Maybe a Mermaid Page 17

  I looked out over the lake. The surface was smooth, reflecting the moon and stars like the whole night had been serene and calm. Like nothing bad had ever happened below the surface of Thunder Lake.

  I pushed Mom’s arms away and lay down, resting my head on the dock next to DJ’s purple quartzite. The air in my lungs felt heavy. I didn’t want to go back to the cabin. I didn’t want to go anywhere. As I lay there, staring out at Thunder Lake, Charlotte’s song echoed on repeat in my head. We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when …

  The tears rose fast and strong. The Boulay Mermaid was gone.

  34

  THE SHOW MUST GO ON

  “Here.”

  I’d only been laying there a few seconds before I felt something metal being pressed into my good hand. It was a hairpin in the shape of a star, with a mermaid inside. I closed my fist around it.

  “I’m sorry I called you a liar,” Maddy said. Then she smiled. “Don’t worry. She’s untangled. She probably swam back to her home.”

  She didn’t get it. Maddy Quinn was oblivious.

  I sat up and stared at her. She had her nice-Maddy smile on. Her let’s-be-friends smile. The kind of smile I would have done backflips for a few days ago. But now, it didn’t look that different from any other smile. Nothing magical or Meant to Be. Just lips turned up into a grin. Charlotte had been right. People see what they want to believe. Including me.

  “Good night, Maddy,” Mom said, giving her a stern, you’re-not-helping look. “Your mom’s waiting.”

  Maddy turned to join her parents, and I heard her footsteps fade away on the stairs.

  “You, too,” Mom said. “Time to go.”

  I shook my head. “But Char—”

  “Honey, I’ve never seen you like this. We need to get you to bed.”

  “Can I have two minutes? By myself.”

  I needed space to think, but Mom didn’t move.

  “Please?” I looked up at her and begged with my eyes. “I won’t move from this spot, but I need to stay here. I can’t go in right now.”

  She looked concerned, but her eyes softened. “Two minutes,” she said. “I’ll sit on the stairs and give you space for two minutes, but then we’re going home, even if I have to carry you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, staring at the hairpin in my hand.

  The pin looked too delicate to survive underwater all those years. I unlatched it and clipped it onto my hair. The sobs started up again. I pictured Charlotte Boulay with her crooked tooth, dancing and singing in front of the Showboat hotel. Out with a bang, she’d said. Our big finale. The dock and the lake blurred behind my tears. All Charlotte wanted was for someone to notice her. To look beneath the surface and really see her.

  I had. DJ had. What we saw was that she wasn’t just a kooky old lady. She was funny. And generous. Loyal. To the bitter end.

  A cold hand rested on my shoulder.

  “Don’t cry, kid. We killed ’em tonight.”

  I looked up. Charlotte Boulay stood over me in a pink, shimmery sundress with elbow-length gloves and a feathery hat. There wasn’t a trace of her gaudy makeup.

  “Where were you?” I tried to shout, but my voice came out scratchy and raw. “I thought you drowned!”

  Saying the words out loud unlocked a new floodgate of tears. Charlotte sat down cross-legged on the dock next to me, shimmery dress and all.

  She winked at me. “Came up the side way. Didn’t want to ruin the effect. The show must go on, and all that jazz.”

  She was chipper and energetic, like nothing had happened. If it wasn’t for the red rope burn peeking out of the glove on her left arm, I would have thought I imagined the whole thing.

  “Shhh, now. You shouldn’t sob like that,” she said. “It’s bad for your voice. A performer with your talent needs a healthy set of cords.”

  I crinkled my forehead. I didn’t know whether to laugh or keep crying or yell at her. Charlotte Boulay was the most unpredictable human being I’d ever met in my whole life.

  She laid her hand on my back, rubbing soothing circles and repeating “shhh now, shhh,” until my breathing slowed and the tears dried up. A breeze blew across Thunder Lake, chopping up the surface and scattering the reflection of the moon. The light glittered on the water like thousands of tiny diamonds.

  When I’d pulled myself together, I unclipped the hairpin and handed it to her.

  “We got it back,” I said.

  Charlotte took the pin and gently turned it over, examining it like it was a rare jewel. Slowly, she brought it to her lips, kissed it, and with trembling hands, lifted it to her head.

