Chapter 3
Maeve
Parent-teacher conference night is always organized chaos, no matter how much we prepare for it.
Still, we're all going to do our best. Student artwork depicting spring scenes and underwater adventures line the walls along with the smiling pictures of the children and their teachers, though the fluorescent lights cast everything in a slightly harsh glow.
Time to start this show. I glance down at my watch and adjust the name tag pinned to my cardigan, then take a deep breath that turns into a long yawn.
I'm only greeting parents and directing people inside the school tonight, but I've been here since seven this morning and my fatigue is starting to show.
Still, I always volunteer for parent-teacher conference night. People have come to expect it.
I sweep my gaze across the main hallway where chairs have been arranged in waiting areas outside each classroom. Everything is in order, as it should.
My stomach growls, reminding me I skipped dinner in my rush to prepare.
I snag a star-shaped sugar cookie from the refreshment table and take a bite, groaning in pleasure at the hint of vanilla and lemon flavors that are hallmarks of Mrs. Flannery's baking.
The school's cafeteria witch may be strict with portion sizes at lunch, but she never skimps on flavor.
"Maeve!" Harriet's voice cuts through the low murmur of parent conversations. She weaves around two chatting mothers, her cheeks flushed and hair escaping its professional bun. "You're here already!"
"Said I'd help, didn't I?" I brush cookie crumbs from my hands.
"You've been working since before class." Harriet narrows her eyes. "You don't need to stay all evening."
"I'm fine." I wave away her concern. "I'm just the greeter. It's fun and I get to meet all the new parents as well."
"All work and no play, Maeve." She gives me that look I know too well, the one that says she can see right through me. "You need to get a life outside this school."
"I'm just being helpful." I avoid her gaze, focusing instead on straightening a stack of summer reading program pamphlets.
Before Harriet can lecture me further, I notice Mr. and Mrs. Fangsworth hovering uncertainly at the juncture between two hallways.
"I'll go help them find Ms. Howell's room," I say, already moving away. "We'll catch up later?"
Harriet sighs but nods. "Don't overdo it."
I cross the hallway quickly, putting on my most reassuring smile. "Mr. and Mrs. Fangsworth! Looking for Ms. Howell's classroom?"
"Yes, thank you, Nurse Maeve." Mrs. Fangsworth's tense posture relaxes slightly. "This place is a maze."
"It's just down the hall on the left," I explain, gesturing for them to follow me.
"Did you hear about the Stillwaters?" As we walk, Mrs. Fangsworth shifts closer to me, lowering her voice. "Apparently, they're renovating their entire underwater grotto after that unfortunate incident with their daughter's pet octopus."
Mr. Fangsworth chuckles, a surprisingly gentle sound from such a large man.
"No!" I gasp, always a sucker for Saltford Bay's harmless gossip. "What happened?"
"Let's just say ink stains don't come out of carpets easily," she whispers with a wink. "I heard the girl tried to pretend it was her, but her mother wasn't a fool. Krakens don't get their ink till they're at least twelve years old."
"Smart girl." I nod. Kyra Stillwater was indeed one of the brightest kraken students of the school. "Here's Ms. Howell's room. She'll be so pleased to show you Tommy's science project."
After directing the Fangsworths, I return to my post as greeter and guide. For the next two hours, I direct lost parents, answer questions about our summer programs, and replenish our stock of baked goods and drinks at the concession table.
By eight thirty, my feet ache and my smile feels plastered on my face. I slip into the teacher's lounge for a fresh cup of herbal tea, pouring the hot brew into my favorite mug.
"Weird bug, whatever it is," Ms. Jensen says to Mr. Rockwell near the coffee maker. "Emmie Stinson's entire family is sick, and she said the spots glow in the dark."
"Probably just spring fever." Mr. Rockwell shrugs. "Happens every year."
I take a sip of my tea, mulling over their words. Glowing spots doesn't sound like any spring fever I've encountered.
"Ah, Maeve!" The deep, rumbling voice behind me makes me jump, tea sloshing dangerously close to the rim of my cup.
Principal Braggstone fills the doorway, his seven-foot troll frame requiring him to duck slightly to enter the lounge.
His gray-green skin looks almost olive under the fluorescent lights, and his perpetually furrowed brow suggests either deep thinking or mild constipation.
I'd place a bet on the latter. The moss-green stubble on his otherwise bald head catches the light as he moves, creating an almost shimmering effect that would be beautiful if it weren't attached to someone who makes my skin crawl. His massive hands, each finger thick as a sausage and tipped with manicured nails, grip the doorframe as he looks at me like I’m a cake on display at the bakery.
"Principal Braggstone." I nod politely, already calculating the fastest escape route.
"Orlin, please." He smiles, revealing shockingly white and even teeth. "We're colleagues, after all."
"Orlin," I echo, inching toward the door.
"Volunteering late again?" He moves farther into the room but stays in the doorway, effectively blocking my path. "Such dedication! The school is lucky to have you."
"Just helping out." I gesture vaguely toward the hallway. "Actually, I should check on the refreshment table."
"I'll walk with you." He falls into step beside me, his long stride forcing me to walk faster than comfortable. "I was fishing last weekend, you know. Caught the biggest trout anyone's seen in Saltford Bay this season."
"Impressive," I murmur, scanning the hallway, desperate for an excuse to break away.
"The key is patience," he continues, standing too close as I rearrange cookies on the refreshment table. "You can't rush these things. The fish, or whatever you're after, needs to feel comfortable before it takes the bait."
I nod mechanically, the metaphor not lost on me. His massive frame hovers over mine, casting a shadow across the table. My skin prickles with discomfort, but years of professionalism keep my smile fixed in place.
From across the room, I spot Harriet waving frantically, pointing to a worried-looking woman with iridescent blue skin and a long flowing head of hair that falls all the way to her knees.
