looking at her. Something inside me breaks over and over again, and I

don’t know how to stop it.

“Tristan.”

The rain stops. The clouds push away. I can feel the warmth of the

sun against my skin. When I open my eyes, it’s still dark out. The

light isn’t coming from the sky; it comes from Layla. The necklace my

grandfather gave her glows under her shirt. No harm can come to you by

me or mine , he’d said.

Her lips move again. “Tristan.”

She smiles at me, and I try not to hug her too hard. I’m about to

say something, anything, when a rough voice cuts through the field and

yells, “Hands in the air!”

At the entrance of the field are maybe half a dozen cops. The

creatures have completely washed away. The targets are all split into

pieces; there’s a huge hole at the gate and arrows all over the grass.

The officer repeats himself, and this time they all cock their

guns.

An EMT drapes an itchy blanket around my shoulders. I’m shirtless

with a bandage around my ribs, where apparently two of them are

broken.

The rain has stopped, except for the thin sheet of mist that

clings low to the ground. The EMT hands me a cup of black coffee. I

shake my head at the bitter hotness that burns my tongue.

Detective Donovan has his hands in his leather jacket, nodding

periodically as the hysterical girls give him their versions of what

happened. Regular, end-of-the-year fun. Three monsters break through

the fence. The girls giving their witness accounts point at me.

Detective Donovan comes over to me, finally.

“Hurts?” He nods at my bandaged hand.

“No,” I lie, and squeeze it for show.

“Are you up to giving a statement?”

“Like the girls said,” I tell him. “We were hanging out on the

field. These guys just came through the fence. Attacked. We tried to

fight them off, and they went away.”

“Guys?” The question lingers as he chews his gum. “The other

students say they were creatures . That they looked like sharks

and”-he stops himself, because he might just be too professional to

even utter this-“creatures from the blue lagoon.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the black lagoon,” I say, regretting my

smart mouth. “I think they had masks on.”

“The girls say that they melted into the rain.”

I shake my head, thankful that Ryan had been smart enough to put

our weapons away for us, thankful that Layla was alive in my arms.

She’d just left with her parents, wearing my shirt because we had to

rip hers. “It happened so fast. They ran away after they heard the

sirens.”

I can smell Detective Donovan’s doubt and his irritation, like

dirt in my mouth.

“You kids involved in some kind of gang activity?”

“No, sir.”

“You don’t go here, do you, son?” He turns to Kurt. Thalia sits

beside her brother. The blanket slips from her shoulders and onto the

floor. No one moves to pick it up.

“I am not your son, sir, and no, this is not my school. We’re

Tristan’s cousins, visiting students for the remainder of the summer.”

“Some summer,” he scoffs. His dark eyes squint, like if he looks

hard enough I’ll cave and tell him I’m a criminal.

An argument breaks out over in the parking lot. “Ma’am, please

stay behind the tape!”

“Don’t you touch me. I need to see my son!” My mom pushes her way

through. She pulls me into such a tight hug that I spill coffee on

myself.

“Sorry! Sorry. Oh my goddess-”

“Ma’am, are these your niece and nephew?”

“Yes, why?

“They have no identification.”

“Well, yes, it’s all at home. I didn’t anticipate they’d need

their passports in case there was an attack on the school.” She sniffs

down her nose at him. “Dad’s waiting in the car around the corner.

Most of the streets are blocked off.”

“Tristan,” Detective Donovan tries once more. His hard mask falls,

and his frustration peeks through. “Do you remember what these men

looked like? Anything that can help us? Any of you.”

What am I supposed to say? There’s no Sea King, so the nasty

things that live in the ocean have come out to play? I’d be halfway to

the nuthouse before anyone can say, Are mermen supposed to be so

shiny? “It was dark. They came out of nowhere.”

“Are you finished?” Mom asks Detective Donovan.

He nods. “I’ll be in contact. Here’s my card. If you remember

anything. ”

I want to tell him that they can’t help me and I can’t help them.

Instead I take the thin white card and pocket it so he’ll at least get

off my back. We follow my mom through the crowd. People stand on their

porches and stick their heads out their windows. There’s a PIX 11

camera crew and a lady TV reporter in a pale pink suit, who looks

sternly at the cameraman. Everyone she interviews points in my

direction. This is so not good.

I can see Ryan getting into the back of his parents’ car. He looks

behind one more time so he can wave to Thalia, who gives him a sad

smile. I put my arm over her shoulder. The lady in the pink suit

bum-rushes us, and suddenly between the sidewalk and our car, I have a

hot white light on my face.

“How do you feel about people calling you the hero of the night?

Is there a connection between this attack on your school and the

missing boys throughout the city?” I swat the microphone away from my

face and shut the door. As the reporter smacks the glass with her

hand, my mom hits the gas.

Neptune’s Diner is buzzing with families and early bird couples.

Old Ukrainian waitresses with graying buns and faces that would scare

you out of changing your order bus their tables as quickly as they

serve them. We’ve got pancakes, French toast, eggs and sausage, and

about ten side orders of bacon.

We skipped dinner the night before, everyone staying in their own

section of the apartment. I sat in front of my Command Central wall,

staring at maps that didn’t tell me anything useful. Thalia went right

to my room to call Ryan and convince him he didn’t see exactly what he

saw.

Dad slaps his newspaper with the back of his hand. “Who even took

this picture?”

Under the caption “Local Heroes Fight for Fellow Students” is a

crude picture of us fighting the sea creatures. We don’t look like

we’re winning. I stuff my mouth so I’ll have something to do.

Dad shuts the newspaper, stopping short of crumpling it into a

ball and throwing it across the diner. “I can’t believe they would

keep the school open today.”

“We have to go. We have to find Maddy.” And I have to see Layla.

She was dead in my arms, and then she wasn’t. If anyone knows what

it’s like to think you’ve died and come back, it’s me.

Kurt clears his throat. “How do you know your previous paramour

will be there? She wasn’t there yesterday.”

“It’s okay to just say ex-girlfriend , you know.”

A different waitress rounds our table. But when I look at her

again, I see she’s not a waitress. She’s wearing an apron with the

picture of a cupcake haloed by stars with the logo “Erica’s Cupcakes”

in neon pink. She glances behind her nervously. There’s something

familiar about her, only I can’t sift through my mind fast enough. She

bows lightly at me. Kurt looks up at her, wearing the same expression

I am.

“Have we met?” he goes, Mr. Smooth Criminal.

She smiles, tucking her long brown curls behind her ear. That’s

when I notice a tiny suction cup protrude from the side of her wrist

and then sink right back. I jump back, rocking our booth, which alarms

the early bird couple behind us.