Son of a Mermaid

www.crescentmoonpress.com

Son of a Mermaid
Katie O’Sullivan

ISBN:
978-1-939173-29-4
E-ISBN: 978-1-939173-30-0

© Copyright Katie O’Sullivan 2013. All rights reserved

Editor: Kathryn Steves
Cover Art: Jeannie Ruesch
Layout/Typesetting: jimandzetta.com

Crescent Moon Press

1385 Highway 35

Box 269

Middletown, NJ 07748

Ebooks/Books are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Crescent Moon Press electronic publication/print
publication: May 2013 www.crescentmoonpress.com

For Brian and Teagan, who loved this story from the very beginning.

You encourage and inspire me every day.

What had started as an ordinary Thursday was quickly turning into something else, and it wasn’t even third period yet.

Tingling sensations coursed through Shea MacNamara’s legs, zinging from his toes up into his stomach. It was as if some switch in his body had flipped into high gear at the same moment the school’s emergency system started its loud electronic beeping. Each beep over the monitors sent another vibration racing through his bloodstream.

Could it be just the stupid tornado drill putting him on edge?

He sat with his back against the cinderblock wall, at the very top of the gym’s bleachers, hoping desperately that no one would notice the sweat dripping from his forehead. Shea closed his eyes, as if that would make him invisible.

Logically, he knew tornados and tornado drills were simple facts of life in central Oklahoma. Plainville High’s cavernous gym had more than enough room to hold the entire student body. It wasn’t claustrophobia or nerves that had him on edge. It was something else. Something more. Almost as if there was some sort of charge in the air and Shea’s body was the magnet attracting it.

Finally, the all-clear bell rang and he heaved a sigh of relief as the tingling slowly subsided. 

“Okay, people,” said Mr. Kelley, raising his voice to get the attention of the students milling next to the bleachers. “The drill’s over. Line up and head back to class.”

Shea stood, gingerly testing his legs to make sure they would make it down the stairs without an embarrassing fall. As he reached the gym floor, John Hansen spotted him and made his way to Shea’s side. John was taller than most of the other freshmen and built like a brick wall. The other students – and teachers – quickly cleared out of his way. “Hey, there you are, MacNamara! Where were you hiding?”

Shea shrugged. He didn’t want to admit anything was wrong. Especially when he didn’t understand why his body was freaking out this way.

A big goofy grin lit up John’s face. “I was so saved by the bell this morning. No way was I ready for my history presentation. Western Civ has got to be my least favorite class ever.”

Just shy of six feet, Shea was considered big for a freshman, but even he felt dwarfed as he looked up at John. The pair had been friends forever, and Shea knew that even though John towered over their classmates, he was all heart. The baseball diamond was the only place John ever showed aggression in his passion to win. “Yeah, Mr. Kelley can be harsh,” he agreed. “I can never get all those dates right.”

“What are you talking about, MacNamara?” John laughed, a low rumble that caused the girls in front of them to turn and giggle. “You practically ace every quiz.”

Shea scowled. “No I don’t.”

John kept laughing and shook his head. “Whatever. So…did you ask yet about Saturday? Mom said you could spend the night Friday so we can get an early start.”

Shea didn’t answer. He was distracted by another little zing crackling along his spine. He knew he’d never experienced anything like this before, but it almost felt like his body
remembered
the strange sensations.

“Hello, Shea?”

It took a minute before he registered John’s question. “What? Oh, yeah, the Redhawks game. I forgot to ask.”

“Oh come on. It’s gonna be your birthday, Shea.”

“It depends on whether we get the rest of the fields planted before then. Otherwise, I’ll have to stay and help.”

“Your dad never lets you do anything fun.”

They’d reached their classroom. With the overhead lights still off, the slatted blinds painted bold stripes of light along the desks closest to the windows, leaving the rest of the room in shadow. Darkness made no difference to Shea. His eyes always adjusted to whatever light was available, which came in handy when it came to early morning chores like feeding chickens or milking the cow.

John dropped his backpack next to his desk. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think your dad was trying to keep you locked away from the world.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Shea shook his head, his mouth twisted into a half grin. “Why would he do that?”

John shrugged. “Beats me. Hey, what if there really was a tornado, and it sucked away that John Deere of yours?”

“Yeah, right. I’d never be so lucky.” Shea gestured toward the partially opened window next to his desk. Brilliant blue skies peeked through the blinds. “Not a storm cloud to be seen. Besides, that would mean I’d miss the game for sure, since we’d have to go looking for a new tractor.”

