Shifting (Swans Landing) (6 page)

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Do you want me to leave?” She moved closer, running her hand over my skin and scales again. “Do you want me to stop?”

I fought against the wave of tingles that shot through me at her touch. “I’m serious. Why are you out here with me? You’ve always been the biggest bitch in school toward Sailor and Mara and me. And now, you’re hiding out with me, sneaking around behind everyone’s back?”

Elizabeth pulled back from me. She slipped under the surface for a moment, then came back up, sputtering. She glared at me through the rivers of water trickling from her hair. “If you don’t want me here, I’ll go.”

She started back toward the shore, but with my tail, I was much faster than she could ever hope to be. I darted through the water, surfacing in front of her. The wide-eyed expression on her face showed I’d surprised her. In that moment, Elizabeth Connors looked something I had never seen in her before: vulnerable.

So I let myself be a little vulnerable too and told her the truth.

“I don’t want to you go.”

Water dripped down her face and off her chin, disappearing into the foaming waves around her shoulders. I reached for her hand and she didn’t pull away.

“Do you trust me?” I asked.

She bit her lip, then nodded. “Yes.”

“Hold your breath.” I entwined my fingers in hers as she sucked in a huge gulp of air. Then I arced toward the water, pulling her with me and letting our two worlds merge into one.

Chapter Eight

“The catches are getting better,” Lake said brightly as he hauled another crab pot to the boat and tossed it over the side. It landed at my feet, spraying my ankles with salt water. The crabs inside scuttled over each other, their claws tangled as they snapped furiously at being wrenched from the bottom of the sound.

Lake treaded water next to the boat, bobbing along on the mostly still surface. It was seven A.M. and I had to be at school in an hour and a half. I didn’t always come out with Lake to bring in catches before school since it was an exhausting job, but I liked doing it when I could. I’d stay as long as possible, then Lake would drop me back off on shore and I’d race to Swans Landing School, smelling like crabs and salt.

I dumped the crabs from the wire pot into the giant plastic bin in Lake’s boat, then rebaited the pot and tossed it back into the water. “We’re almost full,” I said, surveying the plastic bin where the crabs fought and walked all over each other. The catch was picking up as the water warmed, but it had been a while since we’d had a catch this good.

Lake pulled himself from the water, expertly hopping over the side of the boat even with his finfolk tail. The golden scales faded and drew back into his skin as he shook the water off himself.

“Maybe this is a good sign,” Lake said, pulling on his shorts once he had legs again. “If the sea life is returning to the area, the industry will pick up again.”

I knew Lake hoped desperately things would pick up, like most everyone else in Swans Landing did. The tourists weren’t the only beings that had become rare around our island. Without the fish or the tourists, it was a struggle to hang on around here.

At least with the humans, they had more options. We finfolk were stuck looking for other coastal towns where we could blend in. Or else, the finfolk homeland, which no one we knew had ever found.

With our bin nearly overflowing with crabs, Lake turned the boat around and headed back toward the sound side dock. The clouds had thinned today and the sun turned the sky pinkish orange as it rose over the island ahead of us. Most people hadn’t started their day yet and I closed my eyes, reveling in the peacefulness of the morning. The air was silent except for the steady rumble of Lake’s boat. For a moment, I could forget all of my problems with girls and my worries about Miss Gale and whether I smelled as bad as I thought I did.

But a moment never lasted long. As we pulled into the dock, we were greeted by the sight of a familiar larger fishing boat already docked there. I could make out the white lettering on the back as we drew closer:
The Lizzie.
Elizabeth Connors’s dad’s boat.

Mr. Connors stood on the bow of his boat, an old baseball cap pulled low on his forehead atop a deep scowl that he kept aimed our way as Lake maneuvered his smaller, older boat next to the dock.

I hopped out, trying to ignore the feel of Mr. Connors’s glare on my back as I tied the rope in place.

“That boat of yours looks even more pathetic every time I see it, Westray,” Mr. Connors called, his voice deep and growling. “Why don’t you put it out of its misery and sink it in the sound? It’d make a better artificial reef than fishing boat.”

The men who worked for Mr. Connors laughed at this. Lake didn’t respond as he hefted the plastic bin over the side of the boat toward me. It was heavy, but I managed not to drop it as I set it down on the dock.

Mr. Connors’s ears turned red as he took in the sight of all those crabs in our catch. He gritted his teeth, his fists clenched. Like everyone else in Swans Landing, Mr. Connors’s business had been hit by the decline of the sea life in the area.

“You’d better hope none of those came from my pots, Westray,” Mr. Connors growled.

“I don’t steal, Connors,” Lake told him, brushing his still wet hair out of his face.

Mr. Connors made a grunting noise. “Your kind has always gotten their way by stealing from the good people of the lands they take over. I’m watching you, and the moment I have proof you’re stealing from my pots, I will have the sheriff knocking on your door faster than green grass through a goose.”

Lake picked up one end of the bin and I picked up the other. Between us, we carried the heavy load up the dock to the parking lot where Lake’s Jeep waited. I was eager to get away from Mr. Connors. He’d always made me nervous, but now my skin felt itchy, like maybe he would be able to see the trace of Elizabeth’s touch on me. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard Mr. Connors rev his engine behind us and then pull away from the marina.

“I hope he catches something today,” I said as we loaded the bin into the back of the Jeep. While I was at school, Lake would go around to restaurants on the island to try to sell as much of the catch as he could, then the ones left he’d send to a buyer he had on the mainland. “Or else he’ll really think you stole from his pots.”

