with my arms behind my back. So this is what it’s like to sleep

underwater. The surface of the water dances with the light, back and

forth and back and forth, making its own patterns. I wish I could stay

here all day.

Then there’s a splash at the end of the pool. I push myself up,

willing my legs to shift back. The split is the hardest, a burning

that only lasts a moment but feels like forever. My thighs cramp up on

the first couple of kicks. I swallow a mouthful of chlorine when my

head breaches the surface, my neck stinging where my gills have closed

like shutters.

“What the hell was that?” Layla surfaces when I do. She’s in her

bra and panties.

And I’m naked.

I grab on to the metal steps on the end of the pool. “A little

privacy, do you mind ?”

“Oh, who cares. It’s not like everyone else hasn’t seen it.”

“Shut up, Layla. You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Why is she here? I thought they were all gone. My brain is a distorted

jumble of curses and poor excuses. I grab for my towel and pull myself

out of the water. Bad move, bad move. I try to rub off where my scales

are still dissolving into sand.

“What the hell is that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” If I’ve gotten one thing

right from my experiences with the opposite sex, it’s that I know how

to be a jerk.

“In the water. You were-?” She can’t say it. She knows how crazy

she’ll sound. “I thought I saw-”

“-me naked? Congratulations. Your wildest dream come true.”

She grazes her hand across the surface, splashing me. She swims to

the steps and pulls herself out. She slides to the towel bin and grabs

one to wrap around herself. It’s too late, though. I’ve already seen

what I needed to see. It’s different from seeing her in a bathing suit

all summer or during meets. This is more intimate, all lace and

good-night dreams. Her hair is dark with water, curling at the tips.

“Don’t tell me I didn’t see what I think I just saw. You ignore me

for days. And your two new mysterious cousins show up out of nowhere

with matching tattoos.”

I breathe in her panic, anger, sadness. “It’s a family crest,” I

go, pulling on my Speedo under the towel.

“More like the freaky-eye cult.”

I gasp. “You told me my eyes were beautiful!”

“We were six .”

“So?”

“And you told me I was your best friend. Or did your near-death

experience make you realize that I don’t matter anymore?” She’s

reaching out to me. She holds my wrists in her arms.

I think about the whirlpool in my dreams. The silver mermaid, her

sharp white teeth and eyes. Opening my eyes after the storm and seeing

Layla’s face, the hot white sun around her skin. The smile on her face

when she realized it was me. The times we snuck into the aquarium

after hours on a dare, and her face at the sight of glow-in-the-dark

sea horses. If she got hurt, it would be because of me.

“I-I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you what’s going on. Maybe one

day. But not now.”

“You can tell me anything.” Her hold tightens.

“This is different-”

“But- why? ”

When I don’t answer, she looks down at our wet feet. She’s giving

up on me, and I’m going to let her. She’s about to say something else,

but we’re interrupted by the loudest crack of thunder, a reminder that

I have somewhere to be. “Good-bye, Layla.”

I turn from her and go back into the dressing rooms, breathing in

deeply so at least I can sense her near me-lavender and salt and

crushed flowers, sticky between her fingertips. She loves me not .

The farther we walk along the boardwalk, the more lost in the mist

we get, and the less I can make out the outline of the Wonder Wheel or

anything beyond a few feet or even my mom’s red hair. This doesn’t

feel like my Brooklyn, my Coney, my home. Something in the air, the

smell of the belly of the sea churning, is a different kind of

familiar. My gills itch with expectancy, a longing for something I

only feel when I’m in the water.

Funny how a few days ago I was diving off the pier just for the

hell of it, and Layla was diving in after me just to show everyone she

could. I wish I’d said something else to her, something that might

make her still have a little hope in me. I’m losing her, and in the

dark fog that hugs us, I fear I already have.

Thalia grabs hold of my hand, our feet crunching on the thin layer

of sand on the creaky floorboards. She sighs, and her sigh sounds like

a cloud deflating. I don’t know what to say to her that wouldn’t seem

corny. She’s wearing the red and black bracelet Ryan gave her after

school, a skinny rubber thing with our team logo-the Guardian Knights.

She lifts her hand periodically to look at it, as though she can read

the time on it.

“Tristan.” My name comes out in such a whisper that I can barely

recognize it as my mother’s voice. Soft thunder rumbles in the

distance. “We’re here.” She holds on to Dad’s hand and leans in to

kiss his cheek. I can’t see his face, but I know he’s looking down.

“Ready or not,” Dad says in the same way he always did when we

played around the apartment, the park, or the white hallways of his

office building.

My eyes focus for the first time on the small wooden ship bopping

along the pier. Sheer and iridescent sails puff against the breeze.

Two small creatures zoom back and forth, pulling on deep green ropes,

pushing crates, and rolling barrels. A line of people are making their

way onto the deck one by one.

“Solitary merfolk,” Kurt answers before I can even ask. “They’re

not bound to our court in any other way than being of the sea folk.

Still, they make their offerings when we’re here, just to have our

protection.”

Protection? Protection from what? I’m about to ask, but we’ve

already stopped walking.

Dad pulls me into a hug, and we clap our hands against each

other’s backs. We’ve never really had to say good-bye for anything,

just the one time at swim camp, and we knew exactly where I’d be going

then and when I’d be coming back. Something inside me falters, but

when I let go and look at the ship, look out at the darkening skies, I

know there are more important things.

Mom holds my face in her hands, our eyes mirrors of each other.

“Don’t forget. At the offering you must only give the contents of the

front pocket. The side pocket is for my father-”

“Relax, I got it,” I assure her while trying to reassure myself. I

sling both my arms into the straps of the backpack she stuffed with

goodies for our trip.

She sighs, letting go of my face and taking Dad’s outstretched

hand. They walk back down the way we came and fold deeply into the

mist.

•••

I’ve already tripped on a barrel and stepped on a barnacled claw

foot. It isn’t exactly the perfect start to a voyage. We aren’t moving

yet. Kurt and Thalia lead me through clusters of creatures who stare

at the Coney Island boardwalk as though they’re afraid they’ll never

see it again. I force myself not to look at it, because part of me

feels the same way.

The passengers vary. There’s a family of unbelievably hot girls

with green faces and webbed hands. They wear little cut-off denim

shorts and bikini tops, their oversized sunglasses perched on top of

their heads like plastic crowns, as if they’re just going on a regular

family vacay to the Bahamas or Cancun, not a floating island off the

coast of New York City.

Then there’s a guy with the body of a man and the head of a gray