The Tail of Emily Windsnap Page 3

  She peered out toward the horizon. “I had a dream,” she said without turning around. “It felt so real. It was beautiful.”

  “When? What felt real?”

  She looked at me for a second, blinked, and turned back to the sea. “It was out there, somewhere. I can almost feel it.”

  “Mom, what are you talking about?”

  “Promise you won’t think I’m crazy.”

  “Course I won’t.”

  She smiled and ruffled my hair. I smoothed it back down. “When we were at Millie’s . . .” She closed her eyes. “I dreamed about a shipwreck, under the water. A huge golden boat with a marble mast. A ceiling of amber, a pavement of pearl . . .”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a line from a poem. I think. I can’t remember the rest. . . .” She gazed at the sea. “And the rocks. They weren’t like any rocks you’ve ever seen. They used to glisten every color you could imagine —”

  “Used to? What do you mean?”

  “Did I say that? I mean they did — in my dream. They shone like a rainbow in water. It’s just, it felt so real. So familiar . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she gave me a quick sideways look. “But I suppose it’s sometimes like that, isn’t it? We all have dreams that feel real. I mean, you do. Don’t you?”

  I was trying to figure out what to say when she started waving. “Oh, look,” she said briskly, “there’s Mr. Beeston.” I glanced up to see him marching toward the pier. He comes around for coffee every Sunday. Three o’clock on the dot. Mom makes coffee; he brings honey buns or doughnuts or bear claws. I usually scarf mine down quickly and leave the two of them alone. I don’t know what it is about him. He makes the boat feel smaller, somehow. Darker.

  Mom put her fingers in the edges of her mouth and let out a sharp whistle. Mr. Beeston turned around. He smiled awkwardly and gave us a quick wave.

  Mom stood up. “Come on. Better get back and put the water on.” And before I could ask her anything else, she was marching back to the boat. I had to run to keep up.

  I snuck out again that night. I couldn’t keep away. I swam farther this time. The sea was grimy with oil and rubbish near the shore, and I wanted to explore the cleaner, deeper water farther out.

  Looking back across the harbor, Brightport looked so small: a cluster of low buildings, all huddled around a tiny horseshoe-shaped bay, a lighthouse at one end, a marina at the other.

  A hazy glow hovered over the town. Blurry yellow street lamps shone, with the occasional white lights of a car moving along between them.

  As I swam around the rocks at the end of the bay, the water became clearer and softer. It was like switching from grainy black-and-white film into color. The fat gray fish were replaced by stripy yellow-and-blue ones with floppy silver tails, long thin green ones with spiky antennae and angry mouths, orange ones with spotted black fins — all darting purposefully around me.

  Every now and then, I swam across a shallow sandy stretch. Wispy little sticklike creatures as thin as paper wriggled along beneath me, almost see-through against the sand. Then the water would suddenly get colder and deeper as I went over a rocky part. I swished myself across these carefully. They were covered in prickly black sea urchins, and I wouldn’t be thrilled to get one of those stuck on my tail.

  Soon the water got warmer again as I came to another shallow part. I was getting tired. I came up for fresh air and realized I was miles from home — farther away than I’d ever been on my own. I tried to flick myself along, but my tail flapped lazily and started to ache. Eventually, I made it to a big, smooth rock with a low shelf. I pulled myself out of the water, my tail resting on some pebbles in the sea. A minute later, it went numb. I wiggled my toes and shivered as I watched my legs come back. That part was still really creepy!

  Sitting back against a larger rock, I caught my breath. Then I heard something. Like singing, but without words. The wet rocks shimmered in the moonlight, but there was no one around. Had I imagined it? The water lapped against the pebbles, making them jangle as it sucked its breath away from the shore. There it was again — the singing.

  Where was it coming from? I clambered up a jagged rock and looked down the other side. That’s when I saw her. I rubbed my eyes. Surely it couldn’t be . . . but it was! It was a mermaid! A real one! The kind you read about in kids’ stories. Long blond hair all the way down her back, which she was brushing while she sang. She was perched on the edge of a rock, shuffling a bit as though she were trying to get comfortable. Her tail was longer and thinner than mine. Silvery green and shimmering in the moonlight, it flapped against the rock as she sang.

