawing completely, he sandwiches my hand between both of his.

  “I’ll bet Lily has some great stories about Doe, too,” Quince says. “Don’t you, princess?”

  For half a second I’m confused. Every single Doe story I have is an underwater one. He knows I can’t dish that dirt.

  “Don’t you, princess?” he repeats.

  He looks me in the eye and winks and I finally get his meaning. After growing up together, I know plenty of things Doe probably wouldn’t want me to share. I don’t have to actually tell the stories, just hint at them enough so Doe knows I won’t be bullied by her. She’s not the only one who can tell embarrassing tales.

  And I know the perfect tale to not tell.

  I bolt up straighter.

  “I do.” I throw her a warning look. “I have a whole treasure chest of stories.”

  Her eyes flash. I know she knows exactly what I’m talking about: the time our cousins Kitt and Nevis made a fake treasure map and she spent two days scouring the Thalassinian garbage fields for a buried chest of rare pink diamonds. She was only about eight, but she is still mortified by her gullibility.

  As if conceding that if we’re going to play hardball, I might not win, but I won’t go down without a fight, she gives me a slight nod.

  Score one for Lily.

  The table falls into a vaguely tense silence. I think we all realize that lunch is almost over and we’ve barely touched our food. I take this moment of silence to see what Doe has on her tray. She (wisely) passed on the meat du jour, a grayish hamburger with wilted lettuce, instead opting for strawberry Jell-O, vanilla pudding, and a banana. All foods similar to ones we have in Thalassinia.

  I think part of her human education needs to be about trying new foods. Sushi may top my list of all-time favorites, but I’ve developed a taste for corn dogs, tater tots, and apple pie. And you haven’t lived until you’ve tried tiramisu.

  Maybe educating Doe in human ways won’t be all that bad.

  After all, it is my duty. And if I get to consume some of my favorite foods in the process, then all the better. Tomorrow I’ll have to get some extras on my plate to make her try. I’m pretty sure it’s taco day.

  “Gotta run,” Brody says, pushing to his feet and picking up his tray. “We’re doing oral reports in history today and I need to review my notes.” He nods down at Doe’s picked-over tray. “Have you finished?”

  She makes a kind of disgusted face and pushes her tray away.

  “I’ll take this up for you.” Brody stacks their trays and winks at Doe. “See you later.”

  Her gaze doesn’t leave him until he drops off the trays and disappears out the cafeteria doors. Her interest in Brody is a little too interested for my peace of mind.

  Before the human food lessons, I have to make one thing very clear. I will not let my final act as royal princess end in a bonding disaster that can only bring trouble to my kingdom.

  As soon as Brody’s out of sight, I say, “No.”

  Doe looks innocent. “No what?”

  “No Brody,” I explain. “Absolutely, unequivocally no.”

  She shrugs. “Whatever.”

  I’m not sure if it’s an I-don’t-really-care-about-him-so-no-big-deal shrug, or an I-like-him-and-I-don’t-really-care-what-you-think one. Or maybe it’s a you’re-not-the-boss-of-me shrug.

  “Dosinia,” I say, not willing to let this go, “this is serious. You can’t mess around with Brody. I don’t know if I told you, but he accidentally found out the truth about me a couple weeks ago.”

  “So?” she asks in a bored tone.

  “So he didn’t take it very well. He acted like a jerk and I had to—”

  “Ancient history.” She reaches down and grabs a lip gloss from her briefcase, swiping it perfectly across her lips without a mirror.

  Grrr. I can envy her makeup skills later; right now I’m trying to make a point. “You can’t mess with any human, Doe. The risk is too high. Think of what’s best for the kingdom.”

  “Like you do?” she snarls, her voice full of venom. “When have you ever put Thalassinia first?”

  My head jerks back at her verbal attack. “What do you mean?” I ask. “I take my responsibilities very seriously.”

  She snorts. “Right.”

  “Doe, I—” I’m not sure what to say. Mostly because her accusation hits home. Because these are doubts I already have, doubts I’ve been wrestling with ever since I made the decision to return to Seaview.

