The Tail of Emily Windsnap - Liz Kessler [5]
Then, before I had time to think another thought, I pinched my nose between my thumb and forefinger — and jumped.
I landed in the water with a heavy splash and gasped for breath as soon as I came up. At first I couldn’t feel anything, except the freezing cold ocean. What on earth was I doing?
Then I remembered what I was there for and started kicking my legs. A bit frantically at first. But seconds later, the cold melted away and so did my worries. Instead, a feeling of calm washed over me like the waves. Salt on my lips, hair flat against my head, I darted under the surface, cutting through the water as though I lived there.
And then — it happened. I swam straight back to the pier, terrified. No! I didn’t want this — I’d changed my mind!
I reached out but couldn’t get ahold of the ladder. What had I done? My legs were joining together again, turning to stone! I gasped and threw my arms around uselessly, clutching at nothing. Just a cramp, just a cramp, I told myself, not daring to look as my legs disappeared altogether.
But then, as rapidly as it had started, something changed. I stopped fighting it.
Yeah, so my legs had joined together. And fine, now they had disappeared completely. So what? It was good. It was . . . right.
As soon as I stopped worrying, my arms stopped flailing around everywhere. My head slipped easily below the surface. Suddenly I was an eagle, an airplane, a dolphin — gliding through the water for the sheer pleasure of it.
Okay. This is it. You might have guessed by now, or you might not. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you promise never to tell anyone:
I had become a mermaid.
It’s not exactly the kind of thing that happens every day, is it? It doesn’t happen at all to most people. But it happened to me. I was a mermaid. A mermaid! How did it happen? Why? Had I always been one? Would I always be one? Questions filled my head, but I couldn’t answer any of them. All I knew was that I’d discovered a whole new part of myself, and nothing I’d ever done in my life had felt so good.
So there I was, swimming like — well, like a fish! And in a way, I was a fish. My top half was the same as usual: skinny little arms, my bangs plastered to my forehead with seawater, black Speedo swimsuit, and a very soggy jean jacket.
But then, just below the white line that went across my tummy, I was someone else — something else. My suit melted away and, instead, I had shiny scales. My legs narrowed into a long, gleaming, purple-and-green tail, waving gracefully as I skimmed along in the water. I have to say that I had never done anything gracefully in my life, so it was kind of a shock! When I flicked my tail above the surface, it flashed an arc of rainbow colors in the moonlight. I could zoom through the water with the tiniest movement, going deeper and deeper with every flick of my tail.
It reminded me of the time we went to World of Water at summer day camp. We were in a tunnel under the water with sea life all around us. It felt as if we were really in the sea. Only now I really was! I could reach out and touch the weeds floating up through the water like upside-down beaded curtains. I could race along with the fat gray fish that were grouped in gangs, weaving around each other and me as though they were dancing.
I laughed with pleasure and a line of bubbles escaped from my mouth, climbing up to the surface.
It seemed as though I’d only been swimming for five minutes when I realized the sky was starting to grow pink. I panicked as a new thought hit me: What if I couldn’t change back?
But the second I’d pulled myself out of the water, my tail softened. I dangled on the rope ladder and watched, fascinated, as the shiny scales melted away one by one. As my legs returned, they felt odd, like when your mouth goes numb after you’ve gotten a filling at the dentist.
I wiggled my toes to get rid of the pins and needles in my feet. Then I headed home with a promise to myself that I would be back — soon.
Bob, the swimming instructor, was standing in front