Copyright

First published in the USA by HarperTeen,

an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Inc. in 2016

First published in paperback in Great Britain in 2016

by HarperCollins Children’s Books

an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd,

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

The Siren

Copyright © 2016 by Kiera Cass

Jacket art © 2015 by Gustavo Marx/Merge Left Reps, Inc.

Jacket design by Erin Fitzsimmons

Kiera Cass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008157937

Ebook Edition © December 2015 ISBN: 9780008157944

Version: 2015-12-03

For Liz—

Because she’s the kind of girl who songs should be written about, poems should be composed for, and books should be dedicated to

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

80 Years Later

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Also by Kiera Cass

About the Publisher

1

It’s funny what you hold on to, the things you remember when everything ends. I can still picture the paneling on the walls of our stateroom and recall precisely how plush the carpet was. I remember the saltwater smell, permeating the air and sticking to my skin, and the sound of my brothers’ laughter in the other room, like the storm was an exciting adventure instead of a nightmare.

More than any sense of fear or worry, there was an air of irritation hanging in the room. The storm was throwing off our evening’s plans; there would be no dancing on the upper deck tonight, no chance to parade around in my new dress. These were the woes that plagued my life then, so insignificant they’re almost shameful to own up to. But that was my once upon a time, back when my reality felt like a story because it was so good.

“If this rocking doesn’t stop soon, I won’t have time to fix my hair before dinner,” Mama complained. I peeked up at her from where I was lying on the floor, trying desperately not to throw up. Mama’s reflection looked as glamorous as a movie star, and her finger waves seemed perfect to me. But she was never satisfied. “You ought to get off the floor,” she continued, glancing down at me. “What if the help comes in?”

I hobbled over to one of the chaise lounges, doing—as always—what I was told, though I didn’t think this position was necessarily any more ladylike. I closed my eyes, praying that the water would still. I didn’t want to be sick. Our journey up until that final day had been utterly ordinary, just a family trip from point A to point B. I can’t remember now where we were heading. What I do recall is that we were, as per usual, traveling in style. We were one of the few lucky families who had survived the Crash with our wealth intact—and Mama liked to make sure people knew it. So we were situated in a beautiful suite with decent-size windows and personal stewards at our beck and call. I was entertaining the idea of ringing for one and asking for a bucket.

It was then, in that bleary haze of sickness, that I heard something, almost like a far-off lullaby. It made me curious and, somehow, thirsty. I lifted my dizzy head and saw Mama turn her attention to the window as well, searching for the sound. Our eyes met for a moment, both of us needing assurance that what we were hearing was real. When we knew we weren’t alone, we focused on the window again, listening. The music was intoxicatingly beautiful, like a hymn to the devout.

Papa leaned into the room, his neck sporting a fresh bandage where he’d cut himself trying to shave during the storm. “Is that the band?” he asked. His tone was calm, but the desperation in his eyes was haunting.

“Maybe. It sounds like it’s coming from outside, doesn’t it?” Mama was suddenly breathless and eager, one hand on her neck as she swallowed excitedly. “Let’s go see.” She hopped up and grabbed her sweater. I was shocked. She hated being in the rain.

“But Mama, your makeup. You just said—”

“Oh, that,” she said, brushing me off and shrugging her arms into an ivory cardigan. “We’ll only be gone a moment. I’ll have time to fix it when we get back.”

“I think I’ll stay.” I was just as drawn to the music as the rest of them, but the clammy feeling on my face reminded me how close I was to being sick. Leaving our room couldn’t be a good idea in my state, and I curled up a little tighter, resisting the urge to stand up and follow.

Mama turned back and met my eyes. “I’d feel better if you were by my side,” she said with a smile.

Those were my mother’s last words to me.

Even as I opened my mouth to protest, I found myself standing up and crossing the cabin to follow her. It wasn’t just about obeying anymore. I had to get up on deck. I had to be closer to the song. If I had stayed in our room, I probably would have been trapped and gone down with the ship. Then I could have joined my family. In heaven or hell, or in nowhere, if it was all a lie. But no.

We went up the stairs, joined along the way by scores of other passengers. It was then I knew something was wrong. Some of the passengers were rushing, fighting their way through the masses, while others looked like they were sleepwalking.

I stepped into the thrashing rain, pausing just outside the threshold to take in the scene. Pressing my hands over my ears to shut out the crashing thunder and hypnotic music, I tried to get my bearings. Two men shot past me and jumped overboard without even pausing. The storm wasn’t so bad we needed to abandon ship, was it?

I looked to my youngest brother and saw him lapping up the rain, like a wildcat clawing at raw meat. When someone near him tried to do the same, they scrapped with each other, fighting over the drops. I backed away, turning to search for my middle brother. I never found him. He was lost in the crowd surging toward the water, gone before I could make sense of what I was witnessing.

Then I saw my parents, hand in hand, their backs against the railing, casually tipping themselves overboard. They smiled. I screamed.

What was happening? Had the world gone mad?

A note caught my ear, and I dropped my hands, my fear and worries fading away as the song took hold. It did seem like it would be better to be in the water, embraced by the waves instead of pelted by rain. It sounded delicious. I needed to drink it. I needed to fill my stomach, my heart, my lungs with it.

With that sole desire pulsing through me, I walked toward the metal rails. It would be a pleasure to drink myself full until every last piece of me was sated. I was barely aware of hoisting myself over the side, barely aware of anything, until the hard smack of water on my face brought me back to my senses.

I was going to die.

No! I thought as I fought to get back to the surface. I’m not ready! I want to live! Nineteen years was not enough. There were still so many foods to taste and places to visit. A husband, I hoped, and a family. All of it, everything, gone in a split second.

Really?

I didn’t have time to doubt the reality of the voice I was hearing. Yes!

What would you give to stay alive?

Anything!

In an instant, I was dragged out of the fray. It was as if an arm was looped around my waist, pulling with precision as I shot past body after body until I was free of them. I soon found myself lying on my back, staring up at three inhumanly lovely girls.

For a moment, all my horror and confusion disappeared. There was no storm, no family, no fear. All that ever had been or ever would be were these beautiful, perfect faces. I squinted, studying them, making the only guess that seemed possible.

“Are you angels?” I asked. “Am I dead?”

The closest girl, who had eyes as green as the emeralds in Mama’s earrings and brilliant red hair that billowed around her face, bent down. “You’re very much alive,” she promised, her voice tinted with a British accent.

I gaped at her. If I was still alive, wouldn’t I be feeling the scratch of salt down my throat? Wouldn’t my eyes be burning from the water? Wouldn’t I still be feeling the sting on my face from where I fell? Yet I felt perfect, complete. I was either dreaming or dead. I had to be.

In the distance, I could hear screams. I lifted my head, and just over the waves I spotted the tail of our ship as it bobbed surreally out of the water.

I took several ragged breaths, too confused to grasp how I was still breathing, all the while listening to others drown around me.

“What do you remember?” she asked.

I shook my head. “The carpet.” I searched my memories, already feeling them becoming distant and blurry. “And my mother’s hair,” I said, my voice cracking. “Then I was in the water.”

“Did you ask to live?”

“I did,” I sputtered, wondering if she could read my mind or if everyone else had thought it, too. “Who are you?”

“I’m Marilyn,” she replied sweetly. “This is Aisling.” She pointed to a blond girl who gave me a small, warm smile. “And that is Nombeko.” Nombeko was as dark as the night sky and appeared to have nearly no hair at all. “We’re singers. Sirens. Servants to the Ocean,” Marilyn explained. “We help Her. We … feed Her.”

I squinted. “What would the ocean eat?”

Marilyn glanced in the direction of the sinking ship, and I followed her gaze. Almost all the voices were quiet now.

Oh.

“It is our duty, and soon it could be yours as well. If you give your time to Her, She will give you life. From this day forward, for the next hundred years, you won’t get sick or hurt, and you won’t grow a day older. When your time is up, you’ll get your voice back, your freedom back. You’ll get to live.”

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I don’t understand.”

The others smiled behind her, but their eyes looked sad. “No. It would be impossible to understand now,” Marilyn said. She ran her hand over my dripping hair, already treating me as if I was one of her own. “I assure you, none of us did. But you will.”

Carefully, I raised myself until I was fully upright, shocked to see that I was standing on water. There were still a few people afloat in the distance, struggling in the current as if they thought they might be able to save themselves.

“My mother is there,” I pleaded. Nombeko sighed, her eyes wistful.

Marilyn wrapped her arm around me, looking toward the wreckage. She whispered in my ear. “You have two choices: you may remain with us or you may join your mother. Join her. Not save her.”

I stayed silent, thinking. Was she telling me the truth? Could I choose to die?

“You said you’d give anything to live,” she reminded me. “Please mean it.”

I saw the hope in her eyes. She didn’t want me to go. Perhaps she’d seen enough death for one day.

I nodded. I’d stay.

