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 tel 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 wel as a rock.
“It’s the competition,” Shannen says, coming to my rescue. “It stresses her out and she practical y drowns.” Doe snorts.
Quince laughs.
I squeeze until I think Quince might lose al 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 wel under pressure. I faint. I have to settle for being swim team manager.”
“Besides,” Doe says, final y chiming in on the conversation, “Lily only swims in the ocean. She’s al ergic 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 al ergic to chlorine. It’s toxic to us. If you want to cal human susceptibility to arsenic an al ergy, then yeah, I guess I’m al ergic. A quick dip in a public pool wouldn’t kil me, but it would make me real y sick. If I tried to stick it out for an entire swim practice, though… wel , 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 real y hard—reaches over with his other hand and pul s off my death grip. But instead of withdrawing completely, he sandwiches my hand between both of his.
“I’l 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 final y 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 bul ied by her. She’s not the only one who can tel embarrassing tales.
And I know the perfect tale to not tel .
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 stil mortified by her gul ibility.
As if conceding that if we’re going to play hardbal , 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 fal s into a vaguely tense silence. I think we al 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 Jel -O, vanil a pudding, and a banana. Al 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 al -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 al that bad.
After al , it is my duty. And if I get to consume some of my favorite foods in the process, then al the better. Tomorrow I’l have
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 tel 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 wel as a rock.
“It’s the competition,” Shannen says, coming to my rescue. “It stresses her out and she practical y drowns.” Doe snorts.
Quince laughs.
I squeeze until I think Quince might lose al 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 wel under pressure. I faint. I have to settle for being swim team manager.”
“Besides,” Doe says, final y chiming in on the conversation, “Lily only swims in the ocean. She’s al ergic 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 al ergic to chlorine. It’s toxic to us. If you want to cal human susceptibility to arsenic an al ergy, then yeah, I guess I’m al ergic. A quick dip in a public pool wouldn’t kil me, but it would make me real y sick. If I tried to stick it out for an entire swim practice, though… wel , 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 real y hard—reaches over with his other hand and pul s off my death grip. But instead of withdrawing completely, he sandwiches my hand between both of his.
“I’l 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 final y 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 bul ied by her. She’s not the only one who can tel embarrassing tales.
And I know the perfect tale to not tel .
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 stil mortified by her gul ibility.
As if conceding that if we’re going to play hardbal , 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 fal s into a vaguely tense silence. I think we al 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 Jel -O, vanil a pudding, and a banana. Al 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 al -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 al that bad.
After al , it is my duty. And if I get to consume some of my favorite foods in the process, then al the better. Tomorrow I’l have
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