“I love you, Daddy.”
“And I love you, daughter.” He gives me one last squeeze before holding me away from him. “Now, would you go after Quince already? I’ve had more of your tear-sparkled eyes than a merman can handle. The next time you visit, I want to see you as happy as you can possibly be.”
Now that’s a royal edict that I will gladly fulfill.
24
When the roar of Quince’s motorcycle echoes through the neighborhood, I’m sitting on his front porch. Aunt Rachel is probably spying on me from the living room window—I’ve never seen her so excited as when I walked back into her kitchen. After a dozen minutes of smiles and hugs and happy tears—and Prithi happily lapping at my toes—I told her why I’ve decided to return. She quickly shoved me out the front door and told me to wait for Quince to get home from school.
I love her, but the woman can be a little pushy.
Quince still hasn’t noticed me when he turns his bike into the driveway and heads for the back. As he coasts past the porch, he turns and stares wide-eyed at me.
But he doesn’t stop his bike. The next thing I know, he’s coasted out of sight and I hear the sound of a motorcycle crashing into something—probably the two metal garbage cans that Prithi is so fond of scavenging.
I jump to my feet, but before I can round the corner to make sure he’s okay, he’s standing there—right there in front of me—and it’s all I can do not to fling my arms around his neck and kiss him silly.
The stormy look on his face holds me back.
“Lily?” he asks, as if he can’t quite believe it.
It’s only been a week.
But I know what he means.
Feeling a little self-conscious, now that I have to actually speak, I wave like a dork and say, “Hi.”
Oh, brilliant, Lily. Frogging brilliant.
“What are you—?” He shakes his head. “I thought you were staying. Your aunt said—”
“I’m back.” I just can’t get enough of looking at him, of feeling him. All the parts of me that have felt empty for the last few days are suddenly flooded with him. With his strength and his pride and his big Caribbean blue eyes that always remind me of home. Just as he will always feel like home. “I decided to come back.”
He doesn’t look excited, though. He looks…suspicious.
“Why?”
“Why?” I repeat.
“Why did you come back?” His eyes are completely guarded. “What changed your mind?”
This is it, I think. The moment of truth.
Literally.
But the truth is a scary thing. Especially when it leaves you completely vulnerable.
“I missed the lip gloss,” I tease. As soon as I say it, I know it’s the wrong thing. This isn’t the time for joking. Not only do I feel sour inside, but the guarded look on Quince’s face turns to distance. I won’t let him pull away.
“That’s a lie,” I confess.
He scowls in confusion.
“For you,” I admit, every muscle in my heart panicking at the revelation. “I came back because of you.”
“Yeah?” he asks, his confused look softening with a smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
Willing myself not to faint before I can get the words out, I say, “I love you, Quince. I didn’t want to stay away. I couldn’t.”
“Woohoo!” He shouts, closes the distance between us, and lifts me into his arms, spinning us around. “I knew it!”
Before I can respond with disbelief—he so obviously did not know it—he sets me down and takes my face in his hands. His lips are on their way to mine when he pulls back.
“Hey, I’m not about to set off another crazy magical bond again, am I?” Then, as if he just realized something, he says, “Not that I’m opposed or anything. I just want to be clear about what I’m getting into.”
“No,” I say, trying to shake my head. “No more bonds. You’re immune now.”
“Okay,” he says. Then he finishes what he started.
His lips on mine feel so soft and warm and…perfect. Without hiding behind the magic of the bond—and with my feelings out in the open—I can recognize the true magic of our kiss. Quince said once that love is the strongest magic in the world. Now I know he’s right.
When he pulls back, his eyes glow with the love I know is shining inside. I’m sure my eyes are glowing just as bright, because I can feel the tears of joy sliding down my cheeks.
For several long minutes, we just smile at each other. I’m sure we look like stupidly in love teenagers—to Aunt Rachel and whoever else happens to be watching—but we know the truth. There’s nothing stupid about it.
“Now that you’re back,” Quince says, slinging an arm around my shoulders and leading me toward the driveway, “I’m going to teach you to ride Princess.”
“Princess?”
“My motorcycle.”
I laugh. “You named your motorcycle Princess?”
“What can I say?” he teases. “I call all my favorite things princess.”
I take one look at Princess, lying on her side with two trash cans and a mess of garbage piled around her, and cringe.
“If you think I’m actually driving that death trap,” I say, “then you’re insane.”
