My head aches when I wake, but at least I no longer wake disoriented, thinking I’m in the Seadom. The dim light of the tank is almost comforting now. The bed of Niku’s scars. The knowledge that I’ll see my favorite landfolk soon.
I’m floating in half-sleep when something bangs on the side of the tank. “Wake up. Breakfast time.”
That isn’t Finn’s voice. I glance over Niku’s back to find Sergio staring back at me. Yesterday’s events wash over me in a rush. Finn isn’t coming back. Not until he frees me.
Sergio bangs again. “I know you understand me. Get up.”
I put one finger up in the same gesture I’ve seen Finn give Niku before.
“God-fucking-dam—” Sergio is cut off when Jen enters, looking almost as broken as Huron.
“Morning, Erie, Niku.” Her voice is void of emotion, simply repeating the same morning mantra she always says. “How are you feeling, Erie?”
That’s different. No one’s asked me how I feel before. “My head hurts,” I say, wondering why it matters.
Jen glances at Sergio. “Do you have any fish aspirin?”
“There’s no such thing. Fish don’t feel pain.”
“Is that so?” She points at me. “Erie just said her head hurt.”
“Why don’t you call up Pfizer and let them know? I’m sure there’s a huge market for fish aspirin.”
“What’s ‘pfizer’?” I ask, mostly so they’ll stop glaring at each other. And so they’ll stop calling me a fish. I hated Finn and Jen’s touchy-feely relationship, but this is worse.
“Don’t worry about it, Erie,” Jen says.
Sergio grabs the bucket of fish. “She’ll be fine once she eats and starts moving.”
Jen grabs the bucket from him, then scowls deeper. “What the hell—did you grab the oldest fish you could? Erie won’t eat this.”
“It’s fish.”
“She’s picky.”
“She’ll eat it when she gets hungry enough.”
“Trust me, she won’t.”
Tides, I hate it when they talk about me like I can’t understand them. Sergio rolls his eyes when Jen leaves with the bucket, and when she returns, she walks past him without a word, climbing the stairs to the platform.
Neek and I eat, and they let us into the practice tank to warm up and run through the routine. Yesterday, I was worried the landfolk wouldn’t like me, but today, I’m worried I won’t be able to find Finn. I know he said he’d be watching even if I couldn’t see him, but I need to see him. I need to know he hasn’t abandoned me. My chest clenches at the thought.
As soon as Sergio lets me into the arena, I swim to the surface, searching the crowd for the sand-and-ocean combo of Finn’s skin. There are several landfolk with similar skins—some even have black hair—but the only one who raises his arm in a wave is in the very back corner of the stands.
“Finn!” I wave back, and he cups his hands around his mouth and says something I cannot hear, but that I imagine as, “Good morning, sweetness.”
And I know everything will be okay.
Finn is in the same corner for the next few days. I wave to him before every show, and actually enjoy performing for the audience once I get used to the noise. At home, no one noticed me, the youngest in a long line of daughters, stuck in the castle with my little room of shells, but here, I’m the center of attention and everyone loves me, including Finn. As long as he’s in the corner, I can smile wide, jump high, and get through the rest of the day knowing that I’ll see him again the next morning.
On the fifth day, I surface and beam at his corner, but he’s not there. My gaze slides across the audience, trying to find him, but no one raises their hand in hello. No one says, “Good morning, beautiful.”
Finn said he’d watch every performance. He promised. Is he hurt? Is someone keeping him from me? Did Corporate ‘fired’ him for good? I swim from one side of the arena to the other before turning to Jen. “Where’s Finn?”
She puts a finger to her lips and bends down, speaking low. “I’m sure he’ll be here, but we need to start.”
“We can’t start yet—”
Jen shakes her head and stands, finger over her lips before she drops it to smile at the audience and start the show. What’s wrong with her? We can’t do the show without Finn.
Niku bumps my hand with his nose. “What’s wrong?”
“Finn isn’t here.”
“It sounds like Jen’s starting. We better go.”
“I can’t do the show without him.” He has to show up. Maybe when he hears Jen introduce us, he’ll know it’s time. Maybe he forgot what time it was.
Niku bumps me, and I realize I’ve missed our cue. Jen repeats herself, “Ladies and gentlemen: Iodine and Cadmium!”
We jump, and I glance at the corner: no Finn. It’s okay. He’ll be there to say hello by the time I greet the audience. He has to be.
I swim to the middle of the tank and poke my head out, glancing at the empty corner before I say good morning to Jen.
“Good morning, Io. Do you want to say hello to the audience?”
Not if Finn’s gone, but I turn and wave and still don’t see him. “Good morning, everyone.”
The audience is just as excited as ever, oblivious to the crucial missing piece of the show. Once they say hello back, I move out of the way for Niku to do his part. The entire time we race and jump, I glance at Finn’s corner, but he never shows up.
When Jen says, “Who’s ready for a show?” I almost reply with, “Fuck that.” Even if I had, the cheers of the audience would have drowned me out.
The music starts, and I still can’t see Finn. He’s not coming. Despair burns inside my stomach, and I push myself to work it out of my system. I push so hard my tailfin brushes a wall before a turn. When I jump, I look for the ocean. The blue water winks back at me, tempting, so I jump higher and higher, trying to fill my sight with the ocean.
Ocean. Ocean. Ocean.
I don’t realize I’ve jumped too far until I glance down and see the platform rising to meet me.