The Golden Mermaid

𝒔𝒊𝒙

When Dad knocks on my door the next morning, I don't budge. I sit in my room half asleep and surrounded by flowered wallpaper and a horrendous green-colored carpet. A pile of clothes sits unbothered in the corner of my room.

"Sydney? Hey, come out of there." He raps on the door again.

I pull a floral patterned sheet over me—the only thing on my mattress because it's too hot to have a cover—and curl to my side. "I'm tired." I say loud enough for him to hear. I'd been avoiding him really ever since the whole mermaid scene. Not because I don't want to talk about it—I do, but not with him.

"Sydney, please. We need to talk about this. You can't just avoid it forever, sweetheart."

Watch me, I think to myself. I listen as rain droplets gently drum against the my window, staring at the colorful glow star stickers clumsily placed on my ceiling. Dad and I had put them up when I was young, and even though most of them don't glow anymore I've never felt the need to take them down. After multiple minutes of silence I hear his solemn foot steps as he walks back into the kitchen.

I reach for my phone on my nightstand, sitting up. I try to occupy myself, losing myself in the world of social media for only a moment before feeling my cheeks burn with emotion. I sit up, crossing my legs. I bring the phone closer, biting at my trembling lip. The phone screen blurs as my eyes brim with tears. I let them flow, watching as they slide down my face and plop onto my bare legs. One scale, glinting even in the dim, grey light seeping through the foggy window, appears on my leg where a drop lands. I cry even more, my back lurching.

"Why?" I mutter, curling into a ball. "Why, why, why..."

I think back to yesterday and how fun it was. How could a day like that, lead to a morning like this?

Maybe I'm just about to start my period, or maybe I'm so just emotional because I literally transformed into a half fish not even a week ago. Both reasons seem pretty understandable.

Why did this have to happen to me? Sure, when I was a kid I dreamt of being a mermaid, but those days are long gone. I just wanted a normal summer. What more is there to ask?

My phone buzzes. My heart beat quickens. Ollie's name lights my screen.

Was wondering if you're down to come to the beach with me tomorrow ?

Just him? Like a... date? No, probably not. I'm sure he means Rue, too.

I look out the window, the rain becoming even more rapid and forceful. Thunder groans in the distance. I close my phone, unable to reply. I'd reply with a thumbs up in a heart beat if I didn't have all this going on, but I've already taken enough chances. Last time I almost blew it when the dog knocked me down. This time who knows what'll happen.

"Couldn't it have been someone else? Literally anyone else?" I groan, throwing my phone back onto the mattress. I turn to my side, staring out the window. I blink, the tears diminishing and leaving only a stuffed nose and bleary eyes. "I don't want this, I don't want any of it."

Something in the corner catches my eye. It's on my dresser, near the door. It's blue, almost turquoise, and blinking rapidly. I gulp. I left the necklace on the counter after my encounter with my mother—praying that it was all just a bad dream, but knowing it wasn't. Dad must have brought it in here when I wasn't around. I sigh, hugging the blanket closer. "No, no, no. I'm not..." but the necklace blinks more rapidly in protest. My head begins to pound just as rapidly. I get up, dragging the sheet along with me. "I don't want..." the charm starts blinking faster and faster. I try to look away, out the window at the grey clouds but the charm draws me back. I walk closer, sheet trailing behind. The blinking gets more frantic. A bag of Skittles Claire and I had shared before any of this—on one of our many movie\gossip nights—sits uneaten beside it. I grab the corner, the bag crinkling. "I—" the blinking only protest more and before I know it I've grabbed the necklace, the charm cold in my palm.