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“It sure is,” their father said.
Shelly cracked open the container she was holding and shoveled some shrimp into her mouth. But as soon as it hit her tongue, she almost gagged. She spat it out on her plate in disgust.
Her father shot her a strange look. “What is it, honey?”
Dawson cracked up. “Shelly’s going to puke!”
Shelly set the kung pao shrimp aside, her stomach rumbling, and settled for plain rice instead. What is wrong with me? Usually she loved seafood. She had an uneasy feeling this had something to do with her wish, too.
She wouldn’t be surprised.
“Kiddos, it’s really nice to have you here,” their father said, looking up from his food. “Honestly, it gets kind of lonely during the week, even with all our fishy friends for company.”
“Yeah, Dad, we miss you, too,” she said, and she meant it.
She quickly wiped away a tear and finished her rice.
* * *
After dinner, while her father worked on the leaky tank and Dawson released his pent-up energy in the interactive play area, Shelly wandered through the labyrinth of the aquarium’s corridors. It felt like a different world down there—wild, exciting, alien, and free. She loved being there more than anywhere in the world, but problems weighed heavily on her heart like an anchor.
She glanced down the halls, which were empty and dimly lit. It was after hours, but many of the staffers and trainers were still working, cleaning up after the busy day of visitors or tending to the many animals in their care. Usually, she’d love to check the pH of the tanks with her father or feed the dolphins their gleaming silver fish, but that night she wanted to be alone.
She pressed her face to the glass of Queenie’s tank. “I wish you could talk to me. . . .”
The octopus seemed to understand. She swam up to the glass, her eight tentacles undulating in the eerie underwater lighting that filtered through the tank.
“You see, I have all these problems,” she said to the tank, soothed by Queenie’s graceful movements. “But I can’t tell anyone about them . . . and it’s the worst to feel alone—”
“Hey, Shelly, what’s up?”
The voice made her jump, but then she relaxed.
It was only Enrique.
“Oh, hey,” she said, playing it cool even though he’d caught her talking to an octopus.
“You know, I talk to them, too,” he said, flashing a conspiratorial grin. He studied Queenie. “I think they understand us. Or maybe it’s just my imagination. What do you think?”
How much could she tell him about what she knew? That there was deep magic in Triton Bay? That, indeed, some of the life down there could very likely understand them?
“Yeah, I think they do,” she said.
“Right?” Enrique was staring at her woolen scarf. “Haven’t seen you around much.”
“Oh, I’ve been busy with the new swim season,” she said, suddenly brightening. For a second, she forgot about her troubles. “I even set a new record time in practice.”
“Wow, congrats!” he said with a genuine smile. “Glad you’ve improved since your plunge into the ocean. Just kidding, of course.”
Their eyes met—and he held her gaze. She thought of how he’d saved her by pulling her out of the ocean. But then her hand returned to the scarf around her neck. She couldn’t risk him, or anyone, finding out about her gills. She felt them flare. “Uh, right. Hey, I have to help my dad with the leaking tank.” And with that, she ran off and left him standing by Queenie.
Why did she always act so awkward around him?
The truth was she liked him.
But somehow she always found a way to ruin it.
She always ended up acting, well, as Attina would say, hashtag lame.
