Chapter 4
Gil
Ican’t take my eyes off her.
Marina, the first friend I ever made in the mortal realm.
We met the day I swam up through the portals on a dare.
The whole time, I was worried I’d encounter hunters with giant fishhooks, or whatever other scary stories are whispered to keep the guppies from straying too far from home.
But I didn’t find anything other than a lonely girl with a snack to share.
We were eight when I asked her to marry me.
I didn’t know what it meant, only that you give the person you like the most in the world something shiny, and if they say yes, you spend the rest of your lives together.
All I wanted was more than a measly summer each year, and she felt the same way.
Forever doesn’t seem like too much to promise when you’re young, especially when the promise is to the human girl who took my hand in hers and didn’t flinch when she felt the webbing.
She’s the girl who I swam around these springs with every summer.
The girl I promised I’d never stop looking for.
And now, she’s back.
I’ve barely caught my breath from the marathon of grabbing fallen beads as they landed in the water.
Then, it was a sprint to the edge of the marsh where my disguise was hidden—a pair of board shorts that don’t fit, a tacky t-shirt, and the little enchanted necklace that makes me blend into a crowd.
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 and one 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.
She’s singing.
I can’t make out the tune, but the humming is as sweet as a sparrow welcoming the morning. It draws me out of the shadows to follow, far enough behind her to stay out of sight.
With purpose, she walks to the edge of the water where an old canoe is tipped over and—what does she think she’s doing?
Marina groans, pushing the thing into the water with a triumphant splash, and ungracefully throws herself inside. Her sweet song is soon replaced by cursing as she struggles to paddle the unwieldy thing.
Introductions can wait. I chuckle to myself, gliding unnoticed into the water until my body lines up with the length of the boat.
It’s tricky to hook my claws to the bow, but once I do, the canoe gets the extra push it needs.
It gives me a moment to think about what in the world I’m going to say to this woman.
She takes her time, paddling toward the old camping dock. I manage to keep the canoe steady as she stands haphazardly and climbs ashore.
Camp Mangrove.
I’ve wandered this little inlet from end to end more times than I’d like to admit. But now, seeing her in the place we met all those years ago—well, I’m breathless.
Marina’s song lures me like a siren tempting a sailor into the waves. Reduced to a mindless fool, I swim along the edge of the water until I reach the collection of rocks she’s settled on. There’s a tranquility to her song that blends with the sounds of the crickets and flow of the water.
It’s as if what’s left of Camp Mangrove is as happy to see her as I am. Who could blame it?
Her voice cracks a little,
“Damn it,” she curses softly. Her self-deprecation is all that’s needed to stamp away my stalling. I rise from the water and offer what I hope will be a familiar grin.
“It sounded good from where I was standing.” The words tumble out as I meet her pretty, wide eyes.
Her body sways forward, and I brace myself for the feeling of her arms, to hear how she missed me, how glad she is that I waited.
Marina’s body moves into mine, but not in the warm greeting I anticipated. She falls for me alright, but it’s not head over heels. It’s unconscious.