But Emma’s just as naive as Rachel. They both maintain that the more you know about humans, the more you’ll like them. It’s at least partly why Rachel’s encouraging him to go back to school, even if she hides it behind the other good reason he should attend—to keep some adolescent human male from getting himself killed. Just the thought of Emma walking the halls without him makes him ball his fists.

“You’re right,” he says with finality. “I need to stay in school.” He peels off his shirt and tosses it over a chair. “Tell Emma I’m waiting for her.”

13

WHEN MY feet touch bottom, Galen releases me. I tiptoe toward shore, jumping with the waves like a toddler. Reaching the beach, I deposit myself in the sand just far enough in for the tide to tickle my feet. “Aren’t you coming in?” I call to him.

“I need you to throw me my shorts,” he says, pointing behind me.

“Oh. Oh. You’re naked?” I squeak, bordering on dolphin pitch. Of course, I should have realized that fins don’t come with a cubby for carry-on luggage, and most Syrena wouldn’t have a need to stash something like swimming shorts. It doesn’t matter much when he’s in fish form, but seeing Galen—no, thinking about Galen—naked in human form would be detrimental to my plan to use him. Could be my undoing.

“Guess that means you can’t see into the water yet,” he says. When I shake my head, he says, “I took them off before you came out this morning. I’d prefer not to ruin them if I don’t have to.”

Clearing my throat, I hoist myself up and trudge through the sand, finding them a few feet away. I toss them to him and take my seat again, in case my vision suddenly gives me an unhealthy view of the briny deep. Thankfully, he keeps everything submerged as he makes his way to the floating trunks and pulls them on. Tying them as he walks ashore, he kicks water on me before sitting beside me.

“Why can’t I change, Galen?” I draw my knees to my chest.

He leans back on his elbows and stares out to sea, as if deciding on how to answer. We’ve been out here all day, and I haven’t felt so much as an itch in my legs, let alone the twisting sensation he’d promised. “I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe you’re too self-conscious about it. Maybe if you could relax, it would just happen.”

“Is that how it happens for you? Like, accidentally?”

“No, it’s never an accident. What I mean is, if you’d stop watching for it and just try to have a good time, maybe it will come to you how to change.”

“I’m having a good time,” I say without looking at him.

“I am, too.”

“At least tomorrow is Friday. We’ll have the whole weekend to practice. Plus, we can practice after school tomorrow—oh, I guess you wouldn’t need to come to school anymore,” I say. “You already accomplished your purpose for going, right?” I ignore the tiny pang in my gut.

“Actually, I was going to keep at it for a while. Your mom probably wouldn’t be too happy if you’re dating someone who quit school.”

I laugh. “Nope, don’t think so. But I do think she likes you.”

“Why do you say that?” he says, cocking his head at me.

“When I called her, she told me to tell you good morning. And then she told me you were ‘a keeper.’” She also said he was hot, which is a ten and a half on the creep-o-meter.

“She won’t think that when I start failing out of all my classes. I’ve missed too much school to give a convincing performance in that aspect.”

“Maybe you and I could do an exchange,” I say, cringing at how many different ways that could sound.

“You mean besides swapping spit?”

I’m hyperaware of the tickle in my stomach, but I say, “Gross! Did Rachel teach you that?”

He nods, still grinning. “I laughed for days.”

“Anyway, since you’re helping me try to change, I could help you with your schoolwork. You know, tutor you. We’re in all the same classes together, and I could really use the volunteer hours for my college applications.”

His smile disappears as if I had slapped him. “Galen, is something wrong?”

He unclenches his jaw. “No.”

“It was just a suggestion. I don’t have to tutor you. I mean, we’ll already be spending all day together in school and then practicing at night. You’ll probably get sick of me.” I toss in a soft laugh to keep it chit-chatty, but my innards feel as though they’re cartwheeling.

“Not likely.”

Our eyes lock. Searching his expression, my breath catches as the setting sun makes his hair shine almost purple. But it’s the way each dying ray draws out silver flecks in his eyes that makes me look away—and accidentally glance at his mouth.

He leans in. I raise my chin, meeting his gaze. The sunset probably deepens the heat on my cheeks to a strawberry red, but he might not notice since he can’t seem to decide if he wants to look at my eyes or my mouth. I can smell the salt on his skin, feel the warmth of his breath. He’s so close, the wind wafts the same strand of my hair onto both our cheeks.

So when he eases away, it’s me who feels slapped. He uproots the hand he buried in the sand beside me. “It’s getting dark. I should take you home,” he says. “We can do this again—I mean, we can practice again—tomorrow after school.”