Emerge by Tobie Easton

lab. “We’ll be right back,” she tells me.
    She picked her moment carefully; Mr. Reitzel is engaged in a conversation with the librarian. Through the tinted glass wall that separates the computer section from the rest of the library, I watch Melusine guide Clay into the book stacks, where they disappear from view. What’s she doing with him back there? Is she angry we were talking? Friends are allowed to have conversations. Is she re-staking her claim to let me know she can? Maybe it has nothing to do with me. Maybe she just felt like a quick make out session in the middle of class.
    A few minutes later, Melusine walks back in. Without so much as a glance at me, she takes her seat next to Laurie Kennish on the other end of the room. Clay follows a moment later and sinks back into the chair next to mine.
    “You guys have fun?” I ask, keeping my voice nonchalant.
    He doesn’t answer. He looks pretty dazed. His eyes are all unfocused as he stares blankly at his computer screen. Oh, great. Melusine must be some kisser. It takes all my effort to withhold a sigh.
    “So,” I try, “any tips you learned from your dad’s friend that might help save me from Coach Crane?”
    Clay’s voice is distracted when he says, “Let’s just get back to work.”
     
     

     
     
    “Why are guys such much moody?” I wince. That came out wrong.
    “You mean, why are guys so moody?” Caspian corrects. A powerful kick of his tailfin propels him even farther out into the ocean and sends resounding ripples toward my face. I kick my own tail to catch up.
    On land, when I’m talking to older Mer, I speak a mean Mermenglish—grabbing English words I need and sticking them into Mermese sentences. But, when I’m underwater like now, that’s nearly impossible. No other language travels as well through the muffling waves as Mermese, which switches between high-pitched sounds that pierce the water and melodic notes that dance across it.
    Caspian has a thing for languages, so he fixes my grammar without thinking. Can you say annoying in Mermese? Ugh. Tonight, though, I need his advice. As soon as I catch up to where he’s swimming in figure eights through a rich, green kelp forest, I ask, “So why?”
    “Are you calling me moody? Should I be offended?”
    “Not you.”
    “Of course not.” The moonlight filtering from above glints off his silver tail as he twists his body through stalks of kelp as thick as tree trunks. I follow, accidentally disrupting a school of sassy señorita fish. I enjoy the tickle of their feather-light fins against my stomach as the tiny things rush back into formation.
    “Are we talking about one guy in particular here?” Caspian asks. His voice sounds only mildly interested, but he’s slowed down.
    “No … it’s just a general question.” I probably shouldn’t be asking Caspian when I can’t give him the full story, but I really need a guy’s opinion. What’s the point of having a guy for a best friend if I can’t take advantage of his inborn expertise?
    “ Just general, huh? Well, speaking for my entire gender in general, sometimes it’s hard to know what a girl’s thinking.” He stops swimming and his blue eyes fix on my face. “And what she’s thinking about you.”
    Is that it? Does Clay think that I think he’s flirting? ‘Cause I so don’t. I tear off a piece of kelp and munch on it as I roll this possibility around in my mind. I rip off a leaf for Caspian and offer it to him. We enjoy the salty, green apple-like taste for a minute in silence.
    “Look, Lia, there’s a difference between being moody and being a jerk. If a guy doesn’t treat you right, he doesn’t deserve you.”
    But that’s just it—Clay treats me great … when he’s talking to me. We’ve met four times over the past two weeks, and he’s usually super chatty. One minute he’s joking around, and the next he’s kind of cold and just wants to work on the project.
    If Caspian’s right and Clay’s confused