I just never thought she was trying not to care. I thought she really didn’t.

“Doe,” I say quietly, “not caring won’t protect you from pain. You can’t stop yourself from—”

“I know, okay?” she snaps, accidentally scratching her quill across the half-finished invitation. “Damselfish.” She sets the quill down and takes a deep breath. “I know I can’t not care about stuff. About people. I screwed up that plan when I fell for Brody.”

“So why?” I ask. “Why do you keep acting like that?”

“I don’t know,” she answers. “Habit, maybe? I’ve been pretending things didn’t matter for so long, I guess it’s hard to start accepting that they do.”

She looks up at me, half a smile in place.

“I’m trying,” she says.

“You’re doing great,” I insist. “It’ll probably take some practice, is all.”

“Well, I’m getting plenty of that.” She gestures at the invitations in process, scattered over the table. “Between you and Brody and saving the mer world from itself and humans, I’m learning a lot about caring.”

“Yeah, you—” I jerk back, realizing what she just said. “Wait, did you just say you cared about me?”

Her eyes widen, and she looks like she wants to deny it. Then, realizing she can’t take it back, she sighs. “Yes. I suppose I did.”

“Doe!” I squeal.

Jumping up from my chair, I rush around the table and pull her into a big hug.

“You love me,” I blurt. “Admit it!”

She sighs again. Then, reluctantly, she lifts her arms and returns my hug. “Yes,” she whispers, like she’s afraid someone will overhear. “I love you.”

I squeeze her tighter. “I love you too, cousin.”

Lord love a lobster, if someone told me just a few weeks ago that Doe and I would be hugging and exchanging I-love-yous over Aunt Rachel’s kitchen table, I’d have told them to stop eating the fermented sea urchin.

Prithi meows from under the table.

“And we love you, Prithi,” I say, scooping the cat up into my arms. She gives me a look that says “Die, half-human!” and then strains for Doe.

“Good news?” Aunt Rachel asks, rubbing a towel over her wet hair as she walks back into the kitchen.

Doe blushes as she takes the cat from me.

I don’t want to push her too hard into the direction of publicly admitting to caring about anything, so I save her the embarrassment by saying, “Just . . . cousin stuff.”

Aunt Rachel smiles, like that answer tells her everything she needs to know. She reads people really well, so she probably knows exactly what I mean.

“You girls almost done?” she asks. “The pizza should be here any—”

The doorbell rings.

“Ah, there it is.” Aunt Rachel grabs the money off the counter.

“We’re almost done,” I say. “Just a couple more.”

I reach for the green kelpaper and start on the two personal messages I want to send.

“Finish up and meet me in the living room,” she says. “We can watch TV while we gorge.”

Doe goes back to writing the text of the invitation. I compose my letters, still amazed at the change in Doe recently. Part of it, I know, is her growing up. But another part of it is her feelings for Brody. Loving him—and getting over her hate for humans—is making her a better mergirl.

“I never thought I’d say this,” I say, “but I’m really glad you kissed Brody.”

She looks up and scowls at me, like maybe I’m going nuts. Maybe I am.

“I’m just getting sentimental in my old age,” I tell her. “Watch out, because soon I’ll be crying in my cereal every morning. And now that you’ve started caring about things, you’re next.”

The horrified look on her face is a joke. Mostly. But I know I’m right. Because once you start caring about something, it gets harder and harder to stop.

Chapter 21

The stench of chlorine in the air makes me choke a little as I emerge from the locker room. They must have treated the pool really recently.

I shake off the discomfort. A little allergic reaction is a small price to pay if my plan works.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Brody asks. He waves the video camera at me.

“Yes,” I say, feeling more certain than maybe I should.

Shannen juggles the pieces of poster board that contain the words of the speech we wrote together.

I tug the beach towel tighter around my chest. I feel like this is the right thing to do, but it goes against every secrecy instinct I’ve been taught since birth.

Of course, that’s what I’m counting on. That I’m not the only one who will feel this way, that every other mer king and queen—except Dumontia, apparently—has the same instinct.

“You’re sure you don’t want me in the shot too?” Doe asks.

“No,” I say. “You’re living on land now. I don’t want you exposed if this all goes wrong. Besides . . .” I turn to the mergirls on either side of me. “I’ve got all the help I need.”

Peri nods, her chestnut hair falling in silken waves over her shoulders. She tends to keep to the oceans, so I’m really glad she came.

“We’re glad we can help, Princess,” Astria says.