Forgive My Fins

Maybe it’s his charm. On my first day at Seaview I walked nervously through the cafeteria on wobbly land legs without a soul to sit with. As I scanned the unfamiliar setting, searching for an empty place to eat, I lost my balance and tumbled, tray of enchiladas first, into Brody’s lap. Instead of freaking out or yelling or humiliating me (like some boys), he laughed and helped me clean up the mess. He’s one of those guys who can make everyone—even an awkward mermaid on her first day of human school—feel special.

Or maybe it’s how he seems to be comfortable in any situation. No matter where he is at the moment, Brody always belongs, and for a human transitioning to the mer world, I think that must be a key character trait.

And the fact that he’s so at home in the water is a major bonus in the potential mermate category.

Whatever the reason, my heart flutters every time I see him, and I can’t deny that. I don’t want to. My body and my heart know things my brain doesn’t necessarily understand.

The fifteen minutes race by. Before I know it, I’m staring at the clock as it ticks past nine thirty. Nine thirty-five. Nine forty.

At nine forty-five I decide he’s not coming. Rather than freak out, I try to rationalize. Maybe that’s a good thing. After all, he thought he was meeting Courtney. Clearly he doesn’t even want to see her long enough to get his ring back. That must mean he’s totally over her. Right?

Then, just as I’m buying into my argument, a shadow appears in the doorway.

My heart slams once against my chest, freezes for a good ten seconds, then starts beating faster than ever.

He’s here. He’s actually here.

I don’t care if he’s here to meet Courtney—he’s here and I’m about to take the biggest chance of my life.

In the dim light from the hall I can make out the red bandana tied over his head. I watch, in awe, as he walks through the library, weaving through the sea of tables, heading directly for my hidden corner. He moves like a deep sea current—smooth and powerful. It’s like I’m watching him walk for the first time.

Then he’s right in front of me.

I can only make out his outline, but I get the feeling he’s looking directly into my eyes.

Tell him! That’s why you’re here. Open your mouth, form the words, and—

His hand cups the back of my neck, and before I can think, he dips down and our mouths meet. For a split second I worry that he thinks he’s kissing Courtney. But the instant the warmth of his soft lips spreads into mine, all thoughts dissolve. Pure feeling is all I have left. Little electric sparks zip through my bloodstream, making sure every nerve in my body is focused on his amazing mouth.

Instinct takes over, and I lift my arms to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. My fingers brush against his cheek, feeling the rough stubble of an unshaven face. An uncontrolled growl bursts from deep inside me, and I pull him even closer.

He tilts to the side a little, opens his mouth, licks his tongue across my lips, and then—

Pulls back.

My mind whirls. My lungs struggle for oxygen. I feel myself start to transfigure, my body reacting as if I am in water and need my gills. Shaking my head, I regain a little control and stop the change.

My emotions, too, are going insane. Not only do I feel my own raging joy and passion, but because of the new connection we just forged, I can feel some of his, too.

“Wow,” I gasp. “That was…”

I can’t find the words.

He can. “Incredible.”

My eyes pop open and I am instantly alert. That didn’t sound like Brody’s voice. That sounded more like—

“Bet Benson could never kiss you like that.”

“How was your night, dear?” Aunt Rachel asks when I stomp into the house.

“Fine,” I snap, slamming the front door behind me. “Just perfect.”

I ignore the muffled “Ow!” followed by loud banging.

“Lily,” he shouts, “let me in.”

Aunt Rachel looks at me. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” I answer sweetly, “of course not.”

Bang, bang. “Let me explain.”

“Is that Quince?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say, and start up the stairs to my bedroom.

Bang, bang. “I never planned to kiss you.”

I freeze, one foot hovering above the next step, my heart hammering in my chest. I can feel Aunt Rachel’s sharp gaze focus on me.

“Oh, Lily,” she gasps, “you didn’t.”

I whip around. “No,” I blurt out, tears floating just below the surface, “I didn’t.” I stomp down the stairs, walk to the door, and fling it open. One finger, shaking with fury, points at the pirate-clad nightmare standing on our front stoop. “He did!”

The nightmare, apparently thinking my opening the door is an invitation, takes a step forward. I slam the door harder.

“Ow!”

I hope his nose is broken.

“Wiwy,” he says in a voice that sounds like he’s squeezing his nose—victory! “Just wet me expwain—”

I throw the dead bolt.

“I’ll be in my room,” I announce, and head for the stairs again.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Aunt Rachel says, grabbing me by the arm as I go by. “You have some explaining to do yourself, girl.”

For a second I am a rock, utterly unemotional and ready to tell Aunt Rachel to leave me alone. The next, all the emotion and craziness of the last half hour—from the moment I kneed Quince in the squids until I slammed the door in his face for the second time—just bubbles up to the surface, and I explode.