—slouching form. Doe bats her heavily mascaraed eyes at him, each bat taking three ful seconds, I swear. Her glossy pink lips purse out into an extra pout.
On my other side, an even more charming smile spreads across Brody’s lips.
Warning, Lily Sanderson. Danger approaching.
Brody steps around my knees to stand in front of Doe, on the pretext of making a polite introduction. I feel like I’m watching a school of tuna swim into a gang of great whites, but I can’t look away from the inevitable feeding frenzy. Not when there’s nothing I can do to stop the catastrophe. I feel completely helpless.
“Hel o there,” Brody says, the words drawn out in my slo-mo world. “I’m Brody.”
Even though Doe hasn’t moved an inch, there’s something about the tilt of her eyebrows, the pul of her mouth, that tel s me she is quite interested in the specimen of boy standing before her. Whether they’re human or not, she’s boy crazy on an incomprehensible scale.
Doe has never been afraid to go after what interests her.
And she usual y gets it.
When she sits up, holds out her elegant hand, and says,
“I’m Dosinia,” my world final y bursts back into normal speed.
“She’s my cousin,” I explain, jumping up to stand between them. Desperately clutching for the cover story we’ve agreed upon, before she slips up and reveals our fishy secret, I say, “She’s here as an exchange student. From the Bahamas. Just swam in this weekend. I mean flew, of course. Flew in. We picked her up at the airport.” Brody accidental y found out I was a mermaid once before. I had to mindwash him, and although I think it worked perfectly, it gave me a roaring migraine. I’d rather not have to do that again anytime soon.
Oblivious to my panicked babbling, Brody leans to his left so he can see around me and makes the kind of eyes at her I’ve only ever seen him give his ex-girlfriend. When she wasn’t quite as exas she is now.
No, no, no, no, no. This is bad. Brody’s a girl hound and Doe’s boy crazy. Bad, bad, bad combination. Especial y when I glance back over my shoulder and see her flash him a seductive smile.
I have to do whatever I can to keep these two apart.
Besides the fact that Doe hates humans—cute boys included—and that Brody’s mind has been washed—by yours truly—to make him forget mermaids real y exist, the idea of my baby cousin and my ex-crush hooking up is just… wrong. In every possible way.
Desperate to derail this col ision, I start to suggest, “Why don’t we—”
“Al set,” Aunt Rachel announces, pushing out of the front office, thankful y saving me from whatever lameness I was going to invent. “No problem with your, um…” She casts a wary glance at Brody. “. . . records.”
Meaning that the records Daddy’s royal scribe forged to give Doe a land-based background and an academic history have passed administration muster. We did the same thing when I first came here.
“Here is your class schedule.” Aunt Rachel hands Doe a computer printout. “You have economics first.” Before the terrified thought can even form in my head, Brody says, “Me too! Let me walk you.”
He grabs Doe’s briefcase off the floor and does that chivalrous-guy thing where he holds out one arm toward the hal way, indicating that she should precede him in the direction they’re going. Brody’s being chivalrous. Doe’s being… Doe. This can’t end wel .
“This is bad,” I mutter as they disappear down the hal .
“This is real y bad.”
“She’l be fine,” Aunt Rachel says, laying a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
“I hope so.” But my I’m not holding my breath. “Because a messy situation between Doe and Brody could make last week’s earthquake look like a slight drizzle on the scale of trouble storms.”
Just cal her Hurricane Doe. Category Five.
I guess that makes me the emergency response. Any trouble Doe causes is ultimately my responsibility, my final duty as princess of Thalassinia. I’l be the one on the floor with a sponge and a bucket.
By lunchtime I’m a nervous wreck. Doe and I have not had a single class together—which isn’t surprising, since she’s enrol ed as a sophomore—but besides knowing that she and Brody both had econ this morning, I found out they also have the same homeroom and fourth-period typing class.
Al that unsupervised time together, who knows what might have happened.
Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe Brody just walked her to class and they haven’t spoken since. Maybe flying fish wil hop up on land and start salsa dancing. Stil , it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.
Straining to see over the sea of bodies in the lunch line, I hunt for the blond and brown-haired pair in the cafeteria.
But there are so many heads in my way, I can’t even get a good view on tiptoe.
“What are you looking for?” Quince asks.
I growl in frustration.
“Dosinia,” I mutter. “I think she has her eyes set on Brody.”
“Wel , that’s not great,” Shannen quips.
How observant. “Duh.”
I try to jump, hoping to propel myself above the crowd while not spil ing my trayful of lunch. My box of milk ends up on the floor.
Quince, who’s brought his lunch as usual and is only keeping us company in line, bends down and retrieves my half pint. “Why are you so worried?”
I throw him a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. But when he doesn’t shake his head and say, “Omigosh, you’re right,” I lean close and whisper, “Think about what happened with us.”