“Oh, that would be wonderful,” she said warmly. “I think he’d like that.”
I rose from the table, turned to head upstairs.
“Elyse,” she said, and I stopped, looked at her over my shoulder. “Thank you. For both of them.”
I left Mrs. Kane to try my luck with Sebastian, hoping that at least one of the Kane boys would be happy to see me today. I had to knock twice before I heard the doorknob twist. The door creaked open slowly; Sebastian had already darted back to his bed, lost within the pages of my island fairy tales.
I set my bags on the floor and sat in the chair across from him, waiting patiently for him to glance up. I knew it the instant his eyes caught the sea-blue glint of my dress—the air in the room stilled, the book slid down his chest.
“Atargatis,” he whispered.
I stood then, twirled in front of him until the dress fanned out at the bottom, and from the depths of his despair, I fished out a smile.
Now there’s my favorite mermaid, I mouthed.
“But I’m not a mermaid, remember?” His smile slipped back under. “Boys aren’t allowed.”
I grabbed his chin, tilted his face toward mine. That’s bull.
“Yeah, but the mayor and the parade ladies and—”
“Sebastian,” I scratched out, a ragged whisper. It shocked him, the hiss passing from my lips to his ears, and his smile returned. I grabbed a marker and paper from his desk.
You are the best mermaid to come to the Cove since Atargatis herself. Now come on, we’ve got a parade to get to.
“But I don’t even have a costume.”
I rummaged through my bags and showed him the outfit Vanessa, Kirby, and I had put together: a silver-sequin halter that tied at the neck, a pale blue taffeta skirt cut from Kirby’s freshman homecoming dress, a sheer white altar cloth edged with gold and silver beading that we’d use as a cape, and a delicate tiara studded with sea glass. Kirby had texted Lemon about the latter two items, and my aunt gladly donated them to the cause.
Sebastian looked over the shimmering clothes, the seashell hair clips and starfish pins we’d use to make it all fit. He flung himself at me, hugged me so tightly I worried he’d rip my dress.
I untangled his arms and urged him to get ready quickly. I’ll wait outside, I mouthed. I held up three fingers. Knock three times when you’re ready.
He dressed himself in record speed, banging excitedly on the door for me to return. The clothes hung off his body, but I’d been expecting as much and immediately set to work wrapping and tucking, folding and fastening in artful, flowing swaths, everything pinned in place with starfish in a way that looked purposeful.
Satisfied, I guided Sebastian to his desk chair and dumped my makeup kit on the desk, expertly separating the silvers, blues, and greens with remembered efficiency. I smiled when I thought of the last time I’d done this: the day of the Bella Garcia show. Natalie rocked at hair, but she could never manage makeup without my intervention. Backstage was a disaster any time she’d tried.
Sebastian sat still as a statue while I painted his face with the sea’s blue-green palette, teal swirls outlined in silver and white like waves dancing in the moonlight. His blue eyes were piercing and intense, rimmed in green and gold, and I coated his lips with a simple clear gloss so they wouldn’t clash. Makeup complete, I twisted his wild hair into a series of tiny, intricate braids and tendrils, fastening them with seashell clips.
Finally, I removed the tiara from my bag and placed it on his head. The light shimmered through each piece, throwing stars from the bright red gem in the center that dipped into a V against his forehead. It was perfect, a stunning crown of glass.
“How do I look?” he asked, blinking under the weight of the eye makeup and hair ornaments. He reached up and touched the crown with tentative fingers. “Mermaidy?”
Needs one more thing.
The seashell had rested against my throat all summer, gentle and cool, so much a part of me. It was only then, when I’d untied the cord and slid it from my neck, that I felt its absence. I knew my scar lay bare and visible now; the air that kissed it felt like a stiff coastal wind.
Sebastian’s eyes never left the shell, and in the wake of his wonder I almost believed it did contain my voice, curled into its protective twists and turns, precious and translucent.
I knelt before him and leaned forward, tied the cord behind his neck. The moment was weighty between us; we both felt it. His breath was warm on my cheeks.
