The storm-skied beach was deserted. Gray clouds hung so thick that even in the deepest hours of the night, the sky never went fully black. Britney had promised herself she’d move as soon as it started to rain, but the clouds only hovered, threatening. She’d lain on the sand, bundled in a thick sweater, jeans, and her sleeping bag—smug in her sense of independence. She’d run away after graduation, leaving behind a broken-hearted Colin and bewildered parents—and siblings. So many siblings, flowing through her house, none of them permanent, all of them more important than her.
Now, dawn poked its nosy light through the curtain of clouds. Britney slipped out of her sleeping bag. The chill bit through her clothes, Her backpack-pillow was still warm where her head had rested. Transients weren’t allowed to sleep on the beach, but the cops went easy on her—either because she was young or because she was a little person. Or both. She couldn’t stand the sympathy, so better to avoid them altogether.
But first—
Britney slung on her backpack and ran to the edge of the water. She stood just long enough for the tide to kiss her toes before shrieking and running back. Back in Connecticut, she’d sworn she’d swim in the ocean every day, once she got to California. On a mid-February morning, this was close enough. Cold climbed her legs like a hungry ghost.
She stared out over the sea, trying to think romantic thoughts—and jumped back again when the ocean lunged for her ankles.
A sound had been trying to worm its way into her brain for a while, but only now did she recognize it as a voice. “Hey!”
Britney turned, scanning the empty beach.
“Over here! Help me!”
A girl’s voice.
She turned back to the water. A dab of pink interrupted the gray-blue waves. An arm—tiny, frantic—waved above the surface.
Oh, great. Someone was drowning.
Adrenaline surged, uselessly. She glared down at her short legs and stumpy arms, then looked toward the nearest lifeguard tower—empty, of course. No one on duty this early.
Her heart hammered in time with the waves. Should she jump in, at least pretend to try? The pink head was closer now. If the drowning girl got close enough, maybe Britney could help. She waded in, icy water soaking through her jeans, clinging to her shins and lapping at her knees.
“Hey!” the voice called again. “Don’t go anywhere! I need to talk to you!”
Britney blinked. Drowning victims didn’t usually sound so bossy.
The pink-haired girl’s face appeared—then shoulders, and… an eyepatch?
“Hey!” she called, swimming closer. Britney saw she was cradling something. Surely not a baby?
“Whew!” The girl grinned. She was pretty—plump, sharp-chinned, with a glint in her one visible eye that screamed trouble. Her hair was wet at the ends, but from the waist up, she was completely dry. So was the bundle. “Didn’t think I’d find anyone on the beach this early,” she said. “I’m glad you were here.”
“Umm…” Britney said.
“I need you to take my baby.” The girl closed her eye and looked away as she held the bundle out. Her black, cutt-off Led Zeppelin T-shirt clung to her belly—still round, like she’d just given birth.
Britney backed up. “What?”
The girl opened her eye, sized Britney up, and sighed. “Look,” she said, still holding the baby out. “I can’t take care of it, and I don’t want to leave it on the beach…”
“Then don’t!” Britney snapped. “Take it to a hospital or an orphanage or something. Don’t just hand it over to a stranger! What is wrong with you?!”
The girl rolled her visible eye. She pulled the baby close, then rose up out of the water—revealing a tail. “This.”
A tail. Sleek. Sparkly. Purple.
She balanced for a moment before sinking back into the waves, holding the baby out again. “I need you to take it.”
Britney’s knees nearly gave out. “What am I supposed to do with a mermaid baby?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“Not a mermaid,” the girl sighed. “She was born without a tail.” She unwrapped the blanket just enough to show two kicking legs. “Genetic anomaly. One in a million.” Her voice turned bitter. “But she’s no princess, and I can’t afford to build her a waterproof castle.” She blinked fast, but a tear slipped down anyway.
Britney didn't know what that last part meant, but she felt a twist in her gut. She knew what it was to be born wrong. “I can’t take care of a baby,” she said softly. “Mermaid or not.”
