The Tail of Emily Windsnap (2 page)

Mom’s always going to some group or another. Last year it was yoga; now it’s book group. She works at the secondhand bookstore on the promenade, and that’s where the group meets. It’s pretty cool, actually. At the store, they just opened a café bar where you can get thick milk shakes with pieces of real fruit or big chunks of chocolate chip cookie dough in them. I imagine the book group is just her latest excuse to meet up and gossip with her friends — but at least it keeps her focused on something other than me.

Mystic Millie, who does Palms on the Pier, comes to stay with me when Mom’s out. Not that I need a baby-sitter at my age, but Millie’s okay. Sometimes she’ll practice her reiki or shiatsu massage on me. She even brought her tarot cards once. Apparently they told her that I was about to achieve academic success and win praise from all quarters. The next day, I got the lowest grade in the class on the spelling test and was given three lunchtime detentions to do extra study. But that’s Millie for you.

Luckily, Millie’s two favorite shows were back-to-back on NBC Wednesdays, so I knew she wouldn’t bother me tonight. I wanted to be left alone, because I needed time to think. There were two things I knew for sure. One: I had to figure out what had happened to me in the pool. And two: I needed to get out of swimming lessons before it happened again.

I could hear Mom belting it out all the way from her cabin while I paced up and down in the front room.
“Do ya really love me? Do ya wanna stay?”
She was singing louder than her CD. She always sings when she’s getting ready to go out. I don’t mind too much — except when she starts doing the video moves. Tonight, I hardly noticed.

I’d already tried asking her right when I got home if I had to go swimming again. She’d gone ballistic. “I hope you’re joking,” she’d said in that voice that means
she
isn’t. “After all the fuss you created, and making me buy you that suit.
No way
are you giving up after only one lesson!”

I paced up to the gas stove in the corner of the saloon. (That’s what we call the living room.) I usually get my best ideas when I pace, but nothing was coming to me tonight. I paced past the ratty old sofa with its big orange blanket. Pace, pace, left, right, creak, squeak, think, think. Nothing.

“Better tell me soon, baby. I ain’t got all day.”
Mom’s voice warbled out from her room.

I tried extending my pacing to the kitchen. It’s called a galley, really. It’s got a sink, a tiny fridge, and a countertop that’s always covered with empty cartons and bottles. Mom makes us recycle
everything.
The galley’s in the middle of the boat, with the main door and a couple of wooden steps opposite. You’ve got to be careful on those steps when you come in because the bottom one comes loose. I usually jump down from the top one.

I paced through the kitchen and along the corridor that leads to the bathroom and our cabins.

“How do I look?” Mom appeared at the end of the corridor. She was wearing a new pair of Levis and a white T-shirt with
BABE
in sparkly rhinestone letters across the middle. I wouldn’t have minded much except for the fact that she had bought me a similar shirt at the same time she got hers — and it looked a lot better on her!

“Great.” A familiar sharp tap on the roof stopped me from saying any more. The side door opened and Mr. Beeston poked his head through. “It’s only me,” he called, peering around the boat.

Mr. Beeston’s the lighthouse keeper. He comes around to see Mom all the time. He gives me the creeps — he looks at you out of the corners of his eyes when he’s talking to you. Plus his eyes are different colors: one’s blue; one’s green. Mom says he probably gets lonely up in the lighthouse, sitting around looking out to sea, switching the light on and off, only having contact with people by radio. She says we have to be friendly to him.

“Oh, Mr. Beeston, I’m just racing out to my book group. We’re waiting for Millie to show up. Come in for a sec. I’ll walk down the pier with you.” Mom disappeared down the corridor to get her coat as he clambered through the door.

“And how are we?” he asked, staring sideways into my eyes. His mouth was crooked like the tie he always wore. His shirt was missing a button, his mouth missing a tooth. I shivered. I wish Mom wouldn’t leave me on my own with him.

“Fine, thanks.”

He narrowed his eyes, still staring at me. “Good, good.”

Thankfully, Millie arrived a minute later, and Mom and Mr. Beeston could leave.

“I won’t be late, darling,” Mom said, kissing my cheek, then wiping it with her thumb. “There’s meatloaf in the oven. Help yourselves.”

“Hi, Emily.” Millie looked at me intensely for a moment. She always does that. “You’re feeling anxious and confused,” she said — with alarming accuracy for once. “I can see it in your aura.”

Then she swept her black Mystic Millie cape over her shoulder and put the kettle on the stove.

I waved goodbye as Mom and Mr. Beeston headed down the pier. At the end of it, Mr. Beeston turned left to walk around the bay, back to his lighthouse. The street lamps lining the promenade were already on, pale yellow spots against an orangey-pink sky. Mom turned right and headed toward the bookshop.

