Teeth(55)

He wrinkles his nose.

“That first day,” I say. “When you got up on the rocks to flirt with a human boy.”

He smiles big, with all his ground-down teeth shining.

I wonder if he’ll do it again, with some other boy, even though I told him not to. I don’t know what I want. I worry that he’ll get caught again, but I can’t protect him from that. I don’t know if he should replace me. I know how I feel, but that’s not really the point.

Once he promises, absolutely promises, that he’ll be gone by nightfall, I go. I’m even colder once I leave the water. I hear him splashing around as I make my way back to the beach. He’s singing quietly, this dumb f*cking fishboy. Really deep inside I know I’m never going to see him again.



I come out from tucking in Dylan to find Diana standing at the shore, the handgun stretched out toward the sea. The ocean is whispering at her feet, and it must feel like nothing she’s ever known, but she doesn’t move. She doesn’t look at all afraid.

It’s been a long time since I noticed how pretty her hair is. The moonlight makes it obvious.

I stand beside her. She doesn’t react.

“How did you get the gun?” I ask.

“The sheriff gave it back to my mom.”

“That seems stupid.”

“We know who killed the fishermen.” Her voice sounds squeezed to the top of her mouth. “We don’t need evidence.”

“I’m surprised everyone believes you.”

“People believe you when you tell the truth,” she says.

“You learned that from books, huh?” My voice is so soft. Not even quiet, just soft. I’m not thinking about the words before I say them, because I can’t think of anything I could say that will matter.

Her eyes narrow. “No.”

I clear my throat. I should look away from her, but I don’t. I don’t know. It just feels like there’s nothing else to watch right now but the angry crease in her cheek. I don’t feel like watching the water. It’s been a long time since I looked at it without squinting for a hint of a tail.

“Thanks for not ratting me out,” I say.

She doesn’t say anything, just cocks her gun toward the water, swallowing.

“He’s not here,” I say. “He’s gone.”

“You helped him.”

“Yeah. Why do you want to kill him?” I say.

“He killed the fishermen.”

“They nearly killed him. They . . . worse than killed him.”

“I know all about what they did,” she says.

“I know.”

“And he’s not dead. He’s alive.”

“Bits of him.” The ghost is leaving me.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” she says.

“You also don’t want to kill your brother.”

She drops the gun and looks at me, finally. She’s crying. “What he did was wrong.”

“I know.”

“How the f*ck do I make sense of that?”

“I don’t know.”

My words thrum at my ears. I felt like this that time Teeth held my head underwater, trying to make me less afraid.

“This doesn’t happen in books,” she says. Her chin shakes. “There’s supposed to be a right answer.”

“I know.”

“Can you say something helpful?”

I nod.

She waits.

“I’m sorry.”

She laughs a little. It sounds so angry. “For what?”

“Being a shitty friend.”

All I hear is the ocean. Then she sniffles and cocks the gun again.

If this were a fairy tale, this would be the part where the fishboy appears and Diana shoots him through the heart. Because he is a tragic hero, he’s our f*cking Gatsby, and he lived for his fish and he has to die for his fish. He would never let my fake authority, condoning his abandonment, making up rules about what’s okay just to save his life, convince him to give up his family. He would never leave.

He would know that without him, none of us will be as good. Me, without a friend; and the fish, without a brother; and the island, without a story; and Diana, without her something real, we will all be a little bit less than we were before we knew him.

So he wouldn’t leave. Not until I could come with him. And I have never been less able to leave than I am now.

But this isn’t a fairy tale, and he doesn’t appear. We stand here for a long time.

He really left.

Because it was all that we could do.

And I don’t know if it was the right answer. But I can picture him sailing away, lonely and scared and safe. And even though this isn’t the ending I want, I feel like singing when I take Diana’s hand and we stare out at the empty ocean.





twenty-four


IT ONLY TAKES ME A DAY TO FIGURE OUT THE BEST FISHING spots and a couple weeks to get my technique down pat. Most everyone is still on the hunt for the fish who took the boat right out from under their noses, but every day more people give up and come here and try their hand at catching something real instead.

There are five of us regulars, though, and while the others catch a fish or two to bring home to their own families, we pool ours and divide them up and save a few a day for Tuesdays when we haul them down to the marketplace. We can just hide them under a tarp until then. Magic fish do a lot of things, but they don’t spoil.