and their low voices most likely discussing me, or maybe how much they

wish they weren’t here.

Duty was what Kurt had said. He has a duty, and it’s me. What’s my

duty? Before the storm, before the shift, my only duty was being the

best swimmer and saving a life if it needed saving. Can I still do

those things without being this-thing?

I look at the clock on my nightstand before shutting my eyes. It

isn’t even midnight yet.

I dream of the whirlpool again, but all I see is the water. Clear

bubbles. Stillness and the infinite black-blue ocean. This time I’m

swimming with the Great White. Up close I can see he’s got his own

armor with a gleaming metal ring around his head. The ring has two

grips at either side. I tighten my hold on them as he pulls me through

the water.

When I wake up, I feel like I’ve been asleep for days. My legs

ache when I push myself off my bed. For a moment, sitting in the

middle of my blue comforter and surrounded by swim trophies, posters

of vintage cars, calendar girls holding surfboards, and pictures of

the past seventeen years of my life, I forget about the wave, the

whirlpool, the silver mermaid, Kurt and Thalia, my mom’s lack of worry

at what’s happening. Everything but the tattoo.

I reach over my back and trace the raised skin. In the mirror, I

see myself as I have always been-the same wavy brown mess of hair,

freaky turquoise eyes, lifeguard tan. The mirror doesn’t show the

other half-the gills and the scales, the giant blue fishtail. The

magic hums in my veins, wanting to be released, craving water the way

I also crave air, and I wonder if one of those needs is ever going to

be greater than the other.

“Honey?” The knock on the door snaps my eyes away from my

reflection. “Tristan, are you awake?”

Part of me, the part that wishes I were just a swim-team jock with

nothing to worry about but girls and winning, wants to go back to

sleep, to never change into a merman again. To know that I’ve just

imagined this connection to the ocean. That I’m just a regular guy

after all.

But I’ve never been that guy, not really. Kurt said that I’m rare,

but being rare doesn’t make you special. I feel like one of the

freak-show acts on the boardwalk. Step right up and see the merboy,

merguy, merman. Where does his ding-dong go? Nobody knows! How fast

can he swim? Just step right up to the glass. Remember! He goes to

school in your very neighborhood and doesn’t do much else. Actually,

come to think of it, he’s not that interesting after all.

Yeah, I’m a crowd-pleaser.

•••

The sky looks like a gray blanket that has been pulled tight at

every corner. Not a spot of blue. It casts a bright white light in the

kitchen. Angel light, Mom calls it.

When I show up, the laughter stops. There are biscuits and coffee

and tea. The orange-juice jar has fresh pulp clinging to the sides.

There is a mound of bacon and scrambled eggs, slices of cheddar, and a

bowl of green grapes.

Thalia looks lovely in this light, tiny. Now that her hair is dry,

it tumbles in soft black waves that look green when they’re under the

light. She’s wearing one of my mom’s sundresses that’s two sizes too

big. She’s made a necklace out of the multicolored paper clips in

Dad’s office and a bracelet out of a fork. I wonder if she slept at

all last night.

I take the empty seat next to Kurt, who bows his head slightly.

That’s going to get old quickly. Kurt spears a piece of bacon and

examines the shades of burnt meat before bringing the tip to his

mouth. His face is all concentration at first, then pleased, and

settles on satisfied.

“Breakfast of champions,” Dad says. He reaches over and ruffles my

hair. Any other day, I’d pull away and whine. But today I welcome the

gesture for what it is-familiar.

“I called the school,” Mom says, pulling a handful of grapes from

their stems, “and told them you’d be out just one more day.”

“I feel fine.” There’s an argument I never thought I’d make.

She doesn’t acknowledge it. “I also told them that we have family

visiting and that they are curious about American schools. Since there

are only two weeks left to the year, they agreed there wouldn’t be any

harm in letting Kurt and Thalia tag along with you.”

I choke on orange pulp.

“I understand we will have to be appropriately dressed for this?”

Kurt asks. He even eats like there’s a stick up his merman ass. Where

is a merman’s ass? How am I supposed to be their tour guide at school?

I might as well hold up a sign that reads: ←I’m with Merpeople→.

I speak with my mouth full of eggs and bacon, “There are two and a

half weeks left.” I don’t know why I’m so against this, other than

everything that could go wrong. What if they say the wrong things?

What if they lead someone off the pier like in the stories? My mother

gives me the eye, and I keep eating in silence.

“They can’t very well stay locked in the apartment,” Dad chips in.

Traitor .

“When was the last time you guys were around humans?” I ask.

Kurt raises an eyebrow at me. “We just left the Italian coast. Too

soon, I must say. But duty calls.”

And I go, “Feel free to hang up any time.”

Dad clears his throat extra loudly, a signal for me to take it

down a notch.

Thalia ignores the knives Kurt and I are throwing at each other

and squeals, “Italy is fantastic . The beaches are mostly naked, so we

never have to acquire many garments or go inland. We rarely go inland.

I’ve never understood the concept of bikinis.”

“That’s my kind of girl,” I say, before realizing that I’m with my

parents and her brother, who shake their heads disapprovingly at me.

“Okay, but you guys can’t say things like acquire or I do declare .

This is Brooklyn, not a Renaissance fair. Oh! Unless we say you guys

are British. Then the uptight thing Kurt’s got going won’t seem so

questionable.”

“If you feel that would be beneficial, then we will align

ourselves to a land nation, yes.”

I let my face fall into my palms. This is going to be harder than

I thought. “What are we doing today, then?”

“We have to get them clothes,” Mom says, “and your father still

has to go to work.”

“Yep, we’re going to need a lot of fish food around here.”

Mom and Thalia giggle. Kurt and I don’t.

Dad kisses my mom on her forehead and says, “You all be good and,

you know, have fun.” With that, he’s out the door. We help clean up

the kitchen after we’ve eaten all the food. I didn’t realize how

hungry I’d been until I looked down and saw that Kurt and I had

finished the entire stack of bacon.

I lend Kurt a pair of shorts because my jeans are two inches too

short, and my T-shirts are one size too small, making him look like a

Eurotrash pop star.

He doesn’t seem to mind, or maybe he does and he’s trained not to

care. He holds his head high, even though I can’t keep from laughing

as we file into the elevator. “We still have a lot to discuss,” Kurt

says.

“You know, I can tell you’re going to be the life of the party.”

What an interesting contraption,” Thalia goes.

Before I can stop her, she runs her fingers all the way up and

down the elevator numbers. B to 17.

“Thalia,” Mom says in her best mom voice, “you must only push one

button.”

“Which one?”

“The level you wish to go to.”

“Which level do we wish to go to?” Her eyes are less intense than

yesterday, her lashes so long they look like they’re reaching out for