The Tantalizing Tale of Grace Minnaugh Page 4

  The brunette shook her head and sighed condescendingly. “You are seriously messed up, girlfriend.”

  The black-haired girl stepped forward and put her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Come on, Christi, leave her alone.” She turned to Grace and added, “I think your boots are really cool.”

  “Thanks,” Grace mumbled.

  “Oh, Tanya,” Christi moaned. “You’re such a nerd-lover. Let’s keep going or we’ll never make it to the pier.” She turned and walked away with a dramatic swish as if she were a runway model not an eleven-year-old girl, her long hair whipping behind her in a glorious ripple.

  Tanya shrugged. “Sorry about that. Christi can be a real jerk sometimes.”

  “Whatever. Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.” Grace fought back the hot tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

  “My name’s Tanya, by the way.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” Grace managed between sniffles. “Mine’s Grace.”

  “Well, I better go or Christi’ll lose it. Welcome to La Toya, Grace. See you around.”

  “Yeah, see ya,” Grace offered a halfhearted wave. After Tanya had caught up to Christi, Grace turned her gaze back toward the ocean. She felt a curious combination of fever and nausea. I am probably allergic to California, Grace concluded glumly, shutting her eyes against the deep blue. Grace walked over to where Stuey was working intently on an elaborate but rather lopsided sand castle. “Hey, Stuey, I’m impressed. Can I help you?”

  “Sure! You can even work on the tower if you want to. That’s the funnest part!” Stuey exclaimed, handing her a shovel.

  Grace smiled at Stuey, kissed him on the top of his curly head, and settled in next to him to work on the sandcastle’s towers. While La Toya might be home to nasty people like Christi, as long as Stuey’s hair still smelled of roses and cream cheese, Grace’s world was quite all right.

  Chapter Five: Swimming

  The days following Grace’s encounter with Christi and Tanya seemed to drag on for an eternity, with each day proving to be more boring and lonely than the one before. Walter was busy setting up his new research lab at the university, and Minerva seemed to never come out of the spare bedroom they had converted into a studio.

  “Making up for lost time,” Minerva explained, when Grace asked her why she was suddenly so driven. “And the ideas just won’t stop flowing! But if there’s something you want to do, Gracie, I’ll drop my brush right now and we can go do it.”

  But there wasn’t anything Grace wanted to do. Not in La Toya, anyway. So she shook her head and said, “Nah. Not really.”

  “We could go shopping. Get ourselves some new Californian clothes.”

  “Mom, you know I like shopping about as much as you like going to the doctor. Which is not at all.” Minerva frowned. “That’s okay, Mom. Go be a creative genius. I’m gonna go read my book.”

  And so it more or less continued through the middle of August. Walter at the lab; Minerva in the studio; Grace on her own, moping. In a bit more than a month, Grace would have to suck it up and attend La Toya Middle School, which could be a fate worse than death. What if all the kids were like haughty, hair-swishing Christi? Even if they weren’t as snobby and fashion-focused as Christi, they probably all had cell phones and social media accounts. Grace didn’t have a phone, and all the social media ‘musts’ blended in her mind into one big FaceTwitSnapGram. Maybe all the kids would be obsessed with California-ish things like surfing and sunbathing, or put avocados in their sandwiches. Grace couldn’t imagine standing up on a wobbly board and riding waves, and she would burn to a crisp if she spent too much time in the sun. As far as she was concerned, avocadoes were weird, mushy green globs that seemed more like paste than food. Maybe, just maybe, the kids would be more like Tanya, who’d been pretty nice, even though she was clearly dressed to impress and was friends with Christi. But Grace wasn’t holding her breath. La Toya Middle would probably be something to endure, not something to enjoy.

  Until the fateful first day of school arrived, Grace worked her way through the new books she’d picked up at a local bookstore she’d found while grocery shopping with her dad their second day in La Toya. Discovering the store had been one of the few bright moments in an otherwise dismal day. The store had a decent collection of comics, graphic novels, and dog-eared detective novels. Normally Grace liked to read serious books like The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett, which Mrs. Shelby had recommended, or grown-up books like Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, or even something by Charles Dickens or Jane Austen. But she felt too unsettled in La Toya to plunge into a meaty story. Instead, she bought books that didn’t require much concentration but still kept her entertained—simple kid mysteries, and big-print books based on TV comedy shows.

