Shelly glanced in his general direction. “Uh, yeah. Totally.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew that all the recent change must have been hard on him.
“Want to tell scary stories?” he went on excitedly. “Rex told me a good one about sea monsters called sirens that sing beautiful songs to lure in sailors to eat them!”
“Usually, I’d love to hear your stories, but I’m exhausted,” she replied. And it was true. She could barely keep her eyes open. It had been the longest day in a series of long days. She was looking forward to a cozy Saturday at the aquarium.
“Okay.” His voice sounded sad. “I wish I had Mr. Bubbles. He always stayed up. Until . . .”
The day he went to the ocean in the sky, she thought, finishing his sentence in her mind. Shelly felt even worse for being a lousy sister. She closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than sleep.
Drip . . . drip . . . drip . . .
Shelly woke with a start. She didn’t know how long she’d been sleeping. If she had to guess, it was the middle of the night. She heard Dawson’s snores. Was that what had woken her?
She listened in the darkness.
Drip . . . drip . . . drip . . . It wasn’t loud, but it was driving her crazy.
She climbed from the bed and plodded out of the room and across the apartment on autopilot. Just as she had thought, the kitchen faucet was leaking. She tried to shut it off, but when she turned the knob, the faucet started dripping even more. And more. Puzzled, she tried twisting the knob the other way, but the water kept flowing. She flicked on the light and put her head near the opening to study the problem. Suddenly, murky black water gushed out of the faucet.
It didn’t look like water. It looked more like . . . squid ink.
Like the kind she’d poured onto her hands from the shampoo bottle in the locker room.
And it was filling the sink, nearly spilling over its brim.
Then seaweed tendrils shot out of the sink drain and wrapped around her neck. They tightened and started pulling her face toward the putrid black water.
Shelly struggled to get them off, prying the sinewy plant with her fingers. She wanted to scream, but she could barely get out a breath, and then her face was plunged into the sink. Under the contaminated water, garbage floated by. She tried to breathe, but plastic bags clogged her gills and made it impossible. Stars danced in her vision. A voice sounded in her ears.
You poor unfortunate soul! Don’t forget our deal—or else!
She screamed under the black water.
Shelly’s father flipped on all the kitchen lights.
“Hey, you okay? I heard you scream.” He wore pajamas, and his hair was tousled from sleep.
Shelly looked at him in a panic, clawing at her neck, but nothing was wrapped around it. Fortunately, her father was still half asleep, and it was dark, so he couldn’t see her gills. But that was the least of her troubles. She had almost drowned in the kitchen sink, which, now that she looked at it, was empty, no black ink or plastic garbage in sight.
“Uh, I—I think I was sleepwalking,” she stammered. The lie slipped from her lips.
He screwed up his mouth. “Everything okay?”
“No. I mean, yes. I’m fine,” she said, working to slow her breathing.
Her father grabbed a glass and filled it from the tap, and she watched, frozen in horror.
But only clean water filled the glass.
Shelly breathed out in relief as her father took a slow drink. Once the glass was empty, he grinned and held it up to the light.
“I don’t know why everyone insists on buying expensive filters these days,” he said. “Triton Bay tap water is crystal clear—and it tastes great.”
Shelly smiled and rubbed her eyes. “Right. Yeah. Well, I’ll just be heading back to bed.”
* * *
Shelly didn’t sleep a wink. All night, she listened for the steady drip, drip, drip of the kitchen faucet. She kept thinking about the seaweed wrapping around her, pulling her into the contaminated water. Finally, morning arrived. She threw back the covers and ran her hands through her hair, but something felt weird. Her hair was snagged between her fingers. She pulled them back to inspect them, and her stomach dropped. No. It couldn’t be.
Her fingers were webbed.
Panicking, she glanced at her feet.
They were webbed, too.
Thin, translucent skin stretched between her fingers and toes, connecting them. Terrified, she waited for Dawson to get up and leave the room, then rustled through the hall closet until she found an old pair of her father’s work gloves. Combined with the scarf, it was the best she could do to hide her new abnormalities. She knew she looked ridiculous, but fortunately her family wasn’t the type to judge her various clothing phases.
Across the kitchen table, her father eyed the old work gloves paired with the wool scarf. “The new fashion trend, eh?” He chuckled. “Back in my grunge days, I wore my dad’s work boots and flannel to school.” He patted her on the back, making her worry that the scarf would slip down. “Glad my old gloves are good for something,” he added with a wink.
* * *
The aquarium—which usually cheered Shelly up—wasn’t any better than her sleepless night.
Instead of chatting with the staff while they worked or feeding the dolphins or reef sharks or any of her favorite sea animals, she searched for somewhere to hide. The tunnels under the main exhibit seemed like a good choice. She entered the dark corridor. It was lit only by the eerie light that filtered through the water, casting strange shadows. Fish and other marine animals darted past the portholes. The taunt of fish lover echoed in her head. She tried to shake it.
“Maybe they’re right,” Shelly whispered to her reflection. “This is where I belong.” She pressed her face to the glass, feeling alone and misunderstood. Every fish that swam past reminded her of what was happening.
