elliot

We make it less than an hour before it starts pouring. Hard. All that pent-up rain from the past week or so comes falling out of the sky and brings with it a truly harrowing wind.

The lifeguards—majority swim team kids—run out of the doors as soon as the few visitors have left, like they've never been wet before. Apparently there's some kind of extreme thunderstorm warning, which doesn't concern me much. How bad can a thunderstorm be?

A few of the not-as-mean swim girls with sweatshirts tossed over their swimsuits and shorts that hardly cover more than the suits themselves rush towards the pool exit, laughing and tossing damp sun-streaked hair over their shoulders and running as fast as they can in their sandals, like you can outrun rain or something.

Even Hal has left. I'm cleaning up by myself, because seven minutes ago Alyssa said she needed to use the bathroom. She hasn't come back yet. Which is maybe a little worrying—I mean, the bathroom is five feet away. Did she get lost? She couldn't have gotten lost. Right? Right. Right?

The tin cover of the stand's opening clinks as rain pounds against its flimsy metal. The wind warps it every five seconds, which makes such a weird alien Muppet mutant sound that I want to laugh. The stand's lights are flickering, but probably only because they're ancient and never replaced. Like, these lights are probably older than I am. By a lot.

I move towards the storage room door, broom and dustbin in hand. It's fine that Alyssa hardly helped at all today. I mean, I kinda like cleaning, so it's no problem.

The door refuses to open.

I groan. This used to happen all the time last summer, back when Adam Albertalli was my dweeby but shady coworker. He didn't want to be a lifeguard for whatever reason, but he still wanted unhindered access to the team's hot girls, so I got to put up with him doing nothing all day other than ogling girls from his chair and constantly locking himself in the backroom to vape. A nice weirdo, but a weirdo who got me in trouble all the time nonetheless.

Is that what Alyssa's doing?

"Alyssa? Are you in there?" Even with the harsh rain outside, I swear I hear a slight shifting. No answer, but it's not as if Adam would have answered.

I try and budge the door open with my hip. Doesn't work at first, so I keep at it. It's not even locked—it almost feels like something is pressing against it.

I try again, and it flies open. I freeze.

Alyssa lays on the floor, staring over her shoulder at me. Her hair is a mess about her head, and she seems almost a different brand of beautiful than before, but that's not what has grabbed my attention.

She has a tail. Like, all cyan and green and teal and shimmery and pretty and a tail.

"Tail," I say. "You have a tail."

"Elliot, do not freak out."

I very much would like to freak out. "You-you're a fish?"

"Um, well—"

"You're a fish?"

She blinks in surprise. Her tiny brow wrinkles in confusion. "Maybe a little?"

I can feel my heart thumping up my throat. "Damn, okay, that's hella fucking heavy."

Brow wrinkles more. "'Hella freaking heavy' is your response to seeing me with a literal fish tail?"

"Sorry. Should ... should it be something else?" I run a hand through my hair. "Wait, does this mean that you can't eat sushi? Is that cannibalism? No. No, no, wait, fish eat other fish all the time. Are there specific kinds of fish you can't eat? Is it all cannibalism? Is—"

"You're scaring me." Her voice is more than fragile, and with her eyes being so wide, I believe it.

Still.

"You have a tail." Lips pursed, she nods. I find myself nodding slowly in sync with her. "And you are scared."

"Can you blame me?" Gingerly, she props herself up onto her elbows, flopping over to look at me. Her tail thuds against the floor as she adjusts.

"No? But ... why be scared of me? I'm not going to hurt you."

Something I don't quite recognise flashes across her face before she rips her gaze from mine. "How am I supposed to know that?"

"Whatever." I guess I can't blame her for thinking that. For all she knows, I'll go all Disney mob on her and bring about her martyrdom. Drums of war and kill the Beast and all that. "You good, though?"

She winces, trying to sit up further. Part of me thinks I should help, but the other part thinks it's best to maybe not touch her. What if she's venomous, like a pufferfish or something? There are poisonous fish, right? So I stand back by the doorway, watching her struggle up to a seated position. It's a weird mismatch, her tail plus her zip-up sweatshirt. Like, ten out of ten did not anticipate this.

"I'll be fine," Alyssa says, flopping her hair over her shoulder. "It's just really uncomfortable." She watches me warily out of the corner of her eye, like I'm some kind of wild animal she can't trust.

Le oof. "Can I help?"

This visibly surprises her. "You want to help?"

"Yes?" Should I not?

"Okay. Well ... if you can stall everyone for about twenty minutes or so—"

"Everyone's gone," I assure her, lifting the keys Hal has me carry. He leaves when the lifeguards leave, which means I'm in charge of lock-up today. "So. What else?"

She bites her lip, and I don't know why it's so cute, but it is. "Well, if you could maybe give me a ride home, that'd be fantastic."

"Done," I say. "Gimme more." I like this feeling, this feeling of being useful. It's hard to explain—it's like, being needed, but more? Powerful feels wrong, but it's definitely something close to that. I just can't control myself. I want to help her. I want her to want me to help her even more.

She shrugs. "That's about it. I guess now, we just wait."

"Oh. Okay."

After a few awkward seconds, I walk over and plop down next to her, leaning against the wall for support. My hands tap some rhythm I don't recognise on my knees. The rain keeps a steady beat for me; it's not as loud in here as it is out in the main room, but it's somehow more prevalent. The storage room lights flicker even more than out in the main room, and I find myself fending off shivers.

Her tail seems to shimmer in the dim, fluorescent light of the room, a diverse mix of navy blue and teal and forest green. I've never seen anything like it. I guess I've never seen a human with a tail either, but it's already less weird than it should be.

