DedicationTo Mom and Dad and Mom, for always letting me pretend tobe a mermaidOceanofPDF.com ContentsCoverTitle PageDedicationSeanCrestSeanCrest—ugh—RossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRoss SeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanRossSeanCrestSeanEpilogueAcknowledgmentsAbout the AuthorBooks by Jason JuneBack AdCopyrightAbout the PublisherOceanofPDF.com SeanThere are a surprising number of similarities between beinga lifeguard and being a movie director. Both sit in a labeledchair to watch everything in their surroundings, their eyessquint just as hard thanks to glaring sun or glaring studiolights, and yelling “CUT THAT OUT!” to kids splashing day-drinking moms isn’t all that different from yelling “CUT!” toactors.Sitting up here in the lifeguard stand makes me feel incontrol, like I can direct the movie of my life and everyone init. Which is why when Dominic comes padding across thefaux grass around the pool of the Santa Monica Beach Club—his favorite gold Havaianas in hand so he can feel the turfbetween his toes—my brain switches right into directormode. I mentally frame the establishing shot of the club, thepool busy with families during the only kid-friendly block onSunday mornings, servers zooming in and out of loungechairs and cabanas with brunch offerings for memberswho’ve just walked in from the beach after dipping their feetin the Pacific. Then my mind camera goes in for a close-upon Dominic, his black hair tousled perfectly, his green eyeslocking with mine, his lips breaking into a grin that says somuch: happy to see me, wanting to kiss me, eager to relivewhat we did a couple nights ago after my mom went to bedand we stayed up to “watch rom-coms” and “study theirstructure.”Only, that’s not what happens. I do the close-up on myboyfriend, but he won’t meet my gaze. Dominic’s eyes arepermanently focused on the ground, a deep scowl furrowedinto his pale white forehead as he mumbles something to himself. I’m too far away to know what it is, but it seems likehe’s practicing something. He looks like the kids in thedrama department, whispering lines to make sure they havethem right. And based on the way he looks like he couldthrow up at any second, whatever Dominic’s lines are can’tbe good.I want to scream “Cut!” like when I’m directing myromance shorts for film class. I want to direct that frown,that nervous mumbling, away from Dominic’s face. Ormaybe jump into the ocean with him like we do everyweekend and have the salty water wipe his concern awaybefore I pull him into a kiss while the waves surge past ourwaists.The dread in my gut increases as Dominic gets closerand his frown gets deeper and deeper and deeper. I fiddlewith the promise ring he gave me last Christmas, a nervoushabit that normally calms my nerves. But now it doesnothing. When Dominic stops at the base of the perfectlypolished white ladder that leads to my seat, he finally looksup.My eyes zoom into a deep focus of his perfectly pink lipsjust in time for him to say the worst four words in existence:“We need to talk.”How is it that just four words can make you feel like yourwhole life is completely ending? Everyone knows what “weneed to talk” means. It’s the beginning of just about everybreakup scene in any rom-com ever, the genre I’ve watchedpractically every day the past three years. But breaking upis not how the rom-com of my life is supposed to go. I’msupposed to finish the last couple of months of my junioryear with Dominic by my side, have him cheer me on atqualifiers and then state swim meets, premiere my filmshowcase submission that he’s been helping me puttogether, dance at prom, help his mom throw his seniorgraduation party a few weeks later, then spend a perfectsummer together before we move him into Cal State Northridge in September. Every last moment was going tomake the ultimate real-life rom-com, but I guess Dominichas other ideas.But wait. He hasn’t actually dumped me. Maybe this is alla big misunderstanding and I’m letting my obsession withmovie beats fill in the blanks.“Sean? Did you hear me?” Dominic’s yelling now andsuddenly we’re the center of attention, mojito-drinkingmoms and the self-proclaimed SFGs (Sunday Funday Gays)whipping their heads in our direction. My face heats up. Ipurposely want to be behind the camera for a reason. I can’tstand all eyes on me. “I said we need to talk.”A few gasps echo across the pool. I’m not the only onewho suspects what’s about to happen. An SFG even dropshis mouth in an overexaggerated O, slaps the side of hisface, and says to a friend, “Mary, it’s about to go down.”It’s best if I go to Dominic so that if he continues to dowhat I think he’s doing, it’s not going to be in front of anaudience. “Hang on. Just . . . wait.”I shoot a quick text to