cousin here did nineteen, but he can’t compete with us next week. Holy

mackerel! You swim like that, boy, and we’ll be Triborough champs for

the first time since I took over the team!”

I don’t try to hide my smile, and I welcome the pats on the back

from everyone. Except Maddy and Layla, who pretend this isn’t

happening. I walk past them and splash them with the water dripping

from my hands.

“You’re such a tool, Tristan,” Layla says.

“Hey, look, you’re alliterating, Ms. Pippen ought to give you an

A.”

Coach blows his whistle again. “All right, enough of that. I have

an idea. Say this is an experiment. Hart’s cousin-what’s your name

again there, bud?-Kurt, that’s nice-Say Kurt here is the controlled

experiment, and you all on my team are the uncontrolled experiment.

You all have to best him. Matter of fact, Kurt’s sister came in at

20.5 seconds also, so she’ll be the second round. Who wants to go

first?”

No one raises their hands.

No one except for Layla, who shoots her hand into the air. Always

with something to prove.

Kurt’s usually somber face breaks into an amused laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Layla puts her hands on her hips and stares

right at him. If I know one thing, it’s that I don’t want to be on the

other side of that gaze when she’s angry. It’s like laser beams trying

to fry your face.

“Nothing, I-”

But she doesn’t let him finish. She turns from him and gets into

position. This isn’t the best plan Coach could’ve come up with. It’s

one thing when we’re racing each other. This is like putting us in the

ring with Oscar De La Hoya and calling him a controlled experiment.

Layla stretches her body, rivulets of water still rolling off her

tan shoulders. She’s the same girl who followed me out to the beach to

swim the Mississippi. A wild spirit, her dad calls her. Here she is,

trying to best a merman at swimming without even knowing it. It’s kind

of hot.

The whistle blows, and they tuck their heads and push off. If he

were any kind of a gentleman, Kurt would let her win. Something tells

me that he’s not the kind of guy who just lets things fly. He swims as

he did before, all sinew and muscle, like he’s blending into the

water.

Layla is about a foot behind him, which, considering he’s

unearthly, is pretty damn good. The only time I’ve ever seen her swim

this hard is when we were on lifeguard duty at the YMCA pool and a

little girl fell in the deep end. Talk about motivation. Maybe Coach

really knows what he’s talking about, mostly.

They reach one end, and Layla flips backward. She pushes herself

with everything she has and is neck and neck with him, stroke for

stroke, as they race back to our end of the pool. Even the girls on

the bleachers stand up to get a better look. Kurt finishes first,

pulling himself out of the pool in one swift motion. Layla comes up

not three seconds behind, gasping for air. She rubs the water out of

her eyes and pulls off her swimming cap. Her hair is coming loose from

its bun and floating around her like a lily pad.

“I’m going to feel that in the morning,” she says.

“Ho-ho!” Coach looks at his timer. “Not bad, Santos. Twenty-two

seconds.”

Kurt and I reach out our hands to pull Layla out of the pool. She

stares at them, then swims across the lanes and pulls herself out.

“I’m not putting too much stress on you, am I?” Coach asks Kurt in

what he thinks is a conspiratorial, hushed voice but that we can all

still hear.

“None at all, sir.”

“That’s a good boy.” Coach slaps Kurt on the shoulder and is

surprised that his hand hurts after doing so.

“Who’s next?”

And like pulling big rotten teeth, one by one the team goes up

against Kurt. Some of them, like Jerry, get about halfway across the

pool before giving up completely, and others, like Ryan, try their

hardest but come in well behind. And then there’s Angelo, who’s

waiting to race against Thalia, because he thinks it’ll be easier.

“Hart, you haven’t gone yet.”

I stand at the mark beside Kurt. “You tired yet?”

“I believe I’ve only warmed up my arms,” he says, flexing his

bicep in the air.

“I didn’t take you for an exhibitionist,” I go.

“It’s not exhibition. It’s allowing the general public a great

privilege.”

“I’ll go easy on you, I promise.”

“Please don’t. It’s customary for the guard to compete against

princes and princesses.”

“Shhh.”

Kurt breaks into a rare smile. His eyes focus on the end of the

pool where Layla stands by herself, wrapped in a red and black towel.

She likes to walk around the pool between drills to keep herself warm.

Coach’s whistle snaps me awake, and I’m already a second behind

Kurt. I don’t hold back, because I know he isn’t either, not for the

lowly humans and not for me. We are equals, mermano-a-mermano, racing

across the pool.

Then it happens.

The tingle starts at my spine, like my calamari tattoo is running

out of juice. It’s a craving and burning all in one, spreading along

my legs, my forearms. I reach the far end of the pool where Layla

stands and grab the edge, shaking the cramp out of my leg. The feeling

subsides as I push against the shift that wants to burst out of me. I

look up at Layla, whose eyes are wide on me. I look down at what she’s

staring at and see the clusters of blue scales that have popped up

along my wrist. I press against them and brush them away. They

dissolve into sand. I turn around and dive back in, even though I know

Kurt has already beaten me. I just have to get away from her. Pretend

like she didn’t see anything, even though I want her to see. I want

her to know, even though it’ll be dangerous.

“What the hell happened there, Hart?” Coach is on me the moment I

surface.

“Cramp, Coach.”

“Hmm. Don’t scare me, boy. We only just got you back.”

Kurt holds out his arm to pull me out of the water. I’m dripping,

and I feel heavy, like my tail is showing.

It isn’t.

Layla isn’t standing at the opposite end of the pool anymore.

She’s nowhere around. I avoid Kurt’s stare, because I don’t know if he

sensed what was happening. I don’t know if anyone saw. Then again, if

they did, they’d be a little more shocked than now. Shocked like

Layla’s eyes. Something in me broke, and as Coach blows his whistle to

resume the races, I’m almost positive that I wanted her to see.

Are you joining us?” Kurt hovers around the entrance that descends

to the locker rooms.

“I’m going to hang for a bit. I’ll meet you guys outside.”

“You’re sure?” I don’t know what it is about Kurt. His seemingly

all-knowing violet eyes, his I’m-103-and-I’ve-seen-the-world attitude.

Or just that he can see right through me.

“I need to swim.”

“Take your time. Your parents aren’t gathering us for another

forty-five minutes.” He turns and follows the echo of the rest of the

team down the stairs.

Coach locked the entrance to the pool, so the only way in or out

is through the locker rooms. I grab a towel from the bin, leave it at

the edge of the pool with my Speedo, and jump in feetfirst. I let

myself float, close my eyes, and feel the shift. I don’t hold my

breath as I feel the quick burn at either side of my throat where my

gills open, and my legs stiffen and cramp where my fins grow. I trace

the splatter of blue scales along my forearms. I swim just an inch

above the white tiles, flip and twist, then lie right in the center