Teeth(31)

“Yeah.”

“I haven’t seen her in forever.”

“She stands by the cliffs on Tuesday mornings, at the marketplace. Always. I . . . think she looks for you.”

“I can’t go over there. Too many people.”

That might be the first time I’ve heard him say “people” instead of “humans.” “What are you afraid of?”

He shakes his head. “If you see Fiona, say thanks? I never said thanks.”

“Oh. Sure.”

“Your friends. I want to hear about your friends.”

I paddle myself in circles. “They’re not even really my friends anymore. They were . . . before we moved here. Forever ago.”

“Like a hundred days ago.”

“Yeah?”


“I’m good with days. Sunrises.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sleep. “A minute ago you couldn’t count to three.”

“Could too. Was making you feel smart. I’m a great friend.”

“It feels like we’ve been here forever.” I hold my breath and sink under the water for a minute. “And I haven’t heard from them since I left.”

“You miss them?”

“I guess. They were fun, you know?” The sun is setting now. I should be colder than I am. I close my eyes. “It’s not like I really needed them or anything. They just made stuff more fun.”

“I gotta be honest, you sound like a shitty friend right now.”

“Hey.” I start to sit up again, but it unbalances me and I start to sink, this time involuntarily. The water is a lot deeper than I thought. I start kicking hard to roll myself over, and then I feel Fishboy’s arms scoop me up and toss me onto the sandbank.

“Don’t do that,” he says.

I breathe hard. “Thanks.”

“Why didn’t they move with you?”

I catch my breath. “What?”

“Your friends.”

“It . . . doesn’t work like that. They couldn’t leave home just because I did.”

“Why not? If you moved without me, I’d be pissed.”

I look at him and wonder how the f*ck exactly he thinks he could follow me anywhere farther than the dock. My stomach hurts a little. I don’t know how to tell him that friends at home weren’t anything like this, because then I’m scared he’ll ask what this is. And . . . God.

I shake my head a little and say, “They have stuff at home that’s more important than I am. They have families and school and, like, reasons to stay.”

“They have fish.”

“Yeah, there’s fish . . . ”

“No, I mean . . . stuff to take care of.”

“Well, yeah. Metaphorical fish.”

He doesn’t even pause to try to understand that word. “Fish who need them. And your fish came here, so you came here too.”

“Yeah.”

He kicks his fin. “I wish we could get away from our fish.”

I feel like I just breathed in some water, but I don’t think I did. I think it’s just how my throat feels right now. “You do?”

“Yeah. Everything would be a lot easier if you could just dump fish the way humans dump their families.”

“No, wait. I’m talking about . . . you realize me and my friends don’t actually have fish, right? I should probably have told you what metaphorical means. My family is my fish.”

“I hate being responsible. I mean, I like the idea of being responsible. Like that fox, the one in that story? And he’s in love with that other fox, and the bear sings a song . . . ”

“What?”

“You know what I mean. Um . . . there’s a tiger. He’s bad. He’s a king.”

“Oh, shit.” My brother loves this movie. “Robin Hood?”

“Robin Hood. Yes.”

My throat hurts again, God f*cking damn it.

He says, “I like the idea of being fish Robin Hood.”

“You just made a metaphor. God, you’re something.”

“But I wish I could just . . . go. You know. Leave.”

“So why don’t you?”

His voice is quiet. “They need me. The fish and . . . ” He gestures toward the marina. “And yeah. I don’t even know what to be if they don’t need me. I wish I could have different fish. Exchange them for new, exciting fish. With different fishermen.”

After a while he breathes out. “Okay, so once upon a time, there was this boy who didn’t have any legs. Like, no legs, okay? And he had some weird skin, and his Mom hid him away and kept him and whatevered him and she carried him everywhere and read him a lot of stories and cried and prayed. And his mom fed him fish again and again, but he never got better no matter what she did and she didn’t know why. And the boy never even went outside, not once. This half a boy with no legs, you know?”

I nod.

“No one even knew that he existed because his mom barely left either. People came by with food and stuff, but the boy had to hide in his room whenever anyone came. His mom would put him in his room and close the door. His room had lots of books and toys and he could kind of drag himself around with his arms . . . and then Mom would come and she’d say, I love you, I’ll do whatever you need, I’ll keep you safe.”