  Am I abandoning my kingdom by staying on land, by staying with Quince? Am I letting my ancestors and my subjects down if I give up my title? Is it enough to try to protect them from above, rather than lead them from below?

  I can’t let these doubts consume me. I’ve made my choice, and Daddy supports me fully. There isn’t another way to make things work that doesn’t leave me miserable for life. Besides, I can help more on the environmental front from up here.

  “The kingdom will find another heir.” I shake my head, still trying to figure out where her attack came from. Whispering so no one around us can hear, I say, “Thalassinia will be better off without me.”

  Beneath the table, Quince pats my hand, reassuring me that he’s here if I need him. Shannen would come to my aid, too, but this is a moment between me and Doe, between merfolk.

  Unimpressed by my assurance, she stands up and says, “I’ve got to find my art class.”

  My shoulders slump. Of course she has art. My luck is pretty stellar when it comes to things like this. Of all the classes I could share with my squid-brained cousin who hates me and thinks I’m betraying our kingdom, it would have to be my favorite class. It wouldn’t be my life otherwise.

  Shannen and I exchange a look. Mine, I’m sure, is defeated. Hers is apologetic. She knows how much I love art, so she knows I’m bummed. As Doe collects her briefcase and stands, Shannen jerks her head at my cousin.

  I know.

  I take a deep breath.

  “Wait,” I say with no enthusiasm.

  Doe doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t walk away. I hear her booted foot tapping impatiently on the floor. When I don’t say more, she finally demands, “What?”

  Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I say, “We have art, too.” When Shannen nudges me in the ribs, I add, “We’ll walk with you.”

  Doe drops her briefcase on the table, as if to say, Fine. I’ll wait.

  “I’ll se
e you in trig,” I tell Quince, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his mouth.

  He lays his hand, the one he nearly lost to my frustrated squeeze, reassuringly against my waist. He whispers, “Play nice.”

  I growl at him. Me? It’s Doe we should be worried about. She’s the cutthroat one. I’m always nice.

  Well, maybe not always. I reconsider. Thinking back to how I treated Quince before I learned he had feelings for me and before I figured out that I had feelings for him, too, I admit I’m almost always nice.

  “Let’s go,” I say, snatching my tray off the table. “I don’t want to be late. Again.”

  Chapter 4

  By Thursday morning I’m so stressed out that I accidentally boil my orange juice, have to run back upstairs and put on flip-flips that actually match, and realize five minutes before leaving for school that I’ve completely blanked on my American Government homework—which is, of course, my first class, so I won’t have homeroom time to do the work sheet.

  “Aaargh!” I slam my now-frozen juice on the counter. “I can’t take much more of this.”

  Aunt Rachel doesn’t pretend to misunderstand my meaning.

  “I know it’s difficult adjusting to a new member of the household,” she says calmly. Placatingly. “But it’s just a matter of time.”

  I spin to face her. “I don’t have time,” I complain. “The SATs are in a week, and I haven’t been able to study at all. Graduation is a month away. My grades are pitiful. If I don’t do amazing on this test, then it’s good-bye college, good-bye career, good-bye future.”

  Good-bye becoming a marine biologist and any hope of helping my kingdom from land. All my sacrifice will be a waste.

  “You’re overreacting.”

  “I’m not,” I insist. “You know what the counselor said when I told him I’d decided to go to college. Well, after he finished laughing.”

  Aunt Rachel puts her newspaper aside. “I know, dear.” She wraps a reassuring arm around my shoulders. “But I also know that putting all this pressure on yourself isn’t going to help the matter.”

  I slump. Because she’s right. Humans deal with stress poorly enough, but mermaids—a species with little stress in their natural habitat—don’t process it well at all. Combine that with the added agitation of being out of the water for long periods of time and the fact that I’m sharing a bathroom with my drawer- and mirror-hogging baby cousin and, well, it’s amazing I’m able to function at all.