I pul out one of the chairs at the kitchen table and half sink, half col apse onto the wooden seat. “He’s not coming back.”

“Doesn’t look like it, sweetie,” she says, taking the chair next to me and laying her hand over mine. “Not right away, anyway. He’l come home eventual y.”

I can’t believe he is this angry about everything. I mean, I’m not asking him to give anything up or make any sacrifices, and the ones I’m making are my choices. No one forced me to love him and live on land. It’s just the only thing that makes sense.

“I’m sure he needs some time to digest the situation,” she suggests.

“I don’t have time,” I tel her. “I have to go home this afternoon for the final fitting of my dress and to go over the last-minute party details with Margarite. How can I leave like this? When he’s not even speaking to me?”

“You wil because you have to.” She squeezes my hand.

“You are the royal princess of Thalassinia, and you wil do what needs to be done.”

Yeah, I’m the princess. For two more days, anyway.

“Can you—” I begin. “If he comes back, wil you—?” Aunt Rachel must understand my mangled meaning, because she says, “When he comes home, I’l send you a messenger gul .”

“Thank you.”

Messenger gul s are usual y used to send messages from the mer world to our kin on land, but there are always a few hanging out at every pier, just in case a land-based merperson needs to send a message home. Aunt Rachel knows how to cal them.

At least I won’t have to spend my time at home constantly worrying if Quince is back or not. Until I receive that message, I’l know he’s stil gone.

“I’m going to go finish the last of my homework,” I say, pushing away from the table without a second glance at the bag of doughnuts. “Shannen’s coming by later to pick it up.

She’s taking me to lunch before I head home.” Aunt Rachel just nods sadly.

I trudge back upstairs and open my trig textbook, only to stare blankly at the page of homework problems for the next few hours. Not even the warmth of Prithi’s furry weight on my toes lifts my spirits. She’s only returning her attentions to me because Doe locked her out.

I’m stil zoned out over my unfinished homework when the phone rings. My heart pounds. I’m out of my chair, sending Prithi scurrying under my bed, and at my door in an instant, jerking so hard it bounces against the wal and back into my shoulder.

“I’ve got it!” I shout down the stairs as I dash across the hal to grab the cal . I pant, “Hel o?”

“Lily,” a woman’s voice says, “it’s Miss Molina.”

“Miss Mo—” I start to ask her why she’s cal ing, but then I know. “Oh, no,” I whisper. “Not again.”

The interview. Which was supposed to be yesterday. The one I’d total y forgotten in the middle of al my personal drama.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, even though I know it’s inadequate. “I real y meant to go, right after the SATs, but things have been kind of crazy around here lately and I had this huge fight with my boyfriend, which isn’t real y an excuse, I know, but I was so preoccupied and—”

“Lily.” Her serious tone stops my babble midbab. “I understand that you have a lot going on right now. Most students do.”

I sense a big, giant-squid-sized but coming.

“But,” she says, “I wonder if there is a reason you have missed both of your interview appointments.”

“There is,” I explain. “I real y wanted to go—”

“Did you?”

“I—” What does she mean? “Of course I did.”

“I know your decision to attend col ege is a recent one,” she says. “Maybe, I don’t know, maybe you stil aren’t certain.”

“What do you mean?”

I hear her take a deep breath. “Maybe you don’t real y want to go to col ege. Maybe you’re sabotaging your chances so the decision is made for you.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She has no idea what’s real y going on, and it’s not like I can explain it to her. “I do want to go to col ege. Real y, I do.”

“If this kind of irresponsible behavior is uncharacteristic, maybe your subconscious is trying to tel you something.”

“It’s not,” I insist. “Real y! I’ve just had a crazy week.”

“I want you to think about it,” she says, gently but firmly. “If you are stil committed to the decision two weeks from now, I wil see about arranging another interview.”

“I don’t need to think about it.” I know I sound desperate, but this is like the final kelp strand that broke the sea horse’s back. Just one thing too many swirling out of my control. “I swear, it’s just—”

“Two weeks,” she states. “I’l see you in school tomorrow.”

“But—”

She’s gone before I can tel her that I won’t be in school tomorrow. Great—that wil probably just reassure her that I don’t real y even want to be in school, let alone go to col ege.

I slam the phone back down on the base.

That’s so unfair. She has no clue what’s going on. How can she pretend to guess what my subconscious is thinking?

“Why does everything seem to be spiraling out of control?” I ask no one in particular.