Maybe a Mermaid Page 7

  “What are you doing?” DJ asked. “I didn’t puke on those.”

  “We should have done these first,” I said. “If you want to clean a room efficiently, you have to start from the top down. Otherwise, you knock dirt and dust onto areas you’ve already cleaned, and clearly that’s a waste of time.”

  “Clearly?” DJ asked, wide-eyed. But he found a feather duster and a broom in the closet and galloped around the cabin while I scrubbed, pretending he was a one-handed sorcerer destroying villages of dust mites with his powerful wand. In one of the more heated battles, he used a hanging chair as a catapult and almost pulled down the curtains.

  “You’re really strange, DJ,” I said, wiping down the last of the cupboards.

  “Good strange or bad strange?” he asked. He still had his T-shirt wrapped around his face and the blue glove covering his cast.

  I shook my head. “I have no idea.”

  By the time we were done, we had a garbage bag full of stinky paper towels and one impressively clean cabin. We tied up the bag, dragged it outside, and tossed it in the metal garbage bin by the woodpile. Then we stood staring at the wooden bear. Even with vomit at his feet, I thought the cub looked a little cheerier. I smiled at him and gave his paw a high-five.

  “Well, Gills.” DJ’s freckles disappeared into his tomato-soup blush, and he gave me an awkward salute. “It’s been weird to know you. See you later, maybe.”

  He ran into the woods, tripped on a stick, and took a face-plant.

  “I’m good!” he called. He waved his T-shirt in the air and galloped away.

  * * *

  Mom was still typing at the picnic table in the kitchen when I walked in the door of The Blue Heron.

  “Guess who I ran into at the Little Store today?” she asked.

  “Elmo?”

  “Someone’s feeling happier,” Mom said with a smile. “I told you exploring would be fun.”

  “It was okay,” I said. But she was right. I did feel better.

  “I saw Mary Quinn and Julie’s mom, Anna Lee. Mary invited us all to their log cabin for dinner tonight. She said we’re supposed to bring our swimsuits.”

  “Great.” I turned away from her and put what was left of the Grapefruit Cleanser under the sink so she wouldn’t see the disappointment on my face. I knew I should be excited to move to the next Action Step in my plan, but I hadn’t figured out how I was going to win over Maddy Quinn. And I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to do it in a swimsuit.

  “It’s a good opportunity for both of us to develop some Potentials, you know.”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s just … Maddy isn’t as nice as I expected.”

  “She doesn’t know you yet. Find out what she likes. Make a connection. She’ll come around.”

  “She likes X-Men.”

  “Really? Then you’re set.”

  “I know. But…” I didn’t want to attract negative results, so I didn’t say the rest out loud: What if she doesn’t like me?

  Mom knew what I was thinking anyway. She came over and ran her fingers through my bangs, fluffing them to the side. “Of course she’ll like you. Who wouldn’t like you? And Julie will be there. She seems nice. Besides,” Mom chucked my chin with her fist. “You’re a tough cookie. You can make this work.”

  She had a point. If I could survive being left in the dark by Charlotte Boulay, stalked in the woods by a camouflage-obsessed boy, and lured into a cabin filled with vomit and moldy milk, I could handle a few small Action Steps. All I had to do was remind Maddy how fun I was, point out how much we had in common, and prove to her that I could earn her trust. Once I did, it would be smooth sailing.

  Mom wrinkled her nose and sniffed in my direction. “You should take a shower, though. You smell funny.” She sniffed again. “You didn’t go in the lake, did you? No swimming without an adult, right? That’s our deal.” Her nose twitched, and she kept sniffing around me like a dog looking for bones.

  “Mom!” I wiggled away from her. “Stop smelling me. I’m not getting in that lake unless I have to. I promise.”

  It wasn’t until after I’d scrubbed myself clean and was sitting in the Beemobile on my way to Maddy Quinn’s that I remembered the photo of the Boulay Mermaid. My backpack! I couldn’t remember carrying it home.

  “I need to run back for a minute,” I said. I tried to think through exactly where DJ had found the key to The Black Bear and how he’d jiggled the screen door open. If I was lucky, he’d accidentally left it unlocked.

  Mom laughed like I’d told a funny joke.