She pulled me close and breathed into my ear. “Welcome to the sisterhood of sirens.”

I was whipped underwater, something cold forced into my veins. And, though it frightened me, it hardly hurt at all.

80 YEARS LATER

2

“Why?” she asked, her face bloated from drowning.

I held up my hands, warning her not to come any closer, trying to tell her without words that I was deadly. But it was clear she wasn’t afraid. She was looking for revenge. And she would get it any way she could.

“Why?” she demanded again. Seaweed was wrapped around her leg, making a flat, wet sound as it dragged across the floor behind her.

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself. “I had to.”

She didn’t wince at my voice, just kept advancing. This was it. I would finally have to pay for what I had done.

“I had three children.”

I backed away, looking for an escape. “I didn’t know! I swear, I didn’t know anything!”

Finally, she stopped, just inches from me. I waited for her to beat me or strangle me, to find a way to avenge the life taken from her far too soon. But she merely stood there, her head cocked sideways as she took me in, eyes bulging and skin tinted blue.

Then she lunged.

I awoke with a gasp, swinging my arm at the empty air in front of me before I understood.

A dream. It was only a dream. I placed a hand on my chest, hoping to slow my heart. Instead of finding skin, my fingers pressed into the back of my scrapbook. I picked it up, looking at the carefully constructed pages filled with clipped news articles. Served me right for working on it before sleeping.

I had just finished my page on Kerry Straus before falling asleep. She was one of the last people I needed to find from our most recent sinking. Two more to go, then I’d have information on every one of those lost souls. The Arcatia might be my first complete ship.

Looking down at Kerry’s page, I took in the bright eyes from the photo on her memorial website, a shabby thing no doubt created by her widower husband between trying to serve up something more creative than spaghetti for his three motherless children and the endless routine of his day job. Kerry had a look of promise to her, an air of expectation hanging around her like a glow.

I took that from her. I stole it and fed it to the Ocean.

“At least you had a family,” I told her photo. “At least there was someone to cry for you when you were gone.” I wished I could explain to her how a full life cut short was better than an empty life that dragged on. I closed the book and set it in my trunk with the others, one for each shipwreck. There were only a handful of people who could possibly understand how I felt, and I wasn’t always sure that they did.

With a heavy sigh, I made my way to the living room, where Elizabeth’s and Miaka’s voices were louder than I was comfortable with.

“Kahlen!” Elizabeth greeted. I tried to be inconspicuous as I checked to make sure all the windows were closed. They knew how important it was that no one could hear us, but they were never as cautious as I would have liked. “Miaka’s just come up with another idea for her future.”

I shifted my focus to Miaka. Tiny and dark in every way except for her spirit, she’d won me over in the first minutes I knew her.

“Do tell,” I replied as I settled into the corner chair.

Miaka grinned widely at me. “I was thinking about buying a gallery.”

“Really?” My eyebrows raised in surprise. “So owning instead of creating, huh?”

“I don’t think you could ever actually stop painting,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully.

I nodded. “You’re too talented.”

Miaka had been selling her art online for years. Even now, mid-conversation, she was tapping away on her phone, and I felt certain another big sale was in the works. The fact that any of us owned a phone was almost ridiculous—as if we had anyone to call—but she liked staying plugged in to the world.

“Being in charge of something seems like fun, you know?”

“I do,” I said. “Ownership sounds incredibly appealing.”

“Exactly!” Miaka typed and spoke at the same time. “Responsibility, individuality. It’s all missing now, so maybe I can make up for it later.”

I was about to say that we had plenty of responsibilities, but Elizabeth spoke up first.

“I had a new idea, too,” she trilled.

“Tell us.” Miaka set down her phone and climbed onto her as if they were puppies.

“I’ve decided I really like singing. I think I’d like to use it in a different way.”

“You’d be a fantastic lead singer in a band.”

Elizabeth sat up straight, nearly knocking Miaka to the floor. “That’s exactly what I thought!”

I watched them, marveling at the fact that three such different people, born to different places and times and customs, could balance one another out so well. Even Aisling, when she chose to leave her self-imposed solitude and stay with us for a while, fit like a puzzle piece.

“What about you, Kahlen?”

“Huh?”

Miaka propped herself up. “Any new big dreams?”

We’d played this game hundreds of times over the years as a means of keeping our spirits up. I’d considered being a doctor so I could make amends for all the lives I’d taken. A dancer, so I could practice controlling my body in every capacity. A writer, so I could find a way to use my voice whether I spoke or not. An astronaut, in case I needed to put extra space between the Ocean and me. I had just about exhausted every possibility.

But deep down I knew there was only one thing I really wanted, something that was almost too painful to think about now.

I eyed the large history book that rested by my favorite chair—the book I’d meant to take back into my room last night—making sure the bridal magazine inside was still hidden from sight.

I smiled and shrugged. “Same old, same old.”

I swallowed as I set foot onto campus. As much as I longed for a life as typical and pleasant as anyone else’s, I never let myself get comfortable. Humans—and the constant need to keep silent for their protection—made me nervous. But even now, I could hear Elizabeth’s voice in my head. “We don’t need to stay inside all the time. I’m not living that way,” she had vowed, maybe two weeks into her new life with us. And she had stayed true to her word, not only getting out herself, but making sure that the rest of us also had as much of a normal life as possible. Venturing out was half appeasement for her, half indulgence for myself.

Our current home was right near a university, which was perfect for me. It meant slews of people wandering around on open lawns and mingling at picnic tables. I didn’t feel the need to go to concerts or clubs or parties like Elizabeth and Miaka. I was content merely to be among the humans, to watch them. Sure, maybe my sense of style was a little different, as I found myself forever drawn to the cut and lines of fifties skirts and dresses, but if I sat under a tree with a book, I could pretend to be one of them for hours.

I watched people pass, pleased we were in a town so friendly that some people waved to me for no reason at all. If I could have said hello to them—just one tiny, harmless word—the illusion would have been perfect.

“… if she doesn’t want to. I mean, why doesn’t she just say something?” one girl asked the crowd of friends surrounding her. I imagined her a queen bee, the others hapless drones.

“You’re totally right. She should have told you she didn’t want to go instead of telling everyone else.”

The queen flipped her hair. “Well, I’m done with her. I’m not playing those games.”

I squinted after her, positive she was playing a completely different game, one she would certainly win.

“I’m telling you, man, we could design it.” A short-haired boy waved his hands enthusiastically at his friend.

“I don’t know.” This boy, slightly overweight and scratching a patch of skin on his neck, was walking fast. He might have been trying to outwalk his friend, but his counterpart was so light on his feet, so motivated, that he probably could have kept up with a rocket.

“Just a tiny investment, man. We could be the next big thing. In ten years, people could be talking about those two nerds from Florida who changed their worlds!”

I suppressed a smile.

When the crowds dispersed in the afternoon, I made my way to the library. Since moving to Miami, I’d gone there once or twice a week. I didn’t like to do my scrapbook research at the house. I’d made that mistake before, and Elizabeth had mocked me mercilessly for being morbid.

“Why don’t you just go hunt for their corpses?” she’d said. “Or ask the Ocean to tell you their final thoughts. You want to know that, too?”

I understood her disgust. She saw my scrapbooks as an unhealthy obsession with the people we’d murdered. What I wished she understood was the way those people haunted me, the way the screams stayed with me long after the ships sank. Knowing that Melinda Bernard had a vast collection of dolls and that Jordan Cammers was in his first year of medical school eased my pain. Like somehow knowing more about their lives than their deaths made things better for them.

My goal today was Warner Thomas, the second-to-last person on the passenger list of the Arcatia. Warner turned out to be a relatively easy subject. There were tons of people with the same name, but once I’d found all the social networking profiles with posts that stopped abruptly six months ago, I knew he was the right one. Warner was a string bean of a man who looked too shy to talk to people in person. He was listed as single everywhere, and I felt bad for thinking that made perfect sense.

The last entry on his blog was heartbreaking.

Sorry this is short, but I’m updating from my phone. Look at this sunset!

Just below that line, the sun melted into nothing on the back of the Ocean.

So much beauty in the world! Can’t help but think good things are on the way!

I nearly laughed. His expression in every picture made me think he’d never exclaimed anything in his life. But I couldn’t help wondering whether something had happened just before that fateful trip. Did he have a reason to think the direction of his life was changing? Or was it one of those lies we told from the safety of our rooms when no one could see how false it was?

I printed out the best-looking photo of him, a joke he’d posted, and some information about his siblings. The scrapbooks weren’t things I liked to carry in public, so I placed my papers neatly in my bag to take home.

Sorry, Warner. I swear, it wasn’t me you died for.

