^ I actually thought FLOOD might be entered into the 2018 Watty Awards. Doesn't that put a stitch in your side? I'm pretty sure I wouldn't even put it in the Watty Awards now, because some poor judge would have to slave through 41+ chapters of a very flawed story. XD

Also, 2018 art, yikes. Shield your eyes if you haven't already.

—

DARWIN

Friday, April 6, 2018

It was the end of the day, and I was feeling...nauseous.

I should have been riding a wave of triumph, or at least relief: I'd fought my way through another hectic week of the tenth grade and had a well-earned weekend to look forward to. I'd also made significant progress in optimizing my outlook for Midterms — I'd completed the first three pages of my chemistry study guide (and had a better hold on that dimensional analysis bullsh*t); finished an extra credit assignment for Pre-Cal (which involved many graphs of sine, cosine, and tangent waves); and had slaved through a migraine's worth of quadratic formula problems.

But right now my stomach still felt like it was stuffed with splinters of glass, and it was all Thomas's fault. We hadn't spoken about today's Seawatcher orientation since after the OC Club meeting yesterday, and not knowing whether he was going to go voluntarily was driving me nuts.

Or was it his apathy turning my stomach? Every time I'd run into him today, he'd been wearing an oblivious and infuriatingly carefree smile, like the Seawatcher orientation had slipped his mind and he didn't give a damn. Meanwhile, the upcoming meeting occupied the forefront of my mind, and most of it concerned whether or not Berechiah would have to get involved in the area of Thomas's compliance — as the day had worn on, my heightening anxiety had brought me to one simple fact: because of the quarantine, Thomas hated the Seawatchers, and the only way that he was getting his ass into that orientation was if he was made to.

I had reason to be worried about Berechiah, too: I'd had a tough conversation with Grandpa Jon outside at lunch. By the grace of Arceus, it had been overcast in Rustboro City today, so I'd had an excuse to eat my lunch out of doors, rather than look like a loser by eating by myself. I'd called and told him my worries about Thomas while sitting cross-legged beneath a tree standing at the corner of the cafeteria building, a cup of insta-ramen in one hand and my phone in the other.

"Yes, I agree," he'd said wearily. There'd been the sound of water in the background — he must've been down by the creek, doing something with the two or three boats that he owned. "But I was hoping that Berry wouldn't have to be involved... Can you talk to him?"

My shoulders had slumped. "I tried," I said on a heavy breath, "but he's still not going for it. I thought he was coming around, but..." ...But this problem seemed to be a mix of pride and leftover PTSD from what had happened in that damned quarantine chamber now, more than anything else.

"Can you try one more time?"

He doesn't get it. "He won't listen to me," I said pointedly. "He won't go unless there's a gun pointed to his head."

The conversation devolved into an argument where we went around and around, and I'd became hugely frustrated, not for the first time, that Thomas Ryans-Wade was capable of causing this much frustration when he wasn't even present. Eventually, Grandpa just told me to try my best to convince him to come, and if he didn't...

Now, after the final bell, I was standing in the Armstrong Building by the lockers. Thomas's locker — a top one, of course, right at the end of the block on the second floor. Students hurried back and forth like go-home traffic on a big highway, and I tried to stay out of the way — I pressed myself against the wall and looked down at my watch every couple of minutes, trying to tune out the din of stupid kids shouting at each other.

I saw him appear at the end of the hall, towering over his friends — Riley, Patrick, and several others — who crowded around him. He was grinning, laughing at something Veronica Hughes was saying... I bet Marjorie will love that.

I expected for them to split up and go to their separate lockers...but they didn't — they accompanied him over to his locker, and I experienced a manic urge to give in and run, and let it ride. It was bad enough being snapped at when it was just the two of us, but possibly getting embarrassed by him in front of his social circle? F*ck that!

Unfortunately, my cowardice was crippled by a memory of Thomas whaling on that damned door in quarantine, and succumbing to that panic attack. If I couldn't convince him to go, and Berechiah really did have to get involved... Would he have to suffer through something like that again? Or worse? The thought made my jaw lock like cement. It was my fault that Thomas was involved in this in the first place. The guy could be an idiot and an asshole, but he didn't deserve brain damage. Not for...this.

Saving him from himself... Grin and bear it, Snowman.

I grit my teeth and turned back around, just as Thomas reached his locker. His smile had fallen away, leaving something suspicious and shrewd in its wake.

"What're you doin' here, Snowman?" he asked.

I opened my mouth, and realized that I had no idea what to say, until I actually said it: "How's your World History notebook?"

He slung his backpack to the ground and spun the dial on his locker, giving me a confused look out the corner of his eye. "What?"

"Your notebook for World History. She's checking it all the way to unit seven, right? Have you..." I paused, trying to keep up with what I was actually saying. "Do you have all of your foldables and stuff? And all of your unit summaries, and vocab lists?"

Thomas shrugged — on this other side, Veronica and Riley were inconsiderately leaning against the lockers, texting and not really listening. Patrick, though, was watching me hawkishly, wearing that same f*cking look Quentin'd worn at the meeting yesterday. "Dunno, man," he said. "I think I'm missing some, but—"

Yes! "What about your portfolio for Advisory?" I demanded. "Did you finish your personal statement? And your 'letter to future me', and stuff?"

