Pretty in Pearls: A Forgive My Fins Novella (HarperTeen Impulse) (5 page)

She laughs even harder. “I am the court!”

“I’ll ask for the king to preside,” I retort. “He’s always liked me.”

After a few more laughs, Lily finally calms back to normal. She studies me, her green eyes serious and intent. It’s like she’s trying to read my brain.

If I weren’t trapped in a chair I’d back away a few inches.

“What?”

“You like him.” She takes my hands in hers and twirls me out of the chair. “You
really
like him.”

I let her spin me a few times. It feels like the dances we used to do as guppies. Those were days of pure joy, before pressures or responsibilities or
boys
. Life was so much easier.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Because he said he can’t like me back.”

“That’s what he thinks.”

“Oh no,” I say. “Don’t you get that determined look on your face.”

“Leave things to me,” she says. “I’ll make sure he sees exactly what he’s missing.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on tiptoe. “Don’t you dare.”

“It’ll be perfect.” Her eyes go all dreamy, like she’s already planning the wedding.

“Lily Sanderson,” I warn, and when she doesn’t respond, I get serious. “Princess Waterlily.”

“What?” she asks with a long-suffering eye roll.

“Promise me.” I get in her face, making sure she’s looking me straight in the eye. “Promise me you won’t do anything. At all. Nothing involving me and Riatus.”

After last night’s humiliation, the last thing I want is to see him. Ever.

“Involving you
and
Riatus?” she muses. “Okay. I promise. Nothing.”

“Lily . . .”

“You worry too much,” she says. “Now, let’s go see what Laver has cooked up in the kitchens tonight. I hear there’s pineapple inside-out cake.”

One of the royal chef’s specialties.

She takes me by the hand and swims for the door. I have a bad feeling about that promise. A really bad feeling.

The light is still on in Mom’s studio when I get home. It’s late and she’s usually in bed by now. But with the Sea Harvest Dance less than two weeks away, she’s swamped with orders and working crazy hours to make sure all the dresses are perfect.

Part of me misses being her apprentice. But I know she’s really happy that I’m working with Lily. And I still help out whenever I have free time.

If only I had more time now.

When I swim through her door, she has a mouthful of pins and she’s busy draping a swath of opulent lavender satin on a dress form. As I float there watching, she pins and repins it four times, finally settling on a fitted bodice with a fan of pleats across the chest. It’s a work of origami art.

“It’s beautiful, Mom.”

She twirls and smiles at me through the pins. “Hank hoo.”

Luckily I can translate pin speak. “You’re welcome.”

I grab the magnetic bowl of pins from her worktable and hold it out for her. She removes the pins from her mouth and sets them inside.

“Is this the one for Venus?” I ask, guessing that the lavender will look breathtaking against her dark skin and black hair.

She nods. “I had to talk her into it. But she’ll see.”

They always do.

“How many do you have left?” I ask.

A dozen dress forms are scattered around the room, covered in various stages of dressmaking. A few only have seam line markings traced onto the cloth surface. Several display gowns that are all but finished, just needing one last piece of decoration or a final hem. The bulk of them are somewhere in between, with fabric or trim pinned on, fittings and finishings still to come.

“Besides the ones on the forms,” she says, turning to look at the piles of cloth on her worktable, “a dozen more.”

“A dozen?” I gasp. “Mom, how will you finish them all?”

She shrugs. “I always find a way.”

“I wish you would hire a new apprentice.” And not just because that would relieve some of my guilt.

“I will.” She picks up a spool of ribbon, one shade darker than the lavender satin, and holds it up against the dress-in-progress. “As soon as I find a candidate with the promise and the passion.”

In other words, never. No one ever lives up to Mom’s standards.

“Can I at least do something to help?”

I expect her to say no, because she always does. She doesn’t want to take away from my fledgling career in politics. She’s always wanted something more for me.

So it’s a total shock when she says, “Actually, you could do one thing.”

“Anything,” I say with a smile.

“I’m running low on pearls,” she says, and my stomach turns inside out. “Could you run to Paru’s stall for me tomorrow?”

Mom’s back is to me, so she can’t see the look of pure horror that I’m sure is on my face right now. Really? Of all the things, all the trimmings she might need or all the tasks she could ask me to do, it’s this?

I have to do something about this luck of mine.

“Sure,” I say, trying not to sound like it’s the end of the world. “How many do you need?”

“Two thousand should get me through this season. I’ll leave a list on the kitchen counter.” She throws a grateful smile over her shoulder. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

I smile back, but mine’s not nearly as cheery.

“No problem.”

Yeah, no problem at all.

    
5

T
he fact that it’s daylight this time as I approach the stall in the back corner of the market only makes it feel like there’s a spotlight on my humiliation. Oh look, there goes the mergirl who chased that hot merboy out of town, only to find out he couldn’t like her.

Yeah, something like that.

Maybe he won’t be there. Maybe he’s not working the stall and I will find Coral waiting for me instead.

