Page 7 of Crashing Tides

These are Mom’s college records. Not much, only a few pages with her ID photos (she’s so young, probably the same age as me right now, I think, and my throat constricts), transcripts, notes from her professors (all in fluttery, elegant handwriting that I could never hope to compete with), and a list of honorary achievements. I flip through the pages with my heart in my throat, blinking back tears. I never knew about this part of her life.

At the back of the packet, there are a few printed photos. Black and white, like something from a yearbook. In one, Mom is sitting at a picnic table, surrounded by other students, smiling wide. In the next, she’s bent over a very elaborate chemistry set, holding a pipette, her expression one of pure concentration.

In another, she’s among her friends again, but this time there’s a man beside her. They’re not touching, but they are standing awfully close together. Too close for casual friends. He’s pretty. Fae. Blond.

Is this… Could this man be my father? I squint at Mom, trying to see if she’s pregnant, but I can’t tell. If she is, she’s not showing yet.

The coffee pot beeps, and I jump out of my seat like I’ve been electrocuted. Before Orea can indicate whether she wants any, I grab two mugs from the cabinet, slosh coffee into them with shaking hands. “Cream?” I ask, and she shakes her head, bewildered.

On a good day, I’m about as graceful as an elephant. Today is not a good day, so I drip coffee all over the table. Orea moves Mom’s documents out of the way and politely sips from her mug while I stub my toe on the way to grab paper towels.

Eventually, the mess is cleaned up. I sit across from Orea and take an anxious sip of coffee. “Um, thanks for bringing this. I really appreciate the expedited service.”

I actually think this entire situation is weird as fuck, but I figure it’s in my favor to be polite, just in case.

“Well, actually, we don’t send people out just for document delivery,” says Orea, smiling again. I look away from her needle-like teeth.

“I kinda figured.” Coffee burns my lips, my tongue, my throat, then my chest. I almost gag, but the pain is grounding. Keeps my mind from immediately running to a worst-case scenario.

When I glance back at Orea, her gaze is gentle, considering. Like she’s sizing me up, but not unkindly. “I read your email last night. It sounds like you didn’t know you were fae?”

I take another sip of coffee and shake my head.

“That’s interesting. Were you close to your mom?”

I don’t quite know what to say. Growing up, my mom was my best friend, my closest ally, and also my worst enemy. The good times were good, but her punishments were harsh, her moods unpredictable. A storm could strike at any moment, even if there were no clouds in sight. I constantly walked on eggshells. “Sort of?”

Orea gives a polite nod of acknowledgment. “I understand. I was never close to my dad growing up.” Her gaze grows rueful, then brightens, like she’s just remembered she’s at work.

I want to tell her not to worry about putting on her customer service persona, but I’m worried that might offend her. Also, I kind of need it. I am less than reassured right now. If Orea loses it, I am definitely going to follow suit.

Everything in my life is fragile, unstable, up in the air. When I come down, I’m going to crash hard.

Some people are calm in a crisis, but I’m not one of them. I just kind of… shut down. Stand there frozen, gaping like a fish while the people around me solve the problem. Whether it’s a robbery or a car crash, I’m useless.

So it’s probably good that she’s sweet-faced and professional, even if her face has that vaguely alien quality all fae seem to have. It’s too narrow, with wide-spaced, big eyes, a petite nose, a small mouth. Beautiful, ethereal, and just a little bit fucking creepy.

She bends to pull another folder from her ridiculously fancy bag—I think of Alex, the CEO I dated for all of two months during my freshman year of college. He always carried similar briefcases. I wonder if they’re made by the same company.

The new folder is black, shiny. Stamped across the top in gold foil is a single word: Admissions.

I have not had enough coffee for this.

“It’s turns out, we didn’t have record of you, either,” says Orea. Her polite smile grows mischievous, smug. I realize now that she must have planned this all along. “But we ran an investigation, and it’s true: Nancy Morgenstern has a son.”

I nod, say stupidly, “That’s me,” in case she forgot.

“Which means that I’d like to formally invite you to Halea University on behalf of the Board of Educators,” she says, her expression genuinely pleased. She pushes the folder over to me, lifts it open with a perfectly manicured finger. “Obviously, we’re aware of your situation, so this will be a full-ride scholarship, provided you keep your grades up, of course, and…”

She rambles off a list of criteria. I spend a lot of time blinking uselessly, trying to absorb her words, but they slide off me like raindrops on a windowpane. Nothing sinks in. Nothing even makes sense.

A full-ride scholarship to some kind of fae university? Never in my wildest dreams have I dreamed of something like this. Glamorous and untouchable, the fae were so far removed from my life that I was kind of shocked the first time one hit on me at a bar. I never thought they’d want anything to do with me. Definitely never thought I’d be among them.

“Wait,” I mumble over the rim of my coffee mug. Orea’s rambling ceases at once. A perfectly shaped eyebrow raises in inquiry. “Does this mean I have magic?”

If I have magic, it’s incredibly dormant. I can recall exactly one incident in my life where I could have used it. By the way Orea’s lips purse, I can tell she isn’t fully convinced.

“So you… may have reassembled a picture frame?”