He furrowed his brow.

"And, uh... Pre-Cal," I continued. "You know that extra credit assignment Ms. Underwood was talking about... She told your class about it, right? The one with the trig problems? Did you try it?"

"Why are you up my ass all of a sudden?" Thomas asked suspiciously. Beside him, Patrick's brow wrinkled.

"Did you?" I asked.

"No I didn't try it. It's extra credit, who gives a—"

"And your portfolio?"

He stared at me, and I suddenly wished I had a mirror — clearly, there was something freakish on my face, because he looked uneasy. "You're creeping me out, Snowman. What's up with you?"

I took a step closer, trying to intensify whatever alien look was in my face, in my eyes, and said, "I'll help you with that. All of that. You can look at my portfolio, my history notebook, and my extra credit assignments. We can collab in Training Hall too, again, if you want."

Now I had his full attention; he turned to me with an awed look on his face. "You serious?"

"A hundred percent. I'll do everything but take the tests for you." Some half-conscious part of me was amazed at what I was saying, and even more amazed that I meant every word. "But only if—"

"I go to that orientation with you. Right?"

I faltered, and was almost tricked into feeling guilty by the accusatory bite in his tone. But then I remembered the brain damage, and I turned that guilt into a pissed-off scowl. "Yes. Spend two hours of your life with the Seawatchers, and I'll waste all of my f*cking free time over the next two weeks to help you limp over the finish line."

He hesitated, and that pause told me all that I needed to know about Thomas's academic situation — as I'd intuited, he was either behind on assignments, completely unprepared for the upcoming examinations, or both. Probably both. Then his brow hardened in defiance.

"You've fallen in pretty hard with these assholes, Darwin — did Gramps tell you to tell me this? Or did Berechiah?"

"Berechiah doesn't have to tell me to use common sense," I snapped. "I've got that in abundance — you don't. Which is why I'm here, trying to save your ass from brain damage, academic integrity be damned." His lip curled, and for a crazy second, I wanted to punch him, or use some other physical means to transfer some of my reason to him by osmosis. "Arceus. Don't you remember the people that came into that room? Not just Berechiah, but those guys with the guns? We're not working at the food bank — if we give them a reason to, they could use those things on us. I just don't want that to happen!"

Of course, Grandpa Jon had never given me reason to believe that a firing squad would fill us with lead if we didn't toe the Seawatcher line, but it was clear that these people took their job of keeping the world ignorant of mermaids seriously; Berechiah and those Seawatchers with the guns had been visual representations of just how seriously, and I didn't want to test their patience. I just wanted to get through this without any physical or mental casualties. Was that so hard?

"Alright, calm down, Snowman," Thomas growled. "You're yelling."

"No, I'm—" Only, people were looking my way — in particular, Veronica and Riley were watching us now, looking vaguely puzzled that Thomas was having a conversation with the class recluse. Thomas closed his locker door, ruminating.

"Battle Mech," he said. "I'm missing an assignment..."

"Which one?"

"War Games 3. I was out sick, and forgot to make it up, and Ms. Cain said—"

"I have that," I said immediately. "I can help you with it."

He looked down at me, eyes unreadable. "And all that other stuff? Were you serious?"

"Yes."

"With the extra credit and everything?"

"Yes," I snapped. "I told you — everything but the damned tests."

"Hey." I stiffened as Riley finally spoke up on Thomas's other side. "Are we going or not?"

Thomas lifted his backpack onto his shoulder. He glanced at Riley, looked at me, and shrugged. "Sorry, man," he said to Riley. "Looks like I'm needed elsewhere." He inclined his head to me, and I felt a huge surge of relief — maybe he's not a total idiot after all. I headed after him, feeling those knives in my belly begin to dissolve...

Until I heard Riley mutter something behind me. Something that sounded hugely similar to an insensitive, three-letter F-word that didn't apply to me, and sure as hell didn't apply to Thomas.

I looked over his shoulder to see Veronica shoving him playfully, and the boy himself giving me a very gross smile, one that said that he knew I'd heard him, and that he also knew that I would not say anything about it.

And I didn't. But a sheet of ice crept up my back as I remembered Patrick's disdainful looks, and Quentin's awkward words at yesterday's meeting, and I began to feel ill. I swallowed, trying to remember that there were things out there a lot more important than suffering a backhanded insult from an asshole like Riley.

Focus on the orientation. School can take a backseat for the next two days.

***

I caught up with Thomas outside, and led him over to the parking lot, where Grandpa's truck was, again, idling patiently in wait for us. On the way over, Thomas made a call, probably to whoever was to pick him up, and then we were at the truck, which had several Wingulls crouching on the roof. The door opened, and Grandpa Jon piled out. There was an awkward moment where he stared at Thomas, and Thomas stared at him. Then, Grandpa Jon nodded.

"It's good to see you, boy," he said.

Thomas's lip curled a little. "Whatever."

Grandpa Jon reached into the car and brought out two bottles of water. "Thirsty?"

"Just take me to the place, gramps. I don't need you to coddle me."