Kavya, who’s sitting in the standon the other side of the pool.I’m taking my lunch.If I tell her the truth about what’s going down, she’llmake an even bigger scene. She has my back througheverything, but the last thing I need right now is for her tomake another pool proclamation.Don’t get a hickey this time.Kavya has her binoculars trained on Dominic. So she’sabout to see what happens whether I tell her or not. Whichmight be a good thing, actually, because I’ll need somebodyto drag me out of here after it happens. Maybe that’s whythe club has a two-lifeguards-at-a-time rule, in case one ofus collapses from heartache.I make my way down the ladder, the whistle around myneck smacking against my chest with each step. It’s nothingcompared to how hard my heart is beating. When I finally make it to the ground and look Dominic inthe eyes, I’m positive my suspicions are correct. This is thebreakup scene, and even though I know it, I can’t stopmyself from saying “Hey, handsome. What’s up?” likenothing’s wrong.It’s how I’ve greeted him every day for the past thirteenmonths. Ever since I saw Dominic staring at me from thebeach, smiling while biting his bottom lip. I wanted to bite itback so badly, and I just felt this surge of confidence in melike I’d never felt before. “Hey, handsome” tumbled out ofmy mouth, we flirted for a few days until we had an epicmake-out session and I asked him out, and we’ve beentogether ever since.Dominic gives me a weak smile at the familiar greeting,nowhere near as bright and vibrant and sexy as that day atthe beach. Well, he’s definitely still sexy, still has thatbrooding-vampire thing about him, and why can’t I stopmyself from thinking this when he’s about to dump me?“I, um . . . Man, this is hard.” Dominic scratches the backof his neck like he always does when he’s nervous. “We’reover, Sean. I’m just not feeling it anymore.” Then hedelivers theactual worst set of four words in the Englishlanguage. “I met someone else.”I’m pretty sure the mega earthquake geologists keepwarning about hits at the exact time he spoke because itfeels like the ground falls out from under me. I literallycollapse, the unforgiving plastic of the turf digging into myknees. But they’re just pinpricks compared to the knifestabbing my back, my gut, my heart, over and over.Every single moment of our thirteen months togetherflashes before my eyes: our first date downtown at the VRarcade, where Dominic nearly threw up from motionsickness; going to his junior prom together in our matchingdusty-pink tuxes; losing my virginity that night to thisheartless piece of shit who decides to just throw it all awayon someone else. And he tells menow? While I’m at work? Surrounded by dozens of drunk parents and gays who sureas hell are not going to feel confident in my lifesaving dutiesif I freak out poolside for the whole world to see.Tears sting my eyes, but I will them not to come out withevery ounce of strength I have left. But I have too muchheartbroken energy and it has to get out somehow. Soinstead of crying, I start hyperventilating. I want to askWho? orHow? or anything that would give me answers, butI can’t seem to push any words out of my throat.“Sean?” Dominic still doesn’t move from his place justout of arm’s reach, too much of a coward to face myheartache up close and personal. “Are you okay?”A flare of anger temporarily pushes away the lumpblocking words.“Does this”—heave—“look like”—heave—“I’m okay”—heave—“to you?”Dominic scratches his neck again. “Um, no.”I try to give him an angry laugh, but I’m so out of breathit comes out more like a hiccup. “What was”—heave—“yourfirst”—heave—“clue”—heave—“Sherlock?”Suddenly a pair of dark brown feet with black-paintedtoenails burst into view. I look up to find Kavya, chest puffedproudly, her bright orange buoy that we never have to usein the six-foot-deep pool strapped across her chest. “What’sgoing on? Bee sting? Allergic reaction? Shall I administerCPR?” She can sound like such a cheesy cartoon superherowhen she hops into lifeguard action, her hands literallyplaced on her hips like she’s Wonder Woman or something.“It’s fine.” Apparently I can handle two-word sentencesnow without gasping for air.“Oh.” Kavya’s arms fall limply to her sides. She’s beendying for the day when she finally gets to save someone’slife.She looks over at Dominic, who still hasn’t moved amuscle since delivering his Richter-scale-10 news. “Hey,dude,” she says. “What are you doing here?” “He’s met someone else,” I say.Four words. We’re improving. So I try, “Who is he?” Thequestion sends another knife to my soul, but I have to know.“Miguel.”He doesn’t have to say more. I know exactly who he’stalking about. Miguel is the most popular guy in school, oneof the top swimmers on the team, homecoming royalty fourout of four years at Shoreline High. And my former bestfriend.