Chapter 14

elliot

The rain is so heavy against my windshield that I can hardly see. But, the thought of being still is enough to make me drive. Because, when I’m driving, I at least have something to focus on. The road is absolute shit, with thunder that booms so loud that my car rattles, but at least I’m not thinking.

Alyssa’s tail. She has a tail.

There’s this road that winds alongside a rocky part of the beach, used mainly by tourists for its pleasant scenery. The pavement is uneven, though, and it forces me to go even slower as I manoeuvre through the tight twists and loose turns. I’ve done this before—come out here to drive, to think, to process.

I don’t remember stopping, but at some point, I do. The rain doesn’t beat a steady rhythm, instead seeming to fall in giant clatter all at once. I do my best to ignore it at first, to think through it, even though my fingers do their best to drum along to the sporadic clammer.

Alyssa. A mermaid. Mermaids are real, I guess? I feel like I should be more surprised. I should probably be more surprised. Whenever we would visit, up nearly all the way until the end, Tita was always talking about the things beyond what we can see. Mom usually cut her off before she got too far, saying she wasn’t not in touch with reality anymore.

Of course, I knew it was true—Alzheimers was terrifying to watch, especially from overseas, where Tita had moved back with my aunt not long after I was born. You see someone for a stressful forty-five minutes and they know your name, and the next year, they won’t stop humming lullabies you vaguely recognise, unless they’re stopping to tell you about how their little baby sister is due in a month. Tita thought she was twelve. She thought she was my age at the time, and she got frustrated when I couldn’t keep up with her fast-paced Spanish. After she began screaming at me, we left. And that trip, she didn’t mention anything about the little magics she claimed to see day to day.

It was so easy to overlook everything that Tita said. Mom would get really flustered and upset, and then Tía Silva and she would get into a fight about Tita’s fragile state, and Dad and I would just sit there while Tita continued to ramble to me, like there was no fighting. I don’t remember any specific stories, but her voice had this enchanting lilt to it, this enthralling softness. I don’t think she ever mentioned mermaids, though.

Mom would usually win the argument, at the cost of our leaving early. I used to just sit back and stay silent, would match Tita’s eye roll with an appeasing smile, but now? Maybe Tita never mentioned mermaids, but between my mother’s line of reasoning and my grandmother’s, one is suddenly a whole lot more viable.

It feels strange to me how not-strange this whole thing feels, but I guess it’s maybe better being super whacked-out. Somehow.

My fingers keep spazzing out. I can’t think. This is too weird. Maybe not disgustingly weird, but weird nonetheless. I take out my phone and consider calling Neema or Duncan, but I’m pretty sure that they’re going on a date or something. There’s a quaint little drive-in about forty-five minutes from here, and I think they were pretty dead set on going to see “Back to the Future II” or something. They’re probably in the middle of an extreme dork-out session or something. Or makeout. I don’t even care.

I need to unwind. Where can I unwind?

There’s nowhere to go in Hulhazy. That’s why, most nights, you can find parties dotted up and down private parts of the beach, or large groups of people just randomly parked around town, staring over the edges of cliffs and at small grassy knolls. So, when one looks for some place to go, some place to really go, there’s really one option, a temporary stop in the journey to practically nowhere.

The Cumm-n-Gitt.

The Cumm-n-Gitt, perhaps named for some owner long-since-forgotten, or as some incredibly random joke no one quite gets but still kinda appreciates, is our one proper convenience store in Hulhazy. We don’t have a Target or a Costco, and we have a Walmart, but it’s disgusting and reeks of urine and lies. Walmart is for the adults. All we sensible teens have is the old C-n-G. It’s quite literally our one staple. Adults can have their cheap savings. We have weird jokes.

The rain is still incessantly pounding as I peel away from the side of the road, brights lit up against the sheet of infinite water, and I turn up my music. Some random Lumineers song is on the album I swiped from Duncan’s little brother, but I can hardly focus on it.

It’s good to drive in the rain to, though, so that’s nice. It’s soothing. Between the rain and the acoustic chords and the sudden addition of faint thunder rumbling softly in the distance, I realize my chest has loosened, and my heart has slowed down. Maybe too much, actually. Everything moves in slow motion, my pulse dully sloshing inside my chest.

Even though the downpour is unceasing, it’s still a struggle finding a parking space in the Cumm-n-Gitt lot. I’ve hardly ever seen it not-busy. There are always too many teens in there to count, especially during the summer, when college students who managed to leave the Front but couldn’t afford to stay away in the out-season decide that what will make them cool is lingering around the side, sitting on the cement and smoking the occasional cigarette.

I end up having to park on the gravel, because there aren’t enough spaces. I notice the SUV next to me, slick and shining in the rain.

Brooklin’s car. Oh joy.

By the time I’ve made it in, my hair is plastered to my forehead and the chill of the rain has sunken deep into my bones. I shift my wet hair back up on my forehead, trying to look nonchalant.

I don’t see the swim team girls, but I hate that there’s a part of me that’s dreading seeing them. Why? They’re my friends. It should be fine.

They’re homophobes, Jace says in the back of my head. Everyone knows why you quit the swim team, El. Homophobes.