  Clearly she was stuck in La Toya for the time being, so Grace decided to fix up her room. With her father’s help, she pulled up the gross carpet and found a perfectly nice wood floor underneath, which she covered with her favorite fluffy sand-colored shag rug transported from Floral Park. Her mom helped her paint the walls a soothing shade of turquoise, and they hung cool vintage posters of movies like Beach Blanket Bingo and Jailhouse Rock they’d found at a flea market. Grace decided to paint the ceiling a deep blue and speckle it with glow-in-the-dark planets and stars. She covered her queen-sized bed with giant pillows in all the colors of the rainbow, and a super soft quilt, which was turquoise with dark blue swirls, to match her walls and ceiling. At night, she’d lie sprawled like a starfish in bed under the quilt and stare up at the stars, listening to the swoosh and woosh of ocean right outside her room.

  Grace spent the afternoons lounging on the beach, babysitting Stuey. Her parents agreed to pay her the same rate for Stuey-watching as Mrs. Shelby had given her for Kitty-walking. It was the least they could do, as far as Grace was concerned. While Stuey built intricate sand castles, she would entertain herself by counting how many waves washed up on shore in a single minute, write a letter to Mrs. Shelby, or read an entire Moody Judy or Amber Brown.

  Most afternoons, Grace could hear other kids down the beach laughing and shrieking as they buried each other’s body parts under mountains of sand, chased Frisbees, or fled from approaching waves as they broke on the shore. Grace wished she could join in the fun, but she had never been the type to strike up conversations with total strangers. In California it would likely be social suicide to attempt a “Hey, I’m Grace, what’s your name?” or an “I think your whale-covered boogie board is super awesome!”—so Grace did what came naturally; she kept to herself.

  Besides, she felt increasingly riveted by the ocean, that vast, salty, deep blue thing. And so in late August she started to make friends with it. Grace ventured to the beach without her boots, slowly becoming accustomed to the gritty feel of sand between her toes. Then, hand-in-hand with Stuey, she tentatively stood in the surf, letting the foamy tide wash over her feet. She discovered, to her amazement, that the wet sand felt good on the soles of her feet, and the warm waves lapping about her ankles tickled in a rather delightful way. In fact, she felt like a mangrove tree—her feet, solid roots that dug deep into the sand; her legs and torso, a thick trunk that withstood battering coastal hurricanes; her arms, the thick-leaved branches that provided a home for migrating birds. No one could knock her down or hurt her. She was solid, deep-rooted, and strong.

  By the end of the month, Grace dispensed with her normal T-shirt and shorts in favor of a new bikini her mother had bought her from a surf shop in downtown La Toya. Grace would never have chosen such a swimsuit for herself—the triangular tops were decorated with a wild green-blob-and-orange-squiggle pattern that looked like limes being attacked by cheese puffs. But since Grace had refused to take part in swimsuit shopping, she was stuck with Minerva’s choice. The bikini top wrinkled where it was supposed to puff, and the bottom puffed where it was supposed to wrinkle. Grace’s exposed tummy was so pale it looked as i
f she’d been drawn with chalk. But Grace didn’t care what she looked like; she had a mission in mind.

  While Stuey occupied himself pouring sand out of the back of a plastic truck, Grace waded knee-deep into the surf. Tentatively, she took tiny hops and giggled when she lost her balance in the current, swaying like a floppy puppet. Waves slapped her in the face, the salt water stinging her eyes and the skin behind her ears itching like mad. But who cared? Grace was having the time of her life. She wanted to go deeper. She wanted to float, weightless; to swim out toward the horizon with long, even strokes; to travel swiftly through the deep, like a dolphin; or to leap and cavort through the waves like a flying fish. But Grace’s parents would pitch a fit if she went in deep water unsupervised. She’d gotten to the Advanced Beginner Level at Floral Park’s community pool, but Grace wasn’t exactly swim-team material.

  But the ocean was calling her in a way no lake or pool or bathtub had ever called her before. So one morning—not quite two months after she had arrived in La Toya, miserable and suspicious of anything beachy—Grace sneaked out of her house before dawn to swim all alone in the deep blue sea. The beach was dark and deserted, the sand cool beneath her feet, and the stars spread out across the sky in pinpricks of light. The ocean looked like an endless black oil spill. What if she were attacked by a slimy sea monster? Or a shark took off her leg with one swift, thigh-slashing bite? Maybe she should go home, snuggle beneath her warm quilt, and forget about the whole thing. But Grace was determined to at least give ocean swimming a try. Dropping her towel to the sand, she waded into the rolling white surf, then farther out, until the water reached her waist and then her shoulders. She took a few tentative dog paddle strokes, her head held high above the water. Here I am, she thought, swimming all by myself in the dark!

