Книга - Waterfell

Waterfell
Amalie Howard


I'm breathless. Just before I walk into the classroom, I glance over my shoulder.Lo's eyes are deep and piercing. I feel the weight of them hovering, watching. Holding me motionless as time, too, stands still.I force myself to peel my gaze away from his compelling stare, making my feet obey weak commands to enter the classroom… one in front of the other, like a drone.Something hot pulses across the back of my neck, racing across my body, and I can't even think.It's not Ehmora who will be the death of me. It's this boy.







THE GIRL WHO WOULD BE QUEEN

Nerissa Marin hides among teens in her human form, waiting for the day she can claim her birthright—the undersea kingdom stolen from her the day her father was murdered. Blending in is her best weapon—until her father’s betrayer confronts Nerissa and challenges her to a battle to the death on Nerissa’s upcoming birthday—the day she comes of age.

Amid danger and the heartbreak of her missing mother, falling for a human boy is the last thing Nerissa should do. But Lo Seavon breaches her defenses and somehow becomes the only person she can count on to help her desperate search for her mother, a prisoner of Nerissa’s mortal enemy. Is Lo the linchpin that might win Nerissa back her crown? Or will this mortal boy become the weakness that destroys her?


The laws of human attraction are new to me.

I’m breathless.

Just before I walk into the classroom, I glance over my shoulder. Lo’s eyes are deep and piercing. I feel the weight of them hovering, watching. Holding me motionless as time, too, stands still. I force myself to peel my gaze away from his compelling stare, making my feet obey weak commands to enter the classroom…one in front of the other, like a drone. Something hot pulses across the back of my neck, racing across my body, and I can’t even think.

It’s not Ehmora who will be the death of me.

It’s this boy.


Waterfell

Amalie Howard




www.miraink.co.uk (http://www.miraink.co.uk)


For Cam, who never stops believing.


Contents

Prologue (#ud8f33397-8a60-5150-b942-c9be7fb8cc3b)

Chapter 1 (#uda5ebc98-9ae8-50cf-aed8-d3f30f89054a)

Chapter 2 (#u63eb89b2-ad83-5468-ac94-9a14fada9390)

Chapter 3 (#u42464284-d5ae-58cb-aa76-f7cf7f79c841)

Chapter 4 (#uaf4169d9-0b74-5dd2-8ded-f2641407585f)

Chapter 5 (#u7f36ab71-68ff-5183-9b91-adbbc4bca50d)

Chapter 6 (#u58e70183-a245-50f7-801a-dfa4ddd77b86)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


PROLOGUE

Shivers race through my veins like gilded fireworks. The covers are twisted, matted like the hair on my head, and the room is filled with an eerie green glow. For a split second, it feels like I’m still asleep, half out of a leftover nightmare but not quite awake. My fingers are bent and curled like gnarled branches, and the sweat feels clammy against my skin.

The green light flickers, and I blink.

Get up.

Complying with the fierce voice in my head, I shrug off the blankets with a rough kick, and for a minute everything glows in a haze of gold, green and pink, as if the northern lights have just taken up residence in my room. I am no longer sleeping but wide-awake—I can feel myself breathing, hear the night’s sounds outside my window. But the lights are still there, beaming off the walls and every piece of furniture, as if I’m captured in some kind of glittery prism.

Panicked, I throw an arm toward my bedside lamp and freeze.

My hand is glowing.

I look down. My entire body is glowing, like the iridescent scales of some fantastic creature shimmering down my limbs in bands of colored light. All my cells tingle, hearing the call, responding to it just as my people had known I would. Too soon, I think. Too soon. I’d been promised four years. It had been only two.

My confusion spirals as the electricity builds and the room is nearly blindingly gold. Tiny pricks pepper along my spine and the sides of my neck, and I’m thrashing around in bed like a fish out of water. A huge rush of energy slams into me and the light turns into a white-hot dazzling force. Struggling to breathe, I hear the voice. My father’s voice.

Run, Nerissa, run. All is lost. Never return.


1

UNMASKED

“Run!” the voices scream. “RUN, RISSA!”

I can barely hear them over the pounding of blood in my ears as my feet skim over the grass. I’m winded but can sense the others on my left flank, already closing in. I push my feet faster—I must get there before they do or we are lost. In the past few seconds, white netting looms in front of me like a spidery haze, just as a heavy shoulder jolts like a ton of bricks into my side. The breath is knocked out of me as over a hundred pounds of muscle collides into my side with the force of a speeding train. Adrenaline jerks along my limbs and I kick out, blindly swinging the wooden pole in my hand with all the force I can muster. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to go.

It’s now or never. I have to strike first or the moment’s gone.

The silence stretches into eternity as the momentum of the assault makes me keel backward, my shoulder dangling limply, and then there is nothing but the feeling of falling until the ground rushes up to meet me with an unforgiving crunch. The only sound around me is the rasp of my own labored groans combining with the wheeze of my opponent’s. Her eyes are as fierce as mine.

Either way, it’s over.

“GOAL!” the crowd cheers wildly just as the buzzer goes off, signaling that it’s halftime. It’s been one of the most intense games we’ve played all season. Bishop’s is the top-seeded field hockey team in Southern California and if they beat us, we’re out. Going into the second half of the game one goal up on them means everything. I roll to my knees, gasping as my cocaptain, center midfielder and best friend, Jenna Pearce, throws herself on top of me, screaming in unbridled delight.

“I don’t know how but you did it!” she shouts in my ear. “Getting us ahead at the last minute like that. I love you so hard right now.”

“Nice goal, Riss!” someone else yells. “Way to bring the fire!”

The ten-minute halftime in the guest locker room goes quickly. Coach Fenton is pleased that we’re ahead, but things can change on a dime especially with a team as aggressive as Bishop’s.

Coach clears his throat. “Okay, listen up. First off, great teamwork out there! Offense, follow your striker. Marin’s calls on the field and her shot on goal got us here. Let’s keep that drive going. Defense, you’ve been like a vise, let’s keep that up. Pearce,” he says, glancing at Jenna, “outstanding job manning the midfield line. Smith,” he snaps at a tired-looking brunette. “You’ve been letting your opponent get ahead of you the entire first half. Get your head in the game.”

“She’s too fast, Coach.”

He studies her, frowning. “Then Andrews is in.”

Jenna pokes me in the side and raises an eyebrow. Cara Andrews—second-string right forward, former friend and my current archnemesis—has been warming the bench the entire game. She used to be starting striker on the JV team freshman year until I got bumped up from right forward sophomore year. Now she’s been relegated to second string on the varsity team. I’d prefer to keep it that way, but it’s the coach’s call even if Jenna and I are the captains. I grit my teeth and keep my eyes on the coach. Cara’s presence on and off the field makes no difference to me.

Coach Fenton takes a long look around at all the sweaty, tired faces in the room. “Keep the momentum going, you earned it with blood and sweat. Don’t lose it now. We have a thirty-five-minute half to prove ourselves—show this team that the first half was just a taste of what we can do. Don’t take on any bad fouls and play a clean game. We’re the underdogs. Let’s own it. Come on, everybody hands in! Bring this home! Fighters on three—one, two, three...”

“Fighters!” we all yell in unison.

We troop fiercely onto the field, pumped full of adrenaline and courage. But by the time we’re three-quarters of the way through the second half, I’m so winded that I can barely breathe, and that’s saying a lot for me. The score is still one–zero with less than a quarter regulation time to go. We have to hold them off for seven more minutes. I glance down the field where Jenna and the center midfielder from Bishop’s are faced off in a bully. They thump the ground, then tap their sticks against each other and it’s on.

“Kate,” I yell to my left forward. “Watch your mark! If the ball comes to you, pass it to me or back to Jenna.”

“Got it.”

Jenna wins the ball and passes to one of her wingmen, who takes it up the right side of the field. Keeping my eye on my opponent, I charge up the middle just as my teammate passes Kate the ball. As instructed, she sends it my way, but within seconds, I am stormed by three defensive players from Bishop’s in some kind of blitz attack.

Dimly, I hear Coach Fenton screaming at me from the sidelines. “Pass it to Andrews, Marin! Andrews is wide-open! Marin, ANDREWS!”

Cara is indeed wide-open, but hell will freeze over before I pass her the ball. I can get the shot without her, even with the blitz. Ignoring the shouts from other teammates and my coach, I shove through the defensive line with otherworldly agility. They’re on me like glue and Cara is still open, but I’ve got the shot that will seal our victory.

My triumph is short-lived as one of the midfielders on the other team sweeps the ball out from under my nose and drives it back up the field, striking it down to her offensive line. Our collective breath stops as their striker takes her shot on goal with seconds to spare before the end of the game. If they score, our chances of holding them off in overtime are slim.

The ball flies through the air as our goalie makes a superhuman dive to the right, taking the hit on her right shoulder and deflecting the shot. Relief floods through me as the buzzer sounds, ending the game. High-fiving Kate, I turn to face a furious Jenna.

“What the hell was that?” Jenna hisses.

“What?”

“Out there with Cara. You nearly cost us the game. If it were any player but her, you would have passed the ball, and you know it.”

“I had the shot,” I say, ignoring my sudden surge of anger.

“You didn’t have a shot.”

“We won, didn’t we?”

“That’s not the point, Rissa. We play as a team. And everyone saw what you did out there.”

“No one cares. We won.”

But someone does care. I feel the weight of Coach Fenton’s stare all the way through the handshakes with the other team. He’s not happy that I ignored him, but it was my call on the field. I stand by it. He doesn’t say anything as I raise my chin in a half-defiant gesture and walk past him to hug our ecstatic goalie.

With a twinge, I see that she clutches her right shoulder on contact. “You okay, Sarah?”

“Best case, bruised. Worst case, dislocated. But either way, totally worth it.”

I meet Jenna’s eyes, the question in them clear. Was it?

Shrugging, I turn away and, in the next moment, Sarah and I are both picked up and carried along in a tide of girls toward the sidelines, where the bus is waiting to ferry us all back to school. The cheering is deafening for the ten-minute ride and continues into our own locker room. The only girl with a scowl on her face is Cara, but I refuse to let her ruin this moment for me.

“Nice job, Fighters,” Coach Fenton says after we shower and gather in the middle of the outer room. “That was close, but you did it. You stayed strong and won us the game. And that kind of teamwork is what makes us Fighters.” He doesn’t make eye contact with me, but for the briefest of seconds I feel that the last part of his sentence about teamwork is directed my way. I shake it off as a new wave of cheering and hollering makes its way around the room.

“Have a great weekend, team,” Coach Fenton says. “You deserve it. See you at practice on Monday.”

Grabbing my gym bag on the way out, I join in the whooping as the revelry spills into the hallway. Even with the near-miss, you couldn’t wipe the smiles off everyone’s faces—making it to the semifinals is a huge deal for a prep school that hasn’t been in the Spring Hockey Tournament playoffs for more than a decade. I’d been recruited into the game during my second day as a freshman at Dover Prep. As much as I hate to admit it, I have Cara to thank for that. Back when we used to be friends, we’d been joined at the hip and she’d insisted that we try out together. We’d both made the JV team—she as striker, and me as right forward. To me, it’d been a way to pass the time.

The plain truth is I can’t participate in any competitive water sports, even though swimming is more my thing than hockey. My guardians warned me about that, and at the time I’d yet to figure out what else I might enjoy. Field hockey fit the bill as well as any other sport, and two and a half years later, I’d become quite good.

More than good, a sneaky inner voice whispers. Starting striker on the varsity team as a junior is pretty much unheard of.

I acknowledge it with a smug grin. My natural athleticism isn’t a curse—it’s a gift. As long as I’m careful and don’t draw undue attention to myself, it’s a bonus. And it isn’t like swimming where I can clock a fifty-foot pool in less than ten seconds, almost half the time of the Olympic world record for freestyle, or hold my breath indefinitely. A smile curls my lip upward—technically I’m not holding my breath, but nobody really knows that.

“Riss,” a male voice says from behind me as I reach the parking lot. An odd magnetic feeling, as if someone has placed a wet cloak over my skin and is tugging on it at the same time, stops me in my tracks. I turn toward the pull automatically, my body registering its owner a half second before my brain does. Sure enough, the owner of the voice—and the sensation—is a tall skinny boy with a shock of blond spiky hair and moss green eyes, holding a skateboard under one arm.

The smile on my face slows and stops altogether as I spot the familiar critical look in his eyes. I sigh. Speio and I used to be so close, but lately, everything I do seems to piss him off—field hockey, my friends, school, all of it. I can’t do anything right, and it’s getting to the point that he’s becoming the nagging older brother everyone assumes he is. I know he means well. After all, his parents are tasked with keeping me safe, but it’s not like that’s his job.

“We need to talk,” he says, and grabs my arm to pull me to a bench across the street. He’s barely six months older than I am, but he’s strong and his fingers dig painfully into my upper arms.

“Ouch,” I mutter, pulling away and rubbing my already reddening skin. “What the hell, Speio?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” he says in a low voice.

“What? You mean the game?” I can hear the defensive tone in my own voice as he nods. If Speio called the shots, I would be the kid who sits in the back row at school and never answers any questions or sits in the library all day...under a protective tarp in flame-resistant gear. “You followed me to the game at Bishop’s?”

“I have to keep an eye on you,” he says. “And I saw you. I saw what you did at the end with the three defenders.”

“What did I do, Speio? Move a shade faster than normal?” I say as a wave of irritation replaces my earlier defensiveness. “Besides, what does it matter? Your parents are Handlers here. Not you. You don’t have to watch me every ten seconds!”

Speio flinches as if I’ve struck him, but then brushes it off. “I just don’t get it. Why do you try so hard to be like them?”

The soft comment strikes an unexpected nerve. “You know why, Speio,” I snap more harshly than I intend. “I have to fit in.”

My words are sharp but true. I’ve spent almost my whole life studying the other side, trying to understand humans and learn everything I could about them. And now, living here as a human, I’ve had to put theory into practice. As a student, I’ve absorbed everything academic they’ve thrown at me. As an athlete, I’ve enjoyed all the games, using my legs to run and my arms to swing a stick—things I’d never before experienced. Here, I’ve felt free for the first time in my life. Unfettered with who I am.

Now, a year after my father’s cryptic message, it seems that I’m only delaying the inevitable—facing what is left of my legacy. The truth is, I don’t want to think about any of it. So I’ll pretend that what I’m doing is still the same, until someone tells me it’s time to go back. And if that day never comes, maybe I’m fine with that, too. I’d rather be here, pretending to be young and carefree, instead of there, where everyone will look to me for the answers I don’t have.