I watched until they were out of sight before joining Millie on the sofa. We had our dinner plates on our knees and laughed together at the weatherman when he flubbed his lines. Then her favorite true-crime show started and she shushed me and went all serious.

I had an hour.

I cleared the plates, then rooted through the pen jar, got a sheet of Mom’s fanciest purple writing paper from the living-room cupboard, and shut myself in my cabin.

This is what I wrote:

Dear Mrs. Partington,

Please can you let Emily skip swimming lessons? We have been to the doctor, and he says she has a bad allergy and MUST NOT go near water. At all. EVER.

Kindest wishes,

Mary Penelope Windsnap

I pretended to be asleep when I heard Mom come in. She tiptoed into my room, kissed me on the top of my head, and smoothed the hair off my forehead. She always does that. I wish she wouldn’t. I hate having my bangs pushed off my forehead, but I stopped myself from pushing them back until she’d gone.

I lay awake for hours. I’ve got some fluorescent stars and a glow-in-the-dark crescent moon on my ceiling, and I looked up at them, trying to make sense of what had happened.

Actually, all I really wanted to think about was the silkiness of the water as I sliced through it — before everything went wrong. I could still hear its silence pulling me, playing with me as though we shared a secret. But every time I started to lose myself to the feeling of its creamy warmth on my skin, Mandy’s face broke into the picture, glaring at me.

A couple of times I almost fell asleep. Then I suddenly would wake up after drifting into panicky half-dreams — of me inside a huge tank, the class all around me. They were pointing, staring, chanting: “Freak! Freak!”

I could
never
go in the water again!

But the questions wouldn’t leave me alone. What had
happened
to me in there? Would it happen again?

And no matter how much I dreaded the idea of putting myself through that terror again, I would never be happy until I knew. More than that, something was simply pulling me back to the water. It was like I didn’t have a choice. I HAD to find out — however scary it might be.

By the time I heard Mom’s gentle snores coming from her room, I was determined to get to the bottom of it — and before anybody else did, too.

I crept out of bed and slipped into my swimsuit. It was still damp, and I winced and pulled my denim jacket over the top. Then I silently climbed up onto the deck and looked round. The pier was deserted. Along the promenade, guesthouses and shops stood in a silent row of silhouettes against the night sky. It could have been a stage set.

A great big full moon shone a spotlight across the sea. I felt sick as I looked at the plank of wood, stretching across to the dock.
Come on, just a couple of steps.

I clenched my teeth and my fists — and tiptoed across.

I ran to the pilings at the end of the pier and looked down at the rope ladder stretching beneath me into the darkness of the water. The sea glinted coldly at me; I shivered in reply. Why was I doing this?

I wound my fingers in my hair. I always do that when I’m trying to think, if I don’t feel like pacing. And then I pushed the questions and the doubts — and Mandy’s sneering face — out of my mind. I had to do it; I had to know the truth.

I buttoned up my jacket. I wasn’t getting in there without it on! Holding my breath, I stepped onto the rope ladder and looked out at the deserted pier one last time. I could hear the gentle chatter of halyards clinking against masts as I carefully made my way down into the darkness.

The last step of the rope ladder was still quite a distance from the water because the tide was out.
It’s now or never,
I said to myself.

Then, before I had time to think another thought, I pinched my nose between my thumb and forefinger — and jumped.

I landed in the water with a heavy splash and gasped for breath as soon as I came up. At first I couldn’t feel anything, except the freezing cold ocean.
What on earth was I doing?

Then I remembered what I was there for and started kicking my legs. A bit frantically at first. But seconds later, the cold melted away and so did my worries. Instead, a feeling of calm washed over me like the waves. Salt on my lips, hair flat against my head, I darted under the surface, cutting through the water as though I lived there.

And then —
it
happened. I swam straight back to the pier, terrified.
No!
I didn’t want this — I’d changed my mind!

I reached out but couldn’t get ahold of the ladder.
What had I done?
My legs were joining together again, turning to stone! I gasped and threw my arms around uselessly, clutching at nothing.
Just a cramp, just a cramp,
I told myself, not daring to look as my legs disappeared altogether.

But then, as rapidly as it had started, something changed. I stopped fighting it.

Yeah, so my legs had joined together. And fine, now they had disappeared completely. So what? It was good. It was . . . right.

As soon as I stopped worrying, my arms stopped flailing around everywhere. My head slipped easily below the surface. Suddenly I was an eagle, an airplane, a dolphin — gliding through the water for the sheer pleasure of it.

Okay. This is it. You might have guessed by now, or you might not. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you promise never to tell anyone:

I had become a mermaid.

It’s not exactly the kind of thing that happens every day, is it? It doesn’t happen
at all
to most people. But it happened to me. I was a mermaid. A mermaid! How did it happen? Why? Had I always been one? Would I always be one? Questions filled my head, but I couldn’t answer any of them. All I knew was that I’d discovered a whole new part of myself, and nothing I’d ever done in my life had felt so good.