  After twenty minutes of bobbing and paddling, Grace started to get cold and headed back to shore. Wrapping herself in her towel, Grace felt the skin behind her ears itch and throb. Reaching back, she felt blister-like welts that pulsed like tiny heartbeats and seemed to be getting hotter, as if they were somehow generating a strange heat of their own. She thought of her mom’s algae allergies and wondered if she was similarly affected. Maybe the same kind of algae that grew in fish tanks grew in the ocean, too. What if they burst open? Grace wondered, her heart pounding in sudden fear. Then, miraculously, as quickly as the bumps had begun to throb, they stopped, leaving loose little pouches of cool, damp skin. Grace sighed in relief as she changed out of her wet bathing suit into a warm flannel nightgown. Before climbing back into bed, she peered at the patch behind her ears in the bathroom mirror. The pouchy skin had flattened, and the bumps had disappeared, leaving a trace of redness and a slight sensitivity to the touch. This I can live with, she thought.

  Relieved and exhausted, Grace collapsed onto her bed but was too excited to sleep. She felt as revved up as a motorboat careening across the open sea. Looking up at her glow-in-the-dark stars, she thought about the real stars she’d seen twinkling above as she swam in the dark sea. Unable to sleep and excited to share her news, Grace got out her lavender paper and continued the letter she’d started the week before.

  Hi again, Mrs. S.,

  First of all, I finished Secret Garden and LOVE LOVE LOVED IT! I wish I were Mary and had a friend like Dicken. Send me any other recommendations you have for old (sorry) I mean classic books.

  The best news is that I have been swimming in the ocean all by myself in the dark! But don’t worry. I’m fine. I’m like a mean, lean swimming machine! If I could, I’d just stay in the water the whole time and never come out. But that’s impossible.

  So, I guess swimming is my first shenanigan.

  I miss you and the pets. Write back soon,

  Love,

  Grace

  Chapter Six: Real Swimming

  The sky was darker than usual. The air was oddly still, and the ocean was as smooth as ice. Grace had heard on the news the night before that a storm was due. Perhaps the spooky stillness and heavy air were just early signs of a warm front coming through later that morning. Besides, a few dark clouds are not going to scare me off, Grace thought. She had been sneaking out for pre-dawn swims for two weeks, and she was addicted. For the first time in her life, she felt that there was something—besides reading and pet sitting—that she could do really, really well. Granted, she wouldn’t be winning any trophies—after all, she was still too scared to put her head underwater, but she could glide through the water fairly effortlessly, with a smooth breast stroke and a hearty frog kick. Self-doubt no longer got in her way, and the ocean was beginning to feel like a home away from home. The mutant blisters behind her ears blew up like miniature balloons every time she swam, but they always went away when she got out of the water. And they never itched much anymore, just tingled now and again, no worse than a couple of bug bites.

  A half hour later, some distance from the beach, Grace rolled over on her back to swim like a seal, with her chin to her chest and her hands sculling by her hips. The sky above was darkly forbidding. Clearly the storm was closer than predicted, and it was time to head home. As she started to swim for shore, a massive crash of thunder roared, and a jagged bolt of lightning lit up the sky. Rain began to fall in sheets, creating pits and dimples on the surface of the ocean.

  Big mistake, dumbo, Grace said to herself. Swimming in a thunderstorm was a sure way to drown or get electrocuted, or both. She felt a surge of panic, and all confidence drained out of her body. Grace was, she knew, a plain, ordinary kid splashing around in a dangerous, potentially body- and brain-frying sea. Knowing that she could move more quickly if she swam with her head underwater, she took a deep breath and plunged forward. Opening her eyes, she could not see much of anything, and her lungs felt as if they were about to burst. Still, she was moving more rapidly through the water, so she ignored her pounding heart and prickly fear and kept on swimming.