My family’s legacy and my royal duty.

Speio stares at me. “But that’s just it. You don’t have to, because we don’t belong here. We’ve been here three years already, and you don’t even talk about going back. Waterfell’s your home. You have everything there, can’t you see that?”

Not anymore. I shake my head firmly. I may have been born in Waterfell, but my father was clear that I should never return—someone else was the ruler of our undersea home now. I grit my teeth, raising cold eyes to Speio. “I’m here to learn—this is part of my initiation cycle. You know that. And until I come of age to rule, we stay.”

“And then what?” Speio presses. “We go back? You won’t even talk about going back, and that’s what scares me. Because you don’t want to go back, do you?” His eyes widen at my expression. “That’s the truth, isn’t it? I can see it written all over your face when you’re with the humans. But you’re not them. Don’t you get that?”

My blood rushes in a slow surge at his rising tone. “Careful, Speio,” I tell him.

“Why?” he shoots back. “For being honest? You’re so selfish, Nerissa.”

“I’m selfish?” I repeat carefully, unable to keep the anger from seeping into my voice. Speio is only here because his parents, Echlios and Soren—both Handlers—are sworn to safeguard me. There’s nothing he can say that will make them break their blood oaths. It’s a fact, but still, something in his last words sneaks under my skin, unsettling me. Maybe because there’s truth in what he says or maybe I’m still rattled from Jenna’s accusations on the field. “Why am I selfish?”

“Because this is all about you,” he says. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

I glare at him, a thousand fiery emotions running through my brain. “It is about me. And yes, I’m the one who’s decided to stay here. But you’re free to go back if that’s what you want. Go, and be one with the home none of us have anymore.” Speio’s eyes widen, but I don’t stop. My words slow and become more enunciated, exhibiting the fact that English is not my native tongue. I hate the way the words taste in my mouth, so clipped and guttural. I also hate the way the commands come so quickly to me as if being a ruler is an inborn trait.

Because it is.

No matter what I look like, I can never escape who I am.

So I become the monarch. I become the royal with the clipped tones and the icy, immovable face. “You weren’t told because I didn’t want you to know. We don’t have a home anymore, Speio. The Gold Court is finished. Wake up.” He flinches at the cruel whip of my words. “We’re never going home. Do you understand that? We have nothing to go home to.” I gesture madly to the people walking around us and to the school behind me. “This is our home now. Accept it.”

“But you’re—”

“But nothing. I’m nobody.” I lower my voice, forcing a smile to my lips even though all I want to do is scream...scream all the pain and anger and loss seething through me at his naïveté. Speio’s expression is scared and confused. I gentle my voice. “Ask your parents. Get them to tell you the truth.” I pause and press my hand to his shoulder in a comforting gesture, an apology of sorts, but he shakes my arm off like it’s a snake. “Tell them that I commanded it.”

I walk across the parking lot without looking back, and jump into my car. My hands are trembling with emotion and my throat is dry like sandpaper. I gulp and lean my head against the cool window, heaving breaths into my lungs, hoping to staunch the tide of helpless anger that’s threatening to overwhelm me. But it’s too late. I need to get out of there before I do something ridiculous like throw up all over the floor of my Jeep. Flooring the gas pedal, my tires burn a black path across the asphalt as I peal out of the lot, gasping for air and heading blindly for the shoreline. I need to get to the ocean.

The drive seems endless even though it’s only a few minutes before I see blue on the horizon. Then I’m out of the car and running on the sand as fast as my legs can take me despite my exhaustion from the earlier hockey game. I don’t care. If I stop, I’ll break...I’ll collapse and never be able to get back up. My face is wet as the taste of salt dips into my mouth, making me ache even more. Driven by pain, my vision spirals into the raw memory.

Days after my father’s warning, Speio’s father, Echlios, came back from a brief trip to Waterfell to see me. He was different that day. I’d never seen a Handler express emotion, but he did. He repeated exactly what my father had told me, but I already knew. My father never would have risked contacting me otherwise.

“Your father is dead,” he said. “The High Court has been taken by Ehmora.”

“Ehmora?”

Echlios nodded. I wasn’t surprised. Queen of the lower Ruby Court, she belonged to one of the stronger families, always opposing my parents, always scheming to replace the Gold Court with the Ruby Court. She’d never been content to stay hidden. She wanted it all—the waters, the lands, every last bit of it. And now that she’d displaced my father, she’d do anything to take control of the High Court.

And once I came of age at seventeen, I’d be the rightful heir. No wonder my father had urged me never to return. Leaving Waterfell was a part of my grooming—a necessary part of my training to understand the world in which we lived, to share the lives of humans, before I assumed the position I was born into just like all the heirs before me. But my training turned into something more with the death of my father. Without a home to return to, I took refuge in the human world.

“How?” I asked.

“It looked like a hunting accident,” Echlios said, his face shadowed. But I knew better. My father was murdered.

“My father’s advisers? What of them?” I asked him.

“All missing, presumed dead. My lady, it’s not safe for you here. Ehmora’s spies will no doubt have told her where you are.”

I shook my head. If what Echlios said was true, this was the only safe haven I had left. Running meant I’d always be on the run, and I’d never give Ehmora that satisfaction. “No running. This is my home now. What does she want, Echlios?” I asked him, and then frowned. “What’s to stop her from just killing me, too?”

“She needs you.”

“Why?”

But I already knew why. Rule of the High Court in Waterfell was determined by succession of birth, unless there was no direct heir. Then each of the lower courts—Ruby, Emerald, Sapphire and Gold—could present a challenger. Whoever won would become the next king or queen, and their court the new High Court. Since I was the only living heir to my father’s throne, once I came of age, the High Court would rightfully be mine. But the truth was, I didn’t want it.

“Well, she can have the throne,” I said dully. “I don’t care.”

The thought of returning to Waterfell was a bitter one, with my father gone. All his people—my people—would be looking for someone to lead them, and I wasn’t that person. To them, I’d been a frivolous child who’d shirked every form of royal responsibility and been indulged by a doting father. They’d loved him but only tolerated me. They’d be better off with Ehmora as queen. I said as much to Echlios.

“You don’t mean that,” he said.

“I do. I belong here now. I’m never going back.”

As the memory fades, I’m hissing the word never through my teeth just as the smell of salt hits me like a rolling wave, and I pump my legs faster, stopping only to throw my backpack on the side of the pier and to kick off my shoes. Self-disgust pours through me in violent waves. I hate feeling so powerless. I hate the way that Speio looks at me as if I’m a loser...a coward who’s taking the easy way out. But it’s not like I have much of a choice, do I?

In seconds, I fling myself off the edge of the pier in a graceful swan dive, letting the icy water envelop every part of me, and suddenly I can breathe again. I ignore the startled glances of the surfers clad head-to-toe in wet suits and churn my arms in a strong front crawl that takes me effortlessly past the breakers. The water is cold for February, but it feels balmy against my bare skin as I duck underneath the last of the breaking waves to make my way underwater to where the ocean rocks with a gentle wide roll.

I’m careful to control my reaction to the water—it’s like life energy to me—and it takes work to stay focused and make sure I don’t transform when every part of me wants to give in to the magical pull of the sea. But I relax enough to let the cold salty water do what I came here for. I let it soothe me, fill me, pass over and through me until I am nearly faint with it.

Until I am calm once more.

It has been only moments but it feels like days. The arms of the water will always be my home, up near the surface or down in the deep.

Floating on my back watching the popcornlike clouds sail across the sky, I don’t immediately notice the surfer paddling toward me. Or maybe I do and hope that he will go away, but I can feel the changes in the water that tell me he’s coming closer.

“Hey, you okay?”

I turn around with a flippant remark on the tip of my tongue that gets stuck as I make contact with a pair of the oddest-colored eyes I’ve ever seen—a bottomless blue, as if he’d leached the color straight from the depths of the ocean. The eyes belong to a boy not much older than me. He paddles closer.

I must have imagined the strange, nearly navy color, or it must have been some trick of the sunlight, because on closer inspection, his eyes are more dark than light, almost blue-black. His teeth flash white at my look. Flushing, I realize that I’ve been ogling him for the better part of a minute.

“I’m fine,” I manage, tearing my gaze away from his odd eyes.

The boy shoots me another knowing glance before his gaze dips to my bare arms. “Um, you’re not wearing a wet suit. Aren’t you freezing?”

“I’m fine,” I repeat, a little irritated by his smile and the fact that my private moment of bliss has been interrupted by what seems to be some annoying local—even if he does have amazing eyes—one who probably doesn’t even go to school and spends all his days tanning and surfing. “Look, thanks for your concern...”

“Lo,” the boy supplies helpfully. At my blank look, he clarifies. “Name’s Lo.”

“Well, thanks, Lo. See you around.”

I duck-dive and swim a few lengths underwater before resurfacing several feet away. He hasn’t moved and is still staring at me with those strange dark eyes. Lo shoots another irritatingly white smile in my direction, a knowing grin as if he’s far too used to having that effect on girls. No effect whatsoever on me, of course. I’d been overemotional and caught by surprise.

“Catch you later, then,” he says loudly.

I watch him as he deftly paddles to catch a wave, his body sleek as a seal’s in his wet suit. He rides the wave expertly, skimming along the foamy lip of its crest to curl across its open face and twisting his body like a whip to bring the board up and around.

Lo’s a pretty good surfer, I admit to myself.

Then again, he probably surfs every available hour out of every day like half the other kids carving it up out there. He’s just another boy with a board, and I’ve certainly seen my share of them showing off their tricks, especially living in San Diego. Jenna’s boyfriend, Sawyer, is captain of the surf team at Dover, the reigning state champions. We’d always joked that if she and Sawyer ever had kids, they’d be born All-Star All-Americans just from the gene pool. Jenna likes her boys talented and driven, just as she is. It is one of the reasons I like her so much—she gives everything her all, from sports to studies to her relationships. She never shies away from anything.

Typical surfer-boy bravado aside, for some reason, I can’t tear my eyes away from Lo’s lithe form. He moves as if he is one with the wave, a part of it instead of riding on top of it, in some kind of fluid symmetry. He surfs like how I like to surf, something that Sawyer calls Zen-surfing.

As if sensing my stare, at the very last minute on his final turn, Lo rips backward on his surfboard to make eye contact with me one last time—a look that I can feel even as far away as he is—and winks before somersaulting backward into the surf.

I feel that last glance of his all the way to my toenails. Not even the icy touch of the water can calm the deep flush that tunnels its way through me.


2

CLOUDED WATERS

“Miss Marin, kindly report to Principal Cano’s office.”

Even though all the stares of the students in the room suddenly converge upon me, my second-period Spanish teacher doesn’t look up from the pile of papers on his desk. I shrug, grinning at the kids in the front row, and sport a sneaky thumbs-up to Jenna and Sawyer sitting in the back next to my empty desk. Jenna rolls her eyes in an exaggerated movement as if I’ve just gotten off scot-free from a fate worse than death, but she’s kind of right. Anything’s better than verb conjugations in Spanish class, even if it is facing the resident dragon-lord of Dover Prep.

The outer office is empty except for a familiar face. Cara ignores me, probably because she’s still mad about the match, or it could be that she’s just being Cara. She’s the principal’s niece, so she basically thinks that everyone at Dover is there to be at her beck and call. According to Jenna, the school is divided into Cara peons and Cara crap-ons. I’m definitely in the latter. Cara and I used to be friends—best friends even—but things had ended after a boy she’d liked asked me out, and I’d said yes. Apparently I’d broken a cardinal rule of girlhood, but technically, I didn’t steal anything that didn’t want to be stolen. And then when I took her place as starting striker on the JV team sophomore year, that’d been the clincher.

I shrug and look around. Normally the waiting room has a couple students standing around but it’s empty so I sit after checking in with Cano’s receptionist. Pushing aside the stack of college brochures on the table next to me, I thumb through the only magazine I can find and nearly snort at some of the articles. Flipping through one about “Ten Ways to Talk to Your Teen About Sex,” I can’t stop myself from bursting into laughter despite the immediate quelling look from the receptionist. I can’t imagine any parent who would use a cucumber as a prop in any kind of meaningful conversation.

“What’s so funny?” a voice behind me asks. The smell of salt and sand fills my nostrils, and I swing around. It’s the boy from the beach.

Lo.

He’s wearing a wool hat and black T-shirt with cargos instead of a neoprene hood and wet suit, but those eyes are unforgettable.

I slam the magazine shut, feeling a slow flush crawl up my neck and around the back of my ears. “Stalk much? What are you doing here, anyway?” I snap, noticing the golden sand grains covering his flip-flop-clad feet.

“Not stalking. I’m new here.”

“Sure you are.” Considering he isn’t wearing the Dover Prep required uniform, I’m pretty sure he’s taking me for a ride. I turn my attention back to the magazine, opening its pages and pretending to be absorbed in reading. A low chuckle alerts me to the particularly large headline entitled “Embarrassing Medical Problems.” I feel my skin getting hotter and toss the offending magazine to the table, turning to confront Mr. Nosypants.

“Why don’t you go back to surfing or tanning or whatever it is that you beach boys do?”

Lo smiles. I force myself not to notice that his teeth are whiter than I remember or to acknowledge the tiny response that makes my ears feel like they’re melting into unrecognizable nubs.

“I thought you were watching me surf the other day,” he says with a grin.

“Hardly,” I shoot back with feigned nonchalance. “Couldn’t have picked you out from the lineup of identical surfing doppelgängers if I tried.”

“So that wasn’t you out beyond the breakers staring at me like I was a frosted cherry smoothie?” Lo’s smile turns impish.

“What?” I splutter. “I was so not. I hate cherry.” I can’t exactly control the flush that seeps through my skin. I snap my lips shut, aware that I’ll only make it worse if I say anything more, especially in response to that annoying, knowing look on his face.

“Hi, Lo,” Cara says in a breathy voice, walking past us on her way out of the office. “Nice to see you again.” Once more, it’s as if I’m invisible, but no surprise there. Lo has obviously qualified for the peon list. I snort and turn back to studying the other brochures on the table before selecting one on making informed college choices.

“Hey, Cara,” Lo says to her with a smile that could melt butter, and then stands to move past her and sit in the empty seat next to me. With a death glare in my direction as if his actions are somehow my fault, Cara tosses her hair and stalks off. “So what’s your name?” he asks me.

Despite giving him immediate brownie points for blowing off Cara, I’m still trying to think of a snarky comeback in return for his earlier comment. Just then Principal Cano himself walks out of his office. He heads over to his assistant, holding a file in his hand. Cano is a tall swarthy, stern-looking man whose presence will make any classroom fall into immediate silence. It’s no different in the office. Well, except for Lo.