  She kept singing the same song. When she got to the end, she started again. A couple of times, she was in the middle of a really high part when she stopped and hit her tail with the brush. “Come on, Shona,” she said sharply. “Get it right!”

  I stared for ages, opening and closing my mouth like a fish. I wanted to talk to her. But what exactly do you say to a singing mermaid perched on a rock in the middle of the night? Funnily enough, I’ve never had that come up before.

  In the end, I coughed gently and she looked up immediately.

  “Oh!” she said. She gaped open-mouthed at my legs for a second. And then, with a twist and a splash, she was gone.

  I picked my way back down the rocks to the water’s edge. “Wait!” I shouted as she swam away from me. “I really want to talk to you.”

  She turned in the water and looked back at me suspiciously. “I’m a mermaid, too!” I shouted. Yeah right, with my skinny legs and my Speedo bathing suit — she’d really believe that! “Wait, I’ll prove it.”

  I jumped into the water and started swimming toward her. I still had that moment of panic when my legs stuck together and stiffened. But then they relaxed into their new shape, and I relaxed, too, as I swished my tail and sped through the water.

  The mermaid was swimming away from me again, faster now. “Hang on,” I called. “Watch!” I waited for her to turn around, then dove under and flicked my tail upward. I waved it as high as I could.

  When I came back up, she was staring at me as though she couldn’t believe what she’d seen. I smiled, but she ducked her head under the water. “Don’t go!” I called. But a second later, her tail was sticking up. Not twisting around madly like mine did, more as if she were dancing or doing gymnastics. In the moonlight, her tail glinted like diamonds.

  When she came back up, I clapped. Or tried to anyway, but I slipped back under when I lifted both arms out and got water up my nose.

  She was laughing as she swam toward me. “I haven’t seen you before,” she said. “How old are you?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Me, too. But you’re not at my school, are you?”

  “Brightport Junior High,” I said. “Just started.”

  “Oh.” She looked worried and moved away from me again.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “It’s just . . . I haven’t heard of it. Is it a mermaid school?’

  “You go to a mermaid school?” The idea sounded like something out of a fairy tale, and even though I’ve totally grown out of fairy tales, I had to admit it sounded pretty cool.

  She folded her arms — how did she do that without sinking? — and said quite sternly, “And what’s wrong with that? What kind of school do you expect me to go to?”

  “No, it sounds great!” I said. “I wish I did, too.”

  I found myself wanting to tell her everything. “I mean. . . I haven’t been a mermaid for long. Or I didn’t know I was, or something.” My words jumbled and tumbled out of me. “I’ve never even really been in the water, and then when I did get in, it happened and I was scared, but I’m not now and I wish I’d found out years ago.”

  I looked up to see her staring at me as though I were something from outer space that had washed up on the beach. I stared back and tried folding my arms, too. I found that if I kept flicking my tail a little, I could stay upright. So I flicked and folded and s
tared for a little while, and she did the same. Then I noticed the side of her mouth flutter a bit and I felt the dimple below my left eye twitching. A second later, we were both laughing like hyenas.

  “What are we laughing at?” I said when I managed to catch my breath.

  “I don’t know!” she answered — and we both burst out laughing again.

  “What’s your name?” she said once we’d stopped laughing. “I’m Shona Silkfin.”

  “Emily,” I said. “Emily Windsnap.”

  Shona stopped smiling. “Windsnap? Really?”

  “Why? What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing — it’s just . . .”

  “What?”

  “No, it’s nothing. I thought I’d heard it before, but I guess I couldn’t have. I must be thinking of something else. You haven’t been around here before, have you?”

  I laughed. “A couple weeks ago, I’d never even been swimming in a pool!”

  Shona looked serious for a second. “How did you do that thing just now?” she asked.

  “What thing?”

  “With your tail.”