  “I can do it.” I reached over and pinned the mermaid to her damp, fiery hair. The star glinted in the moonlight.

  Charlotte raised her hands to the night sky. “We had a heck of a finale,” she said. “No one’s going to forget a couple of kooks like us.” She made her hand into a fist, chucked me gently on the chin, then threw her head back and howled, “Yowzah, yowzah, yowzah!”

  I couldn’t help myself. I laughed.

  “Hey, kid,” Charlotte said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I was wrong. Some friends are true. They’re just not always the ones you’d expect. Thanks for helping me.”

  I nodded and thought of DJ showing up in the nick of time when I needed him, brave as Storm or Wolverine, and Charlotte risking her life to help me with my plan to win a friend. The truth was, I’d had True Blue Friends staring me in the face all along. Not that it mattered anymore. Tomorrow I’d be in Chicago, starting from scratch with a new life.

  “Hey, kid,” Charlotte said again.

  “Yeah?”

  “You ever had a pen pal?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever wish you had one?”

  “Always.”

  We sat in silence, and somewhere on the other side of the lake, one last firework went off. The sparks sputtered in the air before plummeting into the water, fizzing out into darkness.

  35

  TRUE BLUE

  Mom and I finished packing the Beemobile in silence. Mom was depressed because she’d gone almost four weeks without checking off a single goal on her whiteboard. I was depressed because even though we’d stayed a few days past July Fourth, Mom made me spend those days in bed. I didn’t have a fever, but she was convinced the whole mermaid incident meant I was having some kind of breakdown.

  As far as I knew, she could be right. I’d let everybody down. Because of me, DJ had to get a new cast; Maddy, Julie, and Kurt all got grounded for sneaking out to The Showboat; and there were rumors that Charlotte Boulay was moving to a nursing home like Gramps. I had to learn all that news from Mom because I hadn’t seen any of them since the Fourth. It was almost a relief that we were leaving. As usual, nobody was going to be sorry to see me go.

  I went back into the cabin and put a few last things in my backpack: Josh’s floaties, a perfect pinecone, and my Lady Alice and Boulay Mermaid photos. Then I flopped into a hanging chair for one last swivel. Mom set down a box and joined me.

  “So…” She fiddled with the keys in her hand. “I had a conversation with your grandpa.”

  “Really?”

  “I told him we’d stop and see him this weekend after we get settled in at Kimmy’s. Shady Rest isn’t too far from her neighborhood.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said. “I’ve really missed him.”

  “I know. Me, too.”

  Something scratched at the screen door, but when I got up to look out, there was nothing on the porch except a pinecone. Then I heard a rustle of leaves and a soft “Meow.”

  I grabbed my backpack. “Hey, Mom … can I go out for a few minutes?”

  She looked at the clock, recalculating.

  “I know it’ll put us behind schedule,” I said. “If we plan to get to Chicago by…”

  “The plan hasn’t been helping us much, lately, has it?” Mom said. “Might as well do what we want. Take your time.”

&
nbsp; * * *

  I found DJ on the stairs to the dock, looking out over Thunder Lake. His new cast was neon purple, and he held it above his forehead, shading his eyes from the sun. I braced myself in case he was mad and getting ready to yell.

  “Hey,” I said. “Can I sit here?”

  He nodded. He didn’t seem mad. Disappointed would be worse.

  “Nice cast.”

  DJ held it up to his nose. “Smells fresh,” he said. “Want a whiff?”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  DJ gave a half smile.

  “I saw you guys packing the car.”

  “Yeah.”

  I opened my backpack and rummaged around until I found his jagged piece of quartzite. When I handed it to him, I was surprised to find my face burning as red as his.

  DJ took the rock and put it in his pocket.

  “You were right, DJ,” I said. “About everything. I should have listened. And…” My face burned even hotter, but I choked out the words anyway. “You’re the truest friend here, and I ditched you. I don’t blame you if you hate me, but…”

  “I heard what you said to Kurt,” DJ interrupted. “When he called me a mess.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah.” DJ shot me a giant, triumphant grin. “You think I’m great!”

  My cheeks felt like they were on fire. “How? You weren’t even there.”