He stifles a laugh and whispers against my ear, “That guy is a dead ringer for Borat. If he has an accent, I think I’ll die.”

“Shut up,” I hiss back, leaning away from Lo’s warm breath. “So not funny. He’s Albanian and he’s a huge fan of detention, so keep talking if that’s your thing. Your funeral.”

In the same breath, I have to bite the smile trying to break across my face because Principal Cano is the butt of much Borat-related humor at Dover, all, of course, expressed in secret. A couple years back, one student actually posted a photo of the offending infamous green mankini on her blog with Principal Cano’s face, and she’d mysteriously disappeared within the same week. Rumors varied from she’d been expelled, to her family had moved to the other side of the country, to she was being held in Cano’s garage to be tortured for eternity.

I, of course, know better. Speio—who seems to somehow know everything that goes on in school—told me that there had been a very private lawsuit and an even more private settlement. So I know that it was definitely the second one, but who am I to curb the fun of speculation? Still, Cano is not one to be messed with—he takes his job as school principal seriously. Supposedly he used to be some kind of big-time molecular scientist in Eastern Europe and published several books on DNA research before he had a breakdown. I can’t imagine anything worse than managing a school full of hormonal teenagers, but different strokes for different folks.

“Ah, Ms. Marin,” Principal Cano says in a thickly accented voice. Beside me, I feel Lo’s indrawn snort and I bite the inside of my cheek even harder. I paste my best impression of a cheerleader smile on my face and lean so far away from Lo that I’m nearly out of my chair. “Congratulations on the game last week. Coach Fenton said that you were instrumental in the win.”

“Thank you, sir,” I say. “But it was a team effort.”

“That’s the spirit,” he agrees. I notice that he hasn’t acknowledged Lo but, new student or not, beach-bum surfer-boy is hardly my problem. “Come on in.”

As I stand to follow Principal Cano to his office, Lo winks at me and sprawls in the chair as if he’s in his living room. He picks up my discarded magazine and flips through it, raising his eyebrow and pointing overtly at the embarrassing-moments article. Unable to help myself, I roll my eyes at him. He’s a piece of work, that one.

Despite the pretense with the magazine, I feel his eyes on me all the way into the principal’s office. I say hello to the guidance counselor, who’s sitting in the second chair on the outside of the wide mahogany desk. Mrs. Leland is a tiny bird of a woman with dark hair always combed back in a bun, and a quiet demeanor. I smile at her and she congratulates me on the game as I take the seat to her left.

Luckily, Principal Cano only wants to talk about college choices, something I haven’t even started to think about. I still have a year of high school to go, but for some reason, it’s on his list of priorities. Jenna had told me he’d had a similar conversation with her about sports schools and sports scholarships. She’d mentioned something about it looking good on Dover’s—and by default Cano’s—record so he always took a vested interest in any potentially promising students, which apparently included me. But Cano has always seemed to be interested in my progress at Dover, so his attention is nothing new.

Lo catches my eye through the blinds of Principal Cano’s office. He’s staring at his phone, completely uncaring of any the rules governing visible cell phone use in school areas. I nod at the appropriate intervals, pretending to listen to Cano but surreptitiously studying the boy sitting outside. Something about him tugs at me. I don’t know if it’s the whole lonely-boy slash bad-boy vibe, but there’s something there that just gets me.

It isn’t about his physical looks. I mean he’s okay, but nothing spectacular. His tanned face is all hard angles and hollows, and his almond-shaped eyes make him look almost feminine. He’s not bad looking, that’s for sure, but cute isn’t a word I’d use to describe him. More on the slender side than bulky, there’s something resilient about him. I didn’t get to see that much of him in the wet suit, but I’m sure he’s in great shape if his surfing is any indication. He’s strong. I see it in the sharp curve of his jaw and in his long slender fingers tapping away on the phone’s screen.

Suddenly, my own phone vibrates in my pocket as a smile curls the left corner of Lo’s mouth. He doesn’t look up, just continues to stare intently at the device in his hands. I frown. Coincidence? It buzzes again and, this time, I can’t help myself.

“Excuse me, Principal Cano, sorry to interrupt but I think I forgot to turn my phone off this morning. I just want to make sure it’s not on.” Cano tosses a benevolent smile in my direction as I slide out my phone with a quick glance at the offending messages. I don’t recognize the number but the words are more than maddeningly identifiable.



Still enjoying that cherry smoothie, I see. BTW, you didn’t tell me your name.



I’m so hot with delayed embarrassment that it feels like I’m going to melt into a puddle on the floor any minute. Lo hasn’t looked up but that smirk is still lurking around the corners of his mouth. I’m itching to slap it off his face and figure out at the same time how he got ahold of my unlisted number. I shove my phone back into my pocket.

Tearing my glance away from the annoyance on the other side of the window, I focus on Principal Cano, who is now looking through my file. Boring. Not much in there other than the usual—transcripts, grades, notes. On paper, I’m an exemplary student, never drawing unnecessary attention to myself.

My gaze spans the desk, and suddenly, my boredom disappears. Next to a heap of files on Cano’s desk is another open file far thinner than mine. The photo of an arrogant but familiar face is clipped to one corner.

Lo’s file.

I bolt upright and forward in my chair, curiosity peppering my brain. It would be so easy to glimmer over the desk without anyone being the wiser. Curiosity gets the better of me, and maybe a little desire for payback. The need to see what’s in that file becomes insistent. In a world governed by paperwork, his file is even thinner than mine, which makes him very interesting.

Lo obviously has money; otherwise, he wouldn’t be here. Not that it matters, but Dover is a snooty private school that isn’t exactly known for giving free rides. As a student with a royal trust fund and a generous long-standing alumni grant, I had no trouble getting admitted. Dover has been my family’s alma mater for centuries.

My real family...the nonhuman one.

Who wouldn’t exactly approve of what I am about to do. Especially my Handlers.

Shoving the thought of them away, I focus on the task at hand. Glimmering isn’t expressly forbidden so I’m not doing anything too untoward, but it is frowned upon because of the potential exposure. I’ll be careful so there won’t be any risk.

Taking a breath, I shrug off the nerves, feeling the water inside my body press against my skin in immediate response as a round weightlessness forms in the middle of my chest. I extend the glimmer-shadow outward like a ball of water, hovering over Principal Cano’s desk as he’s speaking and gesturing at some notes in my file.

From any outside perspective, I’m sitting in my chair and listening intently to what Cano is saying. But for my own purposes, my glimmer-self can now see the pages on the desk as easily as if I were sitting on Principal Cano’s lap. Which is a pretty gross thought.

Focus, I tell myself, and push slightly to the right.

The glimmer-shadow almost breaks but I pull it together with a long, slow breath that slivers through my teeth. Glimmering is a delicate business that involves manipulating minuscule amounts of water in the air and connecting those to the source in my body. The technical term for it is hydroprojection, which basically means controlling the energy of moisture to project an invisible extension of myself wherever I choose. But I like the word glimmer better because that’s what it looks like if anyone were to ever envision it.

As expected, the pages in my file are boring, basically showing my transcripts from my last school, my current grades, my extracurricular activities and all the usual stuff. I’m not interested in any of that. I am interested in the Annoyance. Hovering over the second file, I glance at the sparse notes. Lo is a C student. No surprise—I could have called that just from his don’t-care attitude. Did four sports at his last school including swimming and soccer, and is a Junior State Surf Champion. No surprise there, either. I just don’t get why he’s here and why he had transferred to Dover in the middle of his junior year, from Hawaii of all places.

A note in red on a yellow Post-it catches my attention on the corner of the manila folder. The words Under Observation are underlined several times. It’s stuck above a newspaper clipping. I almost lose hold of the glimmer at the horrific mangled photo of a boat. Nearly his whole family was killed in a sailing accident during a freak storm. His foster father survived but is on life support in some private hospital in Australia, and it appears that Lo was sent here to live with his biological mother, his only remaining family.

A pang of pity spirals its way through me, becoming more intense as it touches my glimmer-self, so much so that it ripples outward. Of their own volition, my eyes turn to the boy sitting in the waiting room outside and connect with a pair of liquid blue ones. He’s staring right at me.

I dissipate in an instant, broken apart by the fierce vulnerability in that look. Or maybe he looks that way because of what I’ve just read. Either way, I feel guilty for my spying even though he couldn’t possibly know what I’d been doing. There’s no way he or any other human would be able to see anything—glimmers are invisible, undetectable to human eyes. Only the Aquarathi—my people—can sense a glimmer, not humans. And Lo is not one of us. If he were, I would know him in an instant.

As an Aquarathi heir, my blood commands any of my kind to declare themselves to me, and it isn’t like they have control over doing so; their bodies respond. It’s complicated to explain, but we work in the same way that water bonds to water. A single drop is but a part of the whole.

Principal Cano’s voice snaps me back to reality.

“Sorry, sir?” I say, momentarily disoriented.

“He asked if you could send Mr. Seavon in on your way back to class?” Mrs. Leland, who is standing next to him, has picked up Lo’s file.

At my blank stare, Mrs. Leland gently clarifies. “Lotharius Seavon. The boy in the waiting room whom you were speaking to earlier.”

Lotharius? I nearly giggle out loud but compose myself. We do live in California, after all, where people name their kids after colors and adverbs and feelings. There’s even a kid called Happy on the surf team at Dover. Lotharius is tamer than most. And for some reason, it suits him, probably more so than “Lo” does. Maybe it’s his exotic looks, but “Max” or “Tony” just wouldn’t seem fitting.

“Oh, of course,” I say just as Mrs. Leland hands me another pile of college brochures. “Is he new here?” I can’t help myself but after seeing Lo’s file on the desk and having him brag earlier that he was a student, I have to know for sure.

“Yes, today is his first day, and he’s a junior like you.” She stares at me with a thoughtful look, tipping her little bird head to the side. “Actually, Ms. Marin, perhaps you could help to show Mr. Seavon around at lunch. Help him get his bearings a bit.” I want to kick myself in the teeth for even asking about Lo...now I’m going to be stuck with the annoying creature. I make a mental note to try to fail my next English exam just get my name off Cano’s “promising students” list, but with my luck, I’ll get hauled in twice as often.

I smile graciously through my gnashed teeth. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my world, it’s that etiquette and flawless courtesy will get you anywhere, especially as a teen. It’s as if the adults don’t expect it. “Of course,” I say sweetly. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Thank you, Ms. Marin,” Principal Cano says, parting his lips in an odd grimace that barely passes for a smile. “As always, it’s been wonderful talking with you. Keep up the good work and be sure to let Mrs. Leland know if any of those—” he nods toward the brochures in my arms “—strike your fancy, and we can take it from there.” He presses a button on his desk phone and speaks into the handset just as I’m exiting the office. “Lori, we’re running a little behind. Can you readjust my schedule after Mr. Seavon? Thank you.”

Outside, Lo stares at me with the ever-present smirk on his face. His eyes, so vulnerable before, are now unreadable. The furrow speeds across my brow and is gone before I can process why his moodiness is even a blip on my radar. I don’t care.

A twinge of something slices through me as I think of all the tragedy in his life, but I’m not here to fix anyone, especially boys who obviously don’t want to be fixed. And I’m sure he’d be pissed if he knew that I’d looked at his file.

Guilt stabs me and I stare at him, inexplicably annoyed. “So...after you’re done, I have to, um, show you around later.”

Lo laughs, the sound of it rich and deep, and crinkling the outer corners of his eyes. The smile softens his entire face, transforming it from sharp to almost pleasant. I pretend not to notice. “Whoa, try not to sound so ecstatic! New-kid babysitter, the job you’ve always wanted.”

I can’t help but return the smile at his sarcastic comment. “Well, I don’t like to boast but they do call me the new-kid whisperer.”

“That must be pretty special.”

“So special,” I say with an exaggerated eye roll.

As we stare at each other with tentative smiles on our faces and laughter in our eyes, something strange flowers in the middle of my chest. It feels like a glimmer, only more tangible with its butterfly touches extending along my arms and legs, as if everything inside of me is responding to someone else’s glimmer call.

It’s not like I haven’t crushed on boys before, but this feels different than any of the other times. The unfamiliar feeling is climbing into my neck and making my blood race. I’m breathless and scared, but still want to sink feetfirst into it, letting it fill me up. For a second, I wonder if this is what Jenna feels whenever she talks about the butterflies she gets with Sawyer.

I’ve never had a real boyfriend, and I’ve definitely never been in love—it’s almost impossible for an Aquarathi to feel a connection with a human the same way we do with one of our own kind. It’s not an abomination or unnatural or anything outmoded like that; it’s just weird, like two pieces working fine together but not really perfectly matched.

“So what are you here for?” I say into the suddenly weighted silence stretching between us. “Orientation?”

A wicked grin. “Nope. Had that last week.”

“So you’re here voluntarily because...?”

“Not voluntarily. Detention,” he says with a wink.

“On your first day?” I gasp, shaking my head at his cavalier expression but struggling not to burst out laughing. There’s something about him that is so irritating yet appealing at the same time. It’s exasperating. Lo stands, swinging his backpack to his shoulder. He’s far taller than I expected, but then again I was practically immersed in water the first time we met. I fight the urge to step back at his sudden nearness and the smell of salt that I can almost taste on my tongue. “So what’d you do?”

“Cut class to go surfing.” He throws a hand out, gesturing at his clothing, but I keep my gaze planted firmly on his face. “Got caught trying to sneak in and get changed. No biggie.”

“Wow, all on your first day—first period, no less. That takes a certain kind of stupid,” I say.

“I don’t like to be confined. Or being told what to do.”

“I can see that, but you know, this is a school,” I say in a mocking tone. “And at school, there are these things called rules. And if you break them, there are consequences.”

Lo’s smile turns cool, very unlike his earlier ones. The air between us becomes heavy with sudden tension. “Well, guess I’ll know who to ask when I need a refresher on how to be perfect.”

“Says the guy heading for detention,” I snap back, stung by his taunt even though I’d just done the same to him. I’m not perfect—I just don’t act out as he obviously does. There’s a huge difference between the two. I can’t afford to call attention to myself, and I’m there to educate myself, not push the boundaries. I don’t know why I’m letting myself get so rattled by someone who doesn’t factor into my existence. “Whatever, I couldn’t care less what you do,” I say, stalking out of the waiting area.

“Sure you do. See you at lunch, Nerissa.”


3

IRRITATIONS

“Ugh, I can’t stand him!”