“What?” The pink-haired girl turned her one-eyed glare on Britney. It had enough power for two. “Fine. Then take her to an orphanage or something.” She looked away. “She’s better off with anyone other than me.”
And somehow—somehow—the baby ended up in Britney’s arms.
It was heavier than it looked. Its gaze darted around, bright and unfocused, and it made a small mewling sound, like a kitten learning its voice. Britney squatted, resting it on her thighs to wipe away a wet splotch on its cheek—the mermaid’s tear.
“I can’t take the baby,” she whispered, but gently, so it wouldn’t cry. She looked up—and the mermaid was gone.
“Great,” she muttered.
She scanned the ocean—only gray-green waves and foam. “What am I gonna do with you?” she cooed down at it. “I don’t want you either…”
The baby blinked up at her, focused. One tear gathered at the corner of its eye.
“I didn’t mean it,” Britney said quickly, guilt slicing through her.
A raindrop hit the top of her head. Then another.
“Oh.”
She hunched over the baby to shield it, moving toward the boardwalk as the rain turned heavy and cold. She returned to her camping spot for her flip-flops. She trudged passed her sleeping bag. It was too bulky to carry.
She didn’t even know if California had orphanages. Skid Row had kids, though—too many. She shuddered.
“I should take you to my mom,” she told the baby, half-mocking. “She’s so good at taking care of kids who aren’t hers.”
“Meh,” said the baby.
Britney snorted. “I. Agree.” She shifted the baby higher in her arms, trudging through wet sand. “What I should do,” she puffed, “is take you home and tell her you’re mine.”
The baby gurgled, a soft laugh.
Britney looked down, smiling despite herself. The baby’s eyes were like a tiger's, brown and bright—not like other babies. This one saw. It seemed to flicker between worlds, never quite still.
“Ha. I should take you home.” She pictured her parents’ faces.
Mom, amused but mild: Britney, what did you do?
Dad, concerned but joking: I hope you know you have to feed it, water it, and walk it.
“…and then I’d be stuck with you for eighteen years,” Britney said. “Not worth it.”
She ducked under an awning as the rain went from heavy to biblical. Her arms ached. Her legs were soaked. She slid down against a shop door, setting the baby on her thighs.
It locked its tiger eyes on hers. It inspected Britney’s internal house—from the faults in her foundation to the butterflies in her attic. It walked through all the empty, curtainless rooms in between with their torn and peeling wallpaper. Her floors creaked and moaned with the weight of the baby’s gaze… and then it nodded, its eyes fluttered, and it slept.
Just two tiny eyelids fringed with black angel wings. A button of a nose. A smile resting above a rounded precursor to its mother’s pointy chin. Britney could see her grown—pink pigtails at eight, eyeliner and fury at eighteen.
Britney’s heart pounded to the rhythm of the rain.
No.
Ha.
No.
She couldn’t raise it. It needed two normal-sized parents and a house with walls. Average, she corrected herself. There’s no such thing as normal. Then she snorted. Yeah there was. She wasn’t it.
The rain slowed. Clouds thinned, sunlight slipping through like silver thread. She sighed. The baby was still sleeping, and she was still stuck. Hospitals, orphanages, science labs—all the futures she could imagine for this weird, perfect, impossible baby felt wrong.
She sighed again. She’d run away to California to find her destiny. Sleeping illegally on the beach would’ve been part of her romantic backstory when she was a world-famous fashion designer. Instead, destiny had handed her a mermaid’s baby. Kind of felt like she was meant to raise an infant that was already more interesting than herself.
The rain stopped. She pushed back against the wall, awkwardly standing without putting the baby down. Pacific Avenue would take her to Main. Main to the bus. The bus to a bank. In a safety-deposit box, she had a credit card, a cellphone, and an engagement ring.
Well. Not everyone was destined for greatness. Recognizing that was part of growing up. Apparently.
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