"So," I say, head set back against the wall, "some weather, huh?"

"You're handling this too well," Alyssa mutters, picking at her chipped neon green nails. "It's freaking me out."

I watch her absentmindedly palm slivers of nail polish. "Sorry I'm not Mr. Crocker-ing out."

"Mr. Crocker?" She cocks her head slightly, finally looking at me.

"Fairly Oddparents?"

"Never watched it."

I gasp. "First I find out you're a mermaid. Then I discover you didn't have a childhood? Too much. It's too much."

"Pfft." She chuckles softly to herself. "I had a childhood. It was simply untouched by Fairly Oddparents."

"Some childhood." She snorts, as if agreeing with me.

I keep drumming my knees. What should I talk about? I don't know what to say. Neema gets along with everyone without even having to try. Duncan is too dorky but awesome to dislike. I'm hardly any of that.

"So like...." I start, but have no idea how to finish.

"So like...?" echoes Alyssa.

Ugh, socialising is hard. "How long have you been a fish?"

"Forever, I guess?" She gives a soft shrug. More nail polish comes off. "I don't know. I guess I hardly ever look like a fish, but, maybe, puberty? That's when I first fished-out."

I blink. "You call it 'fishing out'?"

She winces. "Yes?"

"You should parody that Billy Joel song. 'I'm ... fishing out. Buh-duh-duh dyeee ya-da, da da, buh—"

"I can't decide if I hate you or not."

My knee-drumming pauses. Probably not a good time to recreate Billy Joel numbers. "Oh."

"Sorry, that was a joke," Alyssa says hurriedly, sensing my sudden discomfort, because I am trying very hard to human here. "You're-you're not bad, Elliot."

"Glad to know I'm not bad."

"Yep."

I don't want to try anything from here. Not any jokes, or quips, or anything remotely cute. The thought of Alyssa not liking me is surprisingly terrible. Like, tight-chest, shallow-breath, stinging-eyes terrible.

"Thanks," she whispers after a few moments. "For, um, being chill."

"No problem," I say, but before I can say more, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to check the caller ID—Duncan. I never miss a Duncan call if I can help it, but this time, I let it slide.

He dials again a moment later. I groan.

"Phone calls will be the death of our conversations, Cupboard Hobbit," I say, standing up shakily. Fuck, one of my legs is asleep. I have to use the wall for support, which is so dumb and embarassing and of course I can't stand like a normal human being in front of a cute girl.

Alyssa smiles slightly, but there's worry in her eyes. I step out into the stand, where the wind still warps the plinking metal, and leave the door open so that she can at least hear me if she wants to be sure I'm not exposing her super-fishy secret.

"EllieEllieEllieEllie," Duncan says really fast into the phone. "I'm sadsadsadsad."

There's never a hello with Duncan. "Why are you sad?"

He sighs. "My Neemie is leaving."

"Bro. Neema's leaving in a month. For a week. To go be surrounded by theater nerds. You're fine."

"Even the theater nerds aren't safe! Haven't you seen High School Musical: The Musical: The Series, Ellie?"

"I—"

"That was rhetorical. You did. We watched the first three episodes together until Neema said we were blaspheming."

"Duncan—"

"She's gonna find a hot Troy Bolton, Elliot! And then I'll die! Of sadness!"

"Dude—"

"Because no way can I join a school production and be late because my disc got stuck in the computer and somehow still land the lead and then probably win her heart back. So, yeah, my only alternative is death."

I don't even try to interrupt this time.

"Wait, if I'm Mr. Mommy Issues, does that make you my ginger?"

"Duncan," I try again. This time, he actually stops. "You'll be fine."

He groans. "No I wonnnn't."

"She's going to theater camp. Based upon cultural stereotypes surrounding theater and Neema's freakishly deeply-rooted love for you, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say: you're fine."

There's a sharp laugh in the background. "I told you so!"

"Shut up, Neema!" says Duncan. "No one asked you!"

"Am I on speakerphone?"

"Great, Neema, now the jig is up. Nice going, Ron."

"You are the weirdest boyfriend ever," comes Neema's voice faintly. "Ellie, I'm sorry he's such a dork."

"Eh, it's fine. I'm used to it. I gotta go, though. Bye—"

"Wait, are you still coming over for Thor tomorrow night?" Neema asks.

"Ragnarok?"

"Yessss," hisses Duncan.

I smile slightly, leaning against the back counter. "Yeah, we're good. What time?"

"We were thinking—" There's a strangled groan from the back room that chills my blood.

"Sorry, I gotta go. Text me." I don't even wait for them to respond.

I poke my head through the doorway. Alyssa is slumped against the same wall she was sat by before, and breathing heavily. Scales are scattered around her. I can't help but stare at the way they glint in the flickering fluorescent lights.

"Alyssa? Are you okay?"

Her teeth are grit, eyes shut tightly. "Could you leave me alone for a couple—a couple minutes? Sorry, I just...." She shakes her head slightly. Her jaw flexes as she clenches and unclenches her fists.

"Yeah, yeah, no problem, no problem," I say, hand fiddling with the door knob. "Give me a shout if you need me. Um. I will be over ... here. Yes. Okay. Yep. Bye."

"Bye," she hisses as I shut the door.

I don't know if she thinks I can't hear it because of the rain or whatever, but I can definitely hear her crying as soon as the door shuts. It sucks, not being able to do anything but lean against my old, familiar counter and wait.

I mean, I'm going do it, no complaints. It's just ... strange.