Piper
I don’t see Tati before work on Wednesday morning, but she texts me a list of chores before my lunch break. It’s like she’s the wicked not-stepsister and I’m Cinderella. Except I don’t have birds or mice to bolster my mood.
After my shift at the park, I walk back to the Towers, hoping Tati’s still in her lobby office with a stack of complaints or applications or invoices—whatever she does on the day-to-day.
I’m in luck; our apartment’s empty. I blow off my sister’s to-do list and make a quick change into a black bikini she calls not nearly modest enough, topping it with a light sundress that does double duty as a cover-up.
Then I go to the beach, where I spend what’s left of the afternoon with my worn-out copy of Delphina of the Starlit Sea, the first story in a blockbuster fantasy trilogy about a mermaid princess fighting for her rightful crown.
It’s my favorite series of all time. I reread it every year; this time around it’s bringing me even more comfort than usual, because this summer blows.
Freshman year, Gabi and I spent a lot of time on this stretch of sand, camped out on the padded loungers, sipping seltzer, listening to new pop and old country, and trading books.
We adore fantasy, and we both love Delphina.
She’s into true crime as well, and I haven’t met a frothy romance I don’t like, so we never had a shortage of stories to read.
We’d take turns keeping watch for Tati, and when we’d spot her marching onto the hot sand, heels in hand, mouth pulled into a perpetual frown, Gabi and I would jet into the surf, pretending not to hear her shouts.
Around five, we’d retreat to our respective homes, shower off the salt, and grace our families with our presence at dinner, then sneak out again after dark.
That’s around the time that Hudson and Jayden started to join us.
Sometimes Hudson’s cousin Anna and her best friend, Michaela, came too, because they’re in our grade and Hudson’s too nice to leave anyone out.
We had innocent fun: night swims and games of Thirty-One, betting quarters and laughing a lot.
Mitchel Damon moved to Sugar Bay at the beginning of sophomore year.
He joined the wrestling team and became fast friends with the guys.
The following summer, he started coming to our nighttime get-togethers.
That was when gambling with spare change became a thing of the past. Damon advocated for skinny-dipping in the Gulf, games of I Never, and generously spiked drinks.
Jayden’s brother was twenty-four and didn’t have a problem with providing alcohol to minors, so the guys began showing up with wine coolers, Malibu, cheap beer, and Fireball.
Our exclusive gatherings became parties, but as far as Gabi and I were concerned, everyone else was part of the backdrop.
It had been her and me since we were nine, when she moved to Sugar Bay with her parents and younger brother, Tyson.
I was as much of a loner back then as I am now, happy watching movies with my mom, snorkeling with my dad, or paging through the ocean-centric library my parents proudly curated for me.
Back then, I thought Tati was the sun and the moon, but she had moved to Boston, and I cherished having our parents’ undivided attention.
The kids in my class didn’t get me. I was mature for my age (though Tati refuses to believe that was ever the case) and quiet until I started blathering about subjects I cared about, like marine biology and the Delphina trilogy.
I wasn’t bullied, probably because I’d socked Jason Elliot in third grade.
He’d called me a tramp, a word he couldn’t define but took great pleasure in tossing around when our teacher wasn’t listening. After that, no one gave me shit.
Gabi Moore joined us in November of fourth grade and was assigned the only empty seat in the classroom, which was next to me.
After she’d loaded her supplies into the cubby under her desk, she noticed the paperback peeking out of mine—the first book in The Spiderwick Chronicles.
“I liked that one a lot,” she said. “Have you read the others?”
“Not yet, but I’m going to. Have you read Delphina of the Starlit Sea?”
She grinned. “I have—I love it! Delphina and the Coral Crown is my favorite.”
“That’s my favorite of the movies, but the first book is my favorite of the novels.” Because my parents had originally read it to me, a chapter or two a night, snuggled up on the couch.
Gabi sighed happily. “I’ve seen the movies more times than I can count.”
“Me too! We should marathon them together sometime.”
We did that very weekend, laying the foundation of our friendship.
God, I miss her.
It’s after five when my stomach protests its emptiness.
I throw my cover-up on over my suit, pack my towel and book, and walk down the shore to the stretch of restaurants that draw tourists.