  “For real,” I said. “I’ll be fast. It’s my backpack.” I knew we’d already driven halfway around Thunder Lake, but Mom would understand. She knew I kept all my important stuff in my backpack. She’d once driven three hours in the wrong direction when I forgot it at a truck stop in Michigan. She wouldn’t mind going back one measly mile. I did a quick inventory of what was in it now. My notebook. Josh’s floaties. The Boulay Mermaid.

  “You’ll have to do without it tonight,” Mom said. “We’re here.”

  She turned the car down a tiny road marked Private—No Hunting and entered a circular driveway. A low whistle escaped from her lips.

  “Some cabin!”

  Maddy Quinn’s house was built out of logs, but other than that, it looked nothing like a log cabin. It was three stories high with huge bay windows and a stone chimney that took up one whole side of the house.

  Mrs. Quinn answered the door holding her phone to her ear, and waved us in. “How awful,” she said into the phone. “You poor thing!”

  She nodded for us to follow her into a living room with high wooden beams in the ceiling. An entire wall of windows faced Thunder Lake. It felt like a cathedral. Mom and I gazed at the view, the stone fireplace, and the grand piano as Mrs. Quinn finished up her call. I wondered which B&B samples Mom had brought. The Quinns could clearly afford the Premium package.

  “That was Anna Lee,” Mrs. Quinn said. “Julie and her brother got into some poison ivy, and they’re not going to be able to make it tonight.”

  I’d been aware there could be bears or rogue woodsmen in the forest, but it hadn’t even occurred to me that I needed to watch out for poison ivy. The backs of my knees felt itchy just thinking about it.

  Mrs. Quinn crossed her arms, then uncrossed them. I wasn’t sure if she wanted us to stay or go now that the Lees weren’t coming. She shook her long, glamorous ponytail at me. “Maddy will still be glad you’re here.”

  I smiled politely and hoped she was right.

  16

  TRICK SKIS

  Mrs. Quinn led us up a staircase into the greatest bedroom I’d ever seen. The bed was shaped like a giant marshmallow, and the wall behind it was painted with an X-Men mural. On one side of the bed stood Storm, larger than life with her hands on her hips, white hair and cape billowing behind her. On the other side of the bed was Emma Frost in her diamond form. Mom caught my eye and gave me a thumbs-up. The Quinns had some serious Potential.

  “Maddy,” Mrs. Quinn called. “Carrie and Anthoni are here. Let’s go take them for a ski.”

  Maddy peeked out from behind a door that I’d thought was a closet. She was wearing rectangular glasses that she hadn’t worn at the beach.

  “I don’t think Anthoni skis, Mom.”

  “She’s right,” I said, and bristled in case a mean laugh or a comment about my bubble-blowing abilities was coming my way.

  Instead, she said, “Hi, Anthoni.” Like we were old pals.

  Mrs. Quinn turned to Mom. “Carrie, you’re probably dying to get behind the boat.”

  “I haven’t … I’m out of practice…” Mom stumbled for an excuse and landed on: “I forgot my suit.”

  Mrs. Quinn waved her hand. “I have dozens. Maddy, you and Anthoni go find your dad in the boathouse. We’ll meet you at the dock after we’ve changed.”

  The boathouse turned out to be exactly what it sounded like: an entire house for a boat. A shiny speedboat with th
e words Ski Nautique on the side hung suspended from the ceiling by two thick cables. A tan, muscled man with a bald head and sunglasses stood on a wooden platform pushing a lever that slowly lowered the boat toward the water. When he saw us, he let go of the lever and the boat swayed in midair.

  “Nice to see you, sport.” Maddy’s dad led us into a small room in the back of the boathouse where skis and life jackets lined the walls. He passed two short, fat skis to Maddy.

  “Do the trick-ski routine,” he said. “Your transitions could use some work.”

  He turned to me. “What’s your style, Anthoni? Trick? Slalom? Or are you a daredevil like your mom?”

  I felt like I was in swim class all over again, listening to a language I didn’t understand. He must have Mom confused with someone else. She was a lot of things, but “daredevil” wasn’t one of them.

  “Anthoni doesn’t ski, Dad,” Maddy said. Again, I waited for a snide comment, but it didn’t come.

  Mr. Quinn looked surprised, but he winked and tossed me a red life jacket. When I got my arms through, he zipped it up and tightened the straps until I felt like my ribs might cave in.