“She’s safer than a wakemaker,” he counters.
He has a point.
“Okay,” I say, trying to be diplomatic, “I’ll learn to drive Princess on one condition.”
“Shoot.”
“I get to wear a pink helmet.”
He groans, like this is the biggest imposition ever. Finally he says, “Okay, but no streamers on the handlebars. She’d never live down the embarrassment.”
“Deal,” I say as I slip my hand into his and we start digging her out of the mess.
I bet I can renegotiate the streamers later.
Epilogue
Dosinia Sanderson slipped through the open doorway to the king’s office, her heart flutter-kicking despite knowing that the palace guard had retired when Uncle Whelk went to bed a few hours ago.
Still, the thrill of danger coursed through her. It wasn’t fear of getting caught—she’d face whatever consequences the king threw her way—but excitement over what she was about to do. She’d pulled a lot of crazy and daring stunts in her sixteen years, but this was by far the boldest.
Having been an unwilling visitor here often enough, she didn’t bother to snoop around. Muddy old scrolls and portrait mosaics of her ancestors were about as exciting as sand. And just as useful. Instead, she headed directly for her prize. Perched on a stand behind the king’s desk, like a hydra waiting for the ocean current to whisk it away to a new home, stood the royal trident. It looked common, useless. But in the hands of a merperson of royal descent it would wield great power.
It just so happened that Doe was a merperson of royal descent.
As she wrapped her fingers around the staff, she felt a small burst of electricity, a charge that tingled through her wrist and forearm. An ancient magic. Finally, she thought as she swam back out the way she’d come in, she would get her revenge on those responsible for her parents’ deaths: humans.
Acknowledgments
This book has been floating offshore for a long time, waiting to wash up on a sunny beach, so naturally I have a whole school of fish to thank.
Sarah Shumway (Editorius fabuloso)—A species of editor-fish with the cunning ability to pinpoint all the flaws of a manuscript in anywhere from five to eleven pages and to guide Authora neo in producing the best book possible.
Jenny Bent (Agenta brilliantum)—This particular species of agent shark has a natural instinct for negotiating great deals, keeping Authora neo sane during lo-o-ong waiting periods, and giving awards-ceremony-wardrobe advice.
Sharie Kohler (Friendela prima)—A loyal, supportive, and brilliantly talented species of friendfish. Can be particularly impatient, especially when waiting for a certain favorite mermaid book to finally come to light.
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Kay Cassidy, Tina Ferraro, and Stephanie Hale (Authoras palista)—Found in the Gulf of Facebook or the Twitter Sea, this species often stops personal activities to help Authora neo by reading rough-draft pages on short notice.
Blue Willow Bookshop (Literati amorosa)—A Gulf Coast coral that creates an ideal environment for Authora neo, forming a perfect symbiotic relationship. A tendency to squeal and gush serves to make it even more inviting.
Mom and Dad (Parentos perfectos)—The pinnacle species of parentfish that continues to support their child despite recurring phone calls on the topics of auto repair, purchase advice, hypochondria, and career-related neuroses.
About the Author
TERA LYNN CHILDS (Authora neo) is a newly discovered species of authorfish who always dreamed of being a mermaid but never got closer than a career as a competitive swimmer. She loves to spend as much time as possible in and around water (until her fingertips turn all pruny) in the vain hope that one day her legs will magically turn into fins. When stuck on land, Authora neo can be found writing in coffee shops across the country, prowling for cool mermaid gear on Etsy, and spending way too much time online. See Authora neo in her native habitat at www.teralynnchilds.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Credits
Jacket photo © 2010 by Leslie Ann O’Dell
Jacket design by Heidi North
Copyright
FORGIVE MY FINS. Copyright © 2010 by Tera Lynn Childs. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Childs, Tera Lynn.
Forgive my fins / Tera Lynn Childs.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Seventeen-year-old Lily, half mermaid and half human, has been living on land and attending high school, where she develops a crush on a boy but is afraid to tell him of her true destiny as the ruler of the undersea kingdom of Thalassinia.
ISBN 978-0-06-191465-2 (trade bdg.)
[1. Mermaids—Fiction. 2. Princesses—Fiction. 3. Interpersonal relations—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.C44185Fo 2010 2009020614
[Fic]—dc22 CIP
AC
FIRST EDITION
EPub Edition © April 2010 ISBN: 978-0-06-200152-8
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Tera Lynn Childs, Forgive My Fins
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