Chapter 9
Gil
Real casual, Gil. Invite your childhood best friend—who might turn out to be the girl of your dreams—to meet your whole family at the biggest festival in Eclipsica.
A magical realm she knows nothing about.
Smooth, real smooth. The definition of chill and no pressure.
We’re back at the springs, neither of us eager to say goodbye. She’s clutching the clown fish plushie to her chest, and despite it taking me four turns to win, my heart swells with pride.
“Sorry my car was a total mess,” Marina says. “I should have asked if you wanted to drive.”
“I don’t actually have a car,” I admit and watch the upward quirk of her brows in response.
“Oh,” she says.
Marina is silent for a long while. It’s as if she’s having a very intense conversation with herself before letting out an unimpressed, “Okay.”
Right… Having a vehicle in the mortal realm is a sign of stability. The awkward moment passes as we walk past the rentals, big boats, and little shops designed for tourists who are passing through. Her hand doesn’t leave mine, so it seems it’s at least not a deal breaker.
The glamour only masks my appearance. If her fingers try to slide between mine, they’d feel the webbing, so I keep our hands cupped out of caution. I’ve already spooked her once; I don’t want to do it again.
“Do they always follow you around?” Marina asks, pointing behind us.
I glance back and note the trail of lizards on our heels.
I can’t blame them; if I were that small and scaly, I’d try to form an alliance with something bigger.
Still, it’s strange that they can sense what’s different about me, even in this form.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “I’ve been known to attract all kinds of critters: frogs, snakes, lizards.” I laugh, careful to only name a few.
“Lucky.” Marina pouts. “I love all the creatures around here.”
That bodes well for me.
The springs are still fairly quiet, and considering the boat tours don’t start for another hour, it’s the perfect time to get back to Camp Mangrove. I pull the boat from its hiding place and turn back to her. “In the mood for a little adventure?”
“Yes!” she says, a toothy grin suddenly illuminating her face. Still, I notice something in her eyes shift, and her smile becomes something more digestible—pretty and small. As if she’s scared of being happy or loud. I wish she knew how good unbridled joy looks on her.
But right now, all I can do is lift her by the waist and help her into her seat.
We played in these things as kids too. There was a very brief phase where she pretended to be a princess.
Considering all my time spent paling around with Magnus, I didn’t mind taking up the role of prince for once.
The game, the castle, the promise we’d see each other again—the marsh was our place, hidden from campers and counselors.
I doubt Marina dreams of being a princess anymore, but that doesn’t mean she deserves anything less. More than that? She deserves honesty, especially since soon she’ll be heading far away from this place again.
A band that’s going on tour.
It’s thrilling for her, of course. It’s undoubtedly everything she’s been looking for, but it does mean if I want to keep in touch (and I do), I’ll have to fess up about who and what I am soon.
It’s something I hem and haw over while we haul the canoe from its not-so-clever hiding spot away from the rentals, cradled in the mangrove’s roots.
She stares at me as I heave it into the water, her eyes lingering on what appears to be the lean muscle on my arms. Will she still have that same molten gaze when she can see my fins?
“Something the matter?” Marina asks, her voice quiet.
“Nothing to worry your head about, Splenda,” I say. The sound of her laugh untangles the knots that had formed in my stomach.
One thing’s for sure—I’m going to have to think of a better nickname.
As soon as we’re docked, something in the air shifts in Marina; her shoulders drop, and her searching eyes comb over the alcove.
“I know you came out here for some songwriting—don’t let me get in your way,” I say, taking a moment to secure the canoe to the shoreline.
“You really don’t mind?” She hesitates, her hand hovering above her tote bag; I assume to retrieve a notebook or her phone. “The band wants an original song for the audition, and I’ve barely started writing.”
“I’m happy to enjoy the scenery,” I admit, hoping it’s not lost on her that my gaze is locked on the way her hair is blowing in the breeze. It’s not as though I thought she didn’t have a life. We’re grown—it’s been a decade since she asked me to take her away from everything.
But the idea of distance so soon after finding each other again makes my unseen gills flare against my neck.
If this weekend is spent watching this beautiful woman hum and jot down ideas, then I’ll enjoy every moment.
“Alright then.” She sits back, retrieving a notebook from her bag. It’s worn, with weeds taped to the cover. It can’t be the same one she carried around when we were kids, can it?