Looking highly uncomfortable, Grandpa Jon proffered a bottle to me, which I actually took — despite the overcast sky, the blatant heat had persisted through most of the day. "I suppose we'll go then. Go ahead and load up and..." He trailed off, looking awkwardly back into the truck, and it wasn't until that moment that I realized that there was an additional passenger. I peered through the window, and it was exactly who I thought it was, wearing a yellow sweatshirt, and fuchsia-colored sweatpants. Thomas spotted him a second after I did, and I felt rather than saw his body stiffen up like a block of ice.

"Ahoy, my brothers," Berechiah said from where he slouched in the backseat. "I'm pleased to see ye good and well."

I shivered, cold all over again just at the sound of the voice I heard in my head every other day, but the emotions that swept across Thomas's face were red-hot: the Urge to Scream Something, it looked like, as well as the Urge to Throttle Something. His eyes flashed to me, rivaling Helena's sun-glare stare in their fury. "Your backup plan?" he hissed.

"Mine," Grandpa Jon said before I could respond. "Just a precaution, Thomas — you know what's at stake. Berry is just here to ensure that things go smoothly."

Thomas's hands turned to fists, and he stared at Berechiah with what could only be described as killing intent. The merman stared right back at him — clearly, this was not the first time he'd been subjected to such intense hatred. In fact, he said, "I'm listenin', brother. Somethin' ta say?"

I don't think Thomas wanted to say anything; feeling that we were rapidly approaching a breaking point, I said, "Can we go? Grandpa, didn't you say it was at four forty-five?"

"Yes," Grandpa Jon said immediately. "Berry... Would you mind sitting up front?"

Berechiah shrugged and lurched out of the backseat before climbing into the front. I slid across to where the merman had been a moment ago, climbing into a cloud of aftershave and sea salt, and then glanced behind me. "Thomas," I said. He was still standing on the pavement, looking furious in a way that was almost feral. He closed his eyes a moment, and just when I thought that he was going to turn around and bolt, he flung his backpack into the truck and loaded into the seat beside me.

The following ride was so f*cking painful I almost wanted to die.

***

One tortuous hour later, we pulled into Slateport City, riding in on an unfamiliar exit that took us around tourist central, and through a historical district that was about twice as big as Rustboro City's downtown, and maybe four times as large as Petalburg's. And yet, it proved even more frustrating to get through: there must've been a cosmic rule somewhere stating that all downtown districts had to have two lights every block, and roads barely wider than a goddamned tightrope.

Eventually, we managed to get through Friday evening home-bound traffic, and climbed up onto an older freeway filled with potholes and veins of new asphalt running through the old — the Saltwater Highway, Grandpa Jon told us, even though nobody had asked. It struck out right into the peninsula, taking us along cliffs and high, railed slopes looking out over the ocean before diverging into a myriad of wider but quieter streets. I started to see more trees and grandiose houses, and knew that we were entering Slateport City's high-class suburbs: private, beachfront properties screened off by walls of trees and high fences that were way, way too expensive for the inner-city's vacationing riffraff.

We passed a sign directing us to the Saltwater Peninsula, and then we were out of the trees, driving down a sloping road that almost felt like a ramp threatening to shoot us straight into the ocean... And the smoldering horizon. We slowed at the bottom, though: more trees here, and a sudden turn-off barred by a security gate.

And booth: it was cleverly hidden by the trees, and when we rolled up to the window, I saw a square-faced man sitting inside, dressed in a sharp uniform with a no-nonsense scowl. His nod was curt.

"Berry, Mr. Jon," he growled. His eyes went to the back. "Mr. Fleming said we were expecting guests today. This it?"

"Darwin Blakesley and Thomas Ryans-Wade," Grandpa Jon said. He looked back at us. "Boys, do you have your school IDs?"

I fished mine out of my backpack, and Thomas reluctantly did the same. The security guard looked at them, glanced at a clipboard on his desk, and gave a nod. The gate stuttered, then rolled aside on automatic wheels. "Welcome to the Slateport Sea House, Darwin and Thomas. Enjoy your visit."

Grandpa Jon put the truck back into gear, and we trundled inside, following a short road around the bend. The horizon was high here — there were trees rising in stands, but the girth of the ocean persisted through them, making the sky feel huge and the sun strong. We reached a junction, and Grandpa Jon pulled left, into a parking lot squatting before a tall gray building that looked like a drab, corrugated apartment complex. Grandpa Jon pulled into a spot and killed the engine.

"Shall we go into the AC?" he asked.

Yes please. Despite the cold air, Grandpa Jon's truck had felt pretty stuffy with Thomas's bad mood. It had mostly subsided on the way over, but as we piled out and headed for the building, I noticed that he still had a distinct, sullen look on his face. I hoped that he hadn't forgotten that he'd decided to come along voluntarily.

"Why is he coming?" he asked; Berechiah looked back at him and raised a bushy brow.

"I be a Seawatcher, same as ye," he replied. "Here to welcome ye, like the rest."

The rest? Sweat popped out onto my brow as we armed our way through a set of glass doors.

"No thanks," Thomas growled.

"All right, come on now, we're almost there," Grandpa Jon said. He gestured. "Will you boys sign in, please?"