With that complete, I was able to turn my mind to something a little more fun. I had learned over the years to balance out each devastating piece of my scrapbook with something joyful. Last night, it was looking at dresses before pasting in the last of Kerry’s pictures. Today, it was cakes. I found the culinary section and hoisted a stack of books to an empty space on the third floor. I pored over recipes, fondant work, construction. I built imaginary wedding cakes, one at a time, indulging in the most consistent of my daydreams. The first, a classic vanilla and buttercream with pale-blue frosting and little white poppies. Three tiers. Very lovely. The next was five tiers, square, with black ribbon and costume jewelry brooches aligned vertically on the front. A bit more appropriate for an evening wedding.

Maybe this would be my next big dream. Maybe I could become a baker and make someone else’s day special on the off chance I never got one myself.

“You having a party?”

I looked up to see a scruffy, blond-haired boy pushing a cart full of books. He had a flimsy name tag I couldn’t read and was wearing the standard college boy uniform of khaki pants and a button-up shirt with his sleeves cuffed around his elbows. No one tried anymore.

I held back my sigh. It was unavoidable, this part of the sentence. We were meant to draw people in, and men were particularly susceptible.

I looked down again without answering, hoping he’d take the hint. I hadn’t chosen to sit at the back of the top floor because I felt like socializing.

“You look stressed. You could probably use a party.”

I couldn’t suppress my smirk. He had no idea. Unfortunately, he took that little smile as an invitation to continue.

He ran his hand through his hair, the modern-day equivalent of “Good day, miss,” and pointed at the books. “My mom says the secret to making good baked stuff is to use a warm bowl. Not that I’d know. I can hardly make cereal without burning it.”

His grin suggested that this was only too true, and I was slightly charmed as he bashfully tucked a hand into his pocket.

It was a pity, really. I knew he meant no harm, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But I was about to resort to the rudest move I had and simply walk away when he pulled that same hand back out and extended it to me.

“I’m Akinli, by the way,” he said, waiting for me to respond. I gawked at him, not used to people pressing past my silence. “I know it’s weird.” He’d misread my confusion. “Family name. Kind of. It was a last name on my mom’s side of the family.”

He kept his palm outstretched, waiting. Typically my response would be to flee. But Elizabeth and Miaka managed to interact with others. For goodness’ sakes, Elizabeth cycled through lovers regularly without ever saying a word. And there was something about this boy that seemed … different. Maybe it was how his lips lifted into a smile without him seeming to even think about it, or the way his voice rolled warmly out of him like clouds, but I felt certain snubbing him would end up hurting my feelings more than his, and that I’d regret it.

Cautiously, as if I might break us both, I took his hand, hoping he wouldn’t notice how cool my skin was.

“And you are?” he prompted.

I sighed, sure this would end the conversation despite my kindest intentions. I signed my name, and his eyes widened.

“Oh, wow. So have you been reading my lips this whole time?”

I shook my head.

“You can hear?”

I nodded.

“But you can’t speak … Umm, okay.” He started patting at his pockets as I tried to fight the dread creeping down my spine. We didn’t have many rules, but the ones we did have were absolute. Stay silent in the presence of others, until it was time to sing. When the time came to sing, do it without hesitation. When we weren’t singing, do nothing to expose our secret. Walking down the street was one thing, and so was sitting under a tree. But this? An attempt at an actual conversation? It landed me in a very dangerous realm.

“Here we go,” he announced, pulling out a pen. “I don’t have any paper, so you’ll have to write on my hand.”

I stared at his skin, debating. Which name should I use? The one on the driver’s license Miaka bought me online? The one I’d used to rent our current beach house? The one I’d used in the last town we’d stayed in? I had a hundred names to choose from.

Perhaps foolishly, I chose to tell him the truth.

“Kahlen?” he read off his skin.

I nodded, surprised by how freeing it felt to have one human on the planet know my birth name.

“That’s pretty. Nice to meet you.”

I gave him a thin smile, still uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to do small talk.

“That’s really cool that you’re going to a traditional school even though you use sign language. I thought I was brave just getting out of state.” He laughed at himself.

Even with how uneasy I was feeling, I admired his effort to keep the conversation going. It was more than most people would do in his situation. He pointed at the books again. “So, uh, if you ever have that party and need some help with your cake, I swear I could get my act together long enough not to ruin everything.”

I raised one eyebrow at him.

“I’m serious!” He laughed like I’d told a joke. “Anyway, good luck with that. See you around.”

He waved sheepishly, then continued pushing his cart down the aisle. I watched him go. I knew I’d remember his hair, a mess that looked windswept even in stillness, and the kindness in his eyes. And I’d hate myself for holding on to those details if he ever crossed my path on one of those dark days, like the days when Kerry or Warner had encountered me.

Still, I was grateful. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d felt so human.

3

“What do you want to do tonight?” Elizabeth asked, flopping onto the couch. Outside the window behind her, the sky was fading from blue to pink to orange, and I mentally ticked off one more day of the thousands I had left. “I actually don’t feel like going to a club.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I threw my arms up. “Are you sick?” I teased.

“Ha-ha,” she retorted. “I’m just in the mood for something different.”

Miaka looked up from our shared laptop. “Where is it daytime? We could go to a museum.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I will never understand how you are so into such quiet buildings. As if we aren’t silent enough.”

“Pssh!” I gave her a pointed look. “You, silent?”

Elizabeth stuck out her tongue at me and hopped over to Miaka. “What are you looking at?”

“Skydiving.”

“Oh, wow! Now that’s more like it!”

“Don’t get any big ideas. For now I’m just researching. I’ve been wondering what would happen with our adrenaline levels if we did something like this,” Miaka said, taking notes on a pad beside the computer. “Like, if we’d get an above-average spike.”

I chuckled. “Miaka, is this an adventure or a science experiment?”

“A little bit of both. I’ve read that adrenaline rushes can alter your perception, making things look blurry or causing a moment to look frozen. I think it’d be interesting to do something like this, see what I see, then try to capture it in art.”

I smiled. “I admit, it’s creative. But there has to be a better way to get a rush than jumping out of a plane.”

“Even if things went wrong, we’d survive, right?” Miaka questioned, and they both turned to me as if I was an authority figure on the topic.

“I think so. Either way, you can count me out for that particular adventure.”

“Scared?” Elizabeth made wiggly ghost fingers at me.

“No,” I protested. “Simply not interested.”

“She’s afraid she’ll get in trouble,” Miaka guessed. “That the Ocean wouldn’t like it.”

“As if She would ever get upset with you,” Elizabeth said, a tinge of bitterness in her voice. “She adores you.”

“She cares for all of us.” I tucked my hands in my lap.

“Then She wouldn’t mind if you went skydiving.”

“What if you’re terrified and start screaming?” I proposed. “What would that do?”

Elizabeth, who was preparing to pounce on my worry, backed down. “Fair point.”

“I have twenty years to go,” I said quietly. “If I mess up now, it’d make the last eighty years a waste. You know the stories about sirens who went wrong as well as I do. Miaka, you saw what happened to Ifama.”

Miaka shuddered. The Ocean had saved Ifama as she was drowning off the coast of South Africa in the fifties, and she had agreed to serve in exchange for being able to live. For the short season she was with us, she kept her distance, staying alone in her room, appearing to be in prayer most of the time. Later we wondered if her coldness was part of a plan to remain unattached to us. When she had to sing for the first time, she stood on the water, chin in the air, and refused. The Ocean pulled her under so fast, it was as if she’d never been there at all.

It was a warning to us all. We must sing, and we must keep the secret. It was a short list of commandments.

“And what about Catarina?” I continued. “Or Beth? Or Molly? What about the slew of girls in our position who failed?”

These girls’ stories were the cautionary tales that were passed down from one siren to the next. Beth had used her voice to make three girls who had teased her jump into a well. This was in the late 1600s when the idea of witches wasn’t that far-fetched. She’d put an entire town in an uproar, and the Ocean had silenced her to keep our secret. Catarina was another who had refused to sing and was taken. The strange thing about her was that she’d already been a siren for thirty years at that point. I nearly made myself crazy wondering about what could have made her give up on the promise of freedom that far in.

Molly’s story was different—and more disturbing. Her life as a siren had brought on some kind of mental breakdown. Four years in, she’d murdered a household of people in the night, including an infant, in an outburst she hadn’t realized she’d had until she was standing over an elderly woman who was facedown in a bathtub. From what I had heard, the Ocean tried to soothe her, but when she had a similar episode a few months later, the Ocean took her life. Molly was proof that there was grace when the Ocean knew your intentions, but she also showed that there was only so much room for that mercy.

These were the stories we carried, the guardrails that kept us in line. Forsaking the rules meant forsaking your life.

Exposing our secret would mean being taken away, maybe experimented on. When they couldn’t destroy us, and if we couldn’t escape, that could be a literal eternity of silent imprisonment. And if anyone guessed that the Ocean was purposefully consuming some of the people She also helped sustain, it wouldn’t take the humans very long to figure out how to get their water without ever touching Her. If no one went into the water … how would we all live?

Obedience was imperative.