“He’s a senior. He’s also heading to Northridge nextyear,” Dominic continues. “We really clicked at hisbarbecue. It just makes more sense.”“Oh,” I breathe. How else are you supposed to respondwhen someone starts describing your replacement likereasons for upgrading a car? This is not the Dominic I know.He’s not this heartless.Kavya grabs her buoy and pulls it over her head,dropping it with a hollowclunk at her feet. Then she bendsdown and touches her toes. Next, she stands tall and grabsher right foot, bringing it to her butt. She does the samewith her left.“What are you doing?” Dominic asks.Kavya places her hands at the small of her back andbends backward while exhaling. “Stretching,” she says, hervoice wispy as the word escapes with the air in her lungs.Dominic raises an eyebrow. “For what?”“For chasing you the fuck out of my pool.” A mom gaspsand covers her toddler’s ears, while a few of the SFGs holler,“That’s right!”“Sure you are.” Dominic laughs, and I just don’t get howhe could be so cold. He can laugh at a time like this?Kavya gets in her swimmer’s stance like she’s waiting forthe gun to signal the start of her heat at one of our swimmeets. She cocks her head to the side to look at me. “Yourbreath back?”“Yeah.” “Can you hold down the fort for a bit?”I nod.“Great.” Kavya looks straight ahead, her eyes dead seton my suddenlyex-boyfriend. “Just say the word.”I look at Dominic, his lingering smile sending chillsthrough my soul. He thinks this is all a joke. He thinks mypain is a joke. Here I am, lying on the turf in front of toomany interested club members, devastated after the reallife rom-com of my dreams turns out to be some relationshipbox office bomb, and he thinks it’s all just a joke.He can choke on a bag of dicks.“Get him.”Kavya takes off, the sound of her feet whipping throughthe turf mixing with the applause and cheers of “Get hisass!” from a couple of the poolside regulars.Dominic’s eyes go wide. “What the hell?!” He books it,puffs of sand flying behind his feet when he launches overthe fake-ivy-covered fence separating the club from thepublic Santa Monica beach.“Oh, I’ll show you hell!” Kavya yells, sprinting after him.So much for being the one in control, being the directorto the rom-com of my life starring me and the guy I thoughtI’d be with forever. Instead, Dominic yelled “CUT!” andrecast my role without ever consulting me about it.Rom-coms fucking suck.OceanofPDF.com CrestTrying to convince an Elder you don’t need a chaperone islike trying to pry open a great white’s jaws once it’sclamped down on a fresh kill: impossible.“Look, Elder Kelp, I promise I can get there on my own.”My voice is positively soaked with sincerity. “Seriously.You’ve told me the way a thousand times. I just follow theNorth Pacific Current until I hit the Great Pacific GarbagePatch, hang a left, then swim until I get to the Californiacoast. I got this. Los Angeles, here I come!”Maybe my fake enthusiasm will finally get the oldcrustacean off my fin.But Elder Kelp just gives a knowing smile and slowlyshakes their head. “You know I cannot do that, Crest. It ismy responsibility as the Elder of Journeys to accompany youthrough the Blue until I bid you farewell, legs in place, andyour feet firmly in the sand. You will not trick me again, yourotten fiendfish.” They say it with a playfully scolding finwag, like they’ve caught a merbabe trying to grab a fistfulof seaweed before it’s their turn to eat. The last thing I wantto do before I’m stranded to live on my own for a month isbe treated like a baby.“Okay, okay, I get it.”Elder Kelp places a hand on my shoulder, that knowingyet condescending look back in their eyes, which doesnothing to dampen my frustration. “This Journey is your riteof passage,” they say. “It’s tradition for all merfolk ofPacifica.”“Yet you just broke tradition!Fiendfish? Merfolk? ElderPearl says no mer-isms around us until after our return. Human sayings only.”“Very good,” Elder Kelp says, a smirk of satisfactioncreeping up their wrinkly skin. “That was a test. And itappears you’ve been paying attention in your lessons, mychild of Pacifica.”I hate that word. If I’m such a child, why make me leavemy home and live among humans all by myself?I flick my fin in irritation, an angry orange blur, andnearly whack a passing tortoise. “My bad!” After a year ofhuman-speech therapy, their sayings are starting to stick.Which is exactly what I don’t want. “I know you’ve explainedit a thousand times, but I’m just not buying the reason forthis whole Journey. I mean, yes, I’ve got to help a human,but after that, I just swim back to Pacifica and Joe Blowholeor whoever forgets I even existed.”