Page 3 of Make Out With A Merman

CHAPTER 2

RYDER

Iknew it the second I heard the scrape.

That goddamn dock groan sharp and wet like something dying, rips through my drill like a cannon blast. Twenty-five kids turn their heads in unison, lifeguard whistles forgotten mid-command.

And there she is.

Paddleboard thief, unicorn floatie, and glitter demon, gliding in like some chaotic sea sprite summoned by my worst migraine.

What the hell is she even wearing? Her shorts sparkle like a disco ball drowned in a party store.

I grit my teeth while letting her know, in no uncertain terms, she’s very much late.

She doesn’t flinch. Just grins and tosses back some quip about sunshine and reinforcements. Of course she does. She’s got the kind of grin that dares you to yell at her and laughs while you try.

I want to throw my whistle.

Instead, I clock the time: 08:23.

Orientation started at 07:00 sharp. I hand-delivered the schedule to every counselor’s bunk last night, like I do every damn year. Precision matters. Consistency matters. Especiallyhere, where some of these kids have never known safety until this place.

Callie hops off her paddleboard like we’re hosting a beach party, dripping glitter and bad decisions all over the shallows.

She leans over while I try to remind her of proper conduct, picking up one of her childish floaties, and mocks me with it.

I swear to all the old gods,she’s trying to make my head explode.

The campers laugh. I’m not even mad at them, they’re kids. But I am mad that she’s already winning them over with nothing but chaos and a smile. The last thing I need is more disorderly conduct around energetic and unrestrained children.

Once she stomps up the hill trailing glitter like some manic fairy godmother, I blow the whistle again.

“Back to drills!” I bark. “Tread set, two minutes. Now!”

The kids jump like startled minnows, and order returns. Sort of.

But the damage is done. The edge is off them. The rhythm’s broken.

I finish the session anyway, clipboard clenched so tight I’ll probably snap it before lunch. When it’s over, I send the kids to free swim with another counselor and head to the lake’s edge alone. Water laps at my calves, cool and constant. Finally quiet again.

I dive in.

Below the surface, the world goes still. No glitter. No grinning maniacs. Just the sound of my heartbeat and the currents shifting around me like a second skin.

I swim deep, fast. Down past the rocky shelf where the water turns colder and the light fractures. Down to where my tribe used to gather, before the rupture took them.

Before I took them.

I clench my fists against the pull of memory. Not now.

Not here.

Not because of her.

When I come up, I rest my arms on a boulder slick with moss and stare out at the lake. Still calm. Still safe. But for how long?

I saw it this morning. The tremor. The way the water vibrated wrong just before she showed up. Maybe it’s coincidence.

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