“Can’t stand who?” Jenna says through a mouthful of cheeseburger.

“Lo. Lotharius Seavon. The new kid. I’m surprised you haven’t seen or heard him yet, he loves himself so much.” I can hardly keep the venom from my voice. Two class periods later and almost halfway through lunch and I’m still flustered by our earlier exchange. And by the fact that he hasn’t shown up at the cafeteria, where we were supposed to meet. I saw him in English but he didn’t even look my way, and now I’m supposed to be nice to him and give him the grand tour? I mutter an expletive under my breath and poke viciously at my salad.

“Wow, that bad?”

“Jenna, you can’t even imagine how bad,” I seethe. “He honestly thinks he is God’s gift or something. I mean, I swear he has rocks for brains. First of all, who would cut their first day to go surfing and show up not in uniform and make fun of Cano almost to his face? An idiot, that’s who.”

“I’d cut to surf,” Sawyer interjects, his streaky brown hair falling into his eyes. “I mean, I wouldn’t get caught, but yeah, not like I haven’t done it before.”

“Yes, but it’s not the same thing,” I argue hotly. “And if you got caught, wouldn’t you at least act sorry? You know, have some remorse or something? It’s not like he even cares. And then to tell me that I’m so perfect because I follow the rules, what does that even mean?” Jenna is staring at me with a weird combination of hilarity and disbelief, her cheeseburger lying forgotten in her hand. I’m on a tirade now, so much so that I don’t notice the sudden wide-eyed look on Sawyer’s face. “Who does he think he is, anyway?”

“Talking about me again?” Lo’s voice over my shoulder is tinged with amusement. “You know, I’m going to start thinking that you have a crush on me.”

“What?” I splutter, every cell inside of me freezing in response. “As if I would ever be interested in you in a gazillion years!”

“That long?” Lo’s reply is mocking, but even my rudeness doesn’t stop him from sitting down at the table and smiling winsomely at Jenna, who has a very odd look on her face. She’s staring from me to Lo and back again, as if she’s seeing something fascinating. Fighting my stupid reaction to his buttery voice, I still haven’t looked at him, keeping my eyes averted as if that’ll make him disappear.

“Hey,” she says with a grin. “I’m Jenna, the snarky one’s best friend, and this is my boyfriend, Sawyer. I take it you’re the Antichrist or something.”

“More like the ‘or something.’” Lo’s laugh must be infectious, because everyone at the table is laughing. Well, everyone except me.

Forcing myself to look at him, I notice that even though he’s dressed in the required school uniform, Lo still manages to look as comfortable as he did in the hoodie and flip-flops earlier in the office. I also can’t help but notice that the navy blazer brings out the bluer flecks in his eyes. He grins and throws his arm across the back of my chair. “So you like my new look?”

I glare at him, my gaze sliding over his artlessly styled sandy hair, and shove my chair—and his arm—back from the table, my usually calm exterior surprisingly ruffled. “The one that screams Justin Bieber wannabe? Sure.” My sarcasm isn’t lost on Jenna, who is watching me carefully with an amused look on her face.

“I meant the clothes, but thanks for noticing the rest.”

“Look, let’s just get this over with before lunch ends. You coming?” I say to him, rolling my eyes skyward. Jenna is wide-eyed, staring at me now with something bordering on delight in her expression. My glare spins to her, but instead of quailing, she collapses into a fit of giggles. “What is your problem?” I snap. “Cano told me to show him around.”

“Nothing,” Jenna says, grinning. “Nothing at all.”

I ignore the fact that “nothing” in Jenna-speak means the exact opposite. I hate the fact that I’m so frazzled. Must be a combination of what happened with Speio and all the thoughts that have resurfaced about my family. I’m just not myself. Later, I’ll have to explain that to Jenna instead of letting her go on thinking that some new guy has me in a tizzy. Which, of course, he doesn’t.

“So, are you coming or what?” I say to Lo, who still hasn’t moved from the table. “Or maybe we can get Cara Andrews to take over as the official tour guide of Dover Prep. She’s only been staring this way for the past ten minutes like a lovesick puppy.”

Lo turns those dark eyes on me, amusement still flickering in their depths, but there’s something else there, too—a glint of disappointment, as if my earlier words had bothered him somehow. That makes no sense, I know. Lo doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him, far less me. It’s more likely his pride’s been injured or something.

“Sure, lead on. I am at your bidding,” he says, standing and ignoring my dig about Cara. My gaze flicks to his, but there’s nothing that reflects the slight mocking tone I heard in his voice. “Nice to meet you guys,” he says to Jenna and Sawyer.

“Yeah, definitely see you around!” Jenna singsongs with a grin at me that makes me want to throttle her.

“So obviously, you know that this is the cafeteria,” I say over my shoulder on the way out, throwing a murderous glare at my best friend. As we walk by Cara’s table, I can’t help noticing that her lovesick glances have now evolved into full-on venom directed at me. I sigh. Just great—all I need is to get in a war with an ex-nemesis over some guy prize that I don’t give two hoots about. She can have him for all I care. I’m just about to offer her the tour task—and simultaneous peace offering—when I notice that Lo’s already at the cafeteria doors, staring at me with an arrogant, challenging expression as if he’s expecting me to do just that.

Am I that predictable? I sigh and head toward him.

In the hallway, I walk briskly but Lo has no trouble keeping up with those long legs of his, not that I’m noticing that he has long legs. He’s just tall, I tell myself, and then realize that I’m having an internal argument about Lo—the thorn in my side—and his legs, which I now inexplicably feel like breaking.

“Cara’s got the hots for you,” I remark, angry with myself for letting him get under my skin. Again. “She’d do a much better job at this than I would.”

But Lo doesn’t answer, just continues to wear the same amused smile as if it’s his customary expression—or maybe it’s his expression around me. I must be so amusing to him. My leg-breaking thoughts return in full force.

“Lockers,” I snarl, throwing my hand to the side and gesturing needlessly to the metal-lined hallways. “Gym’s down that way, also pool, tennis courts and sports fields.”

“Where you play field hockey?”

“What?”

A smile. “I heard you were cocaptain. Plus, everyone’s talking about that game you guys won last week. Kind of hard to ignore.” Lo pauses to look at me, tilting his head and chewing on the corner of his lower lip as we’re walking. I look away quickly, enflamed again. “So, field hockey, huh? I just don’t see it.”

“See what?” I snap back, irritated for feeling so flustered around a stupid boy. I quicken my step, wanting to get this tour over with so I can get as far away from him as possible. “Down there’s the music hall and the auditorium.”

“You look more like a swimmer to me.”

“I hate the water,” I say without thinking. “Student center is down there.”

Lo’s chuckle is long and deep. I sprint up the stairs at the end of the hallway. “Didn’t look like you hated the water the other day.”

Crap, crap, double crap. “I meant I’m allergic to chlorine so I hate pool water.”

It’s not that I’m entirely allergic. Chlorine in intense concentrations can be irritating to our internal tissue, but it isn’t toxic or anything. I can swim in a pool fine, but the chlorine excuse works well as a response to anyone suggesting that I try out for the swim team, which Speio would likely have an aneurysm over.

“Interesting.”

“What’s interesting about that?” I can’t help myself but Lo’s quiet response bugs me.

“It’s too bad. You’re a strong swimmer.”

Confused by what sounds like a sincere compliment, I duck my head and then smile. “Hmm, thought that was you watching me before, like a—what were your words again?—oh, yes, a cherry smoothie,” I jibe, mimicking his words from that morning.

Lo winks. “Strawberry’s my favorite, but who’s checking?”

My breath hitches in my throat at his obvious admission, my words tumbling out past it. “Principal Cano’s office is down that hall, as you know. Plus, all the other admin offices and the faculty lounge. Media room over there down the same hallway. Art studio’s on that side. Classrooms. They’re pretty much the same, you know, the usual.” I turn toward him, still flushed at his casual admission of staring at me on the beach. “Look, this is pretty much it. Like every other high school.”

“I wouldn’t know. My last high school was twelve rooms.”

“In Hawaii?” I blurt out, and then kick myself. “I mean, Mrs. Leland mentioned that you were a transfer. From there.”

Lo throws me a long measured look. “She did?” I nod. “What else did Mrs. Leland say about me?”

“Not much, just that you had transferred because...” I trail off, unable to finish the sentence or find a quick enough substitute for because your family burned in a horrific accident. My immediate rush of pity is no surprise, nor is the sudden reaction to it on Lo’s face. His hard expression hits me like a bucket of ice water. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” Every muscle in that angular face snaps to attention, his eyes becoming cold and unreadable.

“Thanks for showing me around.” Without another word, Lo stalks off in the opposite direction just as the bell rings. Flustered by his sudden departure, I retrace my steps to my locker to get my history books.

In class, I find myself unable to concentrate. Caught in the crossfire of Speio’s pointed looks, Jenna’s raised eyebrows, Cara’s demon scowls and the fascinating topic of the Bill of Rights, all I can think about is Lo and my hideous faux pas of alluding to his private secrets. From the look on my face, he’d guessed that I’d somehow found out about his family, and now I feel terrible for spying in Principal Cano’s office. I kick myself mentally for the nineteenth time.

“Class, please open your textbooks to page one hundred and eleven, and read the rest of the chapter,” Mr. Moss says. “Then pair up and work on the quiz questions at the end. There will be a real quiz next class.”

Amid the groans in the classroom, mechanically I do as requested, but I can’t even focus to get the right answers. Jenna glowers at me.

“What’s with you?” she whispers.

“Nothing. Just not feeling that great.”

A wicked grin. “Anything to do with loverboy? Did you make out on your tour?”

“Gross. I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I’m not into him, so forget whatever it is you’re plotting about in your head, okay?” I say. “I don’t want to talk about Lo.”

We both jump at Mr. Moss’s voice. “Ms. Marin and Ms. Pearce, I expect that you two are discussing the quiz and not something unrelated to history.”

“Um, yes, sir,” we both say. Jenna leans in again once Mr. Moss’s piercing stare has moved elsewhere. “So is he single?”

“For the love of...” I grumble, irritated. “I don’t know, Jenna.”

“I wonder where he is,” she stage-whispers. “Bet he’s with Cano for new-kid stuff. Look, if this guy’s our year he has to be in Bio next period. You can make your next move then!”

“Will you stop with the plotting?” I stare at the practice quiz, ignoring her attempts to get my attention and silently hoping that she’s right—that he’ll be in class next period.

But Jenna is wrong. Lo isn’t in Bio. I know I shouldn’t care but I feel responsible, as if I’m the cause of him not being there. It seems as if I have an unerring, magic ability to ruin the lives of everyone around me. Even people I don’t know.

Some queen I’d be.

Beating myself up for the rest of the day and feeling more and more guilty with each passing second, I’m literally out the door before the last bell has stopped ringing. Ignoring Jenna’s reminder that we have hockey practice, I mumble something about having an appointment and race to the south parking lot.

There’s someone leaning against my Jeep. My stomach sours.

“What do you want, Speio?”

“So who was that guy you were talking to at lunch?”

I stare at him. “A new kid. A transfer.”

“From where?”

Speio’s twenty questions undermine my rapidly failing composure. “What, are you my keeper now?” I snap, moving to unlock my door. Speio blocks my way.

“No, Nerissa, I’m your Handler, right?”

I freeze at the sarcastic accusation in his voice, recalling my command for him to speak with Echlios. “No, Speio, you’re not,” I say gently. “Your parents are. What did Echlios say?”

“That we were stuck here forever. When did you decide?”

“A year ago,” I say tiredly, not wanting to bring up my father, how everything had changed since then. “Speio, can we talk about this later? I can’t do this right now.”

“It’s never a good time, is it?” he shoots back. “No, Nerissa, let’s talk about this now. I knew something was wrong when you started devoting all your time to hockey practice. We were supposed to go back, and my father just kept telling me to be patient, that we would return in due time, when you were ready. That was all a lie, wasn’t it?”

I swallow and lean against the car door. “I’m sorry, Speio. What do you want me to say? That it’s true? That I can’t face Ehmora? I can’t be who everyone wants me to be. My father was king, not me.”

“So what?” Speio spits, eyes flashing. “You’re the heir. It’s your duty to protect your people. The whole kingdom is falling to pieces without you.”

“You don’t get it. She makes a better queen than I ever could.”

His expression at my clipped words goes from frustrated to furious. “So you give up, just like that? Let the person who killed your father take your place? What about our families, Nerissa? They’re still there.”

I think about saying that he has family there, that mine—at least my immediate family—is gone. But I can’t get the words out of my mouth.

“You know what Ehmora is capable of, and yet you turn your head the other way. She cares about power, not the people. Anyone loyal to your father has gone into hiding, hoping that you will come back to help them,” Speio seethes, digging his fingers into the metal bars of the Jeep so deeply that it buckles beneath them. “But we’ve stayed here and done nothing while so many died, and all you want to do is forget about who you are, to become like these insipid humans. You’re stupid and blind. And selfish.”

“Don’t you speak to me like that!” I hiss. “I am your—”

“My nothing,” Speio says dully, his eyes wet with tears, gesturing to the landscape around us. “You are a princess of nothing. A princess of rocks and mud and death.”

My hand cracks across his face, and not even the angry red mark tempers my rage. I shove at his chest, my speech becoming more formal and clipped in my native language. “Shut up! You don’t know anything, you stupid boy.”

Speio’s fingers slide along the imprint of my fingers on his face. “Better a stupid boy than a coward.”

“You are out of line,” I whisper, sliding down against the side of my car. But Speio’s right. I can hear my own voice breaking, as his words strike more deeply than my hand did against his face. I am a coward, because I’ve done nothing to avenge my father, to protect my people or, for that matter, the ocean I love. I’ve hidden here with my head stuck in the ground like one of those ridiculous giant birds, refusing to accept the legacy I was born into. “You don’t know anything!”

He stares at me. “You’re right, I don’t. I’m bound to you here on land by your command and your cowardice. No one bothered to tell me that we would never be going home. Or that we didn’t have a home. I can’t do this anymore.” Speio turns and walks away. He stops at his car at the edge of the parking lot, his fists clenched, before turning around. “You think you’re safe here? That she isn’t coming after you? She will. She wants you dead, just like she wanted your father dead. And she’ll kill us all when she’s done with you. I’m not sticking around here for that.”

“Who told you that? Your parents—”

“—are trusting fools,” Speio finishes. “Isn’t that why you didn’t tell me in the first place? Because you knew I’d call you out on it?”