  “Sure I was. In the woods. Turns out camouflage works best at night.”

  He pumped his fist in the air, and I put my face in my hands, feeling happy and embarrassed and relieved all at the same time.

  “Well, it’s true,” I said. “If I had a superpower, I’d use it to rewind the whole summer and start again. I’d even clean up your puke this time.”

  DJ fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a Ziploc bag. “Speaking of superpowers, I made you this.”

  Inside the bag was a necklace made of wire and a small, pale-pink piece of quartzite with a single purple band. There was writing on one side of the rock. In black Sharpie letters it said: SNIKT!

  “SNIKT? Like Wolverine?”

  DJ shrugged. “You said quartzite reminded you of him, so I looked him up. It’s like his catchphrase or something?”

  It wasn’t a catchphrase. It was the sound Wolverine’s claws made when they extended. Still, close enough. I was impressed.

  “It’s kind of ugly,” DJ said. He was right. The wire was thick and misshapen, and there were fat globs of glue that had dried all over the rock.

  I put the necklace on.

  “It’s perfect,” I said.

  I was about to tell him I didn’t have anything for him, but then a brainwave hit me. I pulled my notebook out of my backpack and ripped out a list I’d been working on while I was stuck in bed.

  “Here,” I said. “You might as well have this.”

  TRUE BLUE FRIEND CRITERIA (revised)

  1. Takes you seriously

  2. Tells you when you’re wrong

  3. Doesn’t judge people because they’re strange

  4. Is a little strange (in the best way)

  5. Teaches you about new things (like geology & drown-proof research)

  6. Knows ghost karate

  7. Sticks by you when you’re scared

  8. Shows. Up. When. Needed.

  It was DJ’s turn to look embarrassed. As he read through the list, his face flamed up. At this rate, we were going to set off a fire alarm.

  “Thanks, Gills.”

  We sat there, staring at the lake, while DJ folded the paper into smaller and smaller squares. When he couldn’t fold it any more, he stood up and tucked it in his pocket with the quartzite.

  “Well, it’s been weird to know ya,” I said.

  “Are you coming back next summer?” DJ asked. “You should. We could get Charlotte to teach us her dance moves.”

  I knew he was joking about the dancing, but it actually sounded fun.

  “I hope so,” I said. “I’ll try.”

  “Okay. See you next year, maybe.”

  “Maybe,” I said. The word felt filled with Potential.

  36

  NEXT HIVE DESTINATION: CHICAGO, IL

  Mom waited in the car while I ran inside the Showboat hotel. Charlotte was in the front office, hanging a new photo in the place where Lady Alice and her Dirty Rats had been. She wore a pair of overalls and a floppy straw hat. Behind her, an ancient poster I hadn’t seen before hung above the desk.

  THE SHOWBOAT RESORT

  HOME OF THE SPECTACULAR

  BOULAY MERMAID!

  “Kid,” she said, “you’re just in time. Want to give it the old John Hancock?”

  “The what?”

  “Autograph. Yours.”

  She took down the photo she was hanging and removed it from the frame. It was a black-and-white picture of me and DJ standing at the spotlight, rehearsing for the Boulay Mermaid show. DJ was grinning, and even in black and white, I could tell his face was red. I was delivering my lines, arms outstretched, looking like a goon.

  “When did you take this? I didn’t see you do it.”

  Charlotte waggled her eyebrows at me. “The depths of my mysterious ways have yet to be plumbed,” she said. “Mostly because plumbers are so expensive these days. Ba-dum-bum!”

  She winked at me, and I took the pen from her hand and wrote, “To Charlotte Boulay. From your friend, Gills.”

  I handed it back to her. “I couldn’t think of anything clever.”

  “‘Friend’ is good,” Charlotte said. “I’ll take it.”

  “Are you really moving to a nursing home?”

  Charlotte tipped back her head and barked out a laugh. “Don’t believe all the fish tales you hear, kid.”

  “Good,” I said, and handed her a faded pink envelope. “I thought you might want this.”

  Charlotte pulled out the articles and spread them on the front desk. When she finally spoke, her voice was hushed. “Where did you find these?”