We were now in a small lobby, one divided in half by a security desk and a complicated machine standing before a pair of metal detectors. A single security guard, looking as unamused as the one at the gate, had us throw our school bags and wallets onto a rolling assembly that disappeared into the mouth of the hulking machine, and while it buzzed and whirled, he handed each of us a form on a clipboard. I signed where it said sign, and then stepped through the metal detectors. On the other end, a secretary standing behind a glass cubicle was emptying out my bookbag, which had come into her workspace from the back end of the machine. She uncovered my phone and placed it a tray before repacking my bag and pushing it to me through a gap in the glass.

"No phones or recording devices," she told me apologetically. "You can pick them up when you leave. Don't worry son," she said when Thomas came through — she'd also placed his phone in a tray, and he looked about a thousand percent more upset than I was at that. "We'll keep them safe for you."

There wasn't anything we could do about that, so after Thomas finished giving the woman a threatening glare, Grandpa Jon led us down one of the corridors, which stopped with the gray paint around a bend and became cream-colored, and lined with windows that showed an interior courtyard blooming with coastal flowers and foliage. There were also paintings on the walls, of lighthouses, sea vistas through bathroom windows, and giant beach houses standing on stilts above the water. No mermaids though — not one painting of or involving a mermaid, which I found ironic.

We reached the end of the hall, which terminated at an emergency exit, and a big set of oak double-doors. A sign had been taped here: Seawatcher Orientation. Come On In, Darwin and Thomas!

The sign gave me a very bad feeling, like I was going to be walking in on a waiting crowd, the exact sort of sh*t we introverts hated. I glanced at my grandfather, but he had stepped back, and was smiling at me encouragingly. I had to work not to scowl back: Dammit, Grandpa, I need someone to hide behind when we go in! Clearly, though, that was not the plan.

Luckily, before I could chicken out entirely, Thomas huffed and pushed past me. "I ain't got all day," he said, and shoved the door in.

My breath hitched, but the room beyond was... Dark. Pitch black, and completely silent. Thomas frowned, confused, and I peered around. The hell? Had Grandpa Jon gotten the room wrong? But the sign... Maybe we were here early? I glanced at my watch, thumbing on the light. No, it was four-forty... Maybe they're running late? Relief began to creep up through my sternum.

Thomas, on the other hand, was frustrated. "Where's the light? I can't see a damn thing in—"

Several things happened at once. First, the light came on, harsh, white ones that nearly blinded me. Second, I saw something nightmarish beyond the glare: a pack of people in blue shirts, wearing loony grins straight out of a slasher flick. Third, a trumpeting noise, directly into my inner ear, and a fluttering flash of color. On the whole, I almost wet myself, until my brain finally put the pieces together and made me realize that we'd been jumped like unsuspecting saps at a surprise birthday party: grinning Seawatchers surrounding us, blowing party horns and throwing confetti in the air.

"Hey guys!" I recognized that voice: Lyle! He stood at the forefront, wearing a huge smile. When he spoke next, the rest of them joined in: "WELCOME TO THE SEAWATCHERS!"

"F*ck me!" Thomas managed the astonished cry where I couldn't, and violently fisted the front of my polo, which sent a frightened shock to my knees, which made me spill to the floor, which made me drag him down with me. All in all, one of my most embarrassing mishaps in recent memory — when the Seawatchers gathered around us and helped us both back up to our feet, I was blushing so furiously that I was pretty sure my eyes would melt out of my head. It didn't help that they were all laughing.

"You boys all right?" Mae Baldwn asked, failing to hide her laughing grin. "Sorry, we didn't mean to scare you like that."

"Fine," Thomas snapped, shrugging out of Pedro Lowe's helping grip. "What the hell is all of this? I thought there was supposed to be an orientation... Or something. Not a goddamn birthday party."

Indeed — now that I wasn't pissing my pants, I was able to take a good look around the small conference room, and saw that the Seawatchers had put up ocean-themed banners and decorations, and set up tables with food and drink, and what looked like gift bags off to the side. They had even hung a giant cloth sign from the rafters reading, WELCOME, DARWIN AND THOMAS!

I stared at my name, and if possible, my blush intensified — something about my and Thomas's names being on the sign gave this whole thing a hugely personal touch that made me uncomfortable, but not in an entirely bad way.

"Well, originally, that was the plan," an unfamiliar woman said. She looked older than the rest of them, with a sharp haircut and sharper glasses. "But your peers thought differently." She extended a hand to Thomas. "Thomas, right? Carroll Gray. I'm one of the program managers here. Welcome."

Thomas stared at her a moment, then reluctantly shook her hand. My grip was more robust when she turned my way, and she continued, "You see, boys, it's very rare that we have orientations here." She gestured. "The twelve people in this room? They've worked for the Seawatchers for at least a decade without any new additions. Given the nature of the community we serve, you can probably hazard a guess as to why."

Yeah, I could — newer members meant looser lips, I assumed.

"So when we heard that there was going to be some new young blood," one of the girls said, "we got pretty excited. And we asked Ms. Gray if we could turn the orientation into kind of a party instead."