“No. I did it to protect you.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Speio seethes. “You and I both know why you wanted to keep this from me, because you knew I’d never let you. You’re a coward, plain and simple, and that’s the truth. Well, I’m not going to die here. Unlike you, I’d rather take my chances where I belong. Down there. And if I get that chance, I’m taking it. With or without you.”

I don’t even notice when it starts raining or how long I’ve sat against the side of my car. But when I open my eyes, mine is the only car in the lot. I can feel pain tearing its way through me like lightning bolts. I’ve known Speio pretty much my whole life. He’s been my confidant, my best friend, the one who’d never desert me in a million years, and now he’s going to do exactly that.

The rain mixes in with the salt of my tears, running like a salve on my molten emotions. The cool water soaks into my skin and I turn my face upward, watching the darkened clouds move across the sky, fading in and out and being ripped into jagged edges by streaks of lightning. The storm is an echo of the one inside of me...because of what I am.

A monster.

I glance upward as a jagged streak of lightning rips the sky to pieces. The storm will only get worse if I don’t do something to banish the tornado brewing inside of me. Brushing my wet hair from my face, I stand. My mind races from the keys in my hand to the thick brush of woods beyond. I need to move, to run, to scream. It’s the only way the storm will subside.

Without a second thought, I throw my bag into the car and race into a nearby thicket, following a running path strewn with leaves. I don’t stop until I come to an open spot, my chest pounding and my breath catching in my throat. The storm is still raging above, but I stand in the middle of the glade with my arms lifted toward it, embracing the bulletlike drops of rain pelting down on me. I spin, my arms out wide, sending the rain in the reverse direction back up toward the skies until the air around me shimmers with suspended droplets. Slowly, I pull the drops into me, like the arc of a fountain, feeling them pass over and inside my flesh, and out to the ground below.

Water is cleansing.

But not as forgiving or forgetful.

The storm inside of me spills over, black thunderclouds forming almost instantly in the sky. I’ve betrayed them all—and everything that I am, I have betrayed by pretending to be something I’m not. I’m not human.

I’m Aquarathi...even if I don’t want to be.

I shove my arms upward, the strength of my will creating an invisible ceiling until all the water pools on top of it in midair, and then I release it. The force of it knocks me to my knees but it’s still not enough. Speio is right. I am a coward who does nothing but care about herself.

I must be punished. Harder.

Lightning staggers down around me through the rain into the ground beside me, blistering the skin of my body through the earth. Speio once called electricity our Kryptonite—the one substance that can stop us in our tracks. Even though the bolts are barely touching me, they are near enough that my human skin is scorched, and I’m almost senseless from the pain of it dispersing into my cells.

I barely feel the body crashing into me, slamming us both to the ground and breaking my terrible connection with the sky and the earth.

“What are you doing, my lady?” Echlios’s face is horrified. But I can’t even speak. All I can do is cry against his chest and choke on the bitterness that’s killing me. Echlios embraces me tightly, funneling the water that’s around us through his body and into mine and healing the singed areas. After a while, when everything inside of me calms, the storm ebbs until the rain is but a light shower. “What were you thinking?” he says, rocking me back and forth.

“I’m a fake—” I begin.

“No, you are not. Come, let’s get you home.”

I let Echlios take me back to my Jeep and he drives us home, leaving his own car in the parking lot. On the way, I stare out the window, watching the ocean glint in the distance as if it, too, is reproaching me. A critical part of our human acclimatization means taking steps to ensure that the humans are focused on taking care of the oceans and marine life. I have done none of that. I’d turned my back on it—all of it, not just my family and my people, but my home. I’d pretended to be human because it’d been so much simpler to be nobody than to fight to be somebody. I’d even refused to continue my combat training with Echlios and Speio, to do anything Aquarathi-related. Instead, all I’d done was run away from who I was. And my people had paid the price—Speio, Echlios and Soren most of all—when Ehmora had stolen the throne. Because the worst possible thing that could happen had happened, and I’d chosen to let it.

“There has always been dissent between the courts,” Echlios had told me. “Your father said it wasn’t our place to interfere in the affairs of humans. But Ehmora had other ideas, and she has the support of the Emerald and Sapphire courts. She believes that Earth is our shared home and we must step in to prevent the death of the oceans. That as a species, it is our duty to alter the course of the future if necessary.”

“You mean, reveal ourselves to the humans?” I said, shocked. For millennia, we’ve lived in secret and in symbiotic harmony with the human race, either blending into human life like Echlios, Soren, Speio and I have during a human initiation cycle, or lying hidden in the depths of the oceans.

“No, but nudge where needed to prevent future disaster,” Echlios said. “It is the reason the alliance between all the courts was formed. We intervene where we have to in order to preserve our own future. Ehmora believes this is our world, too, regardless of what the humans do. So the royal heirs are sent here for the human cycle to learn...and to act in our interests.”

“But Father always said that Ehmora wanted to control the humans.”

A sad smile. “She does. Your father knew that Ehmora wouldn’t stop at a nudge or two. She wants more. She wants all of it. Your father only sought to protect us, to avoid war with the humans. Don’t you think if they knew about us, they would hunt us down? We’re so few compared to them.”

My father was right. Everything we knew about humans suggested they would stop at nothing to analyze, conquer or kill us. It’s in their nature. But a part of me also agreed with Ehmora. After all, I’d known no home other than Earth. It stands to reason that we should protect our planet, even if the humans don’t know about our existence. But my father’s belief that Aquarathi should remain in the shadows was rooted in the cautious thinking of our ancestors, as they had done for centuries. He wanted to keep us unidentified and alive, and as king of the High Court, his word was law. He’d gone against Ehmora.

And he had been murdered for it.

Echlios carries me up to the house from the car, bringing me back to the present. One of our neighbors waves with a concerned look, and Echlios explains that I took a tumble during a run. Technically he is my Handler, but he is also my legal guardian, the closest person I have to a parent in the human world. Although the house is mine, we have to keep up the appropriate human pretenses. I manage a feeble wave on the way inside.

“My lady,” Speio’s mother and my guardian “mom” says, her voice full of concern as Echlios helps me hobble through the door.

“It’s okay, Soren, I’m fine, just a minor disagreement with a thunderstorm. I need to be alone right now. Please?” I ask weakly. She exchanges a worried look with her husband, but steps back to let me pass.

My room is as I left it—untidy, vibrant and colorful. Unlike the somber hues of the rest of the house, mine is more like my true home. The one I’d sworn never to return to. I stare at the brilliant pieces of sea glass coating the shimmery indigo ceiling, all the bits that I’d found on the beach over the years, and the stained-glass windows I’d made Echlios install above the French doors. I’d painted the walls myself in all the shifting blue hues of the ocean—cerulean, azure, cobalt, navy, sapphire and aqua. When the sun hits the stained glass just right, it’s an explosion of magical color that can only be rivaled in one other secret place, a place I haven’t seen in nearly three years.

Waterfell.

I can almost hear Speio’s voice in my head asking if I hate Waterfell so much, why the minishrine in my room? But I don’t hate Waterfell. I just hate who I’m supposed to be when I’m there. A child princess they all look at with a mixture of contempt and pity; contempt because I’d always done what I wanted when I wanted with no care for my father’s wishes, and pity because it was a grave I’d dug for myself. In the end, my father’s advisers had been elated when my initiation began and I was out of sight.

Out of mind.

With a painful gulp, I open the sliding-glass doors to the patio and step outside. In the backyard, shielded by the house on three sides and the beach on the other, I shed my clothes and dive into our deep saltwater pool, swimming down until I’m at the bottom. The skies have gone from an angry gray to a dark blue tinged with pink and gold. The Aquarathi, particularly the royals, have always had a tumultuous relationship with weather. Storms at sea are often caused by our emotions, even as deep down as we live. At least the myths of old have gotten that right—sea monsters are synonymous with storms.

The dark blue color of the sky reminds me of Lo’s eyes, and for a second, I realize that I haven’t thought about him since I left school. A twinge of guilt seeps through and I know that Lo is the least of my worries for all the people I’ve hurt or disappointed. The water ripples above me and I see a shadow standing at the edge of the pool. I nod, and there’s a splash as someone swims down toward me.

I’m sorry, Speio mouths, sinking down to the bottom. “I was out of line,” he says in our language, little more than a series of clicks and sharp pulses underwater. His blond hair fans around his face and I grasp his hand in mine.

“I’m sorry, too,” I say, gripping hard. He grips back just as tightly. “We’ll figure this out, Speio, I promise. I can’t just hide here and I know that now. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You were right. I was afraid of what you’d say.”

Together we lie back on the bottom of the pool with the water undulating above us, and watch the last afterglow of day give in to the darker demands of the night. There’s barely any moon, but we don’t need the light in the growing darkness. The shimmer of green and gold dancing beneath my skin is just as mesmerizing as the one of turquoise and silvery white beneath his. I close my eyes.

We could almost be back home.


4

BONDING

“You’re asking me out?”

I stare at Lo incredulously in the cafeteria. He hasn’t spoken to me in days, and apart from seeing each other in class over the past week and a half—and awkwardly ignoring each other—we’ve been like a couple of ships passing in the night. In fact, with the exception of Sawyer, he seems to have gravitated away from my group and toward Cara’s—which has me experiencing polar-opposite feelings that I have no intention of analyzing. For all I care, he could be any other boy floating along the school hallways.

Only Lo doesn’t carry himself like every other high school boy. He walks with a curious nonchalance, an easy arrogance in his step and exuding confidence. Sawyer told Jenna that it probably stemmed from him living abroad for so many years. For some reason, the two of them—Sawyer and Lo—took an immediate liking to each other, probably via their mutual love of surfing. Once, during lunch, Sawyer mentioned that Lo was widely traveled and had lived practically everywhere. I snorted and replied snarkily that life as a pampered prince must be tough for some, but shut up immediately when Jenna stared at me like I’d grown two horns on my head.

So right now, with Lo standing in front of me, I refuse to even look in her direction because I’m positive that she’ll have some ridiculously giddy I-told-you-so expression on her face, especially because said boy is asking me out.

“Like on a date?” I say.

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?” Lo says.

“A little,” I say, frowning. “I mean, you don’t like me, and that’s fine because I don’t like you, either. Plus, you’ve been marked as Cara’s property, so yes, it is hard to believe.”

Lo smiles evenly at me. “First, I’m not anyone’s property. Plus, I didn’t think we had a chance to get to know each other, so I’m trying to fix that.”

Despite my secret thrill at his words about Cara, going on a date with Lo is not something I’m interested in doing. At all.

“Why?”

“Why not?” he counters.

“I don’t think it’s such a good—”

But Jenna cuts me off, her face a ferocious glower that fuses the rest of my sentence to the roof of my mouth. She’s made it pretty clear that I owe her for covering for me earlier in the week when I ditched practice because of a complete emotional breakdown that I could never tell her about. Obviously, she’s calling in the favor.

Smiling sweetly, she says, “Why don’t we make it a double date?”

“Jenna,” I whisper in warning, but as usual she ignores me, plowing through.

“It’ll be fun. Tomorrow night after the surf meet. We can go to the Crab Shack—they have a great Saturday two-for-one special.” She stands, tucking her bag under one arm and kissing Sawyer on his head. “Look, I have to run, guys. Have to talk to Leland before class. But tomorrow, perfect!”

And just like that it’s over. I watch in stunned silence as Jenna makes her way out of the cafeteria. Lo has a similar dazed look on his face, and Sawyer can’t stop laughing at both of our identical expressions.

“Is she like that a lot?” Lo asks in a bemused voice, as if he isn’t quite sure what’s happened.

Sawyer grins. “You’ve just been Jenna-rolled. You know, she’s like a human steamroller. I find it easier to just let her go when she gets an idea in her head.” Sawyer laughs again. “Comes from a good place, though, and hey, at least she helped your game.” He nods at Lo and winks as if I’m not sitting right there next to them. “So how were the waves this morning, bro? I missed out, had to work an early shift before school.”

They start talking about surfing, and I zone out. As I finish my sandwich, I surreptitiously start studying Lo...the guy I’ll be going on a date with thanks to Jenna, which I still think is a bad idea. He leans back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, listening to Sawyer ramble on about low tide, agreeing with a nod. He seems so guarded, except when he’s with Sawyer or surfing. He doesn’t trust easily, that’s for sure. Even though I can’t get a good read on him, he and Sawyer seem to click, and Sawyer isn’t the kind of guy to make friends easily, as Jenna pointed out to me. But even Sawyer’s obvious approval of Lo as a person doesn’t help my weird paranoia where Lo is concerned. Not that I am paranoid about him, I just don’t know him.

Not that I want to, of course.

Lo laughs at something Sawyer says, throwing his head back and raking a hand through hair that’s the color of sand. When we first met, he was wearing a wet suit hood and then a beanie. I assumed that he was dark-haired, given his dark eyebrows, but instead he is more on the blond side. The lightness makes his eyes seem almost black in contrast.

Lo’s gaze slips across the table toward me, and I duck mine hastily and pick at my food. I hardly want to be caught staring at him, especially with Cara sending incineration-size glowers toward our table. Lo has been sitting with them at lunch, so it must be killing her that today he’s at my table. I’m not usually one to give in to petty rivalries, but Cara’s been getting under my skin lately as if she has some kind of point to prove, with Lo especially. The thrill that runs through me at the thought of what she’d say if she knew about the date has me grinning—a grin that draws Lo’s attention like a spark. So when I see Speio waving at me from across the cafeteria, I grab my tray and excuse myself.

“As much as I love hearing you guys gab about how surfing is the answer for world peace, I gotta run. Catch you later.”

“Aw, don’t be hating, Riss,” Sawyer says with a teasing grin. “It’s all good. Haven’t seen you on the waves lately. You forgot how or what?”

“I just don’t want to show you up,” I joke back.

“You surf?” Lo’s voice is quiet but surprised.

“Sometimes.” I would never tell either of them that I surf mostly at night when no one else is in the ocean...when it’s just the waves and me. Plus, it’s dangerous, especially if either of them chooses to come along. The sea is full of dangerous predators after dusk—sharks, to say the least. They keep a healthy distance from the Aquarathi, but for humans they probably wouldn’t be so charitable. “Haven’t been lately, though.”

“You should come after school today,” Sawyer says. “High tide’s at four. You in?”

With a glance at Lo, I shrug. “I’ll think about it. Jenna wants me to go shopping with her so we’ll see. Later.”

“I’m looking forward to tomorrow,” Lo says. I ignore the low burn that his words cause deep in the pit of my stomach, and choke back my automatic sarcastic response. Jenna’ll kill me if I ruin her grand plans for my love life. Instead, I try to smile and look enthusiastic, but my effort is poor at best. Lo grins as if he can see right through me.