“I worry about you two,” I confessed, crossing the room to hug them. “Honestly, I’m jealous sometimes of how well you’ve both … assimilated. But I wonder how much longer you can do that without making a mistake.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Miaka assured me. “This is what sirens have done throughout history, and we just happen to be the best at it so far. Even Aisling lives on the outskirts of a town. Human contact helps to keep us sane. You don’t have to seclude yourself to make it through this life.”

I nodded. “I know. But I don’t want to push my limits, or the Ocean’s.”

Elizabeth didn’t need to say anything. I could hear her judgment without words.

“Why don’t we go see Aisling?” Miaka suggested. “We’ve never really asked her about how she copes.”

“Because she’s never here,” Elizabeth replied, irritation in her voice.

We hadn’t seen our fourth sister since the last time we sang, and it had been well over two years since she’d lived with us.

“That might be a good idea. Just a short trip,” I added, mainly for Elizabeth, who had never really warmed to Aisling. She was too reclusive for Elizabeth’s taste.

Elizabeth nodded. “Sure. Nothing else going on anyway.”

We headed out the back door where a small wooden staircase led down to a floating dock. A handful of the other houses had Jet Skis or personal paddleboats secured to theirs, but ours was empty. The sun was low enough that no one would see as we slipped into the water.

Her currents stirred in greeting, and an almost tickling feeling wrapped around my body as we sank in. I relaxed in the warmth of Her embrace, already calmer.

Can you tell Aisling we’re coming? I asked.

Of course.

Wheee! Elizabeth sang as we dived deep into the water and set off. The speed stripped away her flimsy clothes, and she spread out her arms, hair dancing behind her, as she waited for her siren’s dress.

When we moved like this, every earthly thing we wore fell away. The Ocean opened Her veins, releasing thousands of particles of salt that affixed themselves to our bodies, creating long, delicate flowing gowns. They were gorgeous, coming out in every shade of Her—the purple of a patch of coral that human eyes had never passed, the green of kelp growing toward the light, the gold of burning sand at sunrise—and were never exactly the same thing twice. It was almost painful to watch them fall apart, one grain at a time, rarely lasting more than a few days after we left Her.

You seem sad. Her words came only to my ears.

I’ve been having more nightmares, I admitted.

You don’t have to sleep. You’ll be fine without it, you know that.

I smiled. I do. But I like sleep. It’s soothing. I’d just like to have it without the dreams is all.

She couldn’t take away my dreams, but She always comforted me as best She could. Sometimes She took me to islands or showed me the prettiest parts of Herself, so easily hidden from humans. Sometimes She knew that caring for me meant letting me be apart from Her. I never wanted to be away from Her for too long, though. She was the only mother I had, now.

Part mother, part warden, part employer … it was a hard relationship to explain.

Aisling swam out to greet us, her own dress partially formed and floating in strands around her.

What a surprise! she greeted, squeezing Miaka’s hand. Follow me.

We trailed behind her, skirting around the plates of land as they pushed themselves above the water into continents. Our sense of geography was a bit specialized, knowing that some places were surrounded by rocks, others by sand, others by sheer cliffs. There were other things we knew by heart as well, like the places we’d found each other or the locations of ships we’d taken down, a peculiar knowledge of unmapped ghost towns on the Ocean’s floor.

We tailed Aisling as she went to a slightly uneven coast, pulling herself upright as soon as the water was shallow enough.

“Don’t worry,” she said, taking in our nerves when she brazenly exited onto land. “We’re all alone out here.”

“I thought you lived near a town,” Elizabeth said, hopping across the rounded rocks as we crossed the shore.

Aisling shrugged. “Distance is relative.” She led us to an aging cottage just beyond the tree line. It was picturesque, settled underneath some heavy branches, and I imagined those limbs cooling the space in the summer and protecting her from snow in the winter. In front was a small garden bursting with flowers and berries, and the way everything flourished made me feel that, while the rest of us were connected solely to water, Aisling had drawn strength from all the elements.

“This place is so small!” Miaka commented on entering. It was one room, barely the size of the living room in our beach house. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture, just a small bed and a bench along one side of a table.

“I think it’s cozy,” Aisling remarked, placing a kettle on an ancient stove. “It’s nice of you to come. I picked some fresh berries today and was making a pie. Give me forty-five minutes, and we should have a magnificent dessert!”

“Expecting company?” Elizabeth asked. “Or just incredibly bored?”

We didn’t have many reasons to cook. We didn’t need food, and Elizabeth especially could go for months before the craving for a particular taste hit her.

Aisling smiled as she finished lining the bottom of her pan. “Yes, the king should be dropping by any moment.”

“Ah, the king likes pie?” Miaka joked back.

“Everyone likes pie!” she teased, and sighed. “I was a little bored today, to tell you the truth. So I’m very happy for your visit.”

I stood beside Aisling as she poured the filling. “You know, you can always come stay with us.”

“Oh, I like the quiet.”

“You just told us you were bored,” Miaka said, her artist’s eyes exploring the room.

“One day out of a hundred,” Aisling said, dismissing us. “But I know I should spend more time with you all these days. I’ll try.”

“You okay?” I asked. “You seem keyed up.”

Aisling plastered a smile on her face. “I’m great. Just happy to see you all. What’s the occasion?”

“Can you please tell Kahlen to calm down?” Elizabeth asked, sitting on the lone bed looking as if she owned the place. “She’s moping again. Dabbling with the scrapbooks, afraid her world will end if so much as the shadow of a human crosses her path.”

Aisling and I shared a look, and she grinned. “What’s really going on?”

“Nothing,” I swore. “We’re just comparing coping mechanisms. I feel safer when we’re more anonymous. The fewer people we interact with, the better.”

“And yet you insist on living in big cities,” Elizabeth grumbled.

I rolled my eyes. “So we blend in easier.”

Miaka walked over, placing a tiny hand on Aisling’s shoulder. “I think what Elizabeth means is, since you’re the oldest, you might have some wisdom to pass on.”

Aisling took off her apron, and we all sat together, crowding on the bench and the bed. “Well, let’s be honest. The Ocean doesn’t need more than one of us at a time. She could do Her work with a single siren. But She makes sure there are at least two at all times so we won’t be alone.”

“And we have the Ocean,” I added.

“Which is weird. She’s hard to understand.” Elizabeth toyed with the salty sparkles of her dress.

“She’s not a person,” I pointed out. “Of course She’s hard to understand.”

“Back to the matter at hand: Aisling, don’t you think it’s possible to interact with humans without consequence?” Elizabeth pressed.

Aisling smiled to herself, her eyes fixed on a blank space in the air. “Definitely. In fact, I think seeing lives that actually change and have seasons has added to my life even though I can’t change myself. It’s about knowing your limits, I think.” She drew her gaze back to Elizabeth. “It seems to me Kahlen knows hers, so maybe we should respect them.”

“Well, it seems to me like she’s miserable and would be much happier if she stepped out into the real world every once in a while.” Elizabeth grinned, a snippy smile that wasn’t asking for a fight but let us all know she still thought she knew best.

“Along the same lines,” Miaka said, straightening up. “Skydiving. Would you do it, Aisling?”

Aisling laughed nervously. “I don’t like heights, so probably not.”

Miaka nodded. “I admit, the falling would be weird. But I want to see the world from above.”

“You’ve seen wars, watched countries disappear and re-form. You have experienced more seasons of fashion than most people can remember. We walked the Great Wall, you rode an elephant … For goodness’ sakes, Elizabeth took us to see the Beatles!” I reminded her. “Do you really need anything more?”

Miaka beamed. “I want to see everything.”

We passed the rest of our visit talking about paintings Miaka had made, books I had read, movies Elizabeth had seen. Aisling really meant it when she said she enjoyed watching the lives around her, and she told us how the best baker in town was finally closing her shop and how there was a boom recently in people hired as dog walkers. It was all a bunch of nothing to me, but everything to these strangers who were living it.

“I wish I had a talent like you, Miaka,” Aisling lamented after hearing her theories on adrenaline and art. “I feel like I don’t have anything to say. Right now, my life is very still.”

“You really are welcome to stay with us,” I offered again.

She leaned into me, our heads touching. “I know. It just seems like life is very fast these days. I won’t have this quiet much longer. I think I’ll miss it.”

“Fast?” I questioned. “What are you doing that makes the years pass any faster than a crawl?”

“I agree with Aisling, actually. Everything is fast,” Elizabeth commented. “There’s not enough time to do everything I want. But I love it!”

After a few hours, Elizabeth got antsy, so I politely said it was time to get home. Aisling held me back as Miaka and Elizabeth headed toward the water.

“I can’t tell you what to do, but I know how much our work haunts you. If the way you’ve been living for eighty years isn’t making you feel better, maybe it’s time to try something different.”

“But what if I mess up?”

She squeezed my hand. “You’re too good to mess up. And if you did, you are the most likely to be pardoned. She loves you. You know that.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“Any time. I’ll come visit soon.”

She trotted back into the house, and I considered her advice while I watched her through the window as she began the process of making another pie.