"Celebration," one of the boys corrected her. "And maybe we went a little overboard with the surprise..."

"I'd rather that than something stiff and formal," Mae snorted. "This isn't a regular job, and we aren't regular people: we're Liaisons! And we should all be friends." She glanced at me. "Right, Darwin?"

I felt the childish urge to hide my face. That uncomfortable feeling was blooming into something else entirely, something completely unexpected: the surprise, the name on the sign on the door and on that giant banner, and all of this thought and effort, it all left me feeling touched. I managed to keep my palms from coming up and covering my eyes, and stammered, "Uh, y-yes." Then, feeling that I should say more, I said, "Thank you very much."

Thomas said nothing; he looked perplexed, a little stupefied.

Lyle beamed. "You're welcome, Darwin."

A hand came down on my shoulder, and I almost jumped. "Shall we begin, Carroll?" Grandpa Jon asked. "I'd like to get Thomas back to Rustboro before it gets too late."

Ms. Gray waved him off. "Oh, there's plenty of time. This is a party, remember, not an informational — they can delve more into that next weekend. For now, let's let them enjoy the ambiance. Darwin, Thomas?" She gestured to the back table, where the food was. "Are you hungry?"

So the... "orientation" began. It was quite uncomfortable at first — lunch had been a while ago, so Thomas and I got up and had first pickings of the catering, which was a vegetarian special of grilled veggies, tofu steaks, salad, and baked apples, and then we found seats at one end of the conference table. Everyone else then queued up, and when they'd loaded their plates, they sat around us.

And I really did mean around us — they paid the rest of the conference table no mind, and dragged their chairs to our end and packed around us like campers in the frozen waste packing around a bonfire. Lyle sat on my other side, Mae somewhere between and behind. Pedro Lowe stacked his feet on the back of Thomas's chair, and the rest arrayed themselves in a rugged ring around us. And they gave me more attention than anyone other than my own mother had in years — I had no f*cking idea of what they found even remotely interesting about Darwin Frickin' Blakesley, but they hung onto my and Thomas's every word like we were speaking prophecy.

It started with Lyle, inquiring about Brackish. I told him we were doing fine, and then one girl, Terri Mcgee, wanted to know about my "adventure" at the Abandoned Ship. Then Charles Gibbs asked about my point Pokémon, and Bill Taylor asked me to speculate about my chances for Midterms, and then they asked us to explain what the Battle Branch was, and how the other Branch Schools at RTHS worked, and on and on and on and on until I wasn't just having trouble eating — I was having trouble breathing I was talking so much, and it all felt so surreal and alien, sitting in the spotlight with everyone invested in my every word. And it was only when I took a break to let Thomas talk about his aspirations for the Elite Four that I realized that the only reason it felt so bizarre was because this was the only time in my sixteen years on this good earth that it had happened — most of the time, no one cared about me enough to bother with conversation, which was fine — I was used to it.

Now... I felt sorry for myself. Because as the afternoon wore on and the food disappeared and Thomas's smile reappeared, and there was laughter and jokes, and Mae asked me about my birthday, and we all began exchanging numbers, it went from feeling strange and weird and almost wrong to...nice. Very nice. Warm, even, crushed between people who were actually interested in me and what I was saying. It made having to return to school on Monday feel depressing indeed.

"Oh, before we forget!" Hannah Beck said at one point. She got up and grabbed a couple of the gift bags and brought them back over. "Take these, you two — some stuff from the organization, and things you'll need when you start working here."

I dug into my bag and found several things: a Hoenn Society for Marine Conservationists lanyard; a black notebook with highly-stylized, stenciled waves rolling across the cover; three blue ballpoint pens; a large Seawatcher's T-shirt; and a piece of paper. A contract, another contract, it looked like. Only this one was a great deal simpler, and had a section labeled volunteer schedule at the bottom.

Thomas frowned at the journal. "I don't really use stuff like this," he admitted.

"Better start," Phil Price said. "Or you might find Ms. Gray right up your ass."

"Or not, if you would budget half an hour's time for journal writing each week." Ms. Gray stepped back over, raising a slim brow at Phil. For the past... Arceus, how much time had passed when we'd been talking? I didn't know, but during that time, Ms. Gray had been standing in the far corner of the room with Grandpa Jon and Berechiah, speaking quietly to them both while she downed several large cups of ginger ale. My grandfather and the merman, I suddenly realized, were gone. I also noticed that the sun was turning everything orange through one of the conference room windows.

"All right, everyone, you've had your fun," Ms. Gray said, plunking another cup of ale onto the table. "Give them some breathing room so I can explain a few things. Maybe you can decide which one of you will take them on tour before we close the premises for the day."

Lyle shrugged as he stood. "That'll be me, obviously — I already know Darwin, and I'm the senior Liaison, here—"

"Simeon's the senior Liaison," Kathy Ingram interrupted. "And what does that matter, anyway? Let's decide by how many volunteer hours everyone has — the one with the most should—"

"Not everybody's a workaholic like you," Angel Shaw argued. "Let me take them: I could barely get a word in edgewise, you guys were talking too much—"

They all lifted and went off in a pack, arguing and shoving each other around. I was sad yet relieved to see them go — maybe now I could finally get in a bite of food!