On the other side of the cafeteria, Speio seems to be in a good mood despite the still-shaky fallout from our fight. Although we had talked about everything, things between us are not as easy as they used to be. I still don’t have any answers with respect to the situation with Ehmora, so for now, we have to wait until his father can find out more about Ehmora’s motives from his remaining connections.

I mean, she left me alone for an entire year after my father was murdered, so it stands to reason that she has what she always wanted, control over the High Court. After much discussion, I realized that Echlios and Speio were right and, regardless of what happened, I can’t hide forever. I’m the only living heir to the High Court, and as much as I love living in the human world and the anonymity it gives me, the responsibility I have to my people weighs on me. Am I scared? Sure. But leaving people in the hands of a false queen with a crazy agenda is far worse than the alternative.

Echlios’s spies told him that many of those who were loyal to my father—and still are—are being imprisoned and eventually exiled or executed for fictitious crimes against Ehmora. There has been a systematic cleanse of anyone who could ever oppose her, a vicious act that only I can put an end to once I come of age. And so, we’ve formulated a loose plan. I’ll continue to participate in my cycle of human adaptation, while Echlios engages his allies in the High Court or any of the other lower courts.

Despite my command to do nothing after my father’s death, he’d been intent on protecting my interests—both here and in Waterfell—a fact that I’m now very grateful for. Without him, I’d probably have no allies. Speio will continue to be an extra layer of security at school, and for the moment, it will be business as usual until we regroup and come up with a more solid plan of action.

“So the new guy seems to be getting close to your circle,” Speio comments through a mouthful of chocolate brownie.

“Gross, Speio. I can see into your stomach from here. And no, he’s not a part of my circle. He and Sawyer are having a surf bromance. We’re all going to the Crab Shack on Saturday if you want to come,” I say in a nonchalant voice. Speio swallows and watches my face carefully as if trying to assess my words for truth. I widen my eyes and paste a sardonic expression on my face. “Your brain’s going to explode if you keep trying to mind-meld me.”

He grins and resumes chewing. “So what do you know about him?”

I lean forward with a conspiratorial look and whisper, “He’s a Death Dealer who moved here from Hawaii. You know, a secret lycan-killing vampire machine. We need to be super careful around him. He’s out for blood, I can feel it.”

Speio rolls his eyes, relaxing. “Ha, ha, very funny. And seriously, quoting from Underworld? You could do so much better in the realm of vampire cult movies. Kate Beckinsale is weak.”

“Kate is awesome,” I say. “One day, I’m going to rock a pleather cat suit just like that one. Think I can pull it off?” I gesture at my torso and Speio shakes his head, grinning at me.

“Nope, you can’t.”

I grin back and shove him in the shoulder at the insult. We burst out laughing together.

I’m still giggling as my eyes connect with a pair of amused blue ones from the lunch table I just vacated, and the laughter flies from my lips. Lo has turned his chair so that it’s sideways against the table and his feet are propped on the one beside him, one arm resting along the table and drumming with his fingertips. He holds my gaze effortlessly, a whisper of a smile playing about his lips. There’s something there I can’t place, the pull of something magnetic...like water to water. I’m only able to drag my eyes from the spell of his at Speio’s voice.

“What?” I mumble, suddenly disoriented.

“Sure looks like he’s in your circle.” This time, I can’t help the dark flush that seeps up the back of my neck and into my cheeks. I glare at Speio and keep my eyes firmly on the table, embarrassed to have been caught in a weird eye-lock with some boy.

“Look, he’s just a new kid. Check him out if you have to, I don’t care.”

But I do care. A part of me wants to know everything there is to know about Lo. I want to know why my heartbeat trips over itself every time I think about him, or why his name makes me breathless. Even if it means getting Speio to do it.

“I can introduce you after school,” I offer.

I glance at Speio and chew on my bottom lip, trying to think through whether adding Speio to the mix would be a smart decision. I sigh. I’m already going to the Crab Shack with Lo, so Speio’ll have to meet him sometime—it’s one of Echlios’s few rules: anyone who comes close to me has to be thoroughly checked out. Even Jenna was subject to scrutiny once we started hanging out together regularly, and then Sawyer because he was Jenna’s boyfriend. I joked once to Speio that he was my Aquarathi Secret Service. Let’s just say he wasn’t as much a fan of the acronym as I was.

“Surf session after school,” I say. “Want to come with?”

“Surfing? During the day?” I nod. “You’re going to have to tone it down, you know. It’s a full moon in a few days, which means you’re going to have to be extra careful with the water...and the other things.”

“I know, Speio.”

A shiver races up my spine at the thought. Speio means the fish and other sea creatures. Around full moon, they tend to get a little crazy around us, which is why I don’t go swimming then if I can help it. They aren’t dangerous. They’re just more aggressive so they draw too much attention. Soren told me once that it had something to do with us glimmering in response to the moon. Full moon is a very uninhibited time for my people—apparently Aquarathi pheromones are a pretty powerful thing—and we are apt to get a little moon-crazy.

It gets worse until we bond with a mate, which usually happens soon after we mature into adulthood in a coming-of-age transition called Dvija. Most Aquarathi experience Dvija between fourteen and nineteen, so it’s unusual for any of us to go beyond our teen years without bonding with a mate. I’m almost seventeen and still haven’t experienced Dvija. Speio has, but living as humans, neither of us has had the opportunity to think much about bonding.

“What are you thinking about?” Speio asks, interrupting my train of thought.

“Dvija and bonding,” I admit. If I can’t talk to Speio, who else can I talk to about the ins and outs of who we are? Echlios and Soren, as much as I love them, are way too much like parents for me to be comfortable bringing up something so awkward.

Speio’s eyebrows shoot into his head. “Um, okay. That’s weird.”

“Don’t you ever think about it? I mean, you went through Dvija two years ago. What does it feel like?”

“Wow, time and place,” Speio says, glancing around, and then pauses, watching me and leaning across the table. “Riss, where is this coming from? Are you okay?”

I feel myself blushing. I refuse to let my eyes slide to the boy sitting at the edge of my peripheral vision. Why would a human boy make me think about bonding? It isn’t like it would be possible with one of them. Although in human form we’re physically compatible with humans, bonding is altogether an entirely different matter. For the Aquarathi, it’s a connection at the most basic molecular level—the core of who we are, of everything we are.

“Never mind. It was just something Soren mentioned,” I say quickly, and change the subject. “So about surfing, I’ll be careful, I promise. And if you come, you can keep an eye on me.”

“Sure, I’ll be there,” Speio says, looking incredibly relieved that we’ve veered away from the bonding subject. His grin widens into something roguish. “Those friends of yours better be ready for a schooling.”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur, and apart from a few speculative glances from Lo during English whenever he thinks I’m not looking, it feels like I’m back in my groove. I’ve taken more detailed notes than usual but it’s either that or obsess about why Lo keeps sneaking furtive looks in my direction. I’d rather write a thousand pages of notes than tie myself up into knots about what some human boy thinks about me.

I’d also told Jenna before class about the impromptu surf session but she doesn’t seem too upset about postponing our shopping date.

“Sawyer said it would be good practice before the surf meet,” she says. “And we know I’ll do anything for that boy, including not shopping. That’s true love for you.”

I shake my head at her lovesick face, studiously ignoring her suggestive glances that swing in Lo’s direction and then back to me. I know exactly what she’s hinting at but it’s not going to happen. Double date or not, getting to know a boy who already makes me jumpy—or makes me think about bonding—is a definite no-no.

“Stop,” I tell her when she starts making smoochy faces.

“Come on,” she whispers. “He’s hot.”

“There’s far more to life than hot boys,” I whisper back. Although my sneaky inner self doesn’t dispute that Lo is hot in a sexy, two-dimensional kind of way—like one of my favorite anime characters, Eiri from Gravitation or Noctis from Final Fantasy.

“Not much more,” Jenna says, waggling her eyebrows comically. We burst into smothered giggles until our study hall teacher glares us into silence.

After school, we split up in the parking lot. Jenna is riding with Sawyer since his boards are already in his truck. Speio and I head to my Jeep. Lo’s driving himself in a tricked-out truck that looks more like beast than car. When I stare at it, he shrugs. “Gift from my mom. She overcompensates a lot.”

“So where are we going? Black’s?” I ask, pulling up alongside Sawyer. Black’s is a tricky break with perfect conditions because of an underwater canyon, though it’s usually crowded.

“No, too many nakes,” he says. I snort. He’s referring to the nudists. Black’s used to be known as a nude beach, and even though nudity is outlawed, put it this way...if you want your eyes to bleed, you go to Black’s.

“Aw, nudies need love, too,” I shoot back, grinning.

Since Speio and I have to swing past the house to pick up my board, we all decide to meet at Lower Trestles, which is about an hour’s drive north of where we are. It isn’t a gentle surf spot but I assured an overconfident Lo that he didn’t need to accommodate any groms. He grinned and told me that he hadn’t expected any less.

Once our boards are strapped up top, Speio and I don’t talk about anything other than classes and the weather...pretty much as mundane a conversation as you can get. Neither of us wants to acknowledge the giant gorilla in the backseat, which I’d inadvertently brought up at lunch.

Bonding.

But I can’t get it out of my head. I can’t stop wondering what it would feel like to let someone into you so much that you can think and feel as one. Even thinking about it is secretly thrilling.

It’s for life, Soren had explained to me once years ago during one of our training sessions that she still took very seriously. As much as Echlios was responsible for my physical development, Soren saw to my grooming and preparation as High Court heir.

“As a species, we don’t bond more than once,” she’d told me.

“How come?”

“Too painful. When you become a part of someone else, and they a part of you, bonding with another would be too complicated.”

“But what if one of us dies?”

“Then a part of you dies, too.”

It was as simple as that. The thought of it terrifies and excites me at the same time, and the older I get, the worse it becomes—the heavy sense of anticipation, knowing that a part of me is out there somewhere, waiting for me as much as I’m waiting for it.

With me, bonding would be so much more than it’d be for any other Aquarathi. If I had returned home, my Dvija would have been celebrated with all kinds of ceremony, because any partner of mine would become my royal companion. But since my father’s death, everything changed. There was nothing for me to return to—no crown, no ceremony and no family.

My mother died when I was very young, and for years it was just my dad and me. As a child, I’d been willful and stubborn to a fault, always getting into trouble and disappearing.

“There are better ways to get attention,” Soren had said to me after an ill-advised disappearing act during an important court banquet in Waterfell. “Like being a daughter and princess he can be proud of. You should have been there today. Your absence was noted by many.”

“I don’t want to be a princess,” I’d said sourly. “And I don’t care.”

“You can’t keep running from who you are, Nerissa. One day you will be queen.”

“I’d rather live in a cave full of vomit.”

Looking back, I was far more trouble than I was worth. Our people faulted him for being so indulgent and not taking a firmer hand with me, saying that if he couldn’t control his own child, how could he control his people? Put it this way—when I left, no one missed me. After all, as the humans say, no one mourns the wicked. Without my father, the thought of returning to Waterfell alone was—and still is—terrifying.

“What’s wrong?” Speio asks, sensing my change in mood.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about...my father,” I say after a few seconds. “At least you still have Echlios and Soren, even if we aren’t there. My father’s gone, and I’ll always be a constant disappointment to the Aquarathi.” Speio doesn’t answer right away, but I can see a sudden tightness at the corner of his mouth and in his fingers on the steering wheel. My voice fades to a whisper. “How can I face them? They only remember a silly child.”

“The people will give you a chance. You’re the heir,” he says. “Look, you’re almost seventeen. Dvija’s bound to happen soon. When you come of age to rule in a few months, everything will change.”

I glance at him. “Spey, does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?”

“Transitioning. Dvija.”

“A little.” Speio’s voice grows as tight as his fingers. “It’s more like you feel everything, like everything is heightened, all emotions.” He shoots me a look. “Riss, you know all this, how we work, how all of that sense of awareness goes away once you—”

“—bond,” I finish, hesitating before I ask the real question. “But what if we never do? What happens then?”

“If we stay human,” he says quietly, “it hurts less.”

“Oh.” Which explains why Speio very rarely accompanies me on my occasional deep-sea jaunts when I transform into Aquarathi form for hours at a time. “One more question, and I’ll shut up, I promise.”

“You can ask me anything, Riss, you know that.”

“Can we bond with a human?”

I already know the answer, but I risk the sudden sharp look that Speio launches in my direction because I want to hear him say it. I need to hear him say it. I need to know that the butterfly sensation in my chest caused by this human boy means nothing.

“No,” he says, his green eyes searching. “But it doesn’t mean we can’t love them.”

“Did you ever? Love one of them?”

“No. It’s just not as real for me. No matter how much they love you, or you them, you will always want more. You will always search for the missing part of yourself.” He pauses. “And that can never be a human.”

We don’t speak again until we pull into the deserted stretch of gravelly road. The others are already there and getting changed. It’s a bit of a hike down to the beach so the plan is to gear up first and walk down. I pull my hair into a ponytail and shrug out of my jeans to pull on a shortie wet suit over my bikini—it may be spring, but the water is still chilly, and even though water temperature doesn’t affect me, I need to keep up appearances.

“Hurry up, slowpokes,” Sawyer yells, already dressed and heading down the path.

I notice that Jenna isn’t changing. “You’re not surfing?”

“Here? No way. It’s like overhead out there, if you haven’t noticed. I prefer the baby waves.” She thrusts a camera in my face. “I’ll just take some shots of you guys. Looking good, Lo,” she says loudly with an exaggerated wink.

I try to force myself not to look at him but it’s too late. My eyes connect with a killer six-pack made even more killer by the ridge of black neoprene riding low on a pair of very lean hips. With a sharp intake of air and scolding myself in the same breath for even noticing, I tear my eyes away. What’s wrong with me? It’s not like I haven’t seen tons of showboating surfer dudes flaunting their chiseled bodies all over La Jolla. I make myself look up, keeping my expression nonchalant.

But Lo makes no such effort. He’s staring at me with a look of blatant appreciation on his face, and this time I can’t stop the blush that rises like an answering tide through me, nor the feeling of complete dissolution taking hold of my body. I barely even notice Speio’s frown or Jenna’s ecstatic face.

I know one thing’s for certain.

It’s not the butterflies I need to be worried about.


5

TAKING THE DROP

Out here, the ocean is vast, like a glittering surface that stretches to meet the sky, dipping and rolling in constant movement. In the distance, the edges of Catalina break the line of the horizon. With the sun making its way down, everything is dusted in a golden tinge—a sea and sky of molten gold. This is my favorite time of day, just before the sunset shimmers into red and orange, when the world is at its most perfect.