I want to argue back, but arguing back against a voice in my head seems kinda pointless.

There are two cashier stations, but there’s only one cashier on shift tonight. His name is Norm Brody, and he’s probably the only person on the school chess team. I only know him from constantly seeing him with a couple people in the hallways at school and his cashier station here at the Cumm-n-Gitt, but I don’t know if we ever talk. He waves at me, though, and it’s not unwelcome.

“Hey,” I call over. He grins.

“Hey, Elliot,” he says. I walk towards him, albeit self-consciously. I always feel self-conscious, though; I absolutely detest the way my body moves, the way it saunters awkwardly, my limbs too lengthy, my shoulders too broad and my hips too narrow.

I don’t know why I walked over here. I probably shouldn’t have. “Hey, man, how’s your summer going?”

His grin is lopsided, but surprisingly contagious. “Not bad. Yours?”

“It’s—”

“Ohmygod, Elliot, hi.” I freeze.

I turn and see Taf and Brooklin and Chlo, all in loose rain jackets with soaked ponytails, faces gleaming with droplets of water in the bright lights of the Cumm-n-Gitt. “Hey, guys,” I say, but I can tell how unnaturally strained it sounds. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Taf says coolly, and I suddenly hate the way she looks up at me from beneath her eyelashes. “Just grabbing some cashews.”

“Which I can’t even have,” Chlo mutters.

“Not our fault you can’t stand nuts,” Brooklin bites back.

I shift, aware that next to me, Norm has shifted his gaze to the counter before him. I can hear him gently drumming his fingertips against the counter. “Um, that’s cool,” I say as the three of them stare at me. It’s weird how dead yet vicious their eyes are. Like, how can you be so empty and yet so hungry at the same time? I don’t understand it.

“I can’t believe we’re seeing youuuu,” Taf says, smiling like I should care.

Huh. Like I should care.

Homophobes, Jace whispers.

“Yeah,” I say. “Um, I’m gonna go, though. I gotta grab some stuff, and then get home.”

“Oh?” Chlo asks. “You have somewhere to be?”

I squint. Is she joking? “Yeah, Chlo. I do.” It’s a lie, but you know what? Fuck her, honestly.

Taf and Brooklin both side-eye her. “Chill out, Chlo,” says Taf, and I think about how Jace was so sure they were homophobic. After being completely ignored by her these past few months, how well do I actually know her? Jace, who dated her for that time—what if he knows her better?

I don’t like that. I don’t like that he might be right about them, and, more importantly, how they feel about me.

“You know,” I tell her with a voice that isn’t mine and a heartbeat that seems nonexistent, “I don’t think it’s cool what was put up about Jace on the Insta.”

Chlo cocks her head. “What? I didn’t see it.”

I don’t know what to say in response to that. I know it’s bullshit—out of all the girls, Chlo and Amber S. live the most for that account. I’m sure Amber is the one who did the posting, now that I think about it. “Okay. Well. See you guys.”

They stay silent as I walk by them, but Taffy grabs me. “You should hang out with us again.”

I just stare down at her.

Brooklin and Chlo walk towards the dark entrance, casting weirded-out looks back, and Taf lowers her voice. “I hope you’re thinking about coming back, El.” Her voice goes practically silent, perfectly under her breath. She smirks beneath the light, a couple drops of rainwater running down from her ponytail. “Okay.” She squeezes my arm like it’s some kind of done deal, and I try to smirk back.

I’m so glad when she leaves.

Norm is still drumming his fingers on the counter when the bell of the door sounds. And I swear, his shoulders sag with relief. “I didn’t realize you were still hanging out with those guys,” he says, looking up at me from behind the rims of his thick, black Raybans.

“I’m not,” I say without thinking. “Um, not really.”

He doesn’t seem convinced. “Okay. Because, well, they’re just so….”

I wait patiently for him to say something.

“Sucky,” he finishes.

I snort, and he seems surprised by it. “Um, so,” he says, “how has your summer been?”

“Dull?” I say, but I don’t really mean it. I met a mermaid today. I carried her into my car, through the pouring rain, and laid her down in bed. That’s when I realize it: I can’t get Alyssa’s sleeping face out of my head.

The realisation makes my whole body temperature rise about a hundred degrees. “Same here,” Norm says. “It’s all work, work, work. Do you know how many kids come in here? It’s a lot. Speaking of, do you have any siblings? I know you’re big on the swim team—”

“Not anymore,” I say, “but go on.”

“Oh, I thought—” He shakes his head, and his mess of wiry brown curls bounce. “Nevermind. But, um, do you have any siblings? Because, I’m now the only kid in chess club, and it kinda sucks.”

“Sorry. Only child.”

Norm’s smile is chill and understanding. “Hey, it’s Gucci. I might as well be an only child with how cooperative my siblings are.”

“Oof, so not even any younger siblings to forcibly indoctrinate?” I ask.

He laughs, even though it sounds more like a snort. A series of snorts, strung together in a completely random way. A not-music kind of music. “Nah, got a brother our age, and a sister as a sophomore. And yet both of them refuse to join. Get Rick-rolled, Norm.”