So there I was, swimming like — well, like a fish! And in a way, I
was
a fish. My top half was the same as usual: skinny little arms, my bangs plastered to my forehead with seawater, black Speedo swimsuit, and a very soggy jean jacket.

But then, just below the white line that went across my tummy, I was someone else — something else. My suit melted away and, instead, I had shiny scales. My legs narrowed into a long, gleaming, purple-and-green tail, waving gracefully as I skimmed along in the water. I have to say that I had never done anything gracefully in my life, so it was kind of a shock! When I flicked my tail above the surface, it flashed an arc of rainbow colors in the moonlight. I could zoom through the water with the tiniest movement, going deeper and deeper with every flick of my tail.

It reminded me of the time we went to World of Water at summer day camp. We were in a tunnel under the water with sea life all around us. It felt as if we were really in the sea. Only now I really was! I could reach out and touch the weeds floating up through the water like upside-down beaded curtains. I could race along with the fat gray fish that were grouped in gangs, weaving around each other and me as though they were dancing.

I laughed with pleasure and a line of bubbles escaped from my mouth, climbing up to the surface.

It seemed as though I’d only been swimming for five minutes when I realized the sky was starting to grow pink. I panicked as a new thought hit me:
What if I couldn’t change back?

But the second I’d pulled myself out of the water, my tail softened. I dangled on the rope ladder and watched, fascinated, as the shiny scales melted away one by one. As my legs returned, they felt odd, like when your mouth goes numb after you’ve gotten a filling at the dentist.

I wiggled my toes to get rid of the pins and needles in my feet. Then I headed home with a promise to myself that I would be back — soon.

Bob, the swimming instructor, was standing in front of me, talking into a cell phone. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Somebody grabbed my shoulders.

“This the one, is it?” a snarling voice growled behind my ear. Bob nodded.

I tried to wriggle free from the man’s clutches, but he was holding my shoulders too firmly. “What do you want?” my voice squeaked from my mouth.

“As if you didn’t know,” the snarly voice snapped at me. “You’re the freak.” He shook my shoulders.

“I’m not a freak,” I shouted. “I’m not!”

“Stop pretending,” a woman’s voice replied.

“I’m not pretending.” I wriggled under the hands holding my shoulders. “I’m not a freak!”

“Emily, for Pete’s sake,” the woman’s voice said. “I know you’re not really asleep.”

My eyes snapped open to see Mom’s face inches from mine, her hands on my shoulders, shaking me gently. I bolted upright in my bed. “What’s happening?”

Mom let go of me. “What’s happening, sleepyhead, is that you’re going to be late for school. Now get a move on.” She parted the curtain in the doorway. “And don’t forget to brush your teeth,” she said without turning round.

Over breakfast, I tried to remember my dream and the things I’d been shouting. It had felt so real: the capture, the voices. Had I said anything out loud? I didn’t dare ask, so I ate in silence.

It was on the third mouthful that things went seriously wrong.

Mom was fussing around as usual, shuffling through the huge pile of papers stuffed behind the mixer. “What did I do with it?”

“What is it this time?”

“My shopping list. I’m sure I put it down here somewhere.” She leaned across to a pile of papers on the table. “Aha, here it is.”

I looked up in horror as she picked up a piece of paper. Not just any piece of paper. A sheet of purple writing paper!

“NO-O-O-O-O-O!” I yelled, spitting half a mouthful of cereal across the table and leaping forward to grab the paper. Too late. She was unfolding it.

Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the sheet, and I held my breath.

“No, that’s not it.” Mom started to fold the paper up. I breathed out and swallowed the rest of my mouthful.

But then she opened it again. “Hang on a sec. That’s my name there.”

“No, no, it’s not. It’s someone else, it’s not you at all!” I snatched at the paper.

Mom kept it gripped tightly and ignored me. “Where are my reading glasses?” They were hanging around her neck — as they usually are when she’s looking for them.

“Why don’t I just read it to you?” I said in my very best Perfect Daughter voice. But as I was speaking, she found her glasses and put them on. She studied the note.

I tried to edge away from the table but she looked up on my second step.
“Emily?”

“Hmm?”

She took her glasses off and waved the note in front of my face. “Want to explain this to me?”

“Um, well, hmm, er, let’s see now.” I examined the note with what I hoped was an I’ve-never-seen-it-before-in-my-life-but-I’ll-see-if-I-can-help kind of expression on my face.

She didn’t say anything, and I kept staring at the note, pretending I was reading it. Anything to avoid meeting her eyes while I waited for my lecture.

But then she did something even worse than lecture me. She put the piece of paper down, lifted my chin up with her hand, and said, “I understand, Emily. I know what it’s about.”

