Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)(60)

My father is obsessed with getting back to his former self, and my mother and I take turns scolding him for overexerting himself with sit-ups, pushups, and jogging in place. He says he’s going stir-crazy and needs to do something. He wants to be ready in case there’s a chance to escape. He doesn’t want to be the one who holds everyone back. I worry he’s making his injuries worse.

My mother frets about us all, sliding back into her role as Summer Walker, hot neighborhood mom, but I catch her doing exercises as well. She lifts the sofa over her head and does pushups for hours.

The other half of my day is spent with the children, four hours of training with the gloves, then two hours of fight training with Fathom. Spangler hovers over it all. He pushes me to get closer to the kids, so I eat meals with them. I agree to lunch in their own fancy cafeteria, complete with a salad bar, an ice cream machine, and a taco buffet. A chef will make them coal-oven pizzas that look a lot like New York–style thin-crusts but for some reason aren’t as good. Huge television screens play prerecorded cartoons and MTV all day. The children sometimes gather around, asking questions about the Alpha like they are characters in comic books or Greek mythology. They have an endless desire to know more about their Alpha families.

“What does a Selkie look like, Lyric?” Geno asks. He’s been in this camp for almost three years. He has no memories of Coney Island or the arrival of the Alpha.

“They’re big. Even the teenagers are almost seven feet tall, and they have spikes on their shoulders.”

“I saw a Ceto once,” Tess says.

“They’re probably the most dangerous of the Alpha. They’re electrified, like an eel, and one touch can kill a person,” I explain.

I realize I’m telling ghost stories around a campfire.

“Donovan says there are hundreds of different kinds of Alpha. And there’s something that eats your brain,” Georgia says.

“He told me the same thing,” William says.

“He showed us a news story where thousands of them came out of the water,” Leo says. “If they come at me, I’m going to stomp them with my feet.”

“Who is that boy who meets with you? Is he your boyfriend?” Priscilla asks.

Suddenly, all eyes are on Riley, but he’s staring at his shoes.

“He’s a Triton, and his name is Fathom. He’s a prince, and his father is the prime.”

“He’s the king’s son?” Chloe asks. “Is he bad too?”

I realize I don’t know the answer to that anymore.

“He’s not like his father,” I say. It’s the kindest thing I can muster.

“When I see the prime, I’m going to punch him in the face,” Leo says.

Riley gives me a shy smile. He’s got it bad for me and if we weren’t locked up in this madhouse, I would probably enjoy it. He’s got the worst timing in the world. A crush is just stupid right now.

But all these kids are stupid. They don’t have a clue. To combat their naiveté, I push harder in our training sessions, trying to teach them to think of themselves as giants or dragons or whatever fierce beast they can imagine, though I’ve found that if I meet with each one of them individually, I have better luck with yoga. Within a week, ten of the kids can command the water nearly as well as I can.

Geno is my prize pupil by far. Despite his age, he’s capable of complicated creations, and for such a little boy, he’s not easily shaken or distracted. Doyle is pleased with him as well and tells me he will most likely lead the charge when we deploy. The very thought fills me with dread, and my instinct is to focus on the older kids, work on their abilities until they surpass his. I’m sure it hurts his feelings, but I’m doing it for his own good. None of these kids are meant for fighting, no matter what age, but I’m not going to help the littlest one lead the war.

Riley is ever present, hovering and joking and flirting, always showing off his growing control. I don’t want to encourage him, but I do find myself smiling when he’s around. He’s thoughtful and kind with the little ones, and I suppose it’s nice to have someone in this world who still thinks I’m hot. Or maybe it’s nice to be around a boy who is allowed to like me, who doesn’t have some weird tradition that keeps us apart, who isn’t a liar. Riley and I are a lot alike, from the same neighborhood, with the same weird genetics, too, with the same secrets. But mostly, and I know this is selfish, what I like about him is that he’s so obvious. He’s into me, and he lets me know and I don’t have to have a degree in Triton facial expressions to decipher what he’s thinking. He reminds me of Shadow in a way—always there, dependable, fun.

There are moments when I see him in the park or pass him in the hall and I get a little thrill when his whole face brightens. If we were a couple of kids hanging out on the beach, he would be a more-than-suitable rebound boyfriend, but now, in here, I feel shut down, like my heart is dead. Fathom ruined me for any future boys. I’m smooshed, and my feelings are unreliable. I can’t trust anything. It’s also hard to get excited about someone when you know his future is bleak.

“He says you’re beautiful,” Chloe whispers to me. “He tells me at night when he reads me bedtime stories.”

“He tells you that so you will repeat it to me,” I say.

“You think so?” she asks, suddenly angry with his manipulation.