my parents have money that I’d be like her other boyfriends and buy

her jewelry and shit. All my money is in a bank account that I can’t

withdraw from until I start college. Which I may not live to go to if

they ever find out I cut class today and threw a party.”

“You don’t have to prove anything, you know.”

“Oh, come on, Tristan.” He puts his hands in his pockets and kicks

the sidewalk as we walk. “White Bread? Wonder Ryan? I know they’re

just jokes, but sometimes the guys get out of hand with it.”

My insides pang a little with guilt. “They are jokes. It’s not

your fault everyone thinks you’re a stuck-up white kid from the only

gated community in Brooklyn.”

“You’re white and your parents have nice things.”

“Yeah, but I get all the guys dates.”

At least that gets a laugh out of him. He shrugs. “I guess. I

guess she makes me feel cool. The way she looks at me. Your family has

strong genes. The iris colors-”

I can’t have Ryan questioning our family heritage too deeply. I

pat him on the back a little too hard. “Forget all that. Forget Jerry

and Bertie and their shit. Forget Rebecca’s bratty ass. I mean, did

she even-?”

“She was my-first-do not tell the guys. I beg you. I don’t even

know what god you pray to, but swear on him, please. And do not tell

Thalia.”

“I won’t. Cross my heart. Let’s pray on one of the Hindu guys.

They don’t get enough attention.”

The smell of ocean is strong. The waves crash hard. My lungs

welcome the sea air, with bits of sand carried in the breeze. But then

I get a whiff of a familiar stink-the rotting fish smell of the

merrows. I wonder if they’re out there waiting for me. Suddenly, I

don’t think this party is such a good idea.

“I just wish she lived here, you know? Then I’d be sure that we

could have something.”

I think of Layla and me kissing. We didn’t think. We just went for

it. Granted she thinks I’m putting a mer-spell on her and is mad at

me, but that’s because she’s scared of what she feels. I deserve it, I

know. But I’d rather have her hate me until she comes around than

never have kissed her at all.

“Cut the crap, man. Don’t tell me you’ve been holding hands and

planning this party all day. Your freaking shirt’s inside out. Just

have fun together. Be a man. Show her how much you like her. I mean,

if you left Angelo alone in your house to set up for a party, you’re

definitely braver than I thought.”

Farther down the street, where the boardwalk comes to a rocky end,

are the biggest houses in Sea Breeze. They’re so new you can still

smell exterior paint drying on the window shutters.

Ryan’s front lawn is packed with spiky-haired dudes in white

undershirts and spray tans that border on toxic. They’re surrounded by

girls in micro shorts and bikini bottoms meant to showcase winking

belly rings and tramp stamps.

The crowd spills into the living room, where Steve, the school’s

radio DJ, is set up. A guy with floppy blond hair is jumping on the

couch. A pillow comes out from somewhere and hits him right on the

head, knocking him on top of a group of girls, who roll him right back

onto the carpet.

We follow Ryan through double doors leading to the kitchen. On the

smooth marble countertop is a keg with rows and rows of red and blue

plastic cups lined up. Angelo runs in chasing one of the princesses,

Kai. They push against the glass doors leading to the backyard pool

and head out. Kai holds her knees and then shoots her hands in the air

as she dives in, dress and all.

“Don’t worry. She won’t shift here,” Kurt says beside me.

“She’s the least of my worries,” I say. “Do you spot Maddy?”

He shakes his head. “Can’t you smell her?”

Then I realize I don’t remember what she smells like. Despite my

new Mighty Merman senses, I don’t think I even noticed.

We step into the backyard. Tiki lights line the bushes. Soft blue

lamps surround the pool, which even has a tiny waterfall. It’s almost

like being back on Toliss. Layla gets called over by a group of

lifeguards from the Brighton Beach side. They whisper something in

Layla’s ear, and she brushes them away with a cute little laugh.

I wonder what they asked her. Whatever it is, she finds my eyes

through the crowd. It’s not like she’s never looked at me before.

She’s been looking at me for the past sixteen years. But now she

really looks at me, and I can’t hear anything except my heart pulsing

in my ears. How can she think this isn’t real?

The girls wave us over, sloshing foamy beer down their arms.

“You’re Tristan, right?” Brighton Beach girl asks. She has tan

lines from wearing her sunglasses on the tower too long.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I remember seeing your picture right after, you know, the storm.

In, you know, the papers.”

I forgot I was a local celebrity. “What’s your name?”

“Cindy.”

“This is my cousin Kurt.”

Kurt waves at them, tucking his hair behind his ear. His body

tenses as he fights the urge to bow. Layla catches it too, because

she’s smiling at him.

“It’s so weird seeing you without your uniform,” Cindy says,

pointing down at me.

“Actually,” I go, “the real uniform is under here.” And even as I

say it, I want to bite my lip. I can feel Layla’s eyes burning holes

into the side of my face. Why do I even say things? Why, Tristan? Why?

Cindy giggles. “Ohmigod, you’re so funny !”

“He’s hilarious,” Layla says flatly. “Aren’t you supposed to be

looking for something?”

She’s jealous. Of course she’s jealous. She gives me all this crap

about how I make her feel this way, but if I accidentally flirt with

someone else, I’m the bad guy.

“Duty calls,” I say, leaving the other lifeguards with

question-mark faces and Layla trying her best to not smile at me.

Inside, the steady bass of a hip-hop song makes everyone bob their

heads without even realizing they’re doing it. Up the beige carpeted

steps, there’s a line for the bathroom. I don’t even bother trying to

wait. A door is cracked open to my left. The room is all white and

light blues, from the walls to the duvet. The wind blows through the

balcony window, the temperature having dropped quite a bit since this

afternoon. I know Maddy isn’t here. I know I need to be looking for

her. But I have sand in places sand shouldn’t be.

I rummage through my backpack for underwear, but I forgot to pack

it. Great. Fine. I don’t need underwear. I’m a merman, after all. As I

step out of my shorts to take my Speedo off, I catch the light scent

of smoke, something sweet like burning flower petals.

The curtains blow open more, and this time someone steps forward

from the window. I stumble to get my cargo shorts on and end up

slipping on the soft carpet.

“Very smooth,” her pretty voice murmurs from where she stands.

Gwen’s white-blond hair is weighed down with salt water and sand. She

puffs rings of purple smoke past her pink lips.

“What the hell, man?” I finish pulling my shorts on, trying to

mask the embarrassment creeping its way up my torso. Not that I have

anything to be embarrassed about, but still.

“I’m no man, Tristan,” she says, tracing the shape of her

silhouette. She’s in a bikini that looks like it’s all made of crochet

and pink sequin, like if it moved at all, you could see the little

bits that she’s hiding. She hooks her thumb on the sheer

silver-and-gold wrap thing around her hips. “In case you can’t tell