Breathless, I lie on my board way past the lineup where the ocean is only a gentle swell, dangling my arm into the water and feeling the fine layer of salt crusting on my face. I’m not tired, but it has taken more effort than usual to control my impulses. On top of my volatile feelings with Lo, I know I’m playing with fire because being in the ocean this close to the full moon is risky, when the call of the sea is so strong.

The others are still going strong. I can see Speio in the distance doing a sharp cutback on a wave and Sawyer paddling out to the lineup. I don’t see Lo. I’ve done everything possible to stay out of his way, especially after that moment up top. I need time to process what this thing is—if anything—between us. Speio, thank goodness, hasn’t said a word to me about the earlier interaction but I’m sure he’s saving it for the ride home.

Great.

Staring down into the blue depths below me, I want to dive down and keep going until I meet the ocean bottom. The pull of the deep is as seductive as the sea salt on my skin. Maybe I can cheat just a little. There’s no one out here, anyway. I wiggle my fingers under the water and relax, letting the ocean seep past my human skin, watching as tiny rivers of gold-and-green light shimmer up my wrist and my arm. The feel of it is drugging, making me light-headed and dizzy.

I close my eyes only to have them snap open at the feel of steel fingers digging into my upper arm.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” Speio mutters, wrenching my hand out of the water. I didn’t even hear him paddle out to me. “Get it together!”

“I’m sorry—”

“Nerissa, I warned you that you had to be careful. I felt it the second you let go,” Speio says, looking around us nervously. “Other predators will, too. And we’re around people.”

“I know. I said I was sorry, and it was only for a second,” I say, rubbing my tingling arm with my other hand. My skin still glows a little, but nowhere near as brightly as when it had been submerged. “I couldn’t help it. The call was impossible to resist. I wanted to, just for a second.” My voice is beseeching.

Speio’s stern face relaxes. He straddles his board, sitting upright, and reaches across to place his fingers against my skin. Almost immediately, I can feel the sharp tug of the ocean, only through Speio’s body. It’s nearly violent. My eyes widen.

“Feel that?” he asks gently. When I nod, he says, “That’s what I have to deal with being in the water, worse when I sense another like me. In this case, you. That’s Dvija. Every part of me is open and calling out to that missing piece. You asked me about it earlier at school. It’s this—one part pleasure, a hundred parts pain. Even as a human. And it’s a thousand times worse in Aquarathi form.”

“Oh,” I say, stricken. “I didn’t know. How can I help? What can I do? Do you want me try Sanctum?”

When I was younger my father told me that part of the responsibility of being an Aquarathi leader is being able to preserve our people’s well-being, by emotional intervention if necessary. He called it Sanctum, and I only ever saw him do it once. I still remember the feeling of bliss emanating from every Aquarathi around him. His power and reach were awe-inspiring.

“Thanks, but it’s too dangerous in human form. Plus, you’re not a queen yet.” Speio smiles a wistful smile. “Bonding makes all the pain go away.”

Speio’s reality hits me with the force of a sledgehammer. My voice wavers as I put two and two together. “So because of me, you have to deal with feeling like this anytime you’re in the water. Or around me. That’s why you got so angry before when you found out that I’d never planned on going back.”

“Sort of.”

“I’ll fix this, Speio. I promise.”

My throat is constricted. Speio is right. I’ve been more selfish than I could have ever imagined. I had no idea of the pain he was in every time he was in the water or in proximity to me. And that night in the pool must have been torture for him, but he still stayed there.

To earn my forgiveness.

Suddenly, I feel so small and powerless, even though I’m supposed to be the one with all the power...the one they’re all supposed to come to for strength. I’m utterly useless. Speio’s words in the parking lot at Dover were hurtful, but nothing he said was untrue. I am weak and self-seeking. I am stupid, blindly so.

A tear slips down, tracking its way through the salt on my face, and I grip the sides of my board until my fingers go numb. I hate feeling sorry for myself more than anything. Speio hunches over and presses his forehead to mine. “Stop,” he whispers. “You’ll make it worse if you cry. It’ll be okay.”

“What if it won’t?” I sniff. “What then?”

“We’ll deal with that if we have to,” Speio says against my hair, and then yanks a fistful of it and shoves me off my board into the water with a playful grin. “Now if you want to stop being such a sniveling baby, maybe we can get a few more waves in.”

Drenched and spluttering, I glare at him and climb back on my surfboard. “I wasn’t sniveling. I was crying in a perfectly dignified manner.”

Speio makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort and rolls his eyes. And snorts again. In the next second, I’m laughing so hard that my sides are aching and good tears instead of sad ones are pooling in my eyes.

“You’re so dumb.” I giggle.

“Hey, you two. What’s up?”

Lo. My entire body tenses and flutters at that velvety voice. I try to hide my immediate visceral response but it’s like trying to stop a freight train with a feather. Speio’s expression stiffens, the levity between us disappearing in the wind.

I’d forgotten.

With the water channeling between us, he can feel whatever it is that I’m feeling. Everything that I’m feeling. Blushing furiously at the thought of anyone—especially Speio—knowing what this boy is doing to me, I force myself to control my body’s responses, severing any link with the ocean and Speio, and reinforcing my human shell. Almost immediately, the connection weakens until there’s nothing but a shimmer of wind between us.

Oddly, I feel a sense of loss. I liked being linked to Speio—it made me feel less alone. Without a word, Speio sends a dark scowl in Lo’s direction, then spins on his board and paddles off. Obviously, he felt the same.

“What’s his problem?” Lo asks, his voice husky.

“Nothing. He’s just...protective.”

“Of you?”

“I guess. We’ve known each other a very long time so it comes with the territory,” I say, noticing that the fading sunlight makes his wet hair look like burnished metal. His hair is such an odd color. It’s not reddish-blond like mine, but it’s not gold or silver, either. It’s more of a mix of the two. The only thing I can think of to describe it is wet sand.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Lo asks, tilting his head. “Like I have seaweed on my head or something?”

I flush and tear my gaze away. “You have strange hair.”

“Um, thanks. I think,” Lo says, and then chuckles. “Made it myself.”

“No, I meant. It’s a nice color. I like hair,” I finish lamely, and want to kick myself. I like hair? Could I be any more of a loser? “I mean, I don’t like hair.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

“So do you or don’t you?” Although his face is deadpan serious, I can hear the thread of amusement in his voice and I feel myself bristling. “Like hair?”

“Could we just drop it, the hair thing? You have nice hair. Happy?” I snap, and start paddling back into the lineup.

At least I’ve worked out that when Lo opens his mouth, it’s a great way to keep me aggravated enough with him so that the other things, like the annoying treacherous butterflies, cease to matter. Despite the physical attraction, which I admit is there, I could never fall for a boy like Lo. He’s too self-confident and too amused all the time, like everything is part of some big joke.

“Come back, Nerissa. I’m sorry,” Lo says, keeping pace with me easily, his arms cleaving through the water like pistons. I’m just about to tell him where he can stuff it when I notice his eyes widen at something behind me. I glance over my shoulder, but all I can see is a ripple on the water as if something had just clipped the surface and then resubmerged.

“What the hell was that?” Lo says. He noticed, too.

“I didn’t see anything.” But just as I say it, something heavy brushes against my right arm dangling in the water, and a jolt staggers through me at the contact of flesh on flesh. Speio was right. My reckless little dance with the ocean probably summoned the thing.

“There it is again! You see it? A fin?” Lo’s voice has now turned wary and I bite back the urge to laugh at the nervous look on his face. It could be a dolphin, not a shark, even though I’m guessing it’s the latter. Guys—they can be so macho all the time, and the minute they see a fin it’s all over. I don’t blame them, though. Sharks are terrifying. I’ve seen fifty-foot ones that look like prehistoric monsters down in the depths of the ocean, but I can never tell anyone that, of course.

I press down onto the tip of my board so that my head and chest submerge along with it and nearly swallow a mouthful of water. My eyes widen and I pull my board back up. It’s no dolphin. And it’s no shark, either.

It’s lots of them.

Their gray shapes are murky dark shadows, milling in the darkening waters, and I know that more of them will come. Even though Aquarathi pheromones are pacifying, all it will take is one drop of our blood to whip things into a violent food frenzy. Not that I’d be at any risk, but all of the others would be...including Lo. So the sooner we get out of there, the better. I look around for the others. Jenna and Sawyer have their arms around each other on shore. Speio, standing near them, is glaring at me.

“No, I don’t see anything,” I lie to Lo, paddling away from him with deft strokes. “But it could be a dolphin or a shark. It’s nearly twilight, feeding time, after all. Think you can make it back without falling and being fish bait?”

My grin is challenging. To my surprise, a slow smile breaks across Lo’s face at my dare. It’s such a swift change from the wariness that it confuses me. Isn’t he afraid? Or have I misinterpreted his expression about the shark?

“You in?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

“See you on the beach, surfer girl.”

Digging my palms into the water, I paddle as fast as I can to get ahead of the next building wave but Lo is right there with me. Exhilarated, I watch him stroke alongside, keeping up with no trouble. His face is determined, but I know that mine is, too.

“Don’t you dare drop in on me!” I yell, grinning.

“You have to catch it first for me to drop in,” he shouts back. “Or do I need to school you on wave etiquette?”

“Just try to catch me!”

We’re neck and neck as the wave fattens, taking both our boards with it in unison as we furiously paddle to keep up with the wave’s speed. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a silvery shimmer on top of the water to my left near Lo just as the wave begins to crest, but it’s gone before I can even blink.

The wave’s pressure builds beneath me, picking up momentum in a matter of breaths. Gripping the sides of my board, I hop to my feet and angle my surfboard across the wave’s face, only to see that Lo is in the exact same position, with a huge grin on his face. Just a few feet apart, we’re flying at the speed of the wind on the same wave, and for a second, we share an incredible moment of perfect synchronicity.

Then the lip of the wave curls over us and we are inside a shimmering tunnel, the outside world visible only through the sheer wall of curling water. I can hear the tremendous roar as seconds merge into one another and time slows to a trickle. Suspended in a moving bubble, we glide along the wave, nothing between us but water and the swell beneath our feet. Every cell in my body is responding to the water rushing around me, so much so that it’s hard to control my Aquarathi instincts, to pull myself in...to not give in to the ocean’s insistent call. I’m tingling from head to toe.

Lo’s eyes catch mine and everything inside me electrifies.

And then the tingles are everywhere, spreading to the tips of my fingers, my neck, my ears, my spine. Frowning, I look away with effort, digging my toes into the deck of my board and leaning forward to skim past his board. I gasp as the front lip of water curls into my neck and my board glides scant inches from his, but then I’m past him and flying upward to rip a cutback along the top of the wave.

When I glance back over my shoulder, he’s still staring at me, a sliver of a smile on his face. His eyes are dark and knowing as if he senses the effect he’s having on me. I turn away, breathing harshly, focused on getting to the beach. I can’t get far enough away from this boy who makes me feel so disconnected, like I’m nothing but liquid around him.

I don’t even care about the threat of the sharks below us. I’m more afraid of Lo than anything else...of the way he makes everything inside me react to him like I’m some kind of puppet on a string. Even now, I can feel him behind me, his presence like a tangible force drawing me to him. For a second, I wonder whether Speio and all the others feel the same way when they have to reveal themselves to me, like the pull of something formidable.

It terrifies me.

It’s kind of absurd that I want to escape the ocean more than anything right now, when it’s been my safe haven forever, just to get my feet on solid ground. There, I won’t be susceptible to the lure of the sea or its gilded fantasies where Lo is concerned. I’m letting the full moon and the embrace of the ocean affect me more than they should.

I let the wave take me almost into the beach to where the others are waiting on the sand, watching over my shoulder as Lo paddles out for another. Avoiding the death glare on Speio’s face, I grab my board and head toward where Jenna is sitting next to Sawyer, looking at the photos she’d taken of him on his last ride.

“Nice pipe,” Sawyer says, high-fiving me. “Amazing that you two were in it at the same time! Sweet!”

“Yeah,” Jenna echoes, waggling her eyebrows and snapping a photo of my face. “Sweet.” I shoot her a nasty glare as I undo the tie from my ankle and wrap it around the tail of the board.

“I think I’m done,” I say.

Sawyer flashes me a disbelieving look and chugs a bottle of water. “Really? One good wave and that’s all you got?”

I nod and lie back on the sand. Better out here than in there. The sharks will move on once they realize I’m gone. Plus, being anywhere near Lo is not a good idea. I can still feel the way his body moved next to mine, see the expression in the endless depths of his eyes...the pull of them like the ocean, compelling and deep. Lo makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt. And it scares the heck out of me.

Sawyer looks to Speio. “You in, bro? Come on. Don’t leave me hanging.”

“Sure,” Speio says, grabbing his board and shooting me a look that clearly says I should stay put. I roll my eyes but I have no plans to move. Leaning on my elbows, I watch the boys paddle out, but Lo catches my eye as he rounds the crest of a particularly large wave. Just as he pops up on the board, my heart stops in my chest as the wave starts to close out almost immediately. Even though he’s a capable surfer, nothing but glue or a miracle can keep him upright as the force of a barreling truck bears down on him, throwing him off the board like he’s a piece of lint.

“Ouch,” Jenna says. “Wish I’d gotten a shot of that.” She stares at me with a grin. “Or the look on your face when he fell.”

“Why don’t you shut it and go do something useful?”

“Why so grumpy?”

I shoot her a glare that could incinerate ice, but she ignores me with a wink, walking down the beach to snap some more shots. Scowling, I reach into my backpack for a bottle of water. The wind threatens to rip some of my papers from the top of the bag, and I just manage to grab hold of an escaping flyer that I’d tucked in there the day before. Taking a swig of water, I study the flyer fluttering beneath my fingertips on the sand. It’s from the San Diego Ocean Foundation for a marine conservancy drive event.

I should have been involved in something like this from the day I stepped onto land, but I’ve been so caught up in escaping who I am that I’ve ignored my real responsibilities. Instead, without a care in the world, I’ve enjoyed everything human youth had to offer...while my people paid the price for my freedom. At least now, I can do something worthwhile. I can try to ensure that those who are left in Waterfell have a future.

“Hey, Jenna,” I yell out. “Can I talk to you about something?”

She stops snapping pics and walks over to sit next to me cross-legged on the sand. “Sure. What’s up?”

I don’t need her help, but it would be fun to do it with someone else. “Check this out. There’s an ocean conservancy drive happening in a few weeks, and I want to get involved.”

