Soon this wil be nothing but a bad memory.

“The change won’t get too bad in one night,” I explain. “If you start to feel dried out, drink a glass of salt water. And if it gets real y bad, take a salt bath.”

“Okay… .” Brody sounds like he’s stil in shock, and I can’t blame him.

“Don’t worry,” I say, “it’l al be over before you know it.” He scowls, like he wants to argue with me. He doesn’t get the chance.

The kitchen door swings open.

“Hey, I saw the light on—” Quince steps into the kitchen and, in a repeat of Aunt Rachel’s earlier reaction, freezes on the spot. “What happened?”

“Hey, Fletcher,” Brody says with a grin. “I’m turning into a merman. How cool is that?”

“Brody,” I growl.

“Oh, sorry,” he says. “Did he not already know?”

“He did,” I say through clenched teeth, “but—”

“Then it’s no big deal.”

“Lily?” Quince sounds a little nervous. Or jealous.

“Don’t look at me,” I say, pointing at Doe. “I’ve learned my Brody lesson.”

“Dosinia,” he says, sounding like a disappointed father.

Doe rol s her eyes.

Just wait until my father hears what happened.

“I don’t know about you kids,” Aunt Rachel says, “but I’m famished. Who wants pizza?”

Everyone but Doe does. I’m so angry about her stunt, I forget about her human education. She can starve for al I care.

While we’re waiting for Lorenzo’s to deliver, I fix Brody a glass of salt water and focus al my energy on thinking positive thoughts about the quick trip to Thalassinia. I don’t have time for things to go awry like last time. I real y don’t.

“Why do you think she did it?” Quince asks.

I look at him, barely making out his features in the waning moonlight. Two feet is too far away, so I scoot across the worn planks of his front porch until our shoulders touch.

“I have no idea,” I final y say. “Who knows why she does anything? She’s a toadfish who doesn’t care about consequences.”

A strong arm wraps around my shoulder and tugs me closer against his side. “I’m sure she has her reasons.” I sigh. “That’s what I’m worried about.” Losing your parents at a young age must lead to al sorts of behavioral issues. Her parents died in an awful fishing-boat accident when she was nine, and she’s been a bit of a rebel ever since. Doe always does whatever she wants to do, for reasons that make sense only to her. Maybe if I’d known Mom for a few years before that drunk driver hit her, I might be the one with a rebel ious streak. Thankful y, I have Daddy and Aunt Rachel.

I can’t fathom what would make her human-hating self actual y and knowingly bond with one, though. Why? She’s not exactly the sharing type, so I’l probably never know the answer.

“That doesn’t make what she did any less wrong,” I say, laying my head on Quince’s shoulder. “She didn’t give Brody a choice.”

I stare out toward the street, toward the thick green grass Quince mows every weekend, the cracked sidewalk and the smal hibiscus bush trying to consume his mailbox.

What I see, though, is the mental image of Doe’s wel -

kissed lips, and me swimming home with Brody. Hopeful y by this time tomorrow night the whole thing wil be a memory.

“She’s not completely lost, you know,” Quince final y says.

“She’s just trying to find her way.”

He has tons more sympathy for Doe than I have. He didn’t grow up with her. He wasn’t the focus of most of her tantrums and pranks. He can’t possibly understand.

“She’s old enough to know better.”

“I know you two have a history,” he says. “But I think she wants your respect.”

“My respect?” I rol my eyes as far back as humanly—or mermaidly—possible. “She has never done anything to earn my respect.”

He faces me, his blue eyes steady. “Maybe she’s never thought she had a chance of getting it.” His free hand finds mine in the almost-darkness, and he twines his fingers through mine. “Maybe you need to open the door a crack.” I look away. He can’t be serious. If Doe ever wanted my respect—and that is a Great Barrier Reef–size if—then she would have shown me respect, too. Instead, she treated me like sea slime.

“It’s not that easy,” I say.

“You’re the princess, Lily,” Quince says, his voice low and gentle. “How should a princess deal with Dosinia?” I almost say, “I’m not a princess for very much longer,” but I don’t. Because he’s right. Until midnight on my birthday, I am the princess. I have a responsibility to my kingdom, to my family, and to Doe to figure out how to get through to her.

If I don’t, things wil only get worse from here.

With a deep breath that pushes away al the history between me and Doe, I turn and lean toward Quince until our foreheads meet. So close I can feel him breathe.

“How do you always know just what to say?” I ask.

His laugh rumbles through me. “Practice, I guess.” I pul back and give him a quizzical look.

“I spent three years imagining what I would say to you if you were mine,” he says, tugging me back close. “I should hope I know what to say now that I’ve got you.”