  “You mean the handstand? You want me to do it again?”

  “No, I mean the other thing.” She pointed under the water. “How did you make it change?”

  “I don’t know. It just happens. When I go in water, my legs kind of disappear.”

  “I’ve never seen someone with legs before. Not in real life. I’ve read about it. What’s it like?”

  “What’s it like having legs?”

  Shona nodded.

  “Well, it’s — it’s cool. You can walk, and run. And climb things, or jump or skip.”

  Shona gazed at me as if I were speaking a foreign language. “You can’t do this with legs,” she said as she dove under again. This time her tail twisted around and around, faster and faster in an upside-down pirouette. Water spun off as she turned, spraying tiny rainbow arcs over the surface.

  “That was fantastic!” I said when she came back up again.

  “We’ve been practicing it in Diving and Dance. We’re doing a display at the Inter-Bay competition in a couple of weeks. This is the first time I’ve been on the squad.”

  “Diving and Dance? Is that a class you take?” I asked, a wish already forming in my mind.

  “Yeah,” she went on breathlessly. “But last year, I was in the choir. Mrs. Highwave said that five fishermen were seen wandering aimlessly toward the rocks during my solo performance.” Shona smiled proudly, her earlier shyness totally vanished. “No one at Shiprock School has ever had that many before.”

  “So that’s — that’s good, huh?”

  “Good? It’s great! I want to be a siren when I grow up.”

  I stared at her. “So all that stuff in fairy tales about mermaids luring fishermen to watery graves — it’s all true?”

  Shona shrugged. “It’s not like we want them to die. Not necessarily. Usually, we just hypnotize them into changing their ways and then wipe their memories so they move away and forget they saw us.”

  “Wipe their memories?”

  “Usually, yes. It’s our best defense. Not everyone knows how to do it. Mainly just sirens and those close to the king. We just use it to stop them from stealing all our fish, or finding out about our world.” She leaned in closer. “Sometimes, they fall in love.”

  “The mermaids and the fishermen?”

  Shona nodded excitedly. “There’re loads of stories about it. It’s totally illegal — but so romantic, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I guess so. Is that why you were singing just now?”

  “Oh, that. No, I was practicing for Beauty and Deportment,” she said, as if I totally would know what she was talking about. “We’ve got a test tomorrow, and I can’t get my posture right. You have to sit perfectly, tilt your head exactly right, and brush your hair in a hundred smooth strokes. It’s a pain in the gills trying to remember everything at once.”

  She paused, and I guessed it was my turn to say something. “Mmm-hmm, yeah, I know what you mean,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing.

  “I came in first in last semester’s final, but that was just hair brushing. This is the whole package.”

  “It sounds really tough.”

  “B and D is my favorite subject,” she went on. “I wanted to be seventh-grade hairbrush monitor, but Cynthia Smoothflick got it.” She lowered her voice. “But Mrs. Sharptail told me that if I do well in this test, maybe they’ll give it to me in the spring.”

  What was I meant to say to that?

  “You think I’m a goody-goody, don’t you?” she said, waching my face. She started to swim away again. “Just like everybody else does.”

  “No, of course not,” I said. “You’re . . . you’re . . .” I struggled to find the right words. “You’re . . . really interesting.”

  “You’re pretty swishy, too,” she said, and let herself float back.

  “How come you’re out in the middle of the night, anyway?” I asked.

  “These rocks are the best ones around for B and D, but you can’t really come here in the daytime. It’s too dangerous.” She stuck a thumb out toward the coast. “I usually sneak out on Sunday nights. Or Wednesdays. Mom’s always out like a tide by nine o’clock on Sunday. She likes to be fresh for the week ahead. And she has her aquarobics on Wednesdays and always sleeps more soundly after that. Dad sleeps like a whale every night!” Shona laughed. “Anyway, I’m glad I came tonight.”

  I smiled. “Me, too.” The moon had moved around and was shining down on me, a tiny chink missing from its side. “But I have to get going soon,” I added, yawning.

