Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)(58)

In the park, the children gather around me, but they don’t have the same excitement as yesterday. Riley’s nosebleed shook them up, and now they have trepidation about me as a teacher. This is not good news, Doyle tells me.

“Where’s Samuel?” I ask, scanning the room for his wheelchair.

“He’s with the doctors,” Spangler explains when he enters the room. He’s busy tapping on his tablet and doesn’t even look up. “Well, get started.”

“Yesterday Riley had a nosebleed. Did it scare anyone?”

Chloe and little Geno raise their hands, and even Dallas admits her fear, but when Riley raises his, everyone explodes with laughter.

“There’s no need to be afraid. The nosebleeds are normal,” I say.

“They did some tests on me, and I’m superhealthy,” Riley says. “In fact, they told me my brain is actually working better than it did before I put the Oracle on my hand. Apparently, it’s making everything work better. By the end of the day, I’m going to be a genius.”

The kids laugh again.

“If the bleeding was hurting you, then we’d stop what we’re doing. Your health is my only priority,” Spangler says robotically. He’s still busy with his tapping.

“Keep in mind that the gloves weren’t built with people like us in mind. They were designed for full-blooded Alphas—like Rusalka. We’re only half Sirena, so maybe it’s interfering with our bodies, but I haven’t had any problems other than the bleeding. A lot of times I don’t even know it’s happening. Still, it can’t hurt to be careful. If you get a nosebleed, then you should take a break. Deal?”

I feel like a liar. I don’t know anything about the nosebleeds. For all I know, the glove could be giving me cancer or cooking my brains, but what I’ve said seems to calm their fears. It’s a powerful reminder to me that I’m not dealing with adults. As gung ho as they are to fight the Rusalka, they are still children. Even the oldest ones are sheltered and naive.

We return to our work with the water. There is very little success. Dallas, Priscilla, Tess, and Emma can’t make anything happen at all. Ryan tries again and again, and grows more and more frustrated with each attempt. A seven-year-old named Leo and his nine-year-old brother, William, are quickly bored with trying and drift off to play on the swing set. A redhead named Suzi, Breanne, and even Harrison and Finn, lose their tempers and tell me all of this is stupid. Only little Geno, who is about the same age as Chloe, manages to cause a wave in the pool. It elicits a victorious cheer from all the children, and those who wandered off come running back, begging the little boy to do his trick over and over again. Geno is so proud of himself, basking in the jealousy that even the older boys can’t hide. It spurs them all to try even harder, and by the end of our class, half the children have nosebleeds. Frustrated, I have them change into their swimsuits and practice breathing underwater.

At the end of class, the kids say their goodbyes and file out of the park.

“What am I doing wrong?” Riley asks, unsatisfied with the waterspout he created earlier.

“Riley, you’re the best in the class.”

“I’m average,” he says. “Donovan says we’re running out of time. A bunch of cities had to be evacuated yesterday. We have to get out there and fight, Lyric.”

I’m tempted to tell him the truth, that he’s being used and he’s probably going to die. I look over my shoulder. The scientists are packing up their cameras, and Spangler stands in the shadows with only his frustrated eyes illuminated. He taps on his tablet. Still, it’s too risky.

“Could you show me again?” he begs.

“Follow me,” I say, and I lead him to the edge of the pool. He stares down at the water with his glove alight and his face set and determined.

“What I’m trying to teach you is almost innate,” I say. “It’s like trying to tell someone how to paint or how to write a story. It’s something that you automatically know how to do or, in your case, something we might have to trick you into understanding.”

“How did you figure it out?”

I sit down on the edge of the pool and let my legs slide into the water. This is a question I haven’t really asked myself, and it takes me a while to sort through all the possibilities until I find what feels right.

“I didn’t know what my mother was, what I am, until I was fourteen. Until that time, I felt like the queen of Coney Island. I was young, alive, and filled with attitude. Once I found out the truth about her, I had to go into hiding. Not literally, but mentally. All those things I loved about myself—my clothes, my big mouth—everything had to be stuffed down inside me and hidden from everyone. The only way my family could be safe was for me to be small.”

“That explains a lot.”

“Meaning?”

He laughs.

“How do I put this and still make it sound like a compliment?” he asks as he sits down next to me. “The Lyric Walker I met was a hurricane who blew people away, and then one day she was a wet fart.”

“That’s lovely, kid. So we’ve met before?”

A frown flashes on his face but it quickly fades.

“Sorry. What I’m saying is I met you and you were amazing, but every time I saw you after, it was like a different person was walking around in your body. It was obvious something was different.”