“I’m pretty good with a bow and arrow.”
“He’s more than good !” Thalia chimes in. “He’s the best on the
gua-”
“Team,” I say quickly. “He’s the best on his team.”
“Good. Great. Awesome-possum.” I don’t think even he believes he
just said that. And there goes Wonder Ryan running into the building,
because no matter how cool and interesting we are, he has never been
late to class.
I stare at the ancient clock above the angels. The Roman numerals
are rusty. The arms are getting closer to 8 a.m. when the bell will
ring. Layla usually waits for me inside by my locker, even though hers
is on the other end of the hall.
“Are we waiting for another one of your comrades?”
“Kurt, do me a favor,” I go. “Chill. Relax. Take it easy. You’re
in Brooklyn, not at the bottom of the sea.”
He shakes his head a bit, all I don’t know what you want me to do.
“You’re standing like you’re ready to whip out your sword and go
all Revenge of the Merman on them.”
“Ryan is handsome,” Thalia says with a smirk.
“And you, missy. Calm the siren allure. I don’t want any of my
teammates following you off the pier.”
“Sirens aren’t mermaids,” Thalia laughs. “They’re bird women.”
“Whatever. I’m just saying.”
“Come now, Tristan. Maybe you and Kurt should, how is it you said?
Chill. ” The bells chime long and hard. Pigeons fly. Kids run up the
steps holding on to their pants and hats.
“Are we waiting for someone?” Kurt asks again.
I shake my head. She should be gone by now. “Follow me.”
I turn around once and see the stark happiness on Thalia’s face.
Her big yellow-green eyes take in every part of the school. The
linoleum floors, the crackling fluorescent lights, the archaic
mahogany trim along the doors, and the random stained-glass windows
that clash with the new water fountains and rows of lockers. The
stickers on the lockers. The murals on the walls.
We stop in front of Room 311. Mr. Adlemare looks down on us
through his glasses. He wears a light blue, short-sleeved button-down
shirt with red suspenders that hold up brown trousers, and I wonder,
out of everything that you could wear in public, why a purple
polka-dot bow tie?
“Mr. Hart. Thank you for joining us. These must be your cousins
from…?”
“Italy.”
“Florida.”
“Ireland.”
“Ah, I see.”
Kurt clears his throat. “We travel constantly.”
“No one place is home! Lovely. Welcome, welcome.”
“Thank you, sir,” my cousins say in unison.
Some people snicker. The smells of everyone overwhelm me. Their
interest smells of burning sugar.
We take the row in the back, where the Goth-punk-stoner kids sit.
Homeroom gets less and less crowded toward the end of the year. I
stare at the scratches on my desk and admire the announcements Mr.
Adlemare has written on the board. Notice the way everyone gives us a
long once-over. Anything not to look at Layla, sitting there and
saving me a seat like always. I can feel her eyes on me, but I won’t
look.
Thalia takes out a notebook and pen, and I watch her draw Mr.
Adlemare’s face. She’s quite good actually. I draw a mustache on her
portrait of Mr. Adlemare, and she bursts into her bell-chime giggles.
Kurt shakes his head, disapproving.
Someone sighs angrily, and I know it’s Layla. But this is the only
way I know she’ll be safe. I can’t drag her into this freakish
sideshow. This past week has been the longest we’ve ever really been
apart. It’s just, what am I going to say? Hey, guess what? I’m a
merman now. I just have to keep ignoring her, the best friend I’ve had
my whole life. The only girl who gets it, gets me. Yeah, I’m a good
guy. But right now, looking at her as she gives up trying to catch my
attention, I wonder if I have enough strength to stay away from her,
even though not doing that could kill her.
When I look at the clock again, it’s already time to leave. She’s
the first one out the door, two seconds before the bell even rings.
Yo, Hart!” Angelo’s voice carries even from down the hall. “Ball
drill!” He does this every time he thinks you’re not looking. I’m the
only one who ever catches the ball. It’s in the air before he finishes
his sentence. I can catch it; I know I can. I extend my hand up and to
the left, but so does Kurt. The basketball is in his hands even before
I hit the wall of lockers.
“I don’t remember your name being Hart .” I push myself up right
away.
The guys walk over to us. I stretch out my shoulder. Kurt throws
the ball back at him. Thalia watches them carefully. They really need
to stop acting like the Mermaid Brigade.
“So these are your cousins. Where are you from again?”
Kurt looks to me and I answer, “Canada.”
“Aren’t Canadians more-?” Bertie looks like he’s trying to do x ^
2 + (a + b)x + ab = (x + a)( x + b).
“More what?” Kurt asks.
“Pale?” And he still hasn’t solved it.
“We travel a lot,” Thalia says, winking in their direction. I
think she likes being a teenage girl more than Kurt likes being a
teenage boy.
The effect is instant, though. The boys relax their posture and
are all smiles. Angelo lets his basketball drop, and it bounces across
the floor, causing three freshmen to trip over it.
Bertie can’t seem to decide which foot he wants to shift his
weight on. “Man, where have you been? You didn’t show at the Wreck and
you didn’t show yesterday. The team is worried about you. They think
you’re seeing a shrink or something. And that guy? You know? The
reporter? Nikky’s dad? He’s writing that you’re going to be shipped
into one of those psych facilities. Like in the movies?
“Oh. Check this.” He turns around to show us the new design etched
into his almost bald head. It’s a series of zigzags that makes it look
like his head is getting hit by lightning. “Pretty cool, huh?”
The bell rings, and I start to wonder if I’ll ever get my
“cousins” to class on time.
“We got Espaсol ,” Angelo tells me but looks at Thalia. “ Adiуs,
amiga . They speak Spanish in Canadia, right?”
“Yeah, see ya,” Jerry and Bertie singsong.
Once they’re down the hall, we’re the only ones left except for
the kids who aren’t going to go to class at all.
“Is there a way you can fix that? Make yourselves look different
so that you don’t attract so much attention?”
“We do look different. We are glamoured,” Kurt says indignantly.
“It’s a light spell to tone down our natural colors. We are no longer
achingly beautiful. Now we’re just exceptionally beautiful.”
English lit is just down the hall. I open the door for Thalia.
This time Layla sits in the front row facing the window so that unless
you’re craning your neck, you can’t really see her face. That smell of
burnt sugar mixed with something else is back. Ms. Pippen sits at the
edge of her teacher’s desk, facing the door and waiting for the
latecomers. Today she’s wearing a skirt that ends tightly around her
knees in a purple-and-green paisley pattern and a white button-down
shirt that’s one button shy of being inappropriate. She has the kind
of waist that looks like it disappears under the cinched belt. I bet
if I put my hands around it, my fingers would touch.
Her face is delicate and pointy, with shiny brown hair that is
always perfectly waved to the side. If she said she was twenty-five or