“Are you okay?” my father asks me when he reaches the end of the pier.
I nod without turning to him. I would die if he saw the goofy grin on my face, so I stare down into the waves. But someone sees me. Arcade is below, treading water and scowling.
Chapter Eighteen
I meet with Fathom every afternoon. Each day, my arrival in the camp causes a stir. Alpha children wait at the gate to watch me. They whisper to one another, sharing stories that sometimes make them laugh and sometimes cause them to run off in terror. Two Selkie women follow me wherever Fathom and I go. He tells me they report to the prime.
“My stepmother has convinced my father that you are a bad influence on me,” he says.
I laugh, but the idea that the leaders of his community are discussing me at all gives me the willies.
Arcade watches me too. Sometimes I catch her lurking around corners; other times I think she wants me to see her. Every day, while Fathom and I read, she waits for him at the end of the pier. A tall, handsome Triton sits with her, laughing and teasing her. Fathom tells me his name is Flyer.
“My cousin loves to torment her,” Fathom explains.
“Wait! He’s your cousin?” I cry.
“Yes. You look surprised,” he says.
“I guess I am,” I confess. “He’s not as—”
“Yes?”
I run through ways to describe him: stiff, serious, stubborn. “Responsible,” I say.
Fathom nods, but he stares at me like he knows what I was thinking.
“What does he tease her about?” I say, eager to change the subject.
“You.”
I blush and turn my attention to them. I don’t think she enjoys Flyer’s jokes. Some days she stomps away from him, barking angrily while he roars with amusement. She’s jealous, which makes me feel guilty.
“It’s time to go,” Fathom says, helping me to my feet. Together we walk down the ramp toward the beach. She’s there, waiting, flashing me her all-knowing look. I’m tempted to stop and tell her not to worry about me. I want to say that I’m not interested in her boyfriend, but I suspect she’ll know it’s a lie. I look forward to my time with Fathom more and more each day. She would have to be blind not to see it.
I don’t tell anyone about the slow burn inside me, not even Bex. I know she would be thrilled with the scandal of it all, desperate for details, but I keep my mouth shut. Saying it out loud will make it real, and I’m not sure I want to admit what’s going on to anyone, especially not myself. Whatever is skipping around inside me isn’t entirely pleasant. Yes, it’s exhilarating and intense, but so is a plane crash. It’s not going to blossom into anything—it can’t—so why share it with anyone? They’re just going to tell me what I already know. It can’t be.
Instead I focus on something that can—my besties and their adorably ridiculous love-fest. One night Shadow stays so late, he falls asleep next to Bex in my bed. I can’t bear to wake him up and send him home. I tell my mom and dad, who are predictably mortified, but they call Tito’s mom to let her know where he is. The couch is lumpy but worth it. Anticipating them waking up and seeing each other is more exciting to me than any Christmas morning.
I wish I could have a little bit of that, just a taste. Maybe someday, when I’m miles from Doyle and the Coney Island Nine and the Alpha. Maybe the Walkers will move to a sleepy town far from the ocean. Dad has mentioned Denver. Until then, I live vicariously through Bex and Shadow.
Fathom is waiting for me at the gate. He’s wearing a hoodie, in all this heat, and a pair of jeans and some sneakers. He looks like an American teenager.
“I would like to take a break from the books today,” Fathom says.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to go out there,” he says, pointing toward the city.
“I don’t think it’s that easy, Fathom,” my father says.
“Isn’t it?” he says.
“You can’t just leave the camp,” Foster says.
“I leave the camp when I choose,” he says arrogantly.
“We could be recognized,” I cry, edging toward alarm.
“I am in a disguise,” he tells us, and without hesitation he marches through the gate.
“What’s going on?” Bonnie says.
“He wants to leave the camp,” Foster explains.
“Your Majesty, let me make some calls,” she begs.
“While you are getting permission, Lyric Walker and I will explore,” he replies without missing a step.
I look to Bonnie, Foster, and my father, unsure of what I’m supposed to do.
“I’ll go with you,” my dad says, but Bonnie stops him.
“If we chase them, we’ll just attract attention. You and I will follow from a distance,” she says.
“So we’re really doing this?” I ask.
She nods.
“Don’t get too far ahead of us,” my father pleads.
I have to run hard to catch up with Fathom. By the time I do, we’re past the decaying Childs Restaurant building and making a right onto West Thirty-Seventh Street.
“Where are we going?”