The last few students entered the room and flipped on the lights. Two girls leaned up against the front row desk of Bobby Joe Peters.
Jeannie Sanderson and Maria Garcia
, Shea noted.
Of course the prettiest girls flirt with the richest boy in school.
Shea scowled as Jeannie tossed her long red ponytail and smiled at some silly thing B.J. said.

Jeannie glanced up, catching Shea’s stare. She leaned over to whisper in Maria’s ear. The pair both glanced his way and smiled. Shea felt his cheeks start to burn. John elbowed him in the ribs. “Dude, we’re not in middle school anymore. They’re cheerleaders now. Way out of our league.”

“Speak for yourself,” Shea said, and smiled back at the girls.

“Oh, yeah.” John snorted. “At least I play a sport. You’re not even on their radar.”

“So what? B.J. doesn’t play a sport either.”

“He’s rich, you’re not. And besides, it’s not like your dad would let you out on a
date
when he won’t even let you come to Oklahoma City with me for a baseball game.”

Up in the front, B.J. had noticed he was no longer the sole object of Jeannie’s attention. He spotted Shea and his eyes narrowed. Suddenly, B.J. pointed his nose toward the ceiling and sniffed the air. “Do you smell something?”

The girls giggled as B.J. flared his nostrils and slowly swiveled his head toward the back of the room. “Oh right, the
farmboys
are in this class! You should bathe more, Hansen. You too, MacNamara.
Eau de manure
isn’t as cool as you might think.” Laughter filled the classroom. Shea clenched his teeth as his right hand curled into a fist.
B.J.’s really asking for it this time,
he thought as B.J.’s next words cut through him like an old fashioned scythe. “No wonder your mommy ran out on you, MacNamara. She probably couldn’t stand the smell.”

Shea’s throat constricted so fast he could barely breathe as he shot to his feet, his chair slamming over sideways with a loud clatter.

“Ignore him,” John said, reaching quickly to grab his arm. The fingers dug deep into Shea’s flesh, holding him in place. “He’s an idiot.”

“He’s a bully,” Shea shot back, trying to yank his arm out of John’s grasp.

John nodded and released him. “Totally true. But he’s still not worth another detention.”

Before Shea could decide what to do, Mr. Kelley entered the classroom. “All right, all right, settle down.” The tapping of his foot on the tiled floor got progressively louder as students scurried to find their seats. Shea took a deep breath and reached down to pick up his fallen chair, banging it back into place and dropping himself into it. He closed his eyes, jammed his elbows onto the hard surface of his desk, and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes until it felt like they were digging into his skull.
Just breathe
, he told himself.
Make it through the next ten minutes of class and then catch a ride home. To hell with school.

Up front, the teacher was still barking at the class. “Settle down and I’ll hand out last Friday’s quizzes. We can go over them before I take them back to keep in your files for the fourth term.” When he reached Shea’s desk, he stopped. “Mr. MacNamara.” Shea dropped his hands away from his face. “Can you guess how many questions you answered correctly?”

“Umm, I don’t know?” Shea heard Jeannie muffle a giggle and felt his cheeks flame in response.

“You got one wrong.” Mr. Kelley’s eyes were glittering like they usually did when he got annoyed. The rest of the class had turned in their seats to watch the exchange. Shea felt the burn from his cheeks creep down the back of his neck as the teacher carefully placed the test paper in the exact center of Shea’s desk. His index finger skewered the page to the surface as he stood staring into Shea’s face. “It bothered me, because it’s a question I was sure you answered correctly the week before.” The teacher paused, his eyes never leaving Shea. “So I checked.”

Shea dropped his gaze. “So?” he finally mumbled, wishing a hole would open in the floor to swallow him.

“I looked back through
all
your test papers. It seems you get one or two questions wrong every week. Regardless of whether it’s something you’ve gotten correct before. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were answering wrong on purpose. Now, why would that be?”

“Um, Mr. Kelley… I…”

A knock on the classroom door interrupted, giving Shea a few extra minutes to scramble for an excuse that wouldn’t sound completely lame. How could he explain that he was just trying not to stand out? Or that…

“Is there a Shea MacNamara here?”

Shea’s head jerked up at the sound of him name. A state trooper stood in the doorway, mirrored sunglasses hiding his eyes. A cold ball formed in the pit of Shea’s stomach. His arm felt like lead as he raised his hand.

“Come with me, son,” commanded the trooper. Shea stood, automatically grabbing his backpack from the floor next to his chair. Moments ago he’d been busy planning his escape from school, but suddenly he knew he’d rather stay.

Twenty pairs of eyes followed his long walk to the front of the room. “We’ll finish this discussion tomorrow,” Mr. Kelley called after him.

Shea kept walking.