But as I round the corner, past the shellfish stall with the counter I hid behind the other night, now full of clams and oysters and every possible bivalve in the seven seas, the first thing I see is a flash of red. The vibrant scarf he uses to keep his hair out of his face is visible from a league away.

Way to keep up the winning streak, luck.

My mission is simple: get in, get the pearls, and get out. As fast—and as humiliation-free—as possible.

If my luck doesn’t cooperate this time I’m going to make a visit to the Trigonum Vortex—what the human knows as the Bermuda Triangle—so I can make it disappear altogether.

There are several other customers swimming around the stall. That’s a good sign. With so many other merfolk around, it can’t become some kind of crazy scene. Of course that means there are more potential witnesses to my future humiliation, but I’m going to try thinking positive. It can’t make things worse.

Riatus is helping another customer sift through a display of mint-green pearls.

“My Maggie loves seafoam green,” the older mergentleman says. “I want to find the perfect one for our anniversary.”

Riatus peers down at the pearls, inspecting them closely like it’s just as important to him to find the right pearl. Finally, he plucks one out. “This looks like seafoam to me, sir. I’ll bet your Maggie will adore this.”

The customer beams, clearly pleased with the selection.

I enter on the other side of the stall and head for the cash register at the counter. They’ll be over here in a moment so the gentleman can pay, and then I can intercept Riatus before he gets involved with another customer. I don’t want to draw out this visit any longer than I have to.

“Normally a pearl like that runs fifty starbucks,” he tells the gentleman as they approach the counter. “But today is your lucky day. We’re running a discount on all green pearls. It’s a bargain for twenty.”

I grumble to myself. Riatus knows how to be charming when he wants to be.

Not waiting to see the gentleman’s face, Riatus turns to swim around the counter . . . and sees me waiting there.

“Peri.” He obviously didn’t expect to see me back here anytime soon.

You and me both.

“I need to pick up a selection for my mom,” I explain, so he doesn’t get the wrong idea and think I’m here to beg him to date me, or something equally stupid.

“Right.” He shakes his head, like he has to remind himself to be professional. “I’ll help you as soon as I get Mr. Zafra checked out.”

I cross my arms and float against the counter, determined not to notice how kind he’s being to the elderly man. Or how the silver shells in his hair sparkle in the filtered sunlight. Or how his smile—and the shallow dimples in his cheeks—seem totally genuine. I am not interested in noticing anything worth admiring.

When Mr. Zafra has paid and swum off, another customer approaches Riatus. He puts her off. “Just let me help Peri,” he tells her. “Her order will only take a moment.”

The woman nods and goes back to browsing.

When Riatus turns back to face me, his cheeks are slightly pink and he doesn’t quite look me in the eye. “How many does your mom need?”

“Two thousand.”

“What colors?”

I hand him the list Mom wrote up. He gets to work, gathering a hundred in one shade, three hundred in another. I keep my eyes on the stall floor.

He swims back over and waves the list in front of my face.

“What does that last item say?” he asks. “I can’t make it out.”

I glance at the paper. Now it’s my turn to blush. “Copper. Fifty copper seed pearls.”

Which is not actually what the note says. Mom wrote
Fifty Peri seed
. Those must be for my dress, copper to match my tail fin. She’s been very secretive about the design.

A moment later, Riatus has the whole order collected and bagged. I join him at the cash register.

“You got home okay the other night?”

The question completely throws me off my guard. I’m trying to keep this professional—nothing but business, like the incident at the edge of the forest never happened. He can’t ask me about that night. He just can’t.

“Yes,” I answer.

“Good,” he says. “I was worried about you.”

Even though his attention is focused on totaling up the order, I shrug in response. I don’t care if he doesn’t see it.

He starts to punch numbers into the register. “I wanted to apologize.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“I think there is.” He looks up. “I wish I could—”

“Excuse me,” a male customer asks, swimming up next to me. “Miss, may I borrow your opinion?”

“Mine?” I gesture at my chest.

“I need some advice.”

He holds up two strands of classic white pearls. The strand in his left hand is made up of large-diameter pearls, more valuable and ostentatious than the other, smaller-diameter strand. Most mermen would go for the bigger pearls—the bigger, the better. But there is something to be said for understated elegance.

“Personally,” I reply, “I would choose the more delicate strand.”

His face scrunches up like he’s surprised by my response. “Not what I expected,” he say. “But you are obviously a mergirl of impeccable taste.”

He winks at me and then swims off to put the larger strand back.

When I turn back to the register, Riatus looks annoyed. What did I do?

Then I realize he’s not looking at me; he’s looking at the other customer. Okay, what did
he
do? You know what, I don’t even care. I just want to get out of here before my luck flows south again.

“What’s my total?”

He ignores the cash register. “Peri, we need to talk.”

I don’t think so. He did plenty of talking the other night. I’m pretty much all talked out right now.

“Sorry,” I say, even though I’m not. “I’m in a hurry.”

