“You told me a reason,” I argue. “But I don’t think you’ve told me your reason.”
“Lily,” Tellin says, sinking down onto the floor next to me, “you are the best hope for Thalassinia’s future. For the future freedom of all the mer kingdoms. With our forces united, we will be able to enact positive change—”
“This is everything you said before.” And everything that tugged at the lifetime of duty that Daddy trained into me. But something is missing. “You have another reason. I can sense it.”
“You’re wrong,” he says with another laugh. “I have been raised to honor duty before all else, just like you. I can imagine no better way to fulfill our duties than by joining our kingdoms for the greater good.”
“I just don’t think I can—”
“You know that’s why my father stopped speaking to yours, right?”
“What?” I jerk back. “No. Why?”
“King Whelk wanted to enter us into an arranged marriage,” Tellin explains. “My father disagreed. He wanted me to seek out my true love, my true mermate. When your father insisted, mine severed relations.”
“That’s impossible.” I shake my head, not able to wrap my mind around the idea of Daddy wanting to sign my future away on a piece of paper. It seems so unlike him.
“It’s not,” Tellin says. “This is another reason why I think my plan is a good one. It is what your father has wanted all along.” His gaze drifts toward the front door, but I can tell he’s not seeing anything. “As difficult as it is for me to admit, my father was wrong in this. Our union can only be for the best of both our kingdoms.”
He makes it seem so tempting. The fact that I’m even considering the possibility is ridiculous. But, like we’ve always said . . . “What if?”
“What if,” Tellin says, jumping on my opening, “we bonded and—”
“What if who bonded?”
“Quince!” I jump at the sound of his voice. He walks into the living room with a dark look on his face. And no wonder, if he heard what Tellin and I were talking about.
“I thought you were at work?” I ask, hopefully not sounding—or looking—guilty.
“I was,” he says flatly. “There’s a tropical storm coming in, so they closed the lumberyard.” He throws Tellin a dark look. “What if who bonded?”
“It’s just a game we used to play as guppies,” I explain before Tellin can respond. He could only make the situation worse. “One of us starts a what-if, and then we keep going down that path, alternating what-ifs until we get to a conclusion. Or we start laughing too hard to continue.”
“A game,” Quince echoes. “So, in what what-if are the two of you bonded?”
“It’s just a—”
Tellin interrupts. “I commented on how funny it would be if we had bonded as children,” he lies. “We almost shared a first kiss once or twice, but Lily was always the levelheaded one.” He grins at me. “Spurned my every advance.”
I throw Tellin a grateful smile. Not that he and I were doing anything wrong, but still. My relationship with Quince—our official boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, anyway—is still pretty new. I don’t want him worrying over something that would never happen.
Like Tellin said, I’m too levelheaded to do anything so impulsive.
Tellin, probably sensing the almost tangible tension in the room, stands, clears his throat, and excuses himself to the kitchen. Seconds later, he’s fleeing the smoochfest he found there for the upstairs.
Quince, who has been standing, rigid and acting as the epicenter for all that anxiety, asks, “What was that really about?”
“Nothing. I told you, we just—”
“Save it,” he says, cutting me off. “I know you better than anyone. I can tell when you’re lying to me.”
“It’s not a lie.” Not really. We were playing a game and, even though for half a second I might have maybe sorta thought about actually considering the idea, I wasn’t really serious. I insist, “We were playing a game.”
He looks at me for a minute, studying, trying to see through my words to decide if I’m telling the truth. Finally he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry. It’s been a long day.”
I cross the room and wrap my arms around his waist. “It’s been a long month.”
He gives me a quick hug and then leans back, nodding at the open study guide on the table. “You want some help?”
“Of course,” I say, grasping at the safe topic of my SAT prep. As he settles, cross-legged, on the floor across the table, I ask, “Are you going to distract me by playing footsie?”
“Absolutely, princess,” he says with a wink.
“Then I won’t remember a thing.”
“It’s a samurai training technique,” he teases, spinning the test prep book toward him. “I distract you as much as possible right now.” He slides the book into his lap. “And you’ll learn how to test through anything.”
“Samurai, huh?” I tease back, relieved to return to our relaxed positions. “We won’t get anything done.”
He winks again and then gets down to business, reading the first question aloud. My good humor evaporates as I focus on trying to figure out the parallel relationship between dog and quadruped.
Chapter 12
“I’m going to fail.”
“You’re not going to fail,” Shannen replies patiently. “You can’t fail the SATs.” She signals a left turn, checks both ways, and then pulls out onto the street in front of school. Her wipers swish back and forth against the tropical downpour. “The worst you can get on each section is a two hundred, I think, but they don’t assign letter grades.”
“Fine,” I whine. “I’m going to get two hundreds.”
“You won’t.” She spares me a glance. “You’ll do really well in the reading and writing sections.”
With a groan, I drop my head into my hands, knocking it against the dashboard on the way. I just groan again and sink deeper into my freakout. I haven’t had enough time to prepare. I’ve wasted too much of what time I did have. And I’m going to have a complete mental meltdown tomorrow when the test begins.
I’ll be lucky if I can speak in complete sentences at my interview after.
