Forgive My Fins

Shannen smiles wryly. “There’s only one way to find out the answer to both of your questions.”

Our eyes meet, my gaze resigned and hers matter-of-fact. We both say, “Meet him.”

My stomach is so full of butterfly fish that I don’t even laugh when Shannen says, “Jinx.”

I’m putting my faith in Quince Fletcher.

I’m already jinxed.

In the fifteen minutes I spend waiting for Quince in the parking lot, my imagination desperately tries to come up with some idea of what his plan might possibly entail.

Maybe he’s going to pay Brody to date me. Highly unlikely, since Quince and his mom have no money to spare. Maybe he’s going to suggest I pay Brody to date me. Bad idea for so many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that I have even less money than Quince. You can’t exactly get an after-school job with a Thalassinian Social Security number.

Ooh, maybe Quince is going to help me kidnap Brody and keep him tied up in our basement until he realizes he loves me. Unlikely. That idea has two major flaws. First, that only works in the old-timey romance novels Aunt Rachel reads. Second, we don’t have a basement.

Okay, this waiting thing is getting ridiculous. I’m giving him to a count of twenty to show up, then I’m out of here.

Quince roars up on his motorcycle just when I’ve gotten to seventeen. I should have left after ten.

A plastic bag comes flying through the air and smacks me in the chest. Instinctively, I grab it before it falls. It feels soft and squishy.

Oh, no. It’s rope and a hood, isn’t it? He really is going to kidnap Brody. I take a deep breath and reign in my imagination. I scowl at Quince. If he hadn’t kept me waiting so long, I never would have come up with these ridiculous ideas.

“What is this?” I ask, looking for a store label on the bag and only find THANK YOU FOR SHOPPING WITH US.

Quince grins. “Your costume.”

“Excuse me?” I step off the curb and approach his bike warily. I’ve heard horror stories about parts flying off this piece of junk. “My costume?”

“For the dance.” He grabs the bag back and opens it, pulling out a white frilly blouse and a multicolored, multiruffled skirt.

“A Spanish dancer?” I scoff, not really having anything against the idea other than it being Quince’s.

He winks at me. “Nope,” he explains. “A pirate wench.”

“Wha—”

“I have it from a very reliable source,” he continues, “that Bennett is going as a pirate. This is part one of two in Operation Surprise and Shock. Surprise him by going as his female counterpart.” He holds up the costume. “A pirate wench for a pirate pans—”

“Fine!” I snatch the costume back. It could be worse. Shannen will approve, since it fits the Under the Sea theme. As I stuff it into my bag, I ask, “What if it doesn’t fit?”

That arrogant smile returns. “Darlin’,” he drawls, “I had you in my lap for a good ten minutes today. It’ll fit.”

I’ve been trying to block that memory from my mind all afternoon. Not that I succeeded. The scent of leather and mint toothpaste followed me everywhere. The scent of Quince.

My cheeks burn, but I am determined not to let him rattle me. “What is part two of the plan?”

“Mmm.” He rubs his hands together. “Shock. This is the best part.”

I don’t think I’m going to like part two.

“At nine thirty, Brody is going to get a note asking him to meet Courtney in the library so she can give him back his class ring.”

Oh, I know I’m not going to like part two.

“Only it won’t be Courtney waiting for him. It will be you.”

I hate part two.

“Then you kiss him. Shocking, no?”

No, I hate Quince. I love part two.

Not the kissing part—what kind of mergirl does he think I am?—but I can see the possibilities. Me and Brody. Alone. In the darkened library. Maybe I’ll finally be able to find the courage to tell him how I feel. And maybe, if he shows even a hint of interest in return, I’ll tell him even more. To Brody I would tell everything.

“I-I-I—” That’s not coming out at all right. “How can I be sure it will—”

“Trust me.” He kicks his motorcycle to life. “Just be in the library at nine thirty. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Then he mutters something I can’t hear, but I catch the words “idiot” and “lesson.” I’m so excited, I don’t even care.

Lifting his boot from the pavement, Quince twists the gas and squeals out of the parking lot. My insides are a mess. All I can think of are the what ifs.

What if this is all a trick?

What if it’s not?

What if Brody hates me?

What if he doesn’t?

What if everything goes according to plan and I confess everything to Brody in the library tomorrow night at nine thirty?

That’s the scariest what if of all.

Before I can go down that path, thinking about what that could mean for my future, for our future, Quince roars back into the parking lot and squeals to a stop in front of me. Why can’t he ever just leave and stay gone like a normal person?

“By the way,” he asks, keeping his eyes trained on mine, “do you always keep notes in your…private pocket?”

“In my—”

He flicks his gaze down to my chest and back to my eyes.