“I don’t know what to say.” She looks at me like she doesn’t even know me. “I didn’t remember you to being so irresponsible.”
“I’m not,” I exclaim. “I mean, I was. This weekend. But I’m usual y not at al .”
She takes a deep breath, like she’s trying to decide what to do about me. I silently wil her to give me another chance.
Maybe she doesn’t buy my sick-cousin story, but if I could tel her the truth, she would total y understand.
Times like this are when I real y wish Tel in’s what-if could come true. Not that I would relish tel ing a teacher that one of my relatives tried to wipe her and the entire East Coast off the map. It would be a better explanation than the one I’ve got, though.
“Since this was so uncharacteristic,” she says.
I suck in a hopeful breath.
“I told Denise there must have been an emergency.” She schools her features into a very stern look. “She has graciously agreed to reschedule for next Saturday.”
“Great. I can—”
Shannen clears her throat and nods at the flash cards.
“Oh. Oh, no.” I give Miss Molina what I imagine is a pained look. “The SATs are on Saturday. I’l be there al morning.” She gives me a reassuring smile. “I know. Your appointment is at five.”
“You’re awesome,” I say, meaning it. “I won’t let you down again.”
“I know you won’t.” But as she walks away, I think I hear her mutter, “At least I hope you won’t.”
“You.” I point at Shannen. Then at Quince. “And you. Make sure I don’t miss this meeting. It could mean my entire future.”
“Got it,” Quince says before returning his attention to the magazine.
Shannen pul s out her cel phone—a huge no-no on campus, but I guess this qualifies as an emergency—and starts punching buttons. “I’ve sent myself an email reminder.”
I relax a bit.
Nothing can keep me from making the appointment this time.
“Now,” Shannen says, waggling the flash card on the table, “solve for x.”
I groan, but it’s halfhearted. After the freakout about missing my meeting, a little math equation seems like an easy task.
Chapter 10
he first thing Quince and I hear as we push through the Tkitchen door is Doe laughing. Maybe she’s sneaking television online again. I caught her watching an I Love Lucy marathon last week, although she pretended that she just didn’t know how to work the mouse.
Then I hear another voice. A male voice. A non-Brody male voice.
“She’d better not,” I mutter as we head into the living room.
But when we get there, I’m shocked frozen at the sight before me. Doe is sitting on the arm of the corduroy armchair, feet on the coffee table, and the male in question is sitting on the floral sofa. The shock of cinnamon red hair identifies him immediately.
“Tel in!” I blurt.
He stands and faces me, arms wide for a hug. “Liliana.”
“I didn’t know you were coming for a visit,” I say, jumping into his hug.
“Nor did I,” he says, “until I found myself swimming ashore in Seaview.”
A loud throat clearing from behind reminds me of my manners. I pul out of Tel in’s hug and grab Quince’s hand, tugging him forward. “Tel in, this is my boyfriend, Quince.” Tel in gives him that male nod that girls can never quite replicate exactly.
“Quince,” I say, beaming at him, “this is Tel in. One of my closest guppyhood friends and crown prince of Acropora.” They shake hands, and I get the feeling there’s a little battle of grips before they separate. Tel in has fil ed out a lot since we used to play together, but my money is stil on Quince. Though his arms are hidden by the sleeves of his leather jacket, I can imagine his biceps flexing nicely in the up-and-down movement
“Pleased to meet you,” Tel in says, shaking me out of my reverie. “Lily told me much about you last weekend.”
“Funny.” Quince throws me a questioning glance. “She didn’t mention you at al .”
Down, boy. I lean closer into his side to reassure him that there’s nothing to worry about. Tel in is an old friend, nothing more.
“I forgot,” I explain. “If you’l recal , we found a bit of a crisis in motion when we got home.”
Quince crosses his arms over his chest, not appeased by my excuse.
He definitely has a bit of a jealous streak in him, but for the most part he keeps it under wraps. It’s stopped peeking out around Brody, but I guess strange boys showing up in my living room bring it back to the surface.
“Tel in’s practical y my brother,” I say, to clarify.
Quince nods, showing he trusts me. “I need to get to work.
I’l stop by after.”
Then he leans down to kiss me, just like that time in the library. Hand behind my neck, ful lips soft and warm on mine. When he sees what must be a completely dazed look in my eyes, he winks. And then, with a wave good-bye to Doe and Tel in, he’s out the front door.
When we three merfolk are alone, I ask, “This wasn’t just a coincidental visit, was it?”
Doe’s eyes widen innocently.
Tel in just smiles. “No,” he agrees. “It was not.”
“Then why don’t we take this into the kitchen,” I suggest,
“so we can talk over a plate of Aunt Rachel’s white-chocolate macadamia-nut cookies?”