I smiled to myself. Aisling had nothing to lose or gain by telling me to change my habits, which made me trust her. So I held my feelings and worries and questions in my heart, considering if maybe there was a way for me to make my final stretch of this life any easier.

4

I spent the majority of the following evening letting Miaka curl my hair. I didn’t understand the way my sisters lived their lives, and I wasn’t sure it was wise, but I’d never really tried to walk a mile in their heels. Tonight, I would.

“What do you think of this one?” Elizabeth held up another dress. Basically, everything she showed me looked like a short tube of fabric, only in a different color.

“I don’t know. It’s not quite my style.”

She cocked her head. “That’s kind of the point. You can’t go to a club looking like a fifties housewife.”

I wrinkled my nose. “It’s a bit … revealing, don’t you think?”

Miaka chuckled as Elizabeth widened her eyes in frustration. “Yes. Very. Just put it on, okay?” She tossed the dress at me, and it landed in a heap on my lap. “I’m going to get dressed,” she called, rushing out of the room.

I held back a sigh. After all, I was trying to be enthusiastic. Maybe tonight would usher in a new beginning in my life.

“We should do your hair like this more often,” Miaka said, prompting me to turn to the mirror.

I gasped. “It’s so full!”

“A few hours of dancing will deflate it.”

I leaned in, studying my face. I’d gotten used to the natural beauty that came with being a siren. Miaka’s artful strokes of eyeliner and lipstick magnified it by ten. I could see why boys practically formed a line for Elizabeth’s attention.

“Thanks. You did great.”

She shrugged. “Any time.” Then she leaned in toward the mirror to do her own face.

“So what do we do when we get there?” I asked. “I don’t know how to act in a crowded room.”

“There’s not a step-by-step program on how to go out and have a good time, Kahlen. We’ll probably get a drink and scope out the crowd. Elizabeth will be looking for someone for sure, but you and I can just dance with each other.”

“I gave up understanding how young people dance about thirty years ago. The Electric Slide was the final nail in the coffin for me.”

“But dancing’s so fun!”

I shook my head. “No. The jitterbug was fun. But actually having rhythm and holding your partner’s hand isn’t popular anymore.”

Miaka pulled the mascara wand away from her face, trying not to poke her eye while she laughed. “I swear, if you try to whip out the jitterbug tonight, Elizabeth will kill you.”

“Good luck with that,” I muttered. “Anyway, all I’m trying to say is that I might not be on the dance floor too much.”

Miaka’s gaze met mine in the mirror. “I’m happy you’re going somewhere that isn’t a library or a park, but I’m not sure it’s really taking a chance if you just sit there.”

“Ta-da!” Elizabeth sang, bursting into the room. Her dress was black and short, and she was wearing the shoes she referred to as “stripper heels.” “So?”

I smiled. “What can I say? You could stop traffic.”

She beamed, fluffing her hair with a hand. “I found this,” she said, bringing something over to me.

It was another short dress, but it had a thin layer of tulle from the waist down. And, yes, it was covered with sequins, but it was closer to my style than anything else she’d shown me.

I smiled. “Thanks. This is the one.”

Elizabeth threw her arms around me. “I’m so happy you’re coming! The only thing better than being the two prettiest girls in the room is being the three prettiest!”

The bouncer was under Elizabeth’s spell from the moment he saw her coming, and I had the feeling that even if our fake IDs hadn’t said we were twenty-one, we would have been walking through the door without Xs on our hands anyway.

I cringed away from the blaring bass, already second-guessing my choice to come. Perhaps sensing that, Miaka looped her arm through mine, pulling me to the bar. She typed out our drink orders on her phone, and we carried our glasses carefully through the crowd.

This is supposed to be fun, I told myself. Just try. This makes life better for your sisters. It could do the same for you.

“How can you think in here?” I whispered into Elizabeth’s ear.

She placed her lips next to my ear and answered, “The point is not to think.”

“Relax,” Miaka signed. “This is no different than walking down a crowded street.”

And I tried; I did. I had two drinks, hoping to take the edge off my nerves. I danced with Miaka, which was fun until we garnered so many admirers intent on pressing themselves against us that it lost all its charm. I even tried just focusing on the music, something that should come naturally to a siren, but the way it blasted through the speakers turned it all into noise.

I watched the strange way some people moved toward Elizabeth as if she were a magnet on the dance floor. It was no surprise that she could hook someone without a word. We truly were the most beautiful girls in the room, and when Elizabeth turned her full attention on a boy, he was helpless. First, she picked one who was eventually pulled away by his friends to hit up another bar. Even without her song, he put up a little fight to stay until they wrestled him out the door. Her second choice had more to drink than she realized, and he passed out at their table.

But after two miserable hours, she came walking by again, an obviously drunk guy on her arm. “Don’t wait up,” she signed, disappearing with him out the door.

I turned to Miaka, eyes pleading. She grinned and nodded, and with that we headed home.

“You tried,” she signed as we walked down the sidewalk. “I thought we’d lose you before we got in.”

“You nearly did,” I confessed. “Now I know for sure: the club scene is not for me.”

“Do you think you’d come to a house party or something? We get invited to lots if we walk across campus at the right time.”

My signs were hesitant. “Baby steps.”

Clicking down the row of clubs in our heels garnered whistles from some and applause from others. I subconsciously placed a hand over my cleavage, though it really did no good. Miaka grinned to herself, standing a little taller as she walked, and I wondered if part of the charm of this lifestyle for my sisters was simply being seen. Most days, we kept to ourselves, and during our singing, the picture we painted was nothing but a lie. At least, like this, someone saw us live. Though, for me, it felt less like being seen and more like being viewed.

When we got to the house, I didn’t bother to take off Elizabeth’s dress before running out the back door and hopping into the water.

Kahlen! The Ocean surged around me, welcoming and calm.

You wouldn’t believe the night I just had.

Tell me everything. I drew up a mental picture of Her resting Her chin on Her hand, hanging on my every word.

Miaka and Elizabeth like going to clubs, these places where people drink and dance. They’ve been telling me to get out more, so I finally went with them.

I can’t imagine you doing that.

Neither could I. Which is why I was uncomfortable the entire time. I’m so happy to be back here. You’re nice and quiet.

Her waters stirred in something close to laughter. We don’t have to talk at all if you don’t want to. I’m happy just to hold you.

I sank down, resting on the sandy Ocean floor, legs crossed and arms behind my head. I watched the trails of boats crisscrossing and fading along the surface above me. Fish swam by in schools, not spooked by the girl on the ground.

So, about six months? I asked, my stomach twisting.

Yes, barring some natural disaster or man-made sinking. I can’t predict those things.

I know.

Don’t start worrying about that yet. I can tell you’re still hurting from the last time. She wrapped me in sympathy.

I lifted my arms as if I was stroking Her, though of course my tiny body was unable to truly embrace Hers. I feel like I never have enough time to get over a singing before the next one comes. I have nightmares, and I’m a nervous wreck during the weeks leading up to it. My chest felt hollow with misery. I’m afraid I’ll always remember how it feels.

You won’t. In all My years, I’ve never had a freed siren come back to Me demanding that I fix her memories.

Do You hear from them at all?

Not intentionally. I feel people when they’re in Me. It’s how I find new girls. It’s how I listen for anyone who might suspect the true nature of My needs. Sometimes a former siren will go for a swim or stick her legs off a dock. I can get a peek at their lives, and no one has remembered Me yet.

I’ll remember You, I promised.

I could feel Her embracing me. For all eternity, I’ll never forget you. I love you.

And I love You.

You can rest here tonight, if you like. I’ll make sure no one finds you.

Can I just stay down here forever? I don’t want to worry about hurting people unintentionally. Or disappointing my sisters. Aisling has her cottage, so maybe I could build a little house down here out of driftwood.

She ran a current down my back gently. Sleep. You’ll feel differently in the morning. Your sisters would be lost without you. Trust Me, they think it all the time.

Really?

Really.

Thank You.

Rest. You’re safe.

5

I held the baby close to me, trying to get her to stop crying.

“Shh,” I urged, hoping my voice would somehow comfort her instead of cause her more pain.

“It’s okay,” I whispered as she thrashed in my arms. The streams of tears from her eyes grew denser and faster, until water was pouring from her. Then her cries became gargles as water flooded from her mouth as well.

I shook in horror watching her drown from the inside out.

I jerked awake, forgetting I was underwater and feeling as if I were drowning as well. I screamed in spite of myself.

You’re safe, Kahlen! You’re safe!

I clutched my hands around my throat and chest, terrified until I understood who was speaking to me and that what She said was true.

I’m sorry. I had a nightmare.

I know.

I sighed. Of course She knew.

Go to your sisters. As much as I love having you with Me, you need to be on land. You need sunlight.

I nodded. You’re right. I’ll visit again soon.