She scrawls down a few notes and taps her pencil to the page. Humming, she shyly glances up at me, the notebook turned in such a way where I can make out faint scribbles on the back. “M + …”
My heart tightens. Please be a G, please be a G.
Her eyes snap up to meet mine, and I jump back. “Why are you doing this?”
I straighten, clearly caught, my smile uneasy. “Well, the thing is—”
“Breakfast, the claw machine, and now…” she interrupts, the pencil tapping faster and faster on the old notebook. “I don’t understand.”
What’s there to understand?
“Have you considered you’re fun to be around?” I ask, giving her a pointed look.
“You’d be the first—besides my Grams—to really think so,” she says quietly, closing the notebook and tucking it under her arm.
I throw her tote bag over my shoulder, following her in large strides to dry land. She doesn’t announce she’s leaving; she just walks away, seeming surprised when I follow. The marsh opens to what looks like a sprawling outdoor town—the campsite she spent all those years coming to.
The park tried to use these old cabins as a Christmas village a few years back, and some string lights remain on the wooden cabins. It’s so overgrown, it’s hard to imagine the humid wilderness as anything wintery and festive.
We walk past an outdoor mess hall. The memory of greasy napkins filled with tater tots— always a little squished from being in her pockets—comes so strong, I can practically smell fried food in the air.
“You know, they had a big friendship bracelet day here every year,” she says with a sad laugh. “Can you guess how many I got?”
“One,” I answer with a confident step toward her.
Tell her. Tell her!
But the words don’t move past my lips.
She blinks at me, and for a small moment before she nods, I think she might recognize me.
“One. But honestly? I’m not sure that it really counted,” she huffs, surveying the overgrown mess hall.
“And why is that?” I take a more than educated guess, feeling her getting closer and closer to the truth. “Did the person who made it for you not go to this summer camp?”
She must know—she must remember,
“Something like that.” Marina’s voice is a low hum.
We’re walking past one of the cabins; it’s a little sad to see the way the old wood has sunken in on itself, but this camp was in operation for a long while before Marina and I discovered it.
Still, it’s a shame the way it was so ill-maintained that they let it fall into disrepair.
She frowns at the graffiti on the side of the buildings. “You never told me what you were doing out here last night.”
“Isn’t it obvious? Working on my next masterpiece,” I say, knocking on the wall—right above a giant spraypainted penis.
“An inspired piece—truly,” she says, resting a hand on her chin with a firm nod. The two of us laugh. I don’t think we’ve ever walked around Camp Mangrove this freely.
We’d meet by the dock at night or on the shore at midday when no one was looking.
I always wondered what it would be like to stand next to her so publicly.
Children aren’t often given glamours, so there was no way for me to blend in and hike, snack, or swim out in the open.
And while there ain’t exactly a slew of activities we can find to do here today, I’m sure I can capture at least an ounce of that energy.
“Race you to the flagpole!” I shout, breaking into a sprint.
“Hey! You got a head start!” Her footsteps spring through the tall grass behind me, followed by heavy breathing. She grabs at my waist in an attempt to pull me backward—which I allow, enjoying the brief moment of contact before she races past me.
“That’s cheatin’!”
“You cheated first,” she shouts, a smile on her face. I take the lead pivoting in front of her, jogging backward as my mouth spreads in a wide triumphant grin when—
“Gil!”
The flagpole hits me square in the back of the head, and my body crumples from pain and laughter.
“Are you okay?” Marina shouts, joining me in the grass. When I nod, unable to stop laughing, she joins me in the nonsensical fit of giggles.
My mouth is sore from smiling so much today and she’s—so damn beautiful.
Beads of sweat stick to her forehead. Panting, she fans herself with her duster jacket, which I assume is to help keep the sun off her arms.
We catch our breath for a moment. I should tell her. I should kiss her—I should.
“I demand a rematch,” she says, stretching her arms over her head.
“First one to the water at the edge of camp buys ice cream,” I declare, knowing full well I’m going to treat her regardless.
“Deal.”
I hop to my feet, offering her my hand which she readily takes. I lift her off the ground, and she bolts off without so much as a ready, set, go! “Hey!” I laugh, chasing after her.
I’ve got to admit, she’s fast.