Teenage Mermaid by Ellen Schreiber Read Free Book Online Page A

with string ties, or open-toed shoes. And each girl had different colored toenails—pink, purple, green. I wondered if it was cosmetic paint or if they were born that way.
    I glanced out the window, which gave a thrilling view of the sea in the distance. I watched the waves crashing against the shore. It was an incredible perspective, breathtakingly beautiful. I’d never seen the ocean from such a height.
    â€œCandy…Candy?” Mr. Costello shouted, just as Mrs. Current always shouted at me. At least some things on Earth were the same. “Can you name the four men sculpted in rock on Mount Rushmore?”
    Rock group? I thought. “Of course!” I answered confidently. “John, Paul, George, and Ringo!”
    The class burst into laughter. A cute guy sitting nextto me—who looked like Beach, only instead of white hair, he had sandy blond hair—nudged me in the legs. Everyone stared and giggled. I slunk back, feeling stupid.
    â€œMiss Hartman, this is social studies, not MTV one-oh-one.”
    The class laughed even more.
    â€œDo you even know where Mount Rushmore is?”
    The cute guy leaned toward me. “Tennessee,” he whispered.
    â€œTennessee!” I shouted.
    The class laughed even louder.
    I stared at him with contempt. “I thought it was,” he whispered, shrugging his shoulders.
    â€œSettle down, class,” Mr. Costello said. “Now let’s review the presidential elections.”
    I was fascinated with the rest of his lecture and forgot about the necklace and the time. Presidents, the electoral college, voting. I had never been interested in school in my whole life! But I seemed to be the only one listening. One boy had his head resting on his desk. The girl in front of me was scribbling hearts in a pink journal. Another boy was watching moving pictures on a small screen in his lap. In the sea all students were attentive, like merpuppets.
    Suddenly the bell rang.
    Mr. Tennessee picked up my social studies textwhile the other students left the classroom.
    â€œMy name’s Calvin.”
    â€œMy name’s…”
    â€œI know your name. It’s cool to meet you, Candy.”
    â€œYeah…totally glacial,” I said, distracted. “Hey Calvin,” I said inching close. “I need help. Can you help me find—”
    â€œYour next class?” he interrupted.
    What if Earthdude was sitting in my next class? I held out the slip of paper with my class schedule.
    â€œCool, you have geography. Same as me! This is your lucky day. I’ll show you the way.”
    â€œJust hurry,” I said.
    The moon was ticking.

Spencer
    S omebody die?” Robin teased, as she and Chainsaw found me spacing out at my open locker—a dumping ground for CDs, video games, candy wrappers, and books I’d never opened.
    Robin was a mother’s laundry dream. All dark colors. Never an accidental red bleeding into white. No need for bleach, no need for separate washes. I think the only reason Robin had a crush on me was because I changed my hair color with my changing mood. And my colors were all dark as well: black, purple, blue. She thought I was her soulmate. One day, I’ll show up with white hair to see how much she really cares.
    â€œYeah, Droopy, one minute you’re skipping like aschoolgirl in love and the next you look as if your mommy took away your Nintendo,” Chainsaw razzed.
    â€œGo away,” I said, grabbing my Gameboy from my locker shelf.
    â€œIt’s that fantasy girl,” Robin teased, with more than a hint of jealousy. “I’m sick for one day and some babe steps in and wins your heart. Or should I say swims in?”
    â€œYeah, ever since yesterday morning he’s been on a major mood swing,” Chainsaw quipped.
    â€œWas she really pretty?” Robin asked hesitantly, like she was waiting for a bomb to drop.
    â€œShe was beautiful!” Chainsaw answered. “And never