Ms. Gray gave us a wry smile as she took a seat at the table. "What a crowd, hm? It looks like they brought your spirits up, though — I wouldn't have known that you had a gigawatt-smile when you came in, Mr. Ryans-Wade. And you, Mr. Blakesley — I assumed you'd be as quiet as your grandfather, but no! Given the right circumstances you can be quite the chatterbox."

I flushed and took a bite of steamed tomato which, if it was any colder, could've been used to chill my drink. Thomas just shrugged, looking slightly chagrined himself.

"If I knew it was gonna be like this," he muttered, "maybe I wouldn't have been such a baby about comin'."

Ms. Gray shrugged too. "You had a right to be angry," she said. "I've spoken with Mr. Jon and Director Munoz, and it appears that you both have had a hell of a time thanks to Nero."

I tensed. "You know him?"

"Oh yes — I gave him an earful in my office last week. Something about him lashing out without thinking, and landing you both in quarantine as a consequence." She sighed. "I hate what happened to you both. I'm no stranger to quarantine — it's how I first got into this community, and in no way am I desensitized to the effect it has on those we put there. The fact that you had to go through a period of claustrophobic uncertainty like that, all because you were both in the wrong place at the wrong time... Sometimes it feels like we're punishing the innocent when we do that."

I said nothing, and neither did Thomas — a dark look had come back into his eyes.

"So I was rather relieved when we finagled a way to spare you from Berry's mindwashing," the lady continued. "We try to avoid memory erasure whenever possible, you understand. That's not to say that this road will be any easier, but at least it comes without risk of neural injury, which I believe is more important. So." She gathered her fingers together, and leaned across the table. "Mermaids, eh?"

She began talking, and later I decided that this conversation was about a hundred times more riveting than the ones I'd had with the Seawatcher Liaisons, because I was finally talking about the Mamoswine in the room: Nero and his species, and how the Seawatchers were connected to them.

"From what scotty records have told us, as long as there have been humans and merfolk on the planet, there have also been Seawatchers: perhaps smaller in size and scope, but similar in duty. I'm sure you can guess what we do by our name: we watch the sea, in particular for our brethren beneath the waves. But over the years, our purpose has evolved from simple mermaid-spotting to a more active, altruistic role in which we protect the citizens of the sea through landside connections and coordination. Today, our job is to care for, protect, and hide them when they come ashore for Drought."

"Drought?" Thomas asked. He'd somehow folded his long legs up into his chair, and was watching Ms. Gray with an unreadable expression.

"It's a recurring phenomenon where merfolk transition through an involuntary, biological means from their seaside forms — where they have tailfins — to their landside forms, where they have legs and are more or less human." Ms. Gray shrugged. "The exact reason for this is not entirely known — it's obvious that there are no opportunities for scientific studies on the matter. However, many older seafolk have speculated that it aids in some sort of healthy turnover for growing merfolk, and that spending a few days in oxygen and sunshine gives them health benefits they wouldn't otherwise find underwater, which is true enough, considering how much humans also need fresh air and sunlight.

"But that's neither here nor there. The fact of the matter is that merfolk are constantly washing ashore as their bodies change in regular cycles, and it is the task of Seawatchers here and abroad to provide those merfolk with a safe place to rest during these periods, so that they aren't stumbling around human cities and possibly revealing their existence to passerby when they revert back. I'm sure you can appreciate how disastrous that would be.

"Now, let's go to you — a newly-minted Seawatcher. What are you expected to do within our organization? Will you be caring for merfolk? Well... Yes and no. Because you are already aware of their existence, you are cleared to interact with them as Liaisons, but for the first few months, your volunteer work will be more mundane in nature. Generally, I forsee that you'll be assisting with facility upkeep — keeping things clean and shiny, in other words."

Thomas groaned; she smiled at that. "Are you scared of a little hard work, Mr. Ryans-Wade?" she asked.

"No. Just didn't think this was what I'd be doing when I joined an organization that helps mermaids."

"We don't keep the floors mopped and the laundry clean by magic," Ms. Gray tutted. "And cheer up, there will be other things to do. Take a look at that contract from your bag. See the bottom, where it has the list of volunteer activities? I want you to take a look at that over the next week, and choose what other tasks you'd be interested in participating in, besides raking the leaves in the Pavilion or scrubbing dishes. Then we can have a more thorough discussion about all of this on next Friday." She lifted a finger. "And at that... Fridays, boys. That's when the Liaisons will have their weekly meetings from here on out, come hell or high water. You can choose other days in the week to do your volunteer work, but Fridays are a priority. Is that understood?"

We nodded, Thomas a little sullenly.

"Also a priority? Journal-writing." She nodded at Thomas's black notebook. "That wasn't just a welcome gift. We have a pretty good understanding of the Seawatchers' past, and their historical relationships with the merfolk. Do you know why?" She tapped the notebook. "Journals. Dozens upon dozens of historical accounts and recollections, penned in ink and bound together. If not for them, we wouldn't know many things about land's history with the sea. The Cataclysm, the Kingdoms, the Era of Bloody Water... All in notebooks, just like this."