"Excuse me," I say, relief washing through me. "I believe someone needs medical advice."
I navigate quickly toward Harriet, ignoring Orlin's disappointed expression.
"Thank you," I whisper to Harriet before turning to Mrs. Sirensong and listening to her worry about her daughter losing her voice.
"She's hardly spoken for days," Mrs. Sirensong explains, her own voice musical despite her concern. "And when she does, it's barely a whisper."
"How old is Coral now? Thirteen?" I ask, recalling the shy mermaid girl who occasionally visits my office for seasickness patches during field trips.
Mrs. Sirensong nods.
"Voice changes are completely normal for adolescent mermaids," I explain. "Their vocal cords are adapting to both air and underwater communication. Has she been practicing her singing exercises?"
"Not as much as she should," Mrs. Sirensong admits.
"Try warm saltwater gargles for five minutes, three times daily," I suggest. "And encourage those scales, the musical kind, not just the ones on her tail."
Mrs. Sirensong laughs, tension easing from her shoulders. "You're a treasure, Nurse Maeve."
By the time I'm done speaking with Mrs. Sirensong, Principal Braggstone is gone and I breathe more freely.
I'm still bone-tired by nine thirty, the scheduled end of conferences.
After another thirty minutes of tidying up the reception and hallways, I check my watch, surprised at how quickly time has passed.
My head throbs gently, and my feet scream for relief, but there's still cleanup to do.
Harriet intercepts me as I begin folding chairs. "Go home, Maeve."
"I'm just helping a little," I argue, wincing as I bend to pick up a dropped napkin. "Won't take long."
"You look exhausted," Harriet says firmly. "The cleaning crew can handle this."
"I'm fine, really." I pick up the leftover pamphlets and place them in a cardboard box. "I just want to make sure everything's in order for tomorrow."
"The mysterious doctor's visit, you mean?" A teasing smile plays on her lips.
Heat rises to my cheeks. "That's not why I'm tidying."
"Sure, it isn't." She laughs before her face takes that serious expression again. "Promise me you won't stay more than another half hour, tops."
"Promise," I agree, crossing my heart dramatically.
After Harriet leaves, the school grows eerily quiet. I hear the distant sounds of the janitor's cart in the far wing and see a few teachers finishing up their classrooms, but the bustling energy from earlier has dissipated.
I help fold the remaining chairs, tidy the refreshment table, and put away the last of the pamphlets. When I finally check the clock, I realize I've stayed an hour longer than promised. Gathering my things, I head toward the exit, the halls now dimly lit with only emergency lighting.
Outside, the parking lot stands nearly empty, just my car and another one far across the asphalt.
The night air feels cool against my tired skin, stars visible above Saltford Bay, though clouds gathering on the horizon suggest rain later.
The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore provides a soothing backdrop as I fumble in my purse for my keys.
"Maeve!"
I jump at the deep voice behind me, keys jangling as I clutch them tighter.
Principal Braggstone emerges from the shadows near the school entrance, his bulk silhouetted against the dim light spilling from the doors. "I was just locking up when I saw you. Let me escort you to your car."
"That's kind, but I'm fine," I say, taking an instinctive step back. "Just heading home now."
"Let me walk you," he insists, already closing the distance between us. "It's dark out here."
My protest dies on my lips as he falls into step beside me. The parking lot suddenly seems vast and empty, my car impossibly far away. I don't like the way he keeps glancing at me every few seconds, like he's expecting something from me.
When we finally reach my tiny compact car, I almost sigh with relief.
"You work too hard, Maeve," he says, his voice dropping to what I assume he considers an intimate tone. "You need someone to take care of you for a change."
"Thank you." I stiffen, gripping my keys tighter. "I manage just fine."
Orlin moves closer, his large frame blocking the light from the single lamppost. He leans on my door, preventing me from opening it.
"I've been thinking we should have dinner this weekend. Just the two of us."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "I'm sorry, but I'll be busy preparing for the field trip to Mermaid Cove."
"Surely you can spare one evening." His hand brushes my arm, the contact sending an unpleasant chill through me. "You can't keep putting yourself last. Let me take care of you."
I pull away, forcing firmness into my voice. "I'm sorry, Orlin, but I'm not interested in dating right now."
His expression darkens slightly before he forces a smile. "You're just tired. You'll feel differently after a proper meal. Let me spoil you a little. You deserve it."
Before I can react, he leans down suddenly, his face looming close as he attempts to kiss me. I duck away, heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"Orlin," I manage, pressing my back against my car door. "I've been clear about this. I'm not interested."
His massive frame blocks my escape route, one arm braced against my car as he towers over me. The parking lot lights cast deep shadows across his face, making his expression difficult to read.
"You're just stressed, Maeve." His voice drops lower, a rumble that makes the hairs on my neck stand up. "Everyone needs someone. Even you."
I grip my keys tighter, the metal edges biting into my palm. "I appreciate your concern, but this isn't appropriate. Please step back so I can leave."
His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath the rough green-gray skin. For a heart-stopping moment, I think he might refuse. Then he straightens to his full height, removing his arm from my car with deliberate slowness.
"You work too hard." The words sound like a criticism now, not concern. "One day you'll realize what I'm offering."
I take the opportunity to open my car door, slipping into the driver's seat before he can change his mind.
"I need to go. Good night, Principal Braggstone." My voice comes out steadier than I feel as I lock the door with a decisive click.
My hands shake as I start the engine. In the rearview mirror, I see him still standing in the parking lot, watching me leave. The image stays with me as I drive home in the gathering darkness, rain beginning to spatter against my windshield.
A shiver runs through me as I pull into my driveway, and it has nothing to do with the spring night's chill.
Just what I need, more complications.