I pushed myself toward the surface, trying to conceal how deeply I wanted to be free from Her watery hold now. It was hard to balance that with how desperately I had wanted to hide in Her only hours ago.

I climbed onto the floating dock just in time to see the sun break through the clouds. I stood there, trying to unknot my feelings. Fear, hope, worry, compassion … there was so much going on in my heart, I felt paralyzed. Aisling wanted me to get out of my routine. Elizabeth and Miaka wanted me to get out of my comfort zone. I sensed none of that could happen until I could get out of the mess I was inside.

I walked up the stairs and back into the house. Elizabeth was home, still clad in her little black dress, her shoes left sloppily by the door. She was laughing with Miaka, drinking a coffee she’d bought on the way home, buzzing from the night before.

They both turned to the sight of me walking through the doorway, and Elizabeth’s face immediately fell.

“Please don’t tell me you got in the water in that dress!”

I looked down at the droplets pooling on the floor. “Umm, yeah, I did.”

“It’s dry-clean only!”

“Sorry. I’ll replace it.”

“What’s wrong?” Miaka asked, seeing past everything else to my misery.

“Just more bad dreams,” I confessed, peeling off the dress. I needed something softer, warmer. “I’m okay. I think I’m going to curl up with a book.”

“We’re here if you want to talk,” Miaka offered.

“Thanks. I’ll be fine.”

I walked back to my room, not wanting to hear Elizabeth relive her latest conquest. Though I really had no desire to get back into water, I kind of wanted to wash the sea salt smell off my skin. As much as I could anyway.

“Why does she even bother sleeping?” I heard Elizabeth ask quietly. “You’d think by now she’d stop trying. We don’t need it.”

I paused, waiting to hear Miaka’s response. “She must have a really wonderful dream often enough to make the bad ones worth it.”

I closed the door all the way, hung Elizabeth’s dress out my window, and let the spray of the shower cloud out everything else.

I flipped through my scrapbooks, searching. Finally, on a page for a sinking that was maybe twelve years old, I found the face of the baby in my dream. The Ocean assured me that I wouldn’t remember any of this, so why did the faces linger with me now? Elizabeth would say it was because I insisted on documenting it all, but I knew that wasn’t it. At least, not completely.

I’d made a rule for myself not to look at people’s faces while the sinkings happened, but I failed more than I cared to admit. It was hard to ignore the people calling out for us to save them. Sometimes I’d see someone and then never find a public record of them. No obituary or blog or anything. I knew those faces as well as I knew the ones in my books.

Sometimes I wondered if I was broken, which worried me as much as any of our singings. If I could remember the tens of thousands of people I’d killed, how would I possibly survive my life after being a siren?

I looked down at the picture of the baby, a girl named Norah, and cried over the life she never got to live.

Even though I knew the next singing was still nearly six months away, I dreaded it like it was coming tomorrow. It felt as if my very soul was being chipped away at every time it happened. Eighty long years gone. Twenty more to go. And each day felt as if it were never-ending.

Monday morning, I got out of the house as fast as I could. I grabbed one of Miaka’s many sketchbooks and shoved it into my bag along with some pencils. I’d dabbled in painting and drawing ever since Miaka came home with her first canvas, and while I would never be the artist she was, the idea of occupying my hands for a while sounded good.

I made my way to campus, taking the quietest roads I could find, and crossed onto the main area near the fountain and library just as people were making their way to class. Part of me felt bad for being so hard on Elizabeth and Miaka. They blended in at bars and clubs. I blended in at the library. Maybe their way of handling things didn’t work for me, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t valid.

I settled under a tree and pulled out the sketch pad, thinking I’d draw some of the outfits I saw. I loved seeing how fashion changed over time, and though I preferred a more classic style, it was fun to see how a headband or the height of a shoe or the cut of a neckline would bring back something I’d come across twenty years before.

I’d seen this as a problem for my fair share of people, though. I’d watched some get stuck in the eighties, doing unthinkable things to their hair, or wearing bell-bottoms when it wasn’t the best idea. Maybe staying in a favorite era was like a security blanket, something you could keep when everything else changed. I fanned out my circle skirt and figured that was true.

Then, unexpectedly, someone settled in next to me under the shade of my tree.

“Okay, so I was thinking you were a culinary student, but this has me considering art instead.”

It was the boy from the library, Akinli.

“I’m undecided, personally. You’re not judging me, are you?”

I smiled and shook my head. I liked that he just started speaking as if we were already in the middle of a conversation.

“Good. I’ve been considering a few things. Like finance sounds like a smart way to go, but I’m about as bad with money as I am at cooking.”

I smiled, scribbling in the corner of my page. But isn’t that why people study? To get better?

“That’s a good argument, but I think you’re overestimating my skills.”

He grinned back at me, and I remembered how normal he’d made me feel the first time we’d met. Here, once again, he wasn’t bothered by my silence. And I suddenly realized what made me feel so uncomfortable about Elizabeth’s exploits. The people she attracted were drawn to the same thing everyone else was: our glowing skin, dreamy eyes, and air of secrecy. But this boy? He seemed to see more than that. He saw me not just as a mysterious beauty, but as a girl he wanted to know.

He didn’t stare at me. He spoke to me.

“So did you make that epic cake this weekend or what?”

I shook my head. I went to my first club, I wrote, pleased with how normal that confession seemed.

“And?”

Not really my thing.

“Yeah, I was a designated driver on Friday, and I seriously can’t stand the stench of bars. It’s like there’s an old-cigarette smell clinging to the walls even though you can’t smoke in them anymore.” Akinli scrunched up his nose in disgust. “Plus, even though I like the guys on my hall, I don’t like them enough to be okay with cleaning puke off two of them. I think my days as a chauffeur are officially over.”

I made a face and shook my head. I understood that babysitter feeling a little too well.

“Any classes left today?”

Nope!

“See, I’m totally jealous. I thought afternoon classes would mean sleeping in, which was a brilliant plan on my part because I’m in a serious relationship with sleep.”

Me too.

“Well, I think I’d let the relationship suffer a little if it meant I could do more in the afternoons. Look at you. You’re free to sit in the sun and creepily draw pictures of people you don’t even know. How great is that?”

I smirked. I often thought of myself as kind of creepy. This was the first time it sounded like a good thing.

It’s the clothes! I argued, pointing to the pages.

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say. But don’t mind me. I’m just jealous. I can’t draw at all. The only thing I know how to make is a frog. I learned how in the first grade, and I never forgot. The key is starting with a football shape,” he said, his voice full of mock expertise. “If you get that wrong, the whole thing goes downhill.”

Can’t cook. Can’t draw. What can you do?

“Excellent question. Um … I can fish. Family thing, much like the terrible, terrible first name. I can text in complete sentences. Oh, yeah, it’s a skill.” He smiled, proud of his accomplishments. “And, thanks to my mom being a competitive dancer as a teen, I know how to do the Lindy hop and the jitterbug.”

I sat bolt upright, and Akinli rolled his eyes.

“I swear, if you tell me you can jitterbug, I’m going to … I don’t even know. Set something on fire. No one can dance like that.”

I pursed my lips and dusted off my shoulder, a thing I’d seen Elizabeth do when she was bragging.

As if he was accepting a challenge, he shrugged off his backpack and stood, holding out a hand for me.

I took it and positioned myself in front of him as he shook his head, grinning.

“All right, we’ll take this slow. Five, six, seven, eight.”

In unison, we rock stepped and triple stepped, falling into the rhythm in our head. After a minute, he got brave and swung me around, lining me up for those peppy kicks I loved so much.

People walked by, pointing and laughing, but it was one of those moments when I knew we weren’t being mocked; we were being envied.

We stepped on each other’s toes more than once, and after he accidentally knocked his head into my shoulder, he threw his hands up.

“Unbelievable,” he said, almost as if he was complaining. “I can’t wait to tell my mom this. She’s gonna think I’m lying. All those years dancing in the kitchen thinking I was special, and then I run across a master.”

We sat back down under the tree, and I started collecting my things. That was a pretty little moment, and I was almost afraid another minute in his presence would break it.

“So you didn’t make that cake yet?”

I shook my head.

“Well, since you’re swearing off clubs, and I’m swearing off driving for drunks, and there’s really not an appropriate venue downtown to show off our dance skills, why don’t we make it this weekend?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Look, I know what I said about being a bad cook, but I think you could keep me from ruining it.”

Now who’s overestimating skills?

He laughed. “No, seriously, I think it’d be fun. If all else fails, I’ve got some Easy Mac in my room, so we’ll at least have something to eat.”

I shrugged, dubious but tempted. Elizabeth could regularly go to a stranger’s apartment, be as intimate as two people could be, and live to tell the tale. So, maybe I could bake in a dorm kitchen without murdering someone?

“You seem nervous. You got a boyfriend?”

He said the last as if he was only belatedly realizing the obvious.

I wrote NO in big letters on the paper.

