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