“The test is in the morning,” I complain. “I only have sixteen more hours to cram in some studying.”
Shannen pulls to a complete stop before proceeding onto my street. “No more cramming,” she says. “There have been countless studies that show the more you try to learn in the last few hours before an exam, the less you retain.”
“Really?”
“In fact,” she says, a slightly smug smile on her face, “they suggest that it will even make you forget things you already know.”
“Oh, no,” I cry. “Then no more studying.”
“No more studying,” Shannen agrees.
Well, at least that gives me a little more freedom for my Friday night. I was already bummed because Quince had to run errands for his mom and couldn’t give me a ride home—not that I mind riding with Shannen, it’s just become a routine for Quince and me. The thought of spending the whole night with my nose buried in a study guide was just sad.
At least now maybe Shannen and I can enjoy an evening of board games and well-buttered popcorn.
“Wait a second,” I say as she speeds past my house. “You missed my turn.”
“I thought we could swing by the grocery store and get some caramels.” She steers onto Seaview’s main shopping street. “Ever have caramel corn?”
“No,” I say, intrigued. “Is it good?”
“It’s amazing,” she says, pulling into the store parking lot. Which happens to be right next to Mushu Sushi, my favorite land-based sushi restaurant. I give their red-lacquered doors a yearning glance.
“Want to grab dinner first?” Shannen asks.
Sushi is not her favorite, so I know she must have seen my longing look.
“Nah,” I say, trying to be a good friend. “It’s okay.” The OPEN
sign next to their front door is dark. “Besides, looks like they’re closed.”
“Let’s check to make sure. I wouldn’t say no to some edamame,” Shannen says, jumping out of the car and dashing toward the restaurant to escape the rain.
“Okay.” I shrug and follow her, never one to turn down a plateful of sushi goodness. I move slowly, letting the water cover me with its soothing energy. By the time I reach the awning, I look a little bedraggled but I feel wonderful.
Despite the dark sign, Mushu’s front door swings open easily when Shannen pushes. She throws me a mischievous smile before walking in, holding the door open behind her.
Curious, I follow her inside.
“Surprise!!!”
Shouts bombard me from all directions.
I slam my palm against my chest before my heart can beat its way out. “Holy bananafish, you guys!”
“Happy birthday,” Shannen says, handing me a box wrapped with yellow paper and curl upon curl of orange ribbon.
I take the box, still in shock and still staring around the room at everyone gathered in the tiny entryway. Besides Shannen, Aunt Rachel is there, beaming, and Quince, of course. He’s got that boy-did-we-get-you look on his face, and that makes me smile more than anything. Next to him, Brody and Doe are joined at the hip, and a little ways to the side, Tellin is lounging against the wall, which is paneled with narrow strips of a very red wood.
“We knew you couldn’t be here on your actual birthday,” Aunt Rachel explains, “so we thought we’d surprise you with an early party.”
The hostess arrives at her podium, grabs a stack of menus, and leads us to the private dining room in the back. Someone has transformed it into an underwater dream.
“This is just . . .” I take in all the decorations—streamers curling down from the ribbon in half a dozen shades of blue and green; big party-store cutouts of starfish, sea horses, and tropical fish; and tiny twinkling blue and green lights circling the room. My eyes tear, and I feel the emotion tighten around my throat. I take a quick breath to regain my control before saying, “Magical. Thank you.” Realizing that this could not have been the effort of just one or two of my friends and family, I add, “Everyone.”
“What are we waiting for?” Quince asks, rubbing his palms together. “Let’s eat.”
He holds out the chair at the head of the table, motioning for me to sit there. When I do, he takes the seat to my right. Everyone fills in around the table, and the waiter starts bringing in sushi.
A tray of cone-shaped shrimp tempura and California temaki.
A beautiful platter of New York and Philadelphia maki.
A rainbow array of anago, himachi, and toro nigiri.
This is what birthday bliss is all about.
When the waiter pops his head in to see if we want more, everyone groans. I exchange a look along the length of the table with Tellin—the only person at the table who could possibly keep up with me when it comes to sushi consumption—and we share an omigod-I’m-so-full look.
“I couldn’t eat another morsel,” I announce.
Sounds of agreement come from everyone at the table. The waiter nods and disappears.
“Now,” Aunt Rachel says, reaching beneath her seat and pulling out a very small box wrapped in homemade purple paper, “it’s time for presents.”
Everyone cheers and I blush. This is my least favorite part about human birthdays. I get so embarrassed. Under the sea a birthday is just a celebration, not a gift-giving occasion. Getting gifts is great, but I get squirmy under the spotlight, everyone watching while you carefully—or carelessly—open your package.
But as a full-time land resident, I’ll just have to get over it.
Aunt Rachel sets her gift in front of her and says, “I’d like to save mine for last, if that’s okay.”
“Open mine first,” Shannen says, nodding at the yellow-and-orange package next to my water glass.
“Okay.” I smile as I reach for the box.
“There’s a tradition,” Aunt Rachel explains to Doe and Tellin, since they probably don’t know, “that if the birthday girl tears the wrapping paper on her first present, she gets as many spankings as she is old.”