A shiver ran down my back: The Era of Bloody Water. Ms. Gray saw the look on my face and waved it off.

"Another time," she said. "It's getting late, and I still want you to be able to have your tour. Trust me, we will get into Seawatcher history in due course — that's what we'll be discussing during our next few Liaison meetings. But for now, know this — you aren't the first Seawatchers, and you certainly aren't the last, and so it's of great importance that you record your experiences for the benefit of those that come after you. Starting now — take some time over the next week to write something in here. an entry about who you are and why you are joining the Seawatchers. I'll be checking for it at the meeting, all right?"

We nodded again, and she smiled and stood up. "All right, I think that's enough talking for today  — Arceus knows the others already talked your ears off. What say we take a look at the premises?"

***

The sun was setting the sky on fire when we finally left the building, and it certainly felt like it: there were shadows, and they were dark and long, but it still felt like I was standing inside a furnace, even with a strong wind coming off of the sea.

Kathy Ingram accompanied us to the parking lot — apparently, she'd won a very heated game of rock-paper-scissors — and Berechiah also waited for us outside, still wearing that damned yellow hoodie that was actually making me sweat. "Jon has retired," he intoned when we approached. He gestured to Grandpa Jon's truck, which was idling. "Headache. Wanted to inform ye that he have yer phones. Also had me give ye this, brother." He handed me a packet of BC. "Said ye be frail in the heat as well."

I pursed my lips, but was he wrong? I was already melting; Thomas snickered.

"He's right," Kathy remarked. "Is all that sweat, Darwin, or are you faking it?" She laughed when I scowled and turned to Berechiah. "You coming with us to the Pavilion, Berry? I heard there's an arts and crafts class going on."

"Aye," he said, yawning.

We headed off, with Kathy leading the way, and me, Thomas, and Berechiah coming up behind. Ms. Gray remained in her gray building — apparently, she had some paperwork to close out, and didn't want to crowd us. Suddenly trudging through a stifling, burning sunset, I admit I was a little jealous.

We left the parking lot and walked along a shoulder of sun-burnt grass and stretches of sand, Kathy chatting all the way about maybe staying in the dorms — dorms? — overnight instead of heading home, and attending a late movie with the Neap Tide Drought group later tonight. The sun disappeared after a moment behind more trees, and then the buildings behind them — there were several, all of them screened off by the towering foliage, but if I squinted and tuned out Kathy, I could see sidewalks through the cracks in the trees, and hear voices muffled by the pines. I heard splashing too — a pool?

"Here," Kathy said: a path of sand had appeared, leading between a wall of trees and the side of a brick building. She waved at us, and we wriggled through single-file, until we stood at the top of a slope leading down to a wide open space, a courtyard of concrete and grass, with wooden a patio stretching across the far end in a crescent shaped boardwalk.

The place was filled with people, all of them with shocking white hair, just like Nero. Some reclined in chairs, while others relaxed at tables with iced drinks or stood at the edge of the boardwalk, gazing out at the flaming sea. A big group sat in the middle: ten or fifteen kids, surrounding a line of low-lying tables in the grass and working studiously on some kind of project involving string, shell fragments, and beads. Hadn't Kathy said something about arts and crafts?

Kathy gestured to us to come down the hill, and I did, feeling highly nervous. "Um, Kathy," I said. "Are these all..."

"Merfolk?" she asked. "Yes." She gestured to the kids. "This is a crafting class. Hannah was scheduled to hold it today."

"Crafting," Thomas repeated, gazing around skeptically. Somehow, I could tell that he was searching for tailfins.

"Yep," Kathy said cheerfully. "It's the sort of thing we do for the merfolk here on Drought: classes, activities, ways to keep them busy while they're here. Personally, I like doing yoga. Phil does stuff like penmanship and composition, and some of the others help out with coaching classes in the bathhouse."

"Bathhouse?"

Kathy laughed. "It's a lot, isn't it? Probably we'll talk to you guys more about it next time." She suddenly waved. "Hi!"

I froze when I realized that several of the merfolk, particularly the kids, were looking up at us with unabashed curiosity, and a couple were waving at Kathy. I expected for some suspicious looks, considering we were new Seawatchers they didn't know, but I saw none — in fact, one man with white hair passed by and said, "Ahoy, Kathy. Who do we have here?"

"New Seawatchers!" Kathy said with excitement. At that, more heads turned our way, and I found myself in the spotlight once again. Kathy continued, pointing at us: "Darwin, Thomas. Say hi, folks — you'll be seeing them a lot around here, soon."

The kids waved at us, the adults scrutinized us, and someone said, "Darwin?"

I turned at my name — someone was standing from within the kids, a girl with heavy white curls and long lashes, wearing shorts and a tucked-in white T-shirt. She marched right up to us and studied me, brows arched. I stared right back, feeling that I should back up.

"Friend of yours?" Thomas asked, lifting a brow.

"Aye!" the girl said. "Should be — I patched ye up at the Ship, remember?"

Oh! Now that she mentioned it... "Cora... Right?"

She smiled. "Nice to see ye up and walkin'!"