“What if you need it?” he whispered.
You need it, I assured him. I want you to have it now.
“For keeps?”
I nodded.
His tiny fist closed around it, chest puffed with pride beneath his shimmery halter.
I stretched out my hand, and he grabbed it, held on tight as we marched out to the sea.
Chapter 32
Main Street was swimming with merfolk. Entire families glittered in satin gowns, escorted by eye-patched pirates carrying wooden swords, everyone shadowed by photographers and reporters from the town’s only newspaper. P&D sharks were there too, drooling over the future income the gathering could bring them.
Again, my thoughts drifted to home, to Carnival. The scene here, though on a much smaller scale, reminded me of J’ouvert, our festival’s official start. By four a.m. on that bleary-eyed Monday morning, the streets of Trinidad would be jammed with people dressed as bats and blue devils and Jab Jabs, covered in mud and oil or paint, marching in time to the beat, all of us anticipating the bands that would come later, the revelry, the bacchanal—complete chaos of the best kind.
The nervous tug of Sebastian’s hand reminded me that here in the Cove, today’s revelry wasn’t a Carnival celebration. We were on a mission.
I stashed Sebastian behind a potted plant in front of Sweet Pacific and wiggled my way to the on-site registration table, one of the only mermaids to sign up this late in the game.
Ten minutes later I had my own number.
One minute after that I was pinning it to the back of Sebastian’s cape.
“Forty-two is a good number,” he said. “Right?” His voice had lost some of its earlier confidence.
I gave him the thumbs-up. The best.
He grabbed my hand, and together we made our way through the crowd, both of us keeping our heads down and our steps quick. Sebastian, as expected, was the only boy in a mermaid gown. But if anyone recognized him, they kept their thoughts to themselves.
Weaving through the throng of mermaids in the parking lot of Cove Community Bank, we took longer than I’d hoped to find the girls. By the time Vanessa and I finished hugging it out about last night’s argument, we had but minutes to discuss a plan.
“Wait here,” Vanessa said. She slipped into the crowd, came back a moment later with another mermaid—her mother.
“Vanessa, what on earth is going on, sugar?” She looked at me and Kirby, smiled grandly at our dresses. “You girls look stunning! But they’re starting the lineup! I need to be back with my age group!”
Vanessa laughed. “I found you with the twenty-somethings.”
Mrs. James wiggled her hips. “I can pass.”
“I can pass too,” Sebastian said, tugging on Mrs. James’s bangle-studded arm. “See?”
She beamed at the little mermaid beside us. “Well don’t you look adorable, Miss . . . I’m not sure we’ve met, darlin’.”
“Mom!” Vanessa gave her mother a playful nudge. “It’s Sebastian Kane.”
Mrs. James did a double take.
Sebastian giggled. “Fooled you!”
“Sebastian, you look amazing, honey! Look at you!” She twirled him around, checked out the costume. “Well, we’d better get you over with the other kids. Come on.”
“I can’t,” he said. “Boys aren’t allowed. But don’t worry, because some
one has a plan.”
Vanessa filled her mother in on the details, all the so-called “rules” that got us here.
Mrs. James looked aghast. “That child has as much right to be here as any of us. We’re not about to take this lyin’ down, I promise you that.”
“What should we do?” Kirby asked, worry pinching her face. “It’s starting.”
“At this point, girls, there’s only one question we need to ask.” Mrs. James flashed a clever, confident grin. “WWTTD? What would Tami Taylor do?” She nodded once, her jaw set in some new, determined mission.
“It’s from a show,” Kirby said to me. “Friday Night Lights? Tami’s the mom, and there’s this whole Texas thing—”
“Texas forever,” Vanessa said.
“Texas forever,” Mrs. James echoed. “Follow me, mermaids.”
We fell in behind her, buffering Sebastian, and onward we marched, our toppling, tiptoed, tight-dressed, gender-bending mermaid brigade.
The parade marshal—the woman who’d originally denied Sebastian at the registration table—shouted into a bullhorn, chasing mermaids onto Main Street in glittering waves of blue and green.