  “I’m good,” I wheezed.

  “Then let’s get this show on the road!”

  We stood on the wooden platform while Mr. Quinn lowered the boat until the bottom half bobbed in the water. He hopped down into the Ski Nautique and Maddy jumped in behind him with a thud. Mr. Quinn held his hand out to me. I didn’t budge. I watched the boat bounce and sway in the murky water and I thought I might be sick for the second time that day.

  Maddy held her hand out, too. “We’ve got you.”

  She sounded like she meant it. I gave myself a pep talk. I wasn’t getting in the water. I only had to sit in the boat and watch other people ski. How bad could it be? I took their outstretched hands and let them lift me down.

  I flinched as the boat sputtered to a start, and Mr. Quinn winked at me again.

  “Nothing to fear,” he said. “I drove the boat when your mom was a Waterbug on the ski team. I’m a pro.”

  He backed gently out of the boathouse and putted along the shore. I let myself relax. Maddy and I sat on a comfy vinyl seat, sturdy and safe. It wasn’t bad at all. Then her dad hit the throttle.

  The nose of the boat flew into the air, and a startled scream escaped from my throat. We hurtled toward the middle of the lake at an insane speed. The wind whipped my hair into my face, and Maddy’s log cabin grew smaller behind us. Without warning, Mr. Quinn turned the boat in a tight circle, a full 360 degrees.

  I slid down the seat and crashed into Maddy. To my surprise, she grabbed my arm and screamed bloody murder right along with me as water sprayed around us. Once we’d gone full circle, the boat hit the waves we’d made and we bounced over them, the Ski Nautique flying higher and higher into the air with each wave. Maddy and I clutched each other and screamed louder, sliding from the bench seat to the carpeted floor of the boat. My knee knocked into her elbow, and the vibration of the boat’s motor made my screams wobble and shake like a jackhammer.

  I wished I could freeze the moment in time, holding everything in place—the speedboat, Maddy’s mouth opened in a comic-book scream, the white froth on the waves, the sparkle of the sun glinting off the spray—I wanted to capture it, and hold it, and never let it end. Because right there, flying over Thunder Lake, something magical happened. Maddy Quinn and I locked eyes, and exactly like two six-year-olds screaming at Gramps’s dragon impression, we started to laugh. We screamed and laughed until tears ran down my cheeks, and I swear I’d never felt lighter or happier in my life.

  Abruptly, Mr. Quinn slowed the boat to turtle speed and putted back toward the dock.

  “Still works,” Mr. Quinn said with a sly grin.

  When we reached the dock, Maddy and I untangled ourselves, and she hopped into the water with her skis. Her dad tossed her a long multicolored rope while Mom and Mrs. Quinn stepped into the boat and sandwiched me on the bench seat.

  “Up to your old tricks, I see, Leon,” Mom said.

  Maddy held on to the ski rope and floated in the water, getting her skis into position. When she yelled, “Hit it!” Mr. Quinn accelerated and Maddy stood up on the skis like it was as easy as getting out of bed. She held the rope with one hand while she adjusted her swimsuit with the other, then she did two 180-degree turns in a row. When she lifted her foot in the air, one of her skis fell off. No one else seemed to notice.

  “She lost a ski!” I shouted over the engine.

  Mr. Quinn gave me a thumbs-up.

  After that, it got crazy. Maddy held one foot and one arm in the air like a ballet dancer, and wobbled until she caught her balance. Then she hooked the handle of the rope onto her foot. Her ski swerved from side to side like she might fall, but she steadied herself and skied on one foot with no hands while we passed the public beach. When we got close to the bay and The Showboat Resort, Mr. Quinn made a wide, slow turn and headed back home. Maddy released her foot and tumbled into the water right in front of the dock. Her second ski had washed up onto the shore.

  “I’ll go next!” Mrs. Quinn dove into the lake, and Maddy climbed into the boat, shivering.

  Mr. Quinn threw a towel around her. “What happened to the tricks in the second half? You don’t get to be the best by riding it out, Mads.”

  Maddy winced like the words hurt her, and I wanted to yell at her dad. His daughter had water-skied around an entire lake on one foot. She was amazing.

  Mom helped Mr. Quinn change the ski rope and Maddy sat down on the seat next to me, dripping water everywhere. There was a red mark on her foot where the rope handle had been—no wonder this girl thought I was a chicken for not wanting to put my head in the lake.