Usually I steer clear of them, but coconut shrimp sounds amazing, and I don’t feel like dealing with my sister.
I pick a sports bar, Blitz Brews. It’s been around a few years, though I’ve never been inside because I have no use for sports or bars.
Tati’s eaten here, though, and she mentioned that it’s good.
The hostess greets me, pulls a menu from her podium, and walks me toward a line of booths along a wall of windows.
Adjusting my bag on my shoulder, I do a double take as I pass Henry, who I haven’t seen since my belly flop into the pool. He’s hunkered down at the end of the bar, face sunburned as hell, 100 percent engrossed in the book he was poring over before my impromptu swim.
He’s as amusingly dorky as my rose-tinted memory of him, and now he’s hot too.
It was nice to hang out with someone who doesn’t know about my tragedy of a backstory or my recent screw-ups.
I consider saying hi, but I’m guessing he’s meeting his dad.
Probably for the best; my imagination’s done a number on him over the years, shaping him into a romantic hero instead of a teenage boy.
It’s probably wise not to clue him in to how bonkers the inner workings of my brain can be.
I take a seat several booths away, then peruse the menu, stealing glances at Henry every so often. He’s seriously fried. Has no one handed him a bottle of sunscreen since his return to Florida? He doesn’t look up as a waiter breezes by him and stops in front of me.
He’s the hunky windsurfer type, dressed in khaki shorts and a collared shirt with BLITZ brEWS embroidered where a polo horse might otherwise be.
His name tag reads CLAY. Tati would say he’s too old for me, but he’s probably only halfway through a bachelor’s degree.
I ask for coconut shrimp with fries and sweet tea with lemon.
He nods, flashing me a catalogue-worthy smile before hustling toward the kitchen.
I’m taking inspiration from bookworm Henry and pulling my paperback from my bag when there’s a commotion near the entrance. I look up to find the source of the noise.
Damon.
My heart plummets.
He’s with Jayden and Hudson, guys I’ve known most of my life, guys I called friends up until the night everything fell apart.
Before, Gabi and I were the sun of our own solar system, a sparkling supernova the boys orbited with enthusiasm.
Now that I’ve been cast out, I’m not sure what they think of me.
Not that I want Damon to think of me—not now, not ever.
The hostess who seated me gestures for them to follow her.
Though he’s only known Hudson and Jayden for a couple years, Damon’s the ringleader of their trio.
He makes seating requests and shouts questions about which TV will air the Tampa Bay Rays game.
By the time they’ve settled a few tables away from me, in front of the TV they’ve deemed best, I’m pretty sure I’ve successfully hidden behind my book, despite the dismal odds.
“Holy shit—Piper!” Hudson says, his voice carrying across the restaurant.
Of the three boys, I like him most. He’s got a younger sister and a nice mom and a higher standard for manners than most of the guys I know, especially the wrestling guys.
Right now, though, I hate him for calling attention to me.
Because now Jayden and Damon are looking at me too, as is Henry, his expression caught somewhere between delight and surprise.
I force my distress down as Jayden calls out a hello. Damon says nothing, though his stare sends a tremor through me, rattling my facade of composure.
“Your hair looks awesome,” Hudson says, waving me over. “Come sit with us.”
I loop a dark curl behind my ear, then tuck in like a sea snail, rounding my spine, dropping my chin. Pointing to my book, I shrug like, Little ol’ me, reading alone at dinnertime.
My pass garners affable boos, plus a dickish eye roll from Damon.
Jayden and Hudson move on to their menus, but Damon isn’t done.
He snares my gaze and holds it hostage. My face goes hot, and my palms turn clammy.
A lot of what happened at Gabi’s party is a boozy blur, but despite what she thinks she saw, I remember this: I felt worthless, powerless, afraid when I was alone with Damon.
It’s the same now, even in a busy sports bar with Hudson, Jayden, Henry, and a whole waitstaff within shouting distance.
His stare grazes my mouth before falling to my neck, my shoulders, my sternum, bared by my flimsy sundress.
Goose bumps fan out over my skin.
He takes off his dingy white baseball hat, stained with a ring of sweat. He runs a hand through his flaxen hair, then repositions the hat backward, giving me full view of his face. He licks his lips and then, in a voice that projects, says, “I liked you better blond.”