Our group waited patiently behind the throng, and when she saw us, unrecognizable in our costumes, she quickly ushered us along. “You’re all mixed up!” she said, shooing us out into the parade. “Try to find your own age groups. Go! Go! Go!”
My insides lit up with nervous butterflies, feeling as we stepped onto Main Street like we’d gotten away with the world’s greatest heist. Sebastian’s grin stretched from here to the Pacific; I’d never seen him so happy. He waved to everyone we passed, threw candy at the kids lined up on the sidewalks from the satchel he’d brought for just such an opportunity.
With Mrs. James in the lead, Kirby, Vanessa, and I fell in behind Sebastian, ready to confront any assailants, verbal or otherwise.
“He’s really into this,” Vanessa said. Raising her voice, she called ahead. “You go, Sebastian!”
For all the mayor’s huffing and puffing, no one mocked Sebastian. They cheered as we approached, smiles growing brighter when Sebastian’s light shone in their direction. It was likely they didn’t recognize him with all the braids and makeup, but as he’d been dreaming about all year, the kid just wanted to march; he wasn’t concerned with making a case.
We marched down the entire half-mile stretch of Main Street, past Sweet Pacific, past the pet store where Christian had gotten the crickets that still haunted the Never Flounder. As we neared the booth where Lemon was selling her small sculptures and handmade soaps, she cheered and whooped, stepping into the street to snap pictures with her phone. We continued on past the Cove’s only pizza place, past Big Mike’s hardware, past the yarn shop and all the other places I’d come to know this summer. Soon we were nearing the end, approaching the intersection where the parade would turn off, the mermaids lining up with their age groups for judging. On a platform decorated with red-white-and-blue ribbons, on a fake throne the size of a small boat, Mayor Wesley Katzenberg sat, utterly impressed with himself.
The final judge.
My heart sped up, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Mrs. James turned around, winked at us. “Follow my lead, girls.”
From her hip she raised a bullhorn—she must’ve swiped it from the parade marshal.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my friends and neighbors of Atargatis Cove! Please give a special round of applause for Sebastian Kane!” She tugged him forward gently, giving him space to soak up the spotlight. My eyes were on the mayor, and at Mrs. James’s announcement, his face turned red, eyes lasering our little mermaid pack.
Before the mayor was even out of his chair, Mrs. James lifted the bullhorn, boomed across the crowd. “At six years old, Sebastian is the Cove’s youngest and first boy to march as a mermaid in the festival parade. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. You’re witnessing history today!” She turned toward the mayor, waved with her free hand. “Thank you, Mayor Wesley Katzenberg, for your compassionate open-mindedness in letting this young man embrace and showcase his personal truth!”
All around us, mermaids cheered. Brenda and Gracie, beautiful in their matching gold dresses, blew bubbles into the crowd, screaming Sebastian’s name in support. We cheered the hardest, though—Vanessa, Kirby, Mrs. James, and I, with my silent but enthusiastic gestures—all of us clapping for our mermaid, number forty-two.
Mrs. James lifted the bullhorn once more. “Sebastian Kane and Wes Katzenberg, y’all. Let’s put our hands together once more to give these pioneers the extra applause they deserve!”
At that the crowd went wild, and all Mayor Katzenberg could do was blubber and smile, sit down in his chair and bask in the gratitude as if he’d earned it.
“That’s my momma, y’all,” Vanessa said. It was obvious how she’d won so many votes in Texas, gotten so many initiatives passed. That woman knew how to make things happen.
I slipped into the sidewalk crowd to let the judging commence, a two-step process that involved the crowd’s vote by noise level and the mayor’s final stamp of approval. No longer was I worried about Sebastian’s win, though; he was a shoo-in, thanks to Mrs. Kane’s campaign and, first and foremost, the kid’s natural enthusiasm.
I was right. At the end of the voting, number forty-two took the title. Mrs. Kane was there with her phone, taking pictures instead of work calls as Sebastian accepted the win. Over his grin, she winked at me.