  I waggled mysterious eyebrows right back at her. “You’re right,” I said. “She should have been in the movies.”

  Charlotte looked at the photos of her mom and smiled. It wasn’t a pinched, sad, weight-of-the-past kind of smile. It was a full-on, right-now, glad-for-happy-memories grin.

  “I’ve got something, too.” Charlotte Boulay reached behind the desk and pulled out a wrapped box. “For you. Open it on the ride down to Chicago.”

  “Thanks.” I waved to the mermaid lamp and opened the door.

  “Hey, kid.”

  I turned. Charlotte looked small and frail behind the traveling trunks. The sunlight from the open door threw a soft glow around her hair, making it look less orange, making her look like a normal old woman, somebody’s grandmother, about to be left all alone. Then she put a hand on the front desk for support, stepped up on her stool, and threw her arms wide.

  “Anthoni Gillis!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Knock ’em dead out there!”

  EPILOGUE

  Dear Kid,

  Enclosed, please find one box of Genuine, Grade-A, Pen-Pal-Letter-Writing Paper. This spectacular, one-of-a-kind stationery is Pure Genius. If you use it, you will write the most Fascinating, Jaw-Dropping, Tear-Jerking letters of All Time.

  I look forward to receiving them.

  Yours truly,

  Charlotte Boulay

  p.s. Enclosed, please also find an order for three cases of your mother’s wondrous wrinkle-free elixir. Who knows? The stuff might work.

  HOW TO PUBLISH A NOVEL IN FOUR EASY STEPS

  All you need is the herculean support of impossibly SPECTACULAR friends!

  ACTION STEP 1: GATHER MATERIAL

  I could not have written this book without: growing up on a lake, hating swimming lessons, or tagging along to Tupperware, Avon, Longaberger basket, Color Me Beautiful, and other home parties of the 1980s. Or without April, Amy, Katie, Matt, Andy, and Danyon Jay—True Blue Friends when I needed them most. Living near a once-famous resort with a bo
at-shaped lounge and having a family with generations of competition-level water-skiers also helped.

  ACTION STEP 2: RESEARCH

  I am indebted to No Applause—Just Throw Money by Trav S.D. and to PinkTruth.com. To the Three Lakes Historical Society & Museum, Carl Marty, and his Showboat Lounge. To the University of Wisconsin–Extension and Alan Vodicka for geology advice. To Carol Martin for rock knowledge (but really for saving my academic career). To Prof. Walton for everything from Marilynne Robinson to The Clean Team. All the childhood hours spent watching movies like Ziegfeld Girl (1941), The Seven Little Foys (1955), and Singin’ in the Rain (1952), and especially the day I skipped school to watch the TCM Esther Williams marathon: totally worth it.

  ACTION STEP 3: CHOP WOOD (GIT ’ER DONE!)

  Thank you to Kevin Johnson and Anna Vodicka for never letting me off easy. To generous readers and writers: Anthony Walton, Deborah Murphy, Ann Braden, Scott Johnson, Susan Olcott, the Richardson-Plueckers, the Chiappinellis, Kyle Beeton, Brian and Katie Quirk, Michele LaForge, Jim Adolf, Cynthia Lord, and Kate Egan. To Chris Richman for seeing the Potential. To my editor, Grace Kendall, who truly is Queen Bee. To my agent, John Cusick—ventriloquist, medicine man, and trick bicyclist. And to the hardworking teams at FSG and Folio, Jr., who have put their time and talents into making this a real book, including but not limited to Elizabeth H. Clark, Jennifer Sale, Nicholas Henderson, Lauren Festa, Kylie Byrd, Jeff Freiert, Christina Dacanay, Lucy Del Priore, Brittany Pearlman, Melissa Zar, and Shivani Annirood. A standing ovation to artist Maike Plenzke for bringing Thunder Lake to vibrant Technicolor life.

  ACTION STEP 4: CELEBRATE!

  As a little kid, I claimed I was an author. My off-the-wall, gigantic family believed me. My whole life, they’ve been my cheerleaders, doing veritable backflips and water-ski pyramids for every slow-but-steady win (we always did think my Lead Shoe Award in track was symbolic). You guys are the BEST! Think we can finally use the catchphrase? Snailed It!