He chuckled again. “Okay.” He took the pen from my hand, scribbling onto a sticky note. “Here’s my number. If you decide you want to come over, text me.”

I nodded and took his number, and his whole face lit up. He checked his phone.

“All right, now I’m running late.” He pushed himself up to his feet. “Catch you later, Kahlen.” He pointed at me. “See? I remembered.”

I fought my smile, not wanting him to know how much the small gesture made my day.

I waved as he left, feeling almost giddy when, just before he went around a building, he looked over his shoulder at me.

A foreign, sparkling feeling was rising in my chest. I’d been nineteen long enough to observe other boys this age. I knew that romances were many and fleeting and that this attention couldn’t last. Still, it was a magical feeling, and I was grateful once again for this boy I barely knew.

I felt like I understood Elizabeth on a new level. She craved a physical connection, and she achieved it as best she could. Miaka spent hours typing to people on her computer or phone, wanting to connect intellectually. That was what made them feel alive. Me? I’d been slaving away for the Ocean, hoping that at the end of it all, I’d find a romantic connection in my future life.

Truth was, there was no way to be sure I could get it. But as I sat there under the tree, something became clear. I wasn’t worried. I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t even thinking that far into the future, because all I could think of was each minute with Akinli as it happened. Maybe the key for me to move forward wasn’t to eliminate everything I was feeling; maybe all I needed to do was focus on the one feeling that made all the others seem small.

I pulled out my phone, laughing at how useless this thing was for me. I did research on it or distracted myself with it more than anything. Under my contacts were three numbers, and Aisling’s wasn’t even current.

I typed in the new one, fingers hesitating.

Akinli? It’s Kahlen. If you’re still up for it, I’d love to make some cake this weekend.

I let out a long breath and pressed Send. I gathered my things to head home, brushing the grass off the back of my skirt.

Before I could make it to the edge of campus, my phone buzzed.

I’ve got pans!

6

I lived for four days in a secret world of absolute bliss. I didn’t sleep at all, because, for the first time in a long time, being awake was so much better. I spent hours looking up recipes, trying to find one that was a little above what a novice might make but wouldn’t be too complicated for a dorm kitchen.

I could feel the weight of my sisters’ stares as I hummed to myself. They didn’t question the sudden lift in my mood, perhaps knowing I would remain close lipped. But when my giddiness didn’t fade after a few days, I began to wonder how one boy was having such an effect on me.

I told myself that it was completely normal to think wonderful thoughts about someone whose last name I didn’t even know. People had crushes on actors and musicians and celebrities they had absolutely no chance of meeting in real life. At least I’d planted my affections on someone who actually knew me.

I continually anticipated the next moment we’d be together, trying to keep the whole thing playful and light. I’d text, You provide the oven and utensils, and I’ll bring all the ingredients?

He’d reply, I will also bring my stomach. Because cake > actual food. Deal!

How do you feel about cream cheese frosting? I’d ask.

It doesn’t get enough respect, if I’m being honest, he’d say.

The days before our baking date were full of tiny notes like that, leaving me with an hour-long buzz from a single sentence. What made it better was that I didn’t always have to start a conversation. By Wednesday, Akinli’s questions were a little bit deeper and came to me unprompted.

So how long have you been cooking?

Feels like forever.

Did your mom teach you?

Actually, it’s something I kind of picked up on my own.

Smiley faces. He sent several. From anyone else, they’d seem ridiculous, but I felt pretty confident that if he typed one in, he was actually smiling.

Thursday we went most of the day without talking, which I really didn’t mind. I was in the middle of telling myself that I was making too much of this. Chances were that we’d have this one date, and he’d struggle so much with communicating that he wouldn’t want to see me again anyway. And that would be for the best. After all, what kind of future could we possibly have?

This was what I was telling myself when, around ten that night, he sent me a picture of his very confused face with the words WHY MATH WHY? underneath. I lay in my bed laughing uncontrollably. First, he was just so, so, so cute! Second, he sent me a picture! I had a picture of a boy that he took just for me, and it felt bigger than anything I’d experienced in the last century.

There was a quick knock at my door, but Elizabeth and Miaka opened it before I could answer.

“You all right in here?” Elizabeth asked, perching a hand on her hip.

I took a deep breath and stopped giggling. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Miaka looked around the room. My TV was off, and there wasn’t a book in my hand. “What’s so funny?”

I picked up my phone. “Just something I saw.”

“Can we see?” Elizabeth asked, reaching out.

I knew, if anything, they’d probably be happy I’d met someone. I just couldn’t help but want to keep him to myself a little bit longer.

“Not sure you’d get it,” I lied.

They shared a look, then eyed me suspiciously.

“Okay … we’ll just go then.” Miaka’s gaze lingered on me before the door closed behind them.

I tightened my lips, trying not to laugh out of the pure joy of having a secret, then pulled up Akinli’s picture again, smiling at his comically drooping eyebrows.

I searched through my phone for something to send back to him, maybe a picture of me in one of those dresses I loved. But I discovered that I had never turned the camera on myself. I had images of the sky, a bird, my sisters, but none of me.

I flopped down on my pillow, sweeping most of my hair above my head. Part of my face was buried in my comforter, but when I snapped the picture, it felt like an honest representation. I stared at that girl for a while, the giddy glow behind her eyes, the hint of a smile in her cheeks, and thought, Yes, this is how this moment makes me feel.

I sent it to him saying, This is when you give up and get in bed. No one will care about your math grades in six years. Promise.

I wanted to explain how many disasters I’d seen disappear in what felt like only minutes compared to the whole span of time.

Is it weird if I tell you you’re pretty? he answered. You’re pretty.

I thought of the way the water looked when I blew bubbles out of my mouth. That was the way I suspected it looked inside my body right now. Light and airy and bursting with happiness.

Is it also weird if I tell you I like talking to you even though you don’t speak? I like talking to you.

“Where are you going?” Miaka asked the second my hand hit the doorknob the next night. I had really thought I was going to be able to sneak out without them noticing. Elizabeth’s music was blaring from her room, and they’d been in serious dress talks for the last twenty minutes.

“Just for a walk. Might go by the store. You want anything?”

She looked me over, studying my outfit. Around the house, I enjoyed comfy rompers or sweaters, and if this had been an impromptu trip, I’d probably still be in those clothes. My skirt—which I already knew might be a bit much for the occasion but made me feel as nice on the outside as I did on the inside—was a bit of a giveaway.

“No. Nothing has sounded worth eating lately.”

I nodded. “We should hit up a new state soon. Or a new country. Sometimes the smell of a different place will make me want to eat, you know?”

“I do! We should make some plans for where to go next. Sometimes our moves are too spontaneous for my tastes.”

“Yeah,” I said, shifting the weight of my purse. “A strategy would be good.”

Miaka smiled and looked at my clothes again. “Well, maybe we can talk about a lot of things when you come back.”

I said nothing but was sure my smile was as damning as my skirt. Oh, well. So much for secrets.

I got the groceries and lugged them all the way to Akinli’s dorm, running slightly behind because I couldn’t get into the building on my own. The university required ID cards to get into the dorms after six, and since I wasn’t an actual student, I had to wait for someone else to come along and scan his so I could piggyback in.

“You need some help?” the boy asked, his eyes lingering on my mouth.

I shook my head no.

“Aww, come on. That’s way too heavy for you.”

He came closer, and again I cursed our natural appeal. I wasn’t in danger exactly, and I knew that, but it didn’t make these encounters any less uncomfortable. I shook my head again.

“No, really, which floor are you on? I can—”

“Hey, Kahlen!” I looked up to see Akinli walking down the hall. His button-up was open over the gray shirt beneath it, but I was thrilled to see that he’d at least put one on. “I was starting to worry. Hey, Sam.”

“Hey.” The boy gave Akinli a look and headed toward the stairwell, his displeasure at Akinli’s arrival clear. In the meantime, I felt my mood lift significantly. I was now officially on my first date.

“Here, give me one of these.” Akinli took a bag from my hands and led me to the elevator. “The kitchen’s just up here. Now, I did some practicing this morning,” he said proudly.

I raised my eyebrows.

“Yep. I made eggs. They were terrible.”

I held in a laugh as the elevator dinged, delaying a moment before actually opening to the second floor.

“I think the problem was that I had no supervision, so this will probably go much better.”

We turned into the small kitchen area, and I saw that he’d done some prep work. A whisk and a bowl were already out, as well as two different-size circular pans. He put down his bag and picked up another item.

“I took this off our door. My roommate was a pain about it, but if you need anything, just scribble it down.” He passed me a whiteboard that had already managed to take a beating in the first few months of school. It was such a thoughtful gesture, I nearly cried.

I watched him as he carefully took out the eggs and sugar and flour, lining up everything along the back of the counter to give us room to cook.

“Is this almond extract? This is fancy. Again, I ruined food today, so remember, you’re going to have to walk me through every step of this.”

Wordlessly, I pulled out the printed instructions and laid them beside the bowl.