  “You’re really good,” I said.

  “Thanks. I have to practice a lot.” The sun came out from behind a cloud and she squinted at me. “How do you and Julie know each other so well?”

  I shook my head. “We don’t.”

  “We’re best friends,” she said. “Just so you know.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. That was it. Julie was the reason Maddy had been so mean at the beach. She thought I was going to steal Julie from her. Which I definitely was not. It was all a misunderstanding, and now we could start over. We already had.

  The sun beamed harder, warming my back, and Maddy shaded her eyes with her hand.

  “We’ve been best friends for two years.”

  “That’s great,” I said, and I meant it. It was great. I didn’t mind if Maddy and Julie were best friends. It wasn’t the same thing at all. Best friends come and go. True Blue is forever.

  “Don’t worry,” I started. “I’m not…”

  Before I could finish, Mom sat down next to us and Mrs. Quinn shouted, “Hit it!” The boat took off, drowning out my voice in the roar of the engine.

  Mrs. Quinn skied on one long ski and zoomed from one side of the boat’s wake to the other. She leaned into each turn, sending a tall spray of water into the air, bending her knees as her ski skimmed over each wake. The sun caught the spray and made knee-high rainbows in the sky. Zoom to the right. Spray. Zoom to the left. Spray. The muscles in her arms bulged like Emma Frost’s. I could have watched her all day.

  When it was Mom’s turn, she handed me her sunglasses and her shirt, but crossed her arms nervously over her suit.

  “I haven’t skied since college,” she said.

  Mr. Quinn handed her a life jacket. “It’s like riding a bike, Gills. You never forget.”

  Gills? I shot Maddy a look. She seemed deeply interested in her toenails.

  Mom laughed as if she liked the nickname.

  “I always tell Maddy she should be like Gills—the hardest worker on the team,” Mr. Quinn said. “The one who never wants to get out of the water.”

  Mrs. Quinn handed Mom a ski. “You’ll like this one, Carrie. It’s nice and light.”

  The first time Mr. Quinn accelerated, Mom fell flat on her face. The second time,
she pulled herself up, wavered, and tumbled into the water again. Mr. Quinn spun the boat in a circle back to the dock and his wife threw the rope to Mom.

  “Third time’s a charm!” she yelled.

  Please get up, please get up, I chanted in my head. I tried to visualize Mom standing up on her ski, triumphant, showing them all how it was done.

  It worked. This time, when the boat took off, Mom pulled herself up to a standing position. She leaned back and started to weave across the wake of the boat like Maddy’s mom had done. The first couple passes were slow and unsteady, but with each one she gathered speed and leaned farther, sending walls of rainbow spray into the air.

  It’s funny how you can know someone your whole life and then out of nowhere they reveal some power you didn’t know they had. Something that existed inside them all along, only they never had the chance to use it. My mom could ski like a superhero.

  By the time we passed the public beach, she was sending rainbows shoulder-high in the air. She reached her arm down while she turned and touched the water with her hand. Then she skimmed off to the side again, pulled in the rope to gain momentum, and jumped right over the wake. She soared through the air for a split second, then her ski landed on the water with a slap.

  We all clapped and screamed.

  “Woo! Mom!” I yelled.

  “You want to try it next, Anthoni?” Mr. Quinn shouted over the engine.

  “No, thanks!” But in my head I could feel it—the wind in my hair, the pull of the rope on my arms, the speed, the adrenaline. I knew I could do it. I had good balance, and I was strong. As I watched Mom ski, Thunder Lake morphed in front of my eyes. Instead of a murky, threatening force, I saw powerful waves and rainbow mist. Mom had tamed it, and it was making her stronger. I imagined myself jumping over the wake and sending a wall of spray into the sky like Storm summoning the rain.

  As we neared the bay, I glanced at The Showboat Resort. From far away, the hotel looked clean and white. You couldn’t see the cracked windows or the weeds. It almost looked as shiny and inviting as it did in the postcard. Mom geared up to do her jump again. This time she sailed higher in the air, but as she was coming down, Mr. Quinn swerved abruptly to the left. Instead of landing with a triumphant slap, Mom hit the water. Her ski flew into the air as she somersaulted and disappeared into Thunder Lake.