“You do?” I squeaked, terrified.

“All those things you were saying in your sleep about being a freak. I should have realized.”

“You should?”

She let go of my chin and shook her head sadly. “I’ve been an idiot not to realize before now.”

“You have?”

Then she took my hand between her palms and said, “You’re like me. You’re afraid of water.”

“I am?” I squealed. Then I cleared my throat and twisted my hair. “I mean, I
am,
” I said seriously. “Of course I am! I’m scared of water. That’s exactly what it is. That’s what all this has been about. Just that, nothing more than —”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I looked down at my lap and closed my eyes tight, trying, if possible, to squeeze a bit of moisture out of them. “I was ashamed,” I said quietly. “I didn’t want to let you down.”

Mom pressed my hand harder between hers and looked into my eyes. Hers were a bit wet, too. “It’s all my fault,” she said. “I’m the one who’s let
you
down. I stopped you from learning how to swim, and now you’ve inherited my fear.”

“Yes.” I nodded sadly. “I suppose I have. But you shouldn’t blame yourself. It’s okay. I don’t mind, seriously.”

She let go of my hand and shook her head. “But we live on a boat,” she said. “We’re surrounded by water.”

I almost laughed, but stopped myself when I saw the expression on her face. Then a thought occurred to me. “Mom, why exactly
do
we live on a boat if you’re so afraid of water?”

She screwed up her eyes and stared into mine as if she was looking for something. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I can’t explain it, but it’s such a deep feeling — I could
never
leave
King.
”

“But it doesn’t make any sense. I mean, you’re scared of water, and we live on a boat in a beach resort!”

“I know, I know!”

“We’re miles from anywhere. Even Nan and Granddad live at the other end of the country.”

Mom’s face hardened. “Nan and Granddad? What do they have to do with it?”

“I’ve never even seen them! Two cards a year and that’s it.”

“I’ve told you before, Em. They’re a long way away. And we’re not — we don’t get along very well.”

“But why not?”

“We had a fight. A long time ago.” She laughed nervously. “So long ago, I can’t even really remember what it was about.”

We sat in silence for a moment. Then Mom got up and looked out of the porthole. “This isn’t right; it shouldn’t be like this for you,” she murmured as she wiped the porthole with her sleeve.

Then she suddenly twirled around so her skirt flowed out around her. “I’ve got it!” she said. “I know what we’ll do.”

“Do? What do you mean,
do
? I’ll just take the note to school, or you could write one yourself. No one will ever know.”

“Of course they will! No, we can’t do that.”

“Yes, we can. I’ll just —”

“Now, Emily, don’t start with your arguing. I haven’t got the patience for it.” Her mouth tightened into a determined line. “I cannot allow you to live your life like this.”

“But
you
don’t —”

“What I do is my own business,” she snapped. “Now please stop answering me back.” She paused for a second before opening her address book. “No, there’s nothing else to do. You need to conquer your fear.”

“What are you going to do?” I fiddled with a button on my blouse.

She turned away from me as she picked up the phone. “I’m going to take you to a hypnotist.”

“All right, Emily. Now, I want you to breathe nice and deeply. Good.”

I was sitting in an armchair in Mystic Millie’s back room. I didn’t know she did hypnotism, but according to Sandra Castle, she worked wonders on Charlie Hogg’s twitch, and that was good enough for Mom.

“Try to relax,” Millie intoned before taking a very loud, deep breath. Mom was sitting in a plastic seat in the corner of the room. She had said she wanted to be there, “just in case.” In case of what, she didn’t exactly explain.

“You’re going to have a little sleep,” Millie drawled. “When you wake up, your fear of water will have completely gone. Vanished. Floated away . . .”

I had to stay awake! If I fell into a trance and started babbling about everything, the whole plan would be ruined. Not that I had a plan, as such, but
you
know what I mean. What would Millie think if she found out? What would she do? Visions of nets and cages and scientists’ laboratories swam into my mind.

I forced them away.

“Very good,” Millie breathed in a husky voice. “Now, I’m going to count down from ten to one. As I do, I’d like you to close your eyes and imagine you are on an escalator, gradually traveling down, lower and lower, deeper and deeper. Make yourself as comfortable as you can.”

I shuffled in my seat.

“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .” Millie said softly. I closed my eyes and waited nervously for the drowsy feeling to come.

“Seven . . . six . . . five . . .” I pictured myself on an escalator like the one in the mall in town. I was running the wrong way, scrambling up against the downward motion. I waited.

“Four . . . three . . . two . . . You’re feeling very drowsy. . . .”

I waited a bit more.

That’s when I realized I wasn’t feeling drowsy at all. In fact . . .

“One.”

I was wide awake! I’d done it — hooray! Millie
was
a phony! The “aura” thing had been a fluke after all!