He scowls. “It will only take a minute.”

“No matter how much I might want to”—how does he like hearing those words?— “right now I just can’t.”

His jaw muscles tighten and his gaze intensifies. Clearly he didn’t enjoy getting his own words thrown back at him. Too bad.

I’m done playing doormat Peri.

“You know what?” I say, grabbing the bag of pearls off the counter. “Send my mother the bill.”

With a flourish of current, I spin away and sweep out of the stall. Score one for good luck. Finally.

“Mom, I’ve got the pearls,” I shout into the house when I get home.

“She’s not here,” Lily says. “She had to go do an on-site fitting for Astria.”

I whirl around to see my best friend floating in the doorway to the kitchen.

“That is so typical,” I complain. “Astria knows my mom is swamped getting ready for the dance. She shouldn’t have to make house calls so late in the process.”

“I know, right?”

Lily has a weird smile on her face, like it’s spread a little too wide to be natural. My spine stiffens. Lily only gets that weird smile on her face if she’s up to something. And judging from the way her eyes are widening as I study her, I think she’s definitely planning something that she knows I won’t like.

“What’s going on?” I ask cautiously as I swim toward her.

“I didn’t find any baggies,” an unfamiliar male voice says, “so I used a kitchen towel to hold the ice.”

I scowl at Lily. What is going on here?

A merman—a merboy, really—floats up behind Lily, with one of our kitchen towels—apparently full of ice—held against his forehead. He looks about eighteen, with blond hair, a lopsided smile, and thick, black-framed glasses.

“That’s great, Lom,” Lily says, not breaking eye contact with me. “Peri, this is Lomanotus. He works for my dad. He’s an intern. Lom, this is my best friend, Periwinkle Wentletrap.”

He swims forward and offers me his free hand—the other still holding the ice pack in place. “Nice to meet you, Miss Wentletrap.”

Everything about him is formal. His short blond hair is perfectly groomed. He’s wearing a shirt and tie. When I take his hand, he shakes mine like I’m a new business acquaintance.

And, oh yeah, he called me
Miss Wentletrap
. No one under the age of sixty calls me Miss Wentletrap. It’s Peri or, at most, Periwinkle. Who is this guy?

“Um, sure,” I say, frowning at Lily as subtly as I can without being rude. “Nice to meet you too.”

His smile lops to the other side and my stomach sinks. I have a feeling I know exactly what he’s doing here.

“Lily, can I, um”—I give her an emphatic look—“see you in the kitchen for a second?”

“Okay,” she says as I grab her hand and drag her after me at full force. She calls out over her shoulder, “We’ll be right back.”

The moment we’re out of earshot, I demand, “What are you doing?”

“Helping Lom find an ice pack,” she replies, as if she doesn’t know what I’m really asking. “He hit his head on the doorframe.”

“Lily . . . ”

“Funny story, actually.” She looks around the room, at the ceiling, the counters—anywhere but at me. “Apparently he’s really clumsy when he’s nervous.”

“Lily . . . ”

“And apparently,” she continues, “he’s nervous
a lot
.”

“Lily!”

She stops and looks me in the eye.

I kick forward and whisper, “Why is there a boy with an ice pack and a pocket protector in my front hall? What are you planning?”

“Nothing,” she says, giving me that innocent smile.

“You need to reexamine your definition of nothing.” I gesture toward the front entryway. “Why did you bring a boy to my house?”

She shakes her head, like she’s going to deny what we both know she’s doing. But then she must realize that I know her better than anyone and she can’t pull one over on me.

“I just thought,” she says, “that if Riatus is being such a jerk, you might be better off looking for someone else.”

My eyes narrow. That sounds like too simple of an answer.

“No,” I say. “You love that I have a crush on a bad boy who looks like a pirate. You think he and Quince will be besties and we can go on double dates.” I jam my hands on my hips. “What are you
really
doing?”

She drops her head to one side and sighs. “Fine, smarty-pants. I thought it would do you both—you and Riatus—some good for him to see you as . . . desirable.”

“Desirable?”

“As in, desired by other mermen.” She stares at me, waiting for me to get it, but I don’t. Finally, she gives. “You should make him jealous.”

“Jealous?” I laugh out loud. “Lily, he doesn’t like me. You can’t make someone jealous if they don’t like you.”

“You said he
can’t
like you,” she argues, “not that he doesn’t. And I’m pretty sure you can. If you go out with Lom—let Riatus see you out with Lom—then maybe that will make him think twice about why he
can’t
go out with you.”

I can’t believe this is the crazy scheme my best friend has cooked up. Sure, she has a point that Riatus never said he didn’t like me, just that he can’t, but is there really a difference? The end result is the same: my feelings remain unrequited.

“I can’t believe you thought this would work.” I drop my voice to a furious whisper. “I can’t believe you involved that poor boy in this ridiculous plan.”

“He doesn’t know anything about the plan,” she insists. “He just thinks I’m setting you two up on a date.”