There were tears in her eyes for him. Our official Mermaid Queen of Atargatis Cove.
Small and glowing under his new golden crown, Sebastian called my name across the crowd, beaming when our eyes met. He made his way through congratulatory hugs and high fives, finally reaching me on the sidewalk.
“Hold on a minute, kids.” Mayor Katzenberg was there, suddenly, looming over both of us. His smile was as sharp toothed as ever. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I thought the rules were clear. Boys cannot be in the mermaid parade.”
My heart sped up, heat rising inside me.
Sebastian looked at me.
Looked at the mayor.
Shook his head.
Pointed at his crown.
To Wes Katzenberg, King of the Sea, my little mermaid said plainly, “I think maybe you need glasses, because a boy just won the crown.”
The mayor stormed away, mad but finally bested.
My heart swelled with pride. Sebastian was beautiful and rare, a perfect pearl in a sea of gray oysters. I knelt down before him so that our eyes were level. My fingers traced the shell at his neck, our shared voice.
He’d done it. He’d really done it.
“You’re my best friend,” Sebastian told me, and I knew, the instant he pressed a glossy kiss against my cheek, what I had to do next.
Pirates, wenches, and sea creatures from the depths of the Cove’s imagination jammed the docks, and it took more than a few minutes to elbow my way through the fray. In all my lamenting the lost music this summer, I’d nearly forgotten these minor inconveniences, squeezing between walls of costumed bodies without so much as a pardon me, sorry, coming through. But pity wasn’t part of the plan, so I kept my head down, dove into the mix and swam through arms, legs, and elbows until I finally broke into the light.
The rare sun sharp in my eyes, I gathered the ocean-blue silk of my dress in my fists, and I sprinted to the end of the marina, past the Never Flounder, past the other boats bobbing in anticipation, down the last dock, to the very last slip.
Christian, wait! my mind shouted. Christian! Christian! I thought his name so many times, so loudly, that when he finally met my eyes, I thought he must’ve heard me. Really heard me.
But that was impossible.
He stood on the bow, where he’d just been double-checking the mast. Now his eyes held mine, unflinching. Queen of Cups bobbed beneath his feet, an
d he shifted his weight, one foot casually resting on the rails.
“That’s enough, Christian.” Mr. Kane sprouted up through the companionway, pounding two open-handed smacks against the wood. “You made your point. Let’s—Elyse? I thought you weren’t seaworthy?”
My heart slammed inside me like a fist.
Mr. Kane was right. I wasn’t seaworthy. I wasn’t worthy of another chance, of Christian’s soulful eyes pinning me in place, making everything inside me hot and hopeful.
But I was asking for it anyway.
Ignoring his father, I looked again at Christian, held his gaze. Matched it in intensity.
Please take me back. Take me to the sea.
Our summer together played behind my eyes, flashed like a slideshow. Weeks and weeks fixing up the old boat. All our pirate missions. Dancing at Shipwreck, bodies pressed together beneath the strobe lights, lost in their own rhythms. Our mermaid wedding by the sea. The hike. The kisses. The caresses. The passion. The secrets and stories we’d shared, all the things I’d written on his heart, on the walls of his boat.
And that first night, where it all began.
There’s a girl writing on my boat.
I kept my eyes on his, though they’d started watering from the glare, and finally he shook his head and stepped down from the hatch.
“Thanks for the pep talk, Dad. We got it from here.”
Mr. Kane closed his eyes. “I thought we agreed—”
“This is my gig,” Christian said. “And I said, we got it from here.”
Without further argument Mr. Kane stepped off the boat, a bit wobbly as he steadied himself on the dock. He looked at me, scanned the dress, shook his head. To his son, he said only, “Screw this up, Christian, and that’s on you.”
We watched in silence as he marched down the dock, back into the marina’s throbbing masses.
“You’re late, mate.” Christian thrust his hand toward me portside, unfurled his fingers and a smile to go with. It was like he’d been waiting all along, like he always knew and trusted I’d be there.