  The bumps behind Grace’s ears began to throb, pounding against the sides of her head like drumsticks beating a steady rhythm, fwump, fwump, fwump. An excruciating pressure built up in her skull as the blisters pulsed with increasing heat. Grace worried that they might explode, but she couldn’t afford to stop. Taking a quick gasp of air, she saw, to her relief, that the beach was only a few strokes away. Just a quick sprint up the beach and she would be home.

  Grace stuck her head underwater for the final push, her arms paddling madly and her legs kicking furiously. Her lungs felt as if they were on fire. Suddenly the bumps behind her ears ripped open like zippers giving way to the pressure of an overstuffed suitcase. She could feel water surging through the cavities behind her ears, and the pain in her chest disappeared. Astonished, Grace felt behind her ears—smooth, undulating feathery flaps of skin had replaced the bumps, and water passed through them, in and out, in and out. Okay, now I’ve done it—I’m gonna die of algae poisoning, she thought.

  As if the bizarre flaps behind her ears weren’t strange enough, Grace’s legs and feet began to throb and pulse, then they inexplicably fused together! Her bikini bottom ripped apart, hanging around her hips like a hula skirt. Her skin turned to scales as her feet and toes stretched like Silly Putty. Grace’s body from waist to toes formed an elongated, blue-scaled, muscular mass, like the tail of a dragon. Where her feet had been just a moment ago was now a webbed, fanned fishtail.

  Stupefied, Grace stared down at her body—she had turned into a mermaid! Events this outrageous happened only in books or movies, or maybe on one of Stuey’s Saturday morning cartoon shows. But this was happening to her, and it was a nightmare! Grace lifted her head out of the water, opened her mouth, and let out a gurgling, bubbling howl. As soon as she took a huge breath of air, the skin flaps on her neck closed with a smacking suction, and a ticklish drilling sensation shot down the center of her uni-leg, separating her flesh back into two furiously kicking human parts.

  Grace was suddenly back to normal.

  Meanwhile,
the thunderstorm had passed, and Grace could see the sun peeking up behind the cliffs. The sky was clearing, with patches of blue sky amid cotton candy clouds. The ocean was once again a calm, endless pool. Gasping, Grace tread water, trying to slow her pounding heart, her thoughts racing frantically. Maybe I was hallucinating, she thought. Too much sugar last night? Or maybe the trauma of putting my head underwater just wigged me out. Or not?

  Nervously, Grace took a deep breath, then again submerged her head underwater. She counted. Ten seconds, fifteen seconds, twenty seconds—her lungs started to tighten, her cheeks inflated like a desperate trumpet player’s—thirty seconds, forty seconds—Grace’s face turned crimson, and she had to fight the impulse to bring her head out of the water. Then it happened. At forty-three seconds, the vacuuming sensation rippled down her legs, and the strange flaps popped behind her ears. Grace repeated her experiment three times. By the third time, she was changing from girl to fish-freak to girl in quick ten-second intervals. Maybe this was not quite the worst day of Grace’s life, but it was certainly the weirdest.

  Grace swam the rest of the way to shore with her head held high out of the water. What would her parents think? Walter and Minerva both hated the water. Walter swam like a hissing cat thrown into a backyard pool, and Minerva had that awful allergic reaction to algae. They would be horrified to discover that Grace was not just their daughter, the girl, but also their daughter, the mermaid. While Grace was excited-terrified about this discovery, her parents might consider Grace’s new fish-like features to be dangerous mutations. What if they insisted on subjecting her to all sorts of tests and dietary restrictions? What if they wouldn’t let her back in the water? The more Grace thought about it, the more convinced she became that it would be better to keep this discovery entirely to herself for the time being.

  Grace wondered if other people like her existed in the world. Was she now an oddity? A mutant? A freak? Like Teddy Burdine, the pharmacist in Floral Park, who had one blue eye and one brown? Or her uncle Lou, who had a tiny extra toe flapping uselessly at the end of his foot? Grace felt that she must be even weirder than Teddy or Uncle Lou. Weirder, but also way cooler. After all, didn’t Grace’s oddness make her a bona fide fantastical creature? As Grace’s toes touched the sandy seafloor, a new problem became apparent. Her bathing suit bottom hung in shreds from her hips—she was naked from the waist down. Fortunately, it was still too early for the usual joggers and dog walkers, so Grace raced up the sand, grabbed her beach towel, and wrapped it around her waist. It was turning out to be quite some end of summer. Grace could only imagine what the school year would bring.