I laugh lightly. He seems pretty pleased with himself because of it. “You should add me on Snap or something, dude.”

He perks up immediately. “Yeah, okay. I-I don’t have Snapchat, but … yes. I shall track down your email. School email.”

I aim finger guns at him. “Sounds hella good, dude.”

He smiles, and I trudge off, wondering where the energy and coherency to converse came from. I just am not myself today. For better or for worse, I guess.

–

My parents are in the living room when I get home, and even though they don’t look at me when I stagger through the front door, rain dripping from the ends of my absolutely sopping hair and off my plastic Cumm-n-Gitt bag, they both wave in such perfect synchronization that it almost feels practiced.

“Heyo,” my dad says, his arm over my mom’s shoulders. Some documentary show about food somewhere in the world is on the TV, playing probably too loudly. We have an ongoing joke that my dad can’t hear anything he wants to hear and everything he doesn’t want to (mainly coworkers’ farts). This volume somehow only increases my belief in the theory.

I bend down to untie my shoes and emit my own echo of a “Heyo.” I’ve always had some weird thing about leaving my sneakers tied, some strange belief that I’ll break the backs of my shoes and then have sore feet for the rest of my life. I don’t remember exactly where it came from, but the ritual of it is more soothing than bothersome at this point. Like, I can’t imagine not untying my laces.

Beneath the coffee table, Bader thumps his tail against the ground. He only makes an effort to be sociable when my dad is around. Otherwise, you have to seek him out. It’s literally a scavenger hunt to find him when I get off work so he can pee.

Oh shit. I didn’t let him out today.

“How was your day?” Dad asks. Mom pauses the show. Shit shit shit, do they know?

Great. Now the attention is officially on Elliot. “It was okay,” I say. “I didn’t do … too much? I guess?”

“Work got called off early, huh?” Mom says, shifting dark bangs away from her face. Her features look soft in the yellow light of the lamp on our couchside table. “What did you do all day?”

I freeze. Aside from carrying fish girls around and abusing my poor obese old-man dog? “What do you mean?”

“Did you hang out with Duncan and Neema?” she says coolly, but I can hear a stronger trace of accent, a more musical lilt than usual—and the accent? It means she already knows the answer. This is a test. A test she is all-too-prepared for me not to pass.

“No,” I say, because it’s better to be honest in times like these. Neither of their expressions change. Dad is still seemingly miffed, whilst Mom is hard as rock. “I ended up talking to my new coworker.”

Dad now raises his brows. “New coworker?”

“What’s his name?” Mom asks.

“Her name is Alyssa,” I say. “She just moved here. Figured I would get to know her a little bit.”

“Get to know her a little bit,” Dad echoes. Next to him, Mom shifts uncomfortably.

I try to keep my expression blank—they’ll take anything I do, any slight shift, and exacerbate it. There’s nothing I think I’m keeping from them, but you can never tell. There have been too many times where I feel alone in my own house, and it’s absolutely insane. Somedays, I hate it here. And I really do not need this to be one of those days.

“Yeah,” I say, voice as even as possible, “get to know her a little bit. Why?”

They both seem a little incredulous. “Well, that’s new for you,” Mom says. I hate the snark in her voice. There’s nothing she can do about it, based on past behaviours, but I still wish it wasn’t so.

“Thanks, Mom,” I bite back, light and fragile.

Dad sits forward, placing his hands on his knees. “So, what do you think of her? Is she nice? Eh? Totally blah?”

“She’s pretty alright,” I say after a moment’s hesitation. “Like, I didn’t get to know her too well, but … yeah.”

The kitchen timer goes off, stalling my interrogation. “Well,” Mom says, leaping up and clapping her hands, “we were feeling lazy tonight, so we made some pizza, and then we’ll watch a movie. We feeling The Crucible or no?”

“Ugh, Mom, do I really have to watch a movie today?” I know they won’t like this, but the thought of being here, of fending off jabs and questions, is just too much. Alyssa’s tail; Alyssa’s closed eyes; Alyssa’s mouth pulled in a tight, painful line—they won’t stop flashing in my head. I just can’t help it. Today, it’s just too much. I need an everyone break.

Dad turns his show back up as Mom freezes between the couch and the kitchen door. “Yes. You’re watching a movie with us.”

“Dad—”

“You’re gonna watch Daniel Day Lewis die, and you are going to love it,” Mom says. “Now, go wash your filthy hands.”

“You know,” Dad says as mom turns off the kitchen timer, looking at me finally, “we don’t see much of you anymore. It’s almost as if we don’t know you. You’re a complete stranger, Elliot.”

I awkwardly shift from side to side. “Sorry. Just … I’m really tired.”

He narrows his eyes, a look I know I have all too often. “You’re fine. You’re gonna eat, you’re gonna shower, and then you’re gonna watch Winona Rider grab some crotches.”

I try and smile before plopping down onto the floor and stroking Bader, who lucks up at me with sad eyes that say I had to pee. I press my nose against his scruff and give him an apology hug before pulling away and saying, “Okay, Dad.”

He smiles back. And continues to watch his show. Which is fine—more than fine.

Not talking? Absolutely fucking perfect.