Now, loose scattered pieces of her bracelet jangle in my pocket. Broken or not, I’d know the thing anywhere.I’m the one who made it.
It’s not that I’ve waited around pining all these years. But a promise is a promise. I’ve made this my yearly retreat—a good excuse for me to pause, take a step away from the family business for a week, and remember a time when life was as simple as ice cream and sunsets.
Problem is, I never planned on what I’d do if I saw her again, which is a damn shame considering she’s standing a few feet away.
Marina’s dyed her hair pink—pretty like coral in the deep sea, and when her green eyes flick up at me, sudden and large, it’s like I’ve inhaled spring water.
She’s gorgeous.
I need to say something perfect and collected, the best damn opening line I can think of. Only, I don’t—I can’t. The only thing I manage to do is stare until I’m well past a casual glance.
Come on, Gil,think.
“Hi,” is all that comes out and—damn it.
But then her green eyes meet mine, flicking with something akin to recognition. Maybe, a ‘Hi’ was all that was needed between old friends
“Sorry,” she says, nodding toward the path that leads to the boat tours. “Go ahead.”
“I, uh…”
There’s no time to recover. Within moments, her headphones are on and sunglasses cover any hint of an expression. Uncertainty blooms in my chest. Truth is, her reaction is more than fair considering the last time we saw each other I was covered in scales. But I can’t reveal my true self here. Heck, swimming under a glass bottom boat was already taking a risk I shouldn’t have today. Not in the age when cellphones andone bad move could mean the springs are crawling with cryptid hunters and curious tourists. Treading lightly has always had a dual meaning in the springs—even more so now.
As she turns away, conversations I’ve had with myself tumble through my mind. I can’t very well ask if she wants to
make mud pies in the sand. But, I bet she still likes s’mores.
Everyone likes s’mores.
A few children rush past us, their parents on their heels, and I step back to not get trampled. Marina doesn’t seem to notice. Wind blows back strands of pink hair; it’s grown long to the middle of her back. Her hair dances like ribbons in the wind, sending the scent of coconut and vanilla toward me.
She flutters through the growing crowd like a hummingbird, the fringe on her vest dancing with every step she takes.
I follow, and folks move out of the way of the gangly man with sandy blond hair, who I barely recognize in the reflections of the shop windows. There’s something off-putting that comes through when you’re hiding yourself. Most people can sense that, I think. My eyes are strangely large and wide-set; when folks look closely, they notice my blue-hued fingernails—not dark enough to be mistaken for nail polish, and not light enough to go unnoticed. At least my shirt covers the place a few scales break through the illusion on my chest. It’s no matter. As soon as we’re out of the crowd, I’ll reveal myself.
“Hey, it’s me—Gil! Remember, your best friend from ten years ago? The one who said he’d marry you and—”
No, not that.
I follow, hoping she’ll stop at a bench or a vending machine and—
By the goddesses! I’m all but chasing her as she flies onward, her fingers digging into a spot just below her hairline as she weaves through the crowd.
It’s not until we’re near the cabins that she slows, giving me the perfect chance to say something—anything. Despite the opening, my voice gets caught in my throat. There’s water beside the path, and without thinking, I slip off my glamour and slide down into the spring unnoticed.
The water is cool on my body, as though I’ve been welcomed home. I glide along, bowing my head to a large gator sunning at the water’s edge. They slowly blink their eyes as if acknowledging another predator in their midst—but Marina is far from my prey.
If anything, I’m more like a lost guppy following her home.
She’s approaching the cabins. Drawing in a deep breath, I rise out of the water as Marina approaches her door. There’s no one around, apart from the two of us. I have mere moments before I’ll have to hide…
“Marin—” I begin, but it’s too late. My former best friend is already on the other side of the door, with me scaly and dripping on the other side.
So, I do the only thing I can think of: sink down in the water and wait.What’s a few more hours, anyway?
Torture. That’s what waiting for her to open the door is. The thing about patience is it’s easier to have when it’s hypothetical. Now that she’s here—really here—I wait like a human child the night before Christmas. Practicing what I’ll say, how I’ll say it, when I’ll say it. I can’t let the moment go by again. I have to talk to her. But when the door finally swings open, every single word in my head dissolves like seafoam on sand.
Marina moves—a cellphone in her hands. The moon is high, and the paths out here are dimly lit. She wanders with the guiding light of her device, whispering and nodding to herself.