“Since when are you interested in ocean conservancy?” Jenna’s words aren’t sarcastic, they’re curious, but I can’t help the immediate pang in my belly. She’s right. I haven’t been, when it should have been the one thing that I was interested in. My father had said to stay away, and that’s what I’ve done, playing hockey and pretending to be human here on land. I’ve shirked every responsibility ever given to me and forgotten about the ocean. It’s the only home the Aquarathi have, and all I’ve done is turn my back on it...and on my people. And who knows what Ehmora is planning, now that my father is out of the picture.

“I’m interested now,” I say.

“But what about hockey and practice? It’s not like you have a ton of free time.”

“It won’t interfere, I promise.” I stare at her. “I really need to do this, Jenna. It’s important to me. And I’d be so happy if you wanted to do it with me, but I totally understand if you have too many things on your plate.” I pause. “But I need to.”

“How come?”

“It’s kind of a family thing. Complicated.”

Jenna shoots me a look. She knows that I don’t really talk about my family so she doesn’t press the issue. Her expression turns thoughtful. “Okay, I’m in.”

I can’t believe how easily she gives her friendship, incorporating my needs with hers as if she doesn’t even question whether I’m worthy of it. It’s humbling. For about the five hundredth time, I feel like I want to return the favor and tell her everything. Confide the truth of who I am and everything else that I’ve hidden from her for so many years. The Nerissa she knows is a mere shadow of who I really am. But I can’t—revealing who we are to humans is against all of our laws, an offense punishable by death, even for me.

“Text me the details, okay?” she says, and stands, dusting the sand off her shorts. “Oh, here comes your boyfriend. I’m going for a walk.”

“No, wait—” I begin, but it’s too late as a long shadow falls over me and I look up, shading my eyes with one hand. Lo dumps his board facedown on the sand and collapses next to me, breathing hard. He runs a hand through his damp, windblown hair. His cheeks are red and his eyes are glowing. Every part of me comes alive in response to his nearness.

“Hey,” he says, his dark eyes searching. “Why’d you come in?”

“Tired,” I say tersely.

“Me, too,” he says, touching the side of his head. “Got worked on a big one, though.”

“Sorry.” I manage to keep my voice cool, detached.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Okay,” he says with a puzzled look, but falls silent.

Lo is trouble. I can feel it in the way my pulse races at the mere presence of him, the way my breath takes on a shaky cadence. I have to pull it together and end this growing infatuation, which is all it really is—a crush.

I take a deep breath. “Look, I know I said I’d go with you to the Crab Shack, but I can’t. It’s...complicated.” Complicated is beginning to define my life.

Lo shoots me a look, as if he can see right through me. “What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say.

“Yes, you do.” My answering flush is immediate. I hate the way he can see right through my bluster. It’s a perceptiveness I usually see in Jenna, and while it’s a cool trait with her, it’s maddening with him. I take a deep breath.

“Lo,” I say. “I don’t want to play any games with you. I mean, I’m not interested in dating anyone. I can’t.”

“Why?”

His quiet directness is disconcerting. “Because I have too many things going on—school, hockey, family—to get involved with anyone.” I’m aware that my reasoning is flimsy but I can’t seem to put two coherent thoughts together when he’s staring at me with that knowing look in his eyes.

“Nerissa—” the delicious way he says my name sends a shiver through my entire body from tip to toe “—I like you. You’re interesting. I want to get to know you. And I want to know the real reason that you don’t like me.”

“I don’t,” I blurt out, ignoring the fact that he just admitted he liked me. “I mean, I do like you fine as a person.” I like you too much, that’s the problem.

Once more, I’m struck by how different he is from other boys. No boy I know at Dover, or any other school, would flat-out up and admit they liked a girl, or lay out perfectly logical reasons on why they should get to know each other. His quiet self-assurance throws me.

“So what’s the problem, then? For us to hang out? As friends.”

“Cara thinks you have enough friends.” I don’t even know where the words come from, but they’re out of my mouth before I can stop them. Lo’s expression doesn’t change but I can see the slow lightening in his eyes. It’s worse than an actual smile.

“She’s just someone who befriended the new guy.”

The way he says it makes me feel awful, like I’m some sort of pariah who thinks she’s too good for everyone else. Maybe I used to be like that, but I’m not anymore, and certainly nothing like Cara, who has her own hidden agendas. But it’s the opening I need. So even though my body feels otherwise, I stand, grabbing my board and bag.

“Good. Then you don’t need me,” I say softly. Lo’s reaction takes me by surprise. This time, he smiles and lounges back on his elbows, stretching his sand-crusted legs out in front of him. I frown, recognizing his grin as the same one from earlier when we’d been competing for the wave. “That’s not a challenge, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?” I say, exasperated.

“Not a challenge, I get it,” he says, and nods over my shoulder. “Here comes your warden.”

I glance down the beach to see Speio walking toward us from the water with the familiar stormy expression on his face. But instead of being angry, this time I’m grateful for the interruption.

“Catch you later,” I say to Lo, and walk toward Speio.

“Definitely,” Lo says.

The single parting word curls around me like velvet, leaving me in little doubt of his intentions.


6

WARFARE

“Terrific game, Fighters!”

The metal bleachers around the field are packed and full of screaming supporters. We just took down the number-three seeded girls’ hockey team in Southern California and are now in the finals. Although my head wasn’t completely in the game, I’d used the field as a way to get rid of some much needed aggression. I’d played better than I’d hoped, scoring two out of the four goals. Jenna shot the winning goal in the final six seconds of the game.

As usual, Speio was sitting in the stands with a huge scowl on his face—and was the only one scowling when I scored my goals. He still thinks I’m wasting my time playing hockey, but there’s no way I will give up on my team, not after walking away from everything else. They need me. In any case, Lo’s enthusiastic cheering made up for Speio’s complete lack of school spirit. Not that I noticed, of course. I found it interesting that he showed up for the game.

Again, not that I cared. Much.

“You were on fire today, Riss!” Jenna screeches in my ear as we join our teammates walking back to the locker room.

“Says the girl who brought the fire,” I yell back, grinning. “You cleared, like, half the field in three seconds for that last goal. Just brilliant!”

“Thanks!”

We dump our gear and head for our lockers, sweaty and jubilant. Getting to the finals took a lot of hard work and many a long practice, but seeing the faces of my teammates—even Cara, who’d sat on the bench for most of the game—was worth every grueling second.

“So where’s the victory dinner?” It’s one of the defensive players on the team, another junior, Mary.

“Think Coach said the Crab Shack in an hour. You guys in?”

“I can’t,” I say quickly. “I have a ton of homework, and I have to head over to the Marine Coastal Center for a bit. You guys have fun.”

“Party pooper!” Mary says, sticking out her tongue at me. She grins suddenly. “Sure you don’t want to? Heard your boyfriend’s going to be there. The lovelicious Lo.” She draws out his name suggestively and waggles her eyebrows.

“What?” I sputter, glaring at Jenna.

“Don’t look at me,” she says, throwing her hands in the air. “As much as I’d like to claim I do, my many talents don’t extend to controlling the rumor mill.”

I turn my glare to Mary, whose grin widens at my red face. A door slams at the far end of the locker room and I notice that Cara is missing. “He’s not my boyfriend, regardless of what he or anyone says. I don’t even like the guy.”

“Great, so he’s up for grabs, then?”

“Sure,” I say, ripping off my uniform with more force than necessary and jerking my head toward the toilet stalls. “But I think Cara has dibs. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Noted,” Mary says with a grin, fluttering her eyelashes. “She doesn’t have a chance in hell.”

For a second, I envision myself smashing Mary’s pretty face in, but the feeling dissipates as quickly as it comes. Even when he’s not around, that boy has an atrocious effect on me. I avoid Jenna’s gaze like the plague because I can sense her studying me and coming to obvious Jenna-like conclusions in her head. I’ll only make it worse if I say anything, so I snap my mouth shut and strip off the rest of my gear.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you later, then?” she says to me after a while. “Oh, Sawyer wanted me to ask you. You’re going to the surf meet next Saturday, right?” I notice that she doesn’t say anything about Lo even though he’s on the team, too. “There’s a bonfire on the beach afterward. Thought we could all hang out. Feels like it’s been forever with school and practice since we’ve done anything fun. You know, just us.”

Although ten different reasons that I shouldn’t go jump to my lips, I nod. Sawyer has been my friend for years, and just because he is now friends with Lo doesn’t mean that I have to give up my support and friendship. Plus, Jenna hasn’t quite forgiven me for bailing out of the double date, so I owe her. “Of course. Tell him I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Cool, I’ll let you know when he finds out more about the times for the heats,” she says with a glance. “Sure you don’t need me to come with to the marine center? I don’t really care about the Crab Shack thing.”

“Only if you want to,” I say, and I mean it. I was glad Jenna had agreed to volunteer with me at all. “I mean, I don’t have a shift or anything. I was just going to do homework and see if Kevin needed any help.”

“You know what, I’ll come and if Kevin doesn’t need anything we can do the Crab Shack.”

After showering, we walk out to the parking lot together, and I make the requisite call to Echlios, letting him know where I’m going to be. The truth is, I’m happy to sit around and do my homework at the marine center. Already, I’ve spent the past week there and feel more at home than anywhere else. A part of me wonders why I waited so long. It’s also part of the reason that I want to go over there instead of going out with the rest of the team.

I need to go there.

I don’t know if it’s the sense of purpose or doing something...anything...to help, but for the first time since I’ve been here, I feel like I’m in the right place at the right time. At the center, I’m involved in many of the ongoing projects that affect marine life—urban sewage runoff, pollution, toxicity, beach cleanup, reef regeneration—but my favorite is working within the Marine Protected Areas, which helps the protection of coastal ecosystems. The underwater state parks are beautiful.

“Hey, Kev,” I say to Kevin, the bearded guy who’s the youth program director for the center, at the front desk. “Any more news on those poachers near San Clemente Island?”

“Hey, guys,” Kevin says with a thoughtful frown at Jenna and me. “You have a shift today? Thought you weren’t back until next week?”

“We had some free time,” I say, throwing my backpack on the floor behind the desk. “You mind if we hang around for a while? Help out?”

“Actually, it’s good that you’re here. Need a favor. We have a new volunteer and it would help me out a ton if you guys could show him around outside. I’ve already done the tour in here, so just the beach and a couple of the main MPAs? Take the boat,” Kevin says. Grinning, I roll my eyes at Jenna—seriously, I must have Tour Guide tattooed on my forehead. Kevin nods to someone behind us. The smile freezes on my face the minute I turn around.

“What are you doing here?” I say.

Kevin looks from me to Lo and back again. “You guys know one another? Great! Jenna, Rissa, Lo will be doing some community service with us.”

“Community service? What’d you do, rob a bank or something?”

“Detention,” Lo drawls, and nods at Jenna, who for some reason turns a dark shade of red and mumbles something about getting changed before taking off. “Cano thought since I love cutting class so much to go to the beach, I should make up the time doing something worthwhile. I’m here every day after school for the foreseeable future.”

I glare at him, regretting that I gave up the team dinner only to be stuck with Lo of all people. I refuse to even think about him being here every day and ruining my sanctuary. “Seriously, you know this is taking it to a whole different level of stalkerism, don’t you?”

Lo pastes an innocent look on his face, widening his eyes—as blue as the ocean—in mock horror. “Cano sent me here.”

“Sure he did.”

“Actually, it was Leland but they sort of do things together. The dynamic duo, I like to call them.” I don’t know why Lo is trying to make small talk. Maybe it’s to impress Kevin but I don’t care. I’m stuck with him once more for touring duty. As if reading my mind, Lo grins widely. “Lead on. I am at your bidding,” he says, repeating his mocking words from our first day of school.

“Glad you find this amusing,” I snap, grabbing my backpack. “Because it’s not the least bit amusing to me! I’m hardly the local tour guide.”

“You talk like a grown-up, you know that,” Lo remarks.

“Well, most of us juniors aren’t children like people think we are,” I say with as much snark as I can inject into my tone. “Unlike you.” I smile sweetly at Kevin, who has a bewildered expression on his face. “See you, Kev.” I turn back to Lo, my smile fading into a blank expression that barely hides my aggravation. “Well, come on, then, if you’re coming.”

Grabbing the keys to the ATV, I head through the front office doors and down the hall. Not looking back at him, I jab a finger down another hallway. “I’m sure Kevin told you the men’s bathroom is down there. Meet me out back in five. Five minutes, Lo, or I’m gone without you.”

“You’re so bossy,” he throws back, but I refuse to engage and walk away in the opposite direction.

In the women’s bathroom, my aggravation is unleashed on Jenna, who’s staring at me with a guilty look on her face. She pulls on a pair of cargo pants over her swimsuit. “Seriously, all I ask for is a moment where that guy isn’t stalking me for ten seconds.”

“Did it ever occur to you that he may be into you?”

“That’s just it. I’m not into him,” I snap, shrugging out of my school uniform. “And I’ve told him so. He just won’t take no for an answer. And plus, what’s with the Cara thing? Did you see them? They were practically canoodling after the game. And she’s a total psycho freak.” I know I’m ranting now but I can’t help myself. “I mean, the fact that he likes her and me in the same universe makes absolutely no sense. It’s kind of gross, really. And what’s with the lie about detention? Everyone knows that Cano likes the standard study-after-school detentions.”

“Cara used to be your friend, remember?”

“Used to, as in past tense, Jenna. She’s a bitch.”

She stares at me. “You kind of both were.”

“Wait, what?” My hand stalls at the folds of my T-shirt.

Jenna sighs. “Freshman year, when you guys were friends. Rumor is you sort of took over and shut her out. Put it this way—if I hadn’t transferred in, I probably wouldn’t have wanted to be friends with you back then. Plus, look at what happened with the game against Bishop’s. You made a bad call because you don’t like her.”

“I thought we were past that,” I say in a defensive voice. “And being better at hockey doesn’t make me a bitch.”

“Or prettier or smarter or naturally better at everything than she was.” She spreads her palms at my look and takes a deep breath. “Look, you’re different now. We all are, but you can’t really blame Cara for resenting you now. I mean, come on, even Cano told her to be more like you.” She pauses. “In front of everyone.”

I stare at her as I recall a vague recollection of Cano—Cara’s uncle—telling that to his niece in the school parking lot in front of half the school. I shrug. Cara’s family issues weren’t mine then, and they aren’t mine now. I narrow my eyes a fraction. “And that’s my fault how?”





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/amalie-howard/waterfell/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.