“How many other people are here this week, do you think?” I asked.
“Maybe twenty?” Cha Cha ventured. “If the four other cabins are like ours.”
They weren’t, as we learned during introductions at lunch. Not quite, anyway. Two of them, Abalone and Oyster, contained just two beds each. Abalone was occupied by the two eldest “aspiring mermaids,” as Sirena referred to all of us.
“This is Zadie Malone and her friend Lenore Sullivan,” she announced, peering at her clipboard through aqua-framed reading glasses as we took our seats around the dining room table. “They worked together years ago in Los Angeles before marrying and moving to opposite ends of the country—Oregon for you, Lenore, and Vermont for you, Zadie, correct?”
The two ladies nodded.
“But you’ve remained best friends all these years—”
“—and every year we go on an adventure together, don’t we, Lenore?” finished the one named Zadie.
There was that word “adventure” again. Had Zadie been talking to my mother?
Lenore nodded again. With their halos of white hair and wrinkled, smiling faces, the two of them reminded me a bit of Belinda Winchester. I felt a pang of homesickness. If I were back in Pumpkin Falls right now, I’d be hanging out at the bookshop with Aunt True and Belinda instead of a bunch of “aspiring mermaids.”
“Last year we went on a raft trip through the Grand Canyon,” boasted Zadie. “And the year before that we went bungee jumping in Australia.”
“My, aren’t you the thrill seekers,” said Sirena admiringly.
“Next year we’re planning to celebrate the big nine-oh by learning how to skydive.”
Wait. What? I stared at them. “The big nine-oh”—did that mean what I thought it did? As in Zadie and Lenore were eighty-nine going on ninety? I was at mermaid camp with ladies older than Grandma G!
I was still digesting this bit of information when Sirena introduced the mother-daughter duo who were staying in Oyster, the other cabin with just two beds. “Meet Helen and Hayden Drake, who have come all the way from Seattle!”
“We’re here for some special mother-daughter time, aren’t we, princess?” said the mother part of the duo, reaching over and patting her daughter’s hand.
“Princess,” who looked to be around my age, rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom.”
The other guests were a mix of adults and teens. Nautilus was occupied by four girls from St. Louis who’d been given the week together as a high school graduation gift. Sand Dollar, the cabin next to ours, housed four women who didn’t know each other at all, but who were quickly bonding over the tuna fish salad that Delphine—Sirena’s daughter and the academy’s only other employee—had served up for lunch.
“Mermaids eat fish,” Sirena announced, as if it were a fact. She poked her fork into a chunk of tuna and hoisted it aloft. “I hope you like seafood, because you’ll be eating a lot of it this week.”
The conversation ebbed and flowed around me as we ate. I glanced around the dining room. The table and chairs had seen better days, as had the faded seashell-themed wallpaper. The air conditioner in the corner wheezed and grumbled as it grudgingly eked out a coolish breeze. Instructing aspiring mermaids didn’t seem to be a very lucrative business. If the property was a bit shabby inside and out, though, at least the food was good. I wasn’t a huge fan of tuna fish salad, but this wasn’t gloppy with mayonnaise, and it had an unexpectedly yummy twist: chopped apple. I was pretty sure the rolls were homemade, and the gingersnap cookies, which finished off our meal, most definitely were. Somebody knew how to cook—Delphine, maybe?
I watched Sirena’s daughter as she circled the table, clearing away dishes. She was in her late twenties, I guessed, and as tall as Sirena was short. Nearly as tall as me. The differences between mother and daughter didn’t end there. Delphine’s fingernails were free of polish, and her hair was blond, short, and spiky, not curly and red. I caught a glimpse of a mermaid tattoo on her left ankle as she passed by.
“We’ll take an hour’s siesta back in our cabins,” Sirena informed us when we finished our meal. “Mermaids need their beauty rest! After that, I have a special treat in store to provide us with a little inspiration before we plunge into the hard work of learning to be mermaids. I’ve booked us seats at Beauty and the Buccaneer, the daily matinee at the Jolly Roger!”
If she’d expected us to be overjoyed at this announcement, we disappointed her. The table fell silent as we all looked at each other, puzzled. Jolly Roger?
“You mean the pirate museum?” said Jasmine finally, and Sirena nodded. “Oh, I love that place! We go every summer!”
I perked up at this. Pirates beat the pants—or should it be tails?—off mermaids any day of the week. But my hopes were quickly dashed when Sirena went on to explain that the daily show featured not only pirates but also professional mermaids.
“There are professional mermaids?” I blurted, astounded at this news.
“Yes, indeed,” Sirena replied. “I used to be one myself.”
As we got up from the table to return to our cabins for rest hour, Sirena looked me up and down. “My, you are a tall one, aren’t you?”
There was really no point in replying to that kind of comment.
“Delphine!” Sirena called, and her daughter poked her head in from the kitchen. “What do you think? We haven’t had any guests in a while who were tall enough to pull off the sea serpent costume.”
Delphine gazed at me, considering. She nodded slowly. “That would certainly spice things up a bit.”
I could feel my face redden. I wanted to be a sea serpent even less than I wanted to