I focus on the words printed in my book, which are starting to swim.
He won’t quit. “You look hot in that bikini, though.”
I look up and say, loudly and without thought, “Fuck you, Damon.”
“You wish,” he says, punctuated by a filthy hand gesture.
God. What does Gabi see in him?
People are looking at me like I’m a willing participant in this spectacle, though nothing could be further from the truth. I’m mortified and a nanosecond from crawling under the table when Jayden, bless him, throws an elbow into Damon’s shoulder. “Dude, don’t be an ass.”
His admonishing is in good fun, all Ha ha, boys will be boys.
He and Hudson are truly decent, but they’re as clueless as Gabi when it comes to who Damon really is.
Mostly they just enjoy railing on each other.
Still, I send him a quick nod of thanks before nose-diving back into my book.
Tears prick my eyes, and there’s a mango-size lump in my throat, but I will not cry. Not here. Not in front of Damon.
A shadow falls over my table. I look up, expecting Clay and a plate of crispy coconut shrimp. I find Henry, holding his big-ass book and a half-drained glass of soda.
He slides in beside me, close enough that I feel the heat of his arm against mine. His body language allows for the assumption that we’re together—maybe that’s the point—and if that’ll shut up Damon, great.
“Friends of yours?” he asks, nodding toward the guys.
“Define friends,” I say dryly.
Raucous laughter explodes from their table. It’s probably not aimed at me, but it feels personal. My flush deepens. I bet I’m as red as Henry’s sunburned cheeks.
He’s staring Damon down, and he looks pissed, like one more word out of this new adversary will have him shattering his glass in a Hulk-like fist. Damon’s an all-district wrestler, but he’s lean and only an inch or two taller than me. A tiger shark to Henry’s great white.
I wonder if he’s intimidated.
Damon looks away first.
Coward.
Henry swigs his soda then bangs the glass down on the tabletop, seemingly disgusted by this idiot who harasses girls in family establishments.
I’m a little intimidated myself.
But when he looks back at me, his face clears. He shifts a little, like he’s just become aware of how close we’re sitting. In the space of a heartbeat, he’s returned to the Henry I’m acquainted with: sweet, mindful, a little awkward.
“That guy’s a tool,” he tells me. “I apologize on behalf of my gender.”
“Unnecessary, but thank you.”
“You go to school with him?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Does he always treat you like that?”
“It’s a recent development.”
“It’s bullshit.”
“Yeah. Tell me about it.”
He gives me a reserved smile. “I didn’t mean to butt in. You clearly had it handled. It just looked like you could use some backup.”
Dog-earing the page I last read, I set my book on the tabletop. Henry puts his near it and asks, “Got a thing for mermaids?”
“Totally,” I say, glad we’ve wordlessly agreed to pretend Damon doesn’t exist. I rest a reverent hand on Delphina of the Starlit Sea’s worn cover; her black-blue hair swirls in the water around her, and her lilac tail is curled coyly.
I’ll never be ashamed of Delphina and her underwater world. “Mermaids are the best.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Henry says.
“You’ve never read the Delphina trilogy?”
“No.”
“But you’ve seen the movies, right?”
“Nope.”
“How is that possible? They’re a freaking phenomenon.” I narrow my eyes. “Are you one of those guys who thinks mermaids are only for girls?”
“Not even a little bit. I haven’t read the Percy Jackson books or The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe either. Fantasy’s just not my thing.”
“Fantasy can be anyone’s thing.”
He allows that. “Then I guess I’m not interested in reading about little kids.”
It takes true effort to reel in my exasperation.
It irks me when people act as though books about children can’t have meaningful themes.
Even Henry, unwitting star of my fantasies, isn’t immune to my fierce defense of my favorite books.
“Delphina’s not a little kid. She’s fourteen when the trilogy starts and our age at the end of the third book.
By then, this land dweller who comes from nothing has saved the sea, found true love, and become the ruler of a kingdom of merfolk. She’s a hero.”
Henry smirks, amused. “If you say so.”
I pick up my book and hug it to my chest, shielding it from his indifference. “You sound like my sister.”
His eyes twinkle—he’s obviously flattered. “Yeah?”
I level him with a glower. “That’s not a compliment.”