The Summer of Chasing Mermaids by Sarah Ockler

“You’ve been chasing mermaids a long time, kiddo. This has to be the year. You’ve earned it.”
    I raised my hand. Can I come?
    Sebastian beamed. “Awesome! Christian, too?”
    â€œI’ve got a few things to wrap up here,” Christian said, “but you guys go.” He nodded toward the boxes, my stuff. “I’ll bring these by the gift shop later. Unless you’re planning to contest the eviction and move back into the Vega tonight?”
    I let his ghost smile linger between us.
    We helped Sebastian off the boat, and after doing a quick check to ensure I hadn’t left my notebook behind again, I climbed back onto the docks.
    â€œI know the best spots.” Sebastian grabbed my hand. His gear ­clattered with every step.
    Before we reached the sand, Christian called out for me. “Elyse?”
    It was the first time he’d said my name, I realized, and he’d gotten the pronunciation perfect. I turned to face him.
    â€œThanks for doing this.” He tapped his foot against the side of the boat. “We’ve got a ton of work to do. But somehow I’ve got a not-so-terrible feeling about this race.”
    With my free hand I gave him a quick salute, sealing the deal.
    He returned the gesture. “Later, Stowaway.”
    The cut on my foot throbbed anew.
    Thunder roared in the distance.
    Lemon would probably call it a bad omen.
    I pretended I hadn’t heard it, but a shiver rolled through me.
    As if he’d read my mind, Sebastian tightened his grip on my hand and said, “Don’t be afraid. That’s probably just Atargatis. She knows we’re coming.”

Chapter 8
    Sebastian and I gathered an impressive haul of sea glass, two intact sand dollars, and a bald, one-eyed doll head. But we didn’t spot any mermaids, and soon the deluge came, chasing us into the Black Pearl for cover.
    â€œSee anything out there today?” Noah wanted to know once we’d settled into our booth. There were only two other occupied tables—a pair of men in suits who were clearly out-of-towners, and a group of girls about my age, whispering and giggling over milkshakes. Noah sat down with us.
    â€œNo mermaids,” Sebastian said, shivering beneath his wet shirt. “But we did find this.” He set the doll head on the table, making Noah jump clear out of his seat.
    â€œThat’s creepy, little dude.”
    Sebastian smiled.
    â€œSo what am I making for you guys?” Noah asked. The Black Pearl didn’t have a fixed menu—they brought in fresh meat, seafood, and produce each morning, and whatever concoction you could imagine from the available goods, they’d whip it up for you. “Bacon burgers are hot today. I’m also experimenting with chickpea salad. Nontraditional, but pretty good on a pita with some red onion and celery. Feeling adventurous?”
    When I nodded, he said, “Did you bring your hot pepper sauce?”
    I patted my pockets, realizing my error. I’d made a batch at Lemon’s and carried a bottle with me whenever I planned to eat here.
    â€œI’ll bring out the store-bought stuff,” Noah said. “Won’t be the same, but it might spice things up a little.”
    I offered a grateful smile.
    â€œI want chicken peas too,” Sebastian said. “But I also want curly fries. And a root beer float.”
    I held up two fingers at that.
    When Noah came back with the floats, he said, “No Kirby today?”
    Library, I mouthed. It was inventory season, and there was a lot of work to do, culling the collection, cataloging new books for the summer. She told me she’d be spending practically every Sunday afternoon deep in the stacks.
    â€œRight on,” Noah said. His smile slipped, just a little, before he ducked back behind the counter.
    I texted Kirby with this latest development.
    Her response was immediate: screw the stacks. lunch break—on my way!
    While we