“Which is precisely the point,” Elder Kelp says. “Trulyselfless help, like the Blue gave our ancestors. Or have younot been paying as much attention in your classes as Ithought? The tradition began millennia ago—”I curl up my fin to stop him. Every merbabe—I meanchild, orkid—knows this story. Thousands of years ago,during the Blue Moon, when the magic of the Blue (ugh, theocean) saved a band of shipwrecked humans drowning andcrying for help by transforming them into the first merfolk.Our ancestors pledged their lives and the existence of allmer to protecting the waters that saved them. We’d alsolive our lives by the example of the Blue, which led to thecreation of the Journey: One full moon cycle on land whenwe have to help a human, a totally selfless act like the Bluedid for the first merfolk all those years ago.It’s all a bunch of tradition nonsense. Sure, it soundssweet, but it’s not like humans are transformed by our help.They just keep on crashing oil tankers and catching dolphinsin their tuna nets and destroying coral reefs, so why even gothrough all this shit (confession: human cuss words aren’t allbad)? I just wish I could jump forward to the end, when I get back into the ocean, get named an Elder, and get grantedone of the eight powers of the mer.“There’s growth in doing things for others with zeroexpectations, Crest. And if the Blue saw something worthsaving in our human ancestors all those years ago, isn’t itpossible you might see something worth helping up theretoo? Who knows, perhaps you’ll even decide to become ahuman yourself.”“Yeah, right,” I scoff. “Trust me, I will be waiting to diveright back into the ocean as soon as I help the first patheticsack of bones I find. I will not risk getting stuck on landforever.”Only one mer didn’t make it back in the last hundredyears, and I’m convinced it was all an accident. Theyprobably got trapped in some tank until the magic of theJourney wore off and they were stuck as a human for therest of their life. Or maybe they didn’t truly help someone.It’s a cruel trick of the Journey. Keep to yourself the wholetime, and the punishment is never changing back at the endof your moon cycle.A humpback whale and her calf drift by, their whalesonghigh and deep, melancholic and uplifting all at once. I floatthere and close my eyes, taking in the sound. I won’t beable to hear it for the next few weeks, which feels like alifetime. All for a stupid tradition to live life among thedirtiest, loudest, most selfish and destructive species thisplanet has ever known. Yet the Elders act like I should behappy about spending time with them. If I could just shakeElder Kelp before they trigger the Journey magic, I couldbacktrack and spend a month with the kraken in theMariana Trench. Then I’d float into Pacifica like,Whew!Humans are the worst. Glad to be back.I open my eyes and glance around, hoping to seesomething I could use to distract the Elder and get out ofhere. But of course, the old crustacean’s condescending smileis back. “I know you’re thinking of how to get out of this. It isentirely natural to be afraid. But you will be fine, Crest. Orshould I sayRoss.”The word makes me cringe. “What is that?”“Your human name.” Elder Kelp shrugs. “You told me youhated all your options and to pick one for you.”“But Ross?Blech.” The name is so bad I can practicallytaste it. “Did you have to pick one that sounds so awful? I’msupposed to go around land withthat for a month?”“One moon cycle will be over before you know it. Andcountless merfolk have taken this same Journey before youand are now fully committed to the Blue. It makes ourspecies stronger, it makes Pacifica stronger, it makes thewater stronger.”Elder Kelp’s voice calms me with each word. Ideas of howto get out of this dumb tradition float right out of my mind. Iget so calm, my eyes even start to flutter shut, like it’s timefor a nice nap. Then it hits me, but my eyes are too heavy tosnap open with realization.I’ve been played, and my scales ripple with weakindignation at what’s being done to me. “Come on, Elder.You don’t have to do this.”Bubbles escape Elder Kelp’s mouth as they laugh. “Youand I both know that’s not true.” Their words are stilloutrageously calming, even though my mind wants to fightthem with all I’ve got. But my heart’s not in it. There’s noresisting their powers of Sleep. You listen to a few wordsfrom them when the Elder’s turned on theircharms andyou’re knocked out cold. It’s very effective when dealingwith angry hammerheads, or when chaperoning kidsresistant to the Journey, apparently.I try to give Elder Kelp an icy glare, but instead myeyelids give one last flutter, enough to see the Elder wave,smug as a sea slug. “Nighty night.” With a final burst of will, I’m able to get out the onlythought in my head before I completely lose consciousness.“You’re the worst.”OceanofPDF.com