  Shona frowned. “Are you going to come back some other time?”

  “Yeah, I’d like that.” She might be a bit strange, but she was a mermaid. The only one I’d ever met. She was like me! “When?”

  “Wednesday?”

  “Great.” I grinned. “And good luck on your test!”

  “Thanks!” she shouted. And with a flick of her tail, she was gone.

  As I swam around Brightport Harbor in the darkness, the beam from the lighthouse flashed steady rays across the water. I stopped for a moment to watch. Each beam slowly scanned the water before disappearing around the back of the lighthouse. It was almost hypnotic. A large ship silently made its way across the horizon, its silhouette briefly visible with each slow beam of light.

  But then I noticed something else. Someone was standing on the rocks at the bottom of the lighthouse. Mr. Beeston! What was he doing? He seemed to be looking out at the horizon, following the ship’s progress.

  I ducked under the water as another beam came around. What if he’d seen me? I stayed underwater until the light had passed. When I came up again, I looked back at the lighthouse. There was no one there.

  And then the light went off. I waited. It didn’t come back on.

  I tried to imagine what it was like inside. Just Mr. Beeston, all by himself, rattling around in a big empty lighthouse. Footsteps echoing with emptiness whenever he climbed up and down the stone spiral stairs. Sitting alone, looking out at the sea. Watching the light. What kind of a life was that? What kind of a person could live that life? And why hadn’t the light come back on?

  Dark questions followed me home.

  By the time I reached the pier, it was nearly morning. Shivering, I pulled myself up the rope ladder.

  I snuck back onto the boat and hung my jacket near the stove. It would be dry by morning. Mom likes the place to be like a sauna at night.

  As I crept into bed, I thanked the lucky stars on my ceiling that I’d gotten home with my secret still safe. For now.

  “Don’t forget your things.” Mom reached through the side door, holding an object that filled me with dread.

  “Oh, yeah.” I took my swimming bag from her.

  “And get a move on. You don’t want to be late, do you?”

  “No, of course not.” I looked down at the rippled sand between the wooden slats of the dock. �
��Mom?” I said quietly.

  “What, sweetheart?”

  “Do I have to go to school?”

  “Have to go? Of course you have to go. What crazy idea do you have in your head now?”

  “I don’t feel well.” I clutched my stomach and tried to look like I was in pain.

  Mom pulled herself up through the door and crouched on the jetty in front of me. She cupped my chin in her hand and lifted my face to look at hers. I hate it when she does that. The only way I can avoid her eyes is by closing my own, and then I feel like an idiot.

  “What is all this about?” she asked. “Is it your new school? Don’t you like it?”

  “School’s fine,” I said quickly. “Mostly.”

  “What is it, then? Is it swimming?”

  I tried to move my head away but she held on tight. “No,” I lied, looking as far to the side as I could, my head still trapped in her hand.

  “I thought we had that all fixed,” she said. “Are you worried in case it hasn’t worked?”

  Why hadn’t I thought of that? I couldn’t believe how stupid I was! I should have realized that if I let her think I was cured, I’d have to go swimming again!

  “I’ve got a stomachache,” I said weakly.

  Mom let go of my chin. “Come on, sweet pea, there’s nothing wrong with you, and you know it. Now, scoot.” She patted my leg and stood up. “You’ll be fine,” she added, more gently.

  “Hmm,” I replied, and sloped up the ramp and along the pier to wait by the promenade for the jitney that drops me off near school.

  I slunk into homeroom just as Mrs. Partington was closing the attendance book. She looked at her watch and said, “I’ll turn a blind eye, just this once.”

  She always says that. Everyone laughs when she does because she actually does have a blind eye. It’s bright blue, just like her other one, but it doesn’t move. It just stares at you, even when she’s looking away. It’s a bit freaky. You don’t know where to look when she’s talking to you, so we all try not to get in trouble. She always has the best-behaved class in the school.

  I didn’t laugh with the others this time, though. I just said, “Sorry,” and went to sit down, pushing my hateful swimming bag under the table.