“Because,” Quince manages between laughs, “you make it so easy.” Holding the phone back up to my ear and ignoring the laughter still echoing through the earpiece, I ask, “Why do you enjoy torturing me so much?” “Why?!?” My flipper-fast heartbeat ebbs toward normal as I stare, first at the phone-which has suffered a few nicks from my display of rage-then at the tightly drawn curtains covering the bathroom window. “You never fail to amuse, princess.”Īaarrgh! I slam the handset repeatedly on the floor, in what I hope are eardrum-damaging whacks. I am just tossing it over my fins when I hear a roar of laughter coming from the receiver. With a powerful kick I flop myself over the side, onto the cold tile floor, and dive for the towel. The nearest towel is folded neatly on the toilet…on the far side of the room. “Wha-” I half scream, half yelp as I bolt up in the tub. “You should check the curtains before you take a bath, princess,” a deep, mocking voice says. So I’m very careful not to lose my grip as I hold out the receiver and press the button. Ruin this one and there’s no more phone in the tub. The latest replacement doesn’t even have Caller ID, and she swears that this is the last one.
“There’s another call.”Īunt Rachel got tired of my bathwater frying the circuits of the upstairs phone about three phones ago. “Hold on.” I wiggle myself into a semisitting position. “He needs to”-a beep-beep interrupts Shannen’s response-“diversify.” At first we were almost friends…until he started treating me like the enemy.īoys aren’t nearly so confusing in the ocean. It’s not like I’ve ever done anything to him, other than move into the house next door. Thing is, I don’t even know why he is so devoted to tweaking me on a near-constant basis. “Why does he even bother? I mean, it’s like his two hobbies are working on that disaster of a motorcycle and tormenting me.” “I know, right?” I rub the shower pouf absently over my scales. “You’d think it was his self-appointed mission to make your life miserable.” I’ve fantasized some pretty creative ways to shut Quince up. Merfolk are a peaceful people, but that boy makes me wish I had free reign of Daddy’s trident for a good five minutes. It had taken every last ounce of my self-control-and the dismissal bell-to keep from leaping out of my seat, apologizing to Brody as I vaulted over him, and pummeling Quince into seaweed salad.
“Quince Fletcher threw a wad of paper at my forehead.”
0 kommentar(er)