Seeing surprised looks out of the corner of my eye, I said hastily, "After I was stung by the Tentacool at the Abandoned Ship, Cora helped wrap my leg."

"Oh, I see!" Kathy said. She banded her arm around Cora's neck, drawing the mermaid close. "So you've already met the village darling. But of course you have — Cora gets around, and she always helps a fin when he's down."

"Oh, off it," Cora said, blushing. "But Darwin — ye do truly feel fit again?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'm washing it with hot water every night, and Mom's also helping me keep an eye on it. It still hurts a little, but..." I shrugged. "I'm good to go. Thanks, again."

" 'Tis a good thing, Darwin. Glad ta be of service." She looked to Thomas and stuck out her hand. "Ye be another fresh face! Cora Angler-Delphiri."

"Hi. Thomas Ryans-Wade." There was a look on Thomas's face that gave me kind of a bad feeling — the way he was looking Cora up and down and grinning also gave me a bad feeling. "Nice to meet you, Cora."

"Likewise. Can I call ye Tom?"

He dropped a wink. "You can call me whatever the hell you like."

If I could've stomped on his foot without it being obvious, I would have.

To her credit, Cora's only response to that was a sweet smile, before she turned back to me. "Stayin' the night?"

"No — we're doing a tour and then heading back."

"Aw! Well..." She frowned, and then tugged something off of her wrist — it was a bracelet, one she'd probably made at the crafting table, a line of beads and shiny stone threaded by a length of colored string. "Take this," she told me. "As thanks, fer catchin' that blasted Tentacool at the Ship. Woulda stung us half to death otherwise."

"Oh," I said awkwardly. She dropped it into my palm. "Er, thank you, Cora."

"I don't get one?" Thomas asked.

She raised a brow at him and his fresh tone...and then actually dropped a wink of her own. "Mayhap another time," she said.

Kathy inclined her head. "Come on, boys — let's take a look at the Suites before we turn around."

"Bye!" Cora said, waving. "Darwin, don't ye be a stranger — come say hi when ye start work, aye?"

"Sure," I said, and waved back. Kathy then led us back the way we've come, onto the shadows of the service road. Thomas began whistling as he went on beside me, and I stared at him — glared at him. I wasn't quite sure why.

"Hey," I said. "Hey."

"What?" He glanced down at my disapproving face and rolled his eyes. "Relax, Snowman, and focus on not melting. Tell me you didn't take a good look at the last pretty girl you ran into. Go on. Lie to me."

Shameful! Especially seeing as it hadn't been long since he'd broken things off with Marjorie. Trying to tamp down my scorn, I said, "Yeah, but can you not be so obvious? We're supposed to—"

"Whoa, wait a second. Did you just say 'yeah'? As in 'yes'? As in you agree?"

"Agree about what?"

"That she was cute as pie, dumbass."

Heat washed into my cheeks. Why the hell was he yelling? "Yeah, I think she's pretty, but—"

"Well thank Arceus!" He slapped my back, almost knocking me straight to the pavement. "I guess I can put the rumors that you're gay as hell to bed."

I felt ice crawl up my flesh at the memory of Riley and his filthy insult, and Patrick and Quentin's stares. The confirmation felt like a bat to the face. "What?"

He looked surprised. "Easy, Snowman — just a little joke."

Joke. I tried to take solace in the word, but it wouldn't come. Was it a joke? Patrick and Quentin, their faces... My heart felt like it was sinking into ice water. Do they think I'm gay? Did other people in my class think I was gay? Did the whole class?

"So." Thomas jabbed my side, and possibly for the first time in my life, I made a colossal effort to fully focus on him, and not the horror growing in size inside my skull. "Now that we've established that the Snowman is aware of girls..." He bent towards my ear. "Did you notice?"

"Notice?" I had an abrupt desire to punch him in the face, for failing to notice the bombshell he'd just dropped on my head.

He waggled his brows. "Don't pretend, Darwin. Ain't no one but us guys here." He gestured to where Berechiah and Kathy were pulling ahead, chatting. When I furrowed my brows in confusion, he gave a scornful smile. "Huh. Aware...but still ignorant. Are you a red-blooded male or aren't you? Sometimes I can't tell."

"What are you talking about? Notice what?"

He rolled his eyes. "That she wasn't wearing a bra, doofus."

For a tenth of a second, I had no idea of what he was talking about. Then.. Goddamn it. I had a very childish urge to cover my ears, and the color in my cheeks strengthened. I don't know what kind of face I made, but it was enough to put several stitches in Thomas's side; his laughs came out in great whooping heh heh hehs.

"Try not noticing that the next time you see her," he said with a devilish grin.

—

Author's Note: the Seawatchers

Even after writing this chapter, I'm honestly still figuring out exactly how the Seawatchers work (hopefully this'll be cleaned up in the next draft of this story). Given their purpose, their organizational structure has to be very specific, and it's sometimes hard to remember or even figure out what all their safeguards are or should be.

Take this chapter for example. I actually had to rewrite the way they came into the administrative building, because originally they just signed in and went to the conference room. But then I realized, "The heck? There's no security checking them for recording devices?"

So that's my challenge with the Seawatchers -- hopefully I'll be able to lay out all of their security measures at a later date.