Teeth(45)

“I need help.”

“Oh yeah?”

Deep breath. “I need your mom’s gun.”

She raises her eyebrows, but not like she’s surprised, just like she’s ready for me to tell her more. Whenever I’m around Diana, I get the sense she’s already planned everything out, right down to what I’m going to say at every minute.

But I still feel like my tongue’s in my throat whenever I talk to her. Maybe my feelings about her aren’t as complicated as I thought. I really am easy.

“I’m not going to kill anyone,” I say. “Just wave it around threateningly or whatever.”

“And then have a lovely life in prison.”

“That . . . won’t happen.” I’ve only let myself glance over that thought. It’s a rule I made up a minute ago.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

Fuck. How do people in movies do this? No one in movies ever goes to prison, unless they’re a bad guy. This is a rescue mission. So everything has to work out.

I say, “Look, the fishermen have Daniel. We . . . ” And then my chest is spasming when I try to talk. It feels awful. “They caught him trying to free the fish, and they’ve been hurting him really badly lately, and now he’s tied up and he’s just . . . he’s gagged and he’s bloody and he can’t get away, and they’re probably going to kill him if he stays there any longer, and we can’t just let him die. Or worse, and we can’t just . . . ”

Her eyebrows are still up.

“And he’s your brother,” I say. “You can’t let your brother die.”

“I’ve never even met him.”

But . . . he’s her brother. That means something. It always means something.

“He’s my best friend.” Even I know now that this feels like the wrong word for what Teeth and I are. But it’s the only way I can convince her to come.

“You’re just using me,” she says.

“It’s not that.” Or maybe it is. “I need you.” At least that’s true. Right now I need her. That isn’t what she wants, but it’s all I can say right now besides I need him, and that isn’t going to win me any points with her, I don’t think.

She says, “This doesn’t change the fact that you’ll rot in prison. Assault with a deadly weapon. That’s a major offense.” She nods.

“I’m not going to assault anyone.”

“Well. There’s only one solution.”

And she’s going to say that we let the fishermen keep him.

She’s going to ask how long fishboys live, anyway, tell me that it isn’t forever.

She’s going to say that they’ll just catch him again tomorrow, and what’s the f*cking point.

She’s going to say that nothing is ever going to change.

“I’ll have to come with you,” she says, with a heavy sigh.

I look at her.

“I have an overinflated sense of justice. I’ve read Harry Potter too many times.” She shrugs. “And I’m already in prison.”



If my friends or my girlfriend back home saw who I’ve turned into, I don’t think they’d recognize me.

And I think that’s okay with me.





twenty


THE OCEAN IS QUIETER TONIGHT. THE WAVES RUSHING UP TO the shore sound like whispers. I’m standing on the dry sand, and it’s freezing cold and rough on my bare feet. I remember when I was a kid, and I learned that glass was made from sand. I thought that was crazy. Now I feel like there are millions of bits of frozen pieces of glass right underneath me.

I’m looking up at the mansion to see if she’ll come. I have a flashlight, and Diana is bringing the gun. Except she’s never been out of the house at night before.

Part of me is sure she’ll chicken out But this is a kid who grew up on stories of orphans slaying dragons. I don’t think anyone in the world is less aware of her limitations than Diana. Maybe going outside isn’t something she can’t do, it’s just something she hasn’t done yet. Just like saving a mermaid. This is a big experiment, testing a life she’s been considering pursuing since she opened her first book.

And then she steps out the front door and begins her way down the stairs, like she’s done this every night for years. Her head is up, the gun dangling from her hand.

She looks down at me and smiles. It’s a little shy, a little flirty. A bit of the ocean licks my feet.

She takes a step off the bottom of the stairs and stops. “What?” I say.

“The tide’s up.”

I want to tell her about sand and glass, but I’m sure she already knows. She knows everything.

She looks at the ocean. Then she squeezes her eyes shut, like she’s trying to remember. But she isn’t.

I say, “We have to go,” as gently as I can. I want to say, “It won’t hurt you,” but God, I don’t know. I’ve seen the ocean be quite the * since I moved, and the fact that I’m not afraid of it anymore doesn’t really mean it’s safe.

“Right.” She smiles and kisses me. “Right, Rudy. Of course.” She doesn’t touch the water, and she stays on the side of me that’s farther from the incoming waves.