“Harry Connors is always looking for something to blame me for. He always has, for as long as I’ve known him.”

“Why?” I asked. “What does he have against you?”

Lake exhaled, blowing hair out of his face. “He thinks I stole something from him, long ago. I didn’t, but it’s easier for him to blame me than to admit his own faults.”

“What does he think you stole?” I asked.

Lake closed the back door of his Jeep. “Shouldn’t you be getting to school?”

The sun was getting high in the sky. I dreaded another day stuck inside Swans Landing School instead of out on the water.

I sighed. “I guess so. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

* * *

“Mr. Waverly!”

I stopped in the hall and turned to find Mr. Richter, the school guidance counselor, making his way toward me among the students streaming out the front doors. The last bell had rung and I was full of jittery nerves. All I could think about was going to Pirate’s Cove to see if Elizabeth would be there again.

“Yes, sir?” I asked when he approached. Mr. Richter was pretty young compared to most of the teachers and staff at Swans Landing School, but old enough that he was not exactly as “cool” as he thought he was.

“I was hoping I could speak with you for a few minutes,” Mr. Richter said, giving me a pat on the shoulder. “Would you mind joining me in my office?”

I wanted to run, to break free of this gray building and breathe the salt air. I had been cooped up inside for too long, and the end of the day was always draining until I could smell the ocean again.

But I nodded and followed Mr. Richter back to his office.

I sat down in the squeaky blue chair as Mr. Richter settled himself down behind his desk. He leaned back in his seat, his hands folded behind his head. “So, Dylan,” he began, “I wanted to talk to you about your college decisions.”

I raised my eyebrows. “What about them?”

“Well,” Mr. Richter said slowly, “have you made any yet?”

Mr. Richter had spoken with all of the juniors this year, giving us various brochures from colleges across the country. Mine had been tossed in the trash three months ago.

“No,” I answered.

Mr. Richter sat up, placing his hands on his desk. “Dylan, this is your future we’re talking about. You’re a good student. You’d do well in furthering your education—”

“Mr. Richter?” I shifted in my seat, glancing up at one of those inspiring posters of the night sky with the words REACH FOR THE STARS under it. “You...you know
what
I am?”

Mr. Richter was quiet for a moment before answering. “Yes, I know.”

“So why are we having this conversation?” I asked.

Mr. Richter leaned over his desk. “Dylan, you can’t sell yourself short because you think you’re tied to this island. Finfolk or not, you still have the chance to do whatever you want in your life.”

I laughed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Richter, but you have no idea what it’s like to be me. I can’t survive away from the ocean. I physically ache and get sick. I’m stuck here.”

“There are schools near the coast. You could—”

I shook my head as I stood. “Thanks, Mr. Richter. But my future is here, making a life on the water. It’s what people like me do.”

“And what will you do when that life dries up?” Mr. Richter asked.

I paused at the door, my hand on the knob.

“The fish are disappearing, Dylan,” Mr. Richter said. “You know that much better than I do.”

“Lake and I pulled in a good catch this morning,” I said. “Maybe that means things are getting better.”

“It’s May and the tourists haven’t started coming.”

I shrugged. “It’s a cycle, right?”

But Mr. Richter looked grim when I glanced back at him. He stood from his desk and walked toward me.

“Did you know the ferry missed its scheduled stop this morning?” He slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “It just didn’t come. When someone at the dock here called the mainland dock, the person spoke as if they’d never heard of Swans Landing before. Like they didn’t remember the island.” He paused. “Like it didn’t exist.”

A chill prickled its way up my spine. “That’s ridiculous.”

Mr. Richter stared back at me. “Is it? A lot of things on this island are ridiculous, and yet...” He reached past me and pulled the door open. “Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe you’re right and things are getting better. But don’t throw your future away because you think you’re stuck here, Dylan. There’s a whole world out there, and a lot more water than what touches these shores. I don’t know what’s happening here, but don’t let yourself be forgotten along with the island.”

Mr. Richter’s words left me feeling slightly rattled. When I stepped outside into the thick gray afternoon, I felt chilled all the way through.

I had lived my entire life on the island. The sound of the ferry’s horn as it approached and disembarked from the island was a constant part of the background noise. The ferry traveled the three hour path between Swans Landing and the mainland three times a day.

Why had I not noticed that the horn didn’t break the silence while we were on the water? My thoughts had been absorbed in Elizabeth Connors, that was why. She had been the last thing I’d thought about as I’d fallen asleep the night before and the first thing in my mind that morning when I opened my eyes.

Instead of turning toward the road that would take me to Pirate’s Cove, I followed the sandy street to my own neighborhood. Two old women drove by in a golf cart, giving me suspicious stares as they passed. A group of kids played soccer in the middle of the road. A woman bounced a baby in her lap as they rocked on a wooden swing on the front porch of a house at the corner. Everything looked the same as it always had.

Except there were no tourists.

And apparently, no ferry either.

Chapter Nine

“Let’s take a break.” I sat up, pushing tangled hair out of my eyes.

The thin strap of Elizabeth’s tank top slipped down one shoulder. “Getting too warm for you?” she asked, smirking my way.

I licked my dry lips, still tasting her strawberry lip gloss. I didn’t know what was going on in my head anymore. Here I was, sitting on Elizabeth’s bed, in her room. Her parents weren’t home. She didn’t say much when I asked where they were, she had shrugged and said, “Working.” She had a younger brother and sister, but she didn’t say where they were either.