Page 64 of Crashing Tides

Among all these ominous predictions, I find the sigil again, next to a sketch of what I assume must be a mermaid tail, breaching the surface of the water.

Then a final line: Things are going wrong.

In history, Duncan and Jane flank my sides.

I can’t look at Duncan without blushing. Last night, I made a plan to determine his interest, but now that seems silly, overwrought.

Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask him?

But Jane is right next to me, and even if she wasn’t, I suspect the words would stick in my throat.

Duncan and I don’t actually know each other very well. Would probably never speak to each other if we weren’t linked by secrets. But I want to know him. I want to spend more time with him. Already, I’m looking for excuses to hang out. So why not ask?

I don’t even have to do it in person, I realize, when Duncan slips me another note just as Dr Ward calls on me. I could send a text.

But that feels weird and impersonal.

I stumble through a poor and vague explanation of magical effects on Civil War era weaponry. Jane winces, but Dr Ward looks proud.

“Well, someone did the reading,” she acknowledges with a twitch of her lips. Then she calls on Felix Cervantes to explain the consequences of those magical effects (a lot of accidental explosions, mostly), and I am left unusually delighted.

I don’t think I’ve ever answered a question to her satisfaction before.

The afternoon passes. I don’t have a chance to corner Duncan. By four p.m., I’ve given up.

I send a text. Want to go back to the beach?

This probably isn’t the best date idea. He must think I want him to supervise me in the water, like a toddler in a kiddie pool.

I should’ve asked if he wanted to go to a movie or something. Hike along the cliff. Go out for drinks. Eat dinner. Fuck in the backseat of his car. Literally anything else.

But he’s quick to respond. Sure :)

My stomach flips. When are you free?

He responds almost instantly. Now?

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, then open them. No time like the present.

See you soon.

The drive is quiet. I can’t stop fidgeting. A thousand conversation topics ricochet through my skull, and none of them are good enough.

What eventually comes out of my mouth is, “Did you hear we have to relocate dinner theater?”

The corners of his lips quirk. “They finally had enough, huh?”

“It wasn’t one of our better productions. Aleo’s furious.”

He snickers. “So where are you guys going?”

“No idea.”

“Feels like it’s gonna turn into one of those underground things where you have to tell a password to get in.”

“Maybe fewer people would witness my humiliation,” I joke.

“I think it would attract more people, honestly. Especially if Aleo’s running it. He’ll probably make it as trendy as possible.”