There are tons of people like her. That thought is enough to
silence us all, because we know it’s a long shot, and I’m going to
just have to take it anyway. I don’t know if it’s the vibes coming
from the rise in mermaid activity around me, the power of the dagger
in my backpack, or what. But something in there is clicking. I wish I
could tell everyone, Look, I’m not just a pretty face .
“There are tons of others like her!” I point to Kurt, who looks
surprised that I point to him. “Use your mighty-merman powers for a
sec. How do you think the other champions are finding the oracles?”
“Same way we are: hearsay, family witches, hired guides, seers-”
He pauses and catches my eyes with his violet ones. “Of course.”
“You said Ms. Pippen’s a seer,” I go, a little too smug that I’ve
come up with it before him.
“She hasn’t been in school for two days,” Thalia says, bursting my
cloud of mojo.
“That’s not a coincidence.”
Layla scrunches up her nose. “Ms. Pippen’s a what?”
“A psychic in your world. I noticed the first day we were here.”
“Oh-”
“So then, let me give Maddy one more try-” Before Layla can punch
me again, I add, “I’m just going to talk to her, not woo her. That’s
where you come in, Thalia. You stay here with Ryan and convince him he
should throw a party.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
I try to keep the sly grin off my face. “I’m sure you’ll think of
something.”
“Really, a party ?” Layla gives me attitude.
“There’s a madness to my method. I’ve got this. You, me, and Kurt,
we’re going to have a little search party on the boardwalk. There’s
someone I think can help us. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll have to
find a way to get us all to the Coral Conclaves.” I point to the swim
team table, where Angelo is the center of attention. “Because I am not
going to share my school with a bunch of bored, wannabe mermaid
queens, and especially because I never , ever want to see Angelo do
that again.”
Do you think this is a good idea?” Layla asks. We’re feet from the
entrance to the school. Behind her, Kurt squints against the sun.
Angelo runs past us as if his pants are on fire, which, given
today, they probably are. “I also invited all of your hot cousins to
come to Coney Island. Why aren’t you being more hospitable, bro? Plus,
they say they packed more bikinis than actual clothes.”
Layla rolls her eyes. “Now that you put it that way.”
Angelo presses his palm over his chest. “Don’t worry, Layla.
You’ll always be my first love.” He puts out his cheek so that she can
kiss it.
“Gee, th aaa nks.” She stops an inch short of pressing her lips to
his face. “On second thought, I don’t know where that cheek has been
all day long.” Laughing, she walks right past him, stepping from the
shadow of the school into the light.
“Oh, come on!” He runs out after her. “It’s not like I’m Tristan
.”
“Not cool, bro! Not cool!”
“See you suckers at the Wreck!” He takes the steps three at a
time. It’s surprising he doesn’t miss a step at the speed he’s going.
He crosses the street, where a bunch of cars honk at him. He throws
his middle finger in the air and howls at them, jumping into a red car
with black flames painted on the side.
“Are werewolves real too?” I wonder. “’Cause that’s just not
normal.”
“He’s euphoric,” Kurt says. “He’s had the most exposure around the
princesses other than-well-you.”
Layla looks surprised that he points to her and then blooms into a
playful smile. “I guess mermen just have no effect on me.”
I stick my hand out in the air and go, “To the subway, Merman!” in
my most dramatic cartoon superhero voice. It’s wasted because the only
one who laughs is Layla. Kurt watches me with the curiosity I give
rats on the subway, and I wonder if we’ll have enough time to
introduce him to my comic books.
•••
The train station is aboveground. Across the platform is a wall of
graffiti that stretches all the way down to Coney. We weave through
the late beach crowd, the kids with red, sticky Italian ices, girls
reading while two guys try to beat box battle beside them. Watching
Kurt fumble with the turnstile and having it hit him on the back is
the highlight of my day.
The car we board is fairly empty. A group of extremely loud kids
hang out on the opposite end from us. They swing on the metal bars and
dare each other to race between cars when the doors open.
“What are you thinking, Kurtomathetis ?” Layla stands beside him,
holding on to the bars with both hands so she looks extra long.
Even his shrugs are proper. “It’s amazing really, the way these
lines represent your city. It’s like the channels under the sea, the
veins in our bodies connecting everything.”
She looks like something is caught in her throat. Her hand goes
right to the protective shell that hangs just under her clavicle.
I could be all poetic and stuff. If I wanted to.
At the next stop an older lady sits beside us in our corner,
clutching her frilly purse. She snarls her thin lips at me, just like
the old lady in the elevator at the hospital. Unbidden, Nieve’s face
comes to mind. Her irises, like the white of lightning, her blue lips
and bloody gums. My temples burn as if someone is holding hot pokers
on either side of my head and digging in.
“Tristan!” Layla kneels in front of me. She puts her cool hands on
my face. Even with the air conditioning pumping from the vents, I’m
sweating.
The old woman pushes past us and gets off when the train stops and
the doors open. Well, that was that. The sensation subsides.
“I wish I could stop seeing her.”
“Nieve?” Kurt looks around the car as though we’ll be attacked any
moment.
What I don’t say is that I can feel her getting stronger, that the
white of her eyes pulls me in and I need all the strength I have to
shut it away.
The conductor shouts, “West Eighth, New York Aquarium! Next stop,
Coney!”
“This is us,” I go.
The kids on the other end of the car shout over something funny
someone says. The doors chime open, and we leave them to their
unbridled, unworried laughter.
The last time I showed up at the Wreck was the week before the
storm. Ryan wouldn’t let up about my making an appearance, because if
there’s someone you want as your wingman, it’s gotta be me.
The owner’s son, Jimmy Haggerty, mops the bar with a rag that
looks like no amount of bleach will ever get it clean. He nods at me
in that way guys do, while drying a glass with the same rag.
The Wreck is the coolest place on the boardwalk, hands down.
Angelo and the guys have taken over an entire corner of the place.
There is a Mount Everest order of hot wings so red they almost glow.
Kurt takes in the room and says, “Thalia would enjoy this. It
reminds me of Tortuga Cove. Except that there are no pirates here.”
A man in full pirate costume walks in. Pirate Pete and Captain
Loveday are part of a tour about the heyday of Coney Island, when the
streets were cobblestone and lit up like Vegas. When there was a hotel
shaped like an elephant, and the best rickety roller coasters in the
entire United States.
“I retract my statement,” Kurt says, breaking into a rare smile.
“Were you really so hungry you had to make a pit stop?” Layla
asks, taking a seat closer toward the entrance.
“Relax,” I say. “I have a good feeling about this.”