“There we go,” he said, picking them up to study. He went over the multiple steps, his face looking more and more worried the closer he got to the end. He pulled himself together and peeked sheepishly at me over the top of the paper.

“Okay, Kahlen. Teach me to cook!”

7

“Have you always lived in Florida?”

I shook my head and cracked another egg. It wasn’t one of those things I could easily explain without speech. I waved my hand in a circle and made an exasperated face.

“All over the place?”

I nodded.

“Are your parents in the army or something? I only got to spend a year with one of my best friends in high school before his dad was stationed somewhere else. I hear that’s pretty fast, though.”

I watched him, listening intently, not really confirming or denying anything about my parents and hoping he wouldn’t press any further.

“I grew up in this tiny town in Maine. Port Clyde. You ever heard of it?”

I shook my head, and he passed me the sugar he’d measured out. I took my finger and brushed the extra heap off the top into the sink.

“Oh, is that bad?” he asked.

Baking is science, I scribbled on the board.

“Huh. Okay, I will tuck that lesson away. So, yeah, Port Clyde. It’s really small and mostly known for its lobster. There’s also an artist residency there, so we get some creative types coming through town. That’s why I thought you might have heard of it. You were drawing the other day, so I didn’t know if that was something you were into or what.”

I made a so-so gesture with my hand. Even with the whiteboard, it would be hard to explain that I really liked drawing because of my sort-of sister and that I wished I was half as good at seeing the world as she was.

“My parents are there, dying for me to come home. I’m an only child, so they’re kind of lonely without me around. My mom calls me literally, like, every day. I told her she should get a puppy, but she said I was better than a dog, which is good, I guess. Am I talking too much?”

He paused, staring into my eyes, genuine worry coloring his face.

I shook my head. No, I thought, I’d listen to you talk about nearly anything. You make phone calls sound like an adventure.

“Okay. She’s also worried because I’m still undeclared. I don’t think that’s a huge deal. Not yet anyway. Do you?”

I snapped my first two fingers and thumb together quickly, the ASL sign for no. Realizing he might not understand, I shook my head as well.

“Cool. What are you studying? Is it art?”

I didn’t have another answer, so I nodded.

“You’ve got an artist vibe,” he said knowingly.

I looked down at myself, then back up at Akinli, questioning him with my eyes.

“No, really. I’m not sure what it is, but you look like you’ve made and broken a lot of things and then made them all over again. Which makes no sense, I’m sure. But trust me, it’s there.”

I started whisking the batter. I was glad he didn’t know how much I’d actually broken in my time—ships that cost millions of dollars, lives no one could put a price on—but I liked the idea that maybe, somewhere deep inside me, I was also capable of fixing things.

I passed the bowl to him, really hoping he’d participate.

“Oh, my gosh. Okay.” He took the whisk in his hand. “I got this. Okay …”

He started whisking.

As he worked, I added in a few drops of the almond extract, and after a moment he looked up at me. I tilted my head questioningly. What?

It took him a second to snap out of his stare. “Oh. Sorry. Nice teamwork there,” he said, then winced as if he thought he’d said something dumb. “Speaking of teamwork,” he added, his voice lighter, “I think you could maybe help me with something.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Hear me out. See, if you’re not talking, you spend almost every second of your life listening, taking things in, right?”

I nodded. That was all I did.

“I feel like, because of that, you’re probably very perceptive. So as an experiment, I’d like to know what you think I should be studying.”

I gawked at him.

You mean pick your major? I wrote.

“Exactly. I’ve had a few friends weigh in, but I think they were joking. Someone said musical therapy, and I’ve never so much as touched a kazoo.”

I smirked at his exasperation.

“Come on. I need some direction in my life. Give it a shot.”

I stared at this boy who I admittedly hardly knew. Yet I felt as if I’d learned so much about him, like, if anyone asked, I could outline his entire personality. He was so warm, so open, so full of simple joy. What had I done to catch his attention, to have him interested in not just my looks, but my thoughts?

I could tell he was actually eager to hear my opinion, so I focused on his question. I could imagine him as an advocate for an abused child or an aide for someone with mental illness, the only person in their whirlwind lives with the capacity to hold them down to the earth. I wrote on the whiteboard again.

“Social work?” he asked.

I applauded.

He laughed, a sound more like music than anything I made. “I’m intrigued. Okay, Kahlen, I will research this field and get back to you.” He glanced down at the cake batter, then raised the whisk and held it out to me, dripping. “Does this look right?”

I touched the whisk, then licked the batter off my finger. Akinli’s warm blue eyes held mine as sweetness spread across my tongue. It was perfect.

I gave an enthusiastic nod, and he reached to taste it himself. “Hey, not bad for my first cake, yeah?”

I grinned. Not bad at all.

I greased the pans, excited that because they were two different sizes, we were going to end up with something that looked like a tiny wedding cake.

“I don’t want to make a big deal about this or anything, but I think it’s kind of cool how you do everything you do.”

I squinted at him.

“I mean, you use sign language, and it’s hard to communicate. But you’re into art and you can seriously cook and, for goodness’ sakes, you can even jitterbug. By the way, I told my mom, and she wants a video. Totally doesn’t believe me. But, yeah, I think it’s nice that you don’t let a little hitch in life slow you down. I admire that.”

I smiled. For a minute, I admired myself, too. He didn’t know how deep my problems ran, but he was right all the same. It was no small thing to try, to find out what you cared about in life. Even this moment, with this wonderful, temporary boy beside me, was a tiny miracle. I ought to give myself some credit.

I went to write my thanks but had a hard time getting more ink out of the marker.

“Ah, I thought it might die. You wanna come by my room real quick to get another?”

Stay calm, I thought. I nodded as nonchalantly as I could.

“Awesome. It’s this way,” he said with a wave, and I followed him down the hall. “I think my roommate left for a while, so at least you’ll be spared that horror. I swear, it’s like he took lessons in how to be an ass.”

I grinned as we came upon a door with the obvious blank space where the dry-erase board should be. On two little leaves that his RA had placed on all the doors down the hall were two names: Neil Baskha and Akinli Schaefer.

Schaefer. I longed to say it out loud. The shape of the word was so pleasant in my head, I couldn’t wait to breathe it into the air. But that would have to wait until I was alone … and not distracted by the disaster that was his room.

To be fair, it was only half a disaster. It appeared that Neil’s religious practices acknowledged neither trash cans nor recycling bins. Probably so he could build that haphazard altar of Mountain Dew cans by the window. Akinli’s things seemed much homier. Instead of a store-bought comforter, he had a quilt. Instead of posters, he had pictures. Instead of beer cans, he had three bottles of Port Clyde Quencher root beer that he appeared to be saving.

He had said he was an only child, but there was a slightly older boy in a few of the shots who had the same eyes and chin. I saw his parents and one picture of him as a child holding a lobster in each hand and smiling so big I couldn’t see his eyes.

“Here we go.” He pulled out a new marker from his desk drawer, and I was drawn back from my quiet observations. “Sorry it’s kind of messy in here,” he said sheepishly, noticing my wandering eyes. “Neil … well, he’s a character.”

I smiled, trying to let him know I cared less about that than I did all the little pieces of himself I got to peek at, if only for a second.

Back in the communal kitchen, we played a game of hangman on the whiteboard between whipping up frosting and waiting for the cake to finish baking.

It was all so plain, so simple, and I was grateful for every single moment. When we managed to get both layers on—even though the top one wasn’t quite centered—and covered the whole thing in buttercream, Akinli posed dramatically in front of our creation.

“The moment of truth. Have I overcome a long and difficult season of being the worst cook in America? Kahlen, the fork, please.”

I passed it to him, picking up one myself so I could taste it, too. I didn’t want to brag, but I was sure Aisling would be impressed.

“This. Is. Amazing!” Akinli yelled, taking two more heaping forkfuls before stopping to breathe. “We cannot keep something this beautiful to ourselves. Come on.”

He picked up the plate and headed into the hall.

“Who wants cake?” he yelled.

A girl with her hair in two French braids stuck her head out of an open doorway halfway down the hall. “Me!”

Beside us someone opened his door, too. “What you hollering about, man?”

“We made cake!”

The guy’s face turned from irritated to jubilant. “Cool.”

Within minutes, half the floor had spilled out, using everything from spatulas to paper cups to get some dessert.

“I mean, I did an incredible job,” Akinli said to someone, “but it was mostly Kahlen.”

A few people patted my arm and thanked me for cooking or sharing. One girl said she liked my skirt. I wanted to burst, I felt so happy. Was this what it was like to be a normal nineteen-year-old girl? Living in a dorm, letting other peoples’ lives spill over into yours, if only for a season? Studying one thing with absolute focus while having dozens of things change around you and learning from that, too? Having a boy see you, acknowledge you in such a way that you felt sure no one had ever experienced that feeling before, all the while knowing you’d joined a long line of people who did the same dance to find the person they spent their lives with.

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