Being fully aware of this tradition—and Aunt Rachel’s determination to uphold it—I use my fingernail to slit the tape securing the yellow wrapping paper. In seconds, I’ve dewrapped the gift and handed the paper to Aunt Rachel for inspection.
“Sadly,” Aunt Rachel says with a mock frown, “Lily has managed to avoid getting spanked for four birthdays running.”
Everyone laughs. I take the opportunity of their distraction to open the white box that contains Shannen’s gift. Inside, on a bed of yellow tissue paper, is a bright orange calculator with yellow keys. I lift it out and play with a few of the buttons.
“It’s for the SATs tomorrow,” Shannen explains.
“It’s perfect,” I say, pushing out of my chair and giving her a hug. “Every time I have to solve a math problem, I’ll think of you. It will help me focus more.”
Shannen beams.
“Mine next,” Doe says, passing an unwrapped box down the table.
Sinking back into my chair, I take the box. This is momentous. She’s participating in a human ritual. It must be a sign of progress, right?
I give Doe a small smile before pulling off the lid.
I gasp.
“I just thought,” she says, “that since you made one for Quincy, maybe you’d like one, too.”
“Doe,” I say, full of emotion as I pull out the inch-wide sapphire blue sand dollar. “It’s beautiful.”
I hold up the necklace for everyone to see. Quince reaches beneath his black T-shirt and pulls out the matching necklace I made for him just a few weeks ago. The smile he gives me might seem perfectly ordinary, but it’s not. It says, There’s hope for Doe yet.
I completely agree.
“Thank you, Dosinia,” I say sincerely. “I cannot imagine a more perfect gift.”
She rolls her eyes and shrugs, as if my compliment means nothing. I can tell she’s proud of herself. Besides, with her powers revoked, she can’t flash-freeze sand dollars anymore. She either planned this ahead of time or asked for help.
The girl may pretend like she doesn’t care about anyone but herself, but she’s proving that’s not true. In more ways than one.
Brody hands down an envelope. “Now mine.”
I rip open the top of the plain brown envelope, curious as to what kind of present might be in here. When I pull out a sheet of paper and read the contents, I realize what his gift is.
“No way,” I say, rereading the letter. “Are you serious?”
“As Olympic gold.”
“What?” Shannen asks.
Aunt Rachel asks, “What is it?”
I clear my throat and read the letter. “Dear Teachers. The following students will be absent from class on Thursday and Friday to attend the boys’ state swimming championships: Brody Bennett, Kevin Velasquez, Raymond Flynn, and team manager Lily Sanderson. Please gather their homework assignments so they may complete them on time. If you have any questions, please call my office. Coach Hill.”
“I don’t get it,” Shannen says.
Doe asks, “What’s the gift?”
So excited I might just burst, my gaze meets Brody’s across the table. “I get to go to State.”
The silence around the table seems to say, “And . . . ?”
“Managers never get to go to State,” I explain, “since it’s usually just the coach and a couple of swimmers. This is”—I shake my head at Brody—“awesome. Thank you.”
In my three years as swim team manager, it’s always been a bittersweet end to the season—having to hang up my record book while a handful of swimmers got to travel to Orlando for the state meet. It’s awesome that, as a senior, I’ll get to go, too.
Brody just earned triple points. Not only for getting me the letter, but also for knowing how much it would mean to me. Maybe he wa
sn’t quite as self-absorbed as I thought.
Maybe this gift-getting thing is worth the torture after all.
I look around expectantly, wondering whose gift will wow me next.
Without saying a word, Quince pulls a small box from the inside pocket of his jacket. He slides it across the red tablecloth.
My eyes meet his as I pick up the box and pull off the red ribbon. It feels like we haven’t had much time together as boyfriend-girlfriend since I came back, but the look in his eyes is all I need to see the promise of a long future between us.
I absently lift off the lid and reach inside. My fingers curl around a cold metal object.
Glancing down, I find a starfish-shaped silver key ring.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
He leans close. “Turn it over.”
On the back, inscribed in a delicately curving script, are the words Forever, princess. I love you.
Tears instantly fill my eyes.
“I love you, too,” I mouth.
“What?” Shannen demands, reaching across the table to take the starfish. When she reads the inscription, she’s struck speechless.
The key ring makes the rounds of the table, eliciting shrugs from the boys and sighs from the girls. When it makes its way back to my palm, I clutch it close to my heart.
“Thank you,” I say, though words can’t entirely express what I’m feeling.
“After that,” Aunt Rachel announces, “it seems apropos to give you my gift next.”
She lifts the flecked purple package off the table and hands it to me.
Her eyes are wide with pride and expectation as I peel off the wrapping. It’s quite a small box with hardly any weight to it. Maybe it’s a gift card? I could use a trip to the mall for some summer beach staples. Flip-flops, bikinis, tank tops. I’m always up for a shopping spree.
But when I pull the lid off the box, it is not a gift card resting on the tie-dye pink-and-purple tissue. It’s a key.
I don’t get it. I already have a key to the house, both front and back doors. There aren’t any other locks in my life, except for the combination on my locker at school. No key required.
And it’s not exactly shaped like a house key.