The week before the yacht party goes by so quickly, I'm caught off guard when I receive a note from Pierce. He's kept his word and has helped me get acclimated and with homework. Turns out, he's a wiz at polynomials, which I have officially added to his list of superpowers, along with flying and temporary blood-induced mind-reading. And even better, he's promised not to read my mind, which is a huge relief.

It's almost five p.m. now, and I'm lying on the bottom bunk on the left side of the girls' bedroom, folding the note from Pierce until it is as tiny and inconspicuous as possible. Shelly is in a chair facing the vanity mirror while Lily-Bella waves her wand over Shelly's hair. One hairstyle after another blooms on Shelly's head as they try to find the perfect one. But Shelly isn't paying attention. She's staring at the note in the mirror's reflection. I push it into the front pocket of my jeans to get it out of sight.

Smiling happily to myself, I close my eyes and create an image of Pierce in my mind. I see his dimples first, naturally. His deviously-handsome blue eyes. His mop of dark hair. And his trademark smirk.

Okay, brain, erase the smirk!

But the smirk stays.

Stupid brain.

Anyway, Pierce has been really wonderful this week. I've caught him looking at me during class and lunch. And he has totally caught me looking back at him. We keep accidentally running into each other—in the statue garden, on the path to classes, and in the common room of our cabin. A few times, we've ended up on the couch next to each other, and I could tell he wanted to hold my hand. I would even wiggle my fingers as a kind of invitation, but he never touched me.

It's weird, but he's always around. Kind of at minor stalker levels. And it seems like he wants MORE, which I know I do too. But something is stopping him. Must find out what it is and get rid of it, pronto. If there's any consolation, it's that Pierce doesn't seem at all interested in Shelly. No matter how much she throws herself at him, he ignores her now.

But maybe tonight at 'our beach,' all this will change! Well, hopefully not the Shelly part, obviously.

The bunk above mine squeaks, pulling me from my Pierce obsessing. Pickles, my favorite roommate, has the top bunk, and she's up there reading some fairy godmother training manual. I plan to set the book on fire when she's not looking. I don't like the F.G. rules at all. They are ridiculous. Why should a person be forced to spend their life making other people happy? Case in point—she insisted on taking the top bunk. Sure, I prefer the bottom, but the only way she would have let me have the top is if I'd physically restrained her. I don't want to do that sort of thing to my new friend, and frankly, I don't want to expend the energy tying her down every night for the rest of the semester.

Besides the beds and the vanity, the girls' room has four desks, four wardrobes, and a bathroom with two sinks, two showers, and two stalls. There are also two windows overlooking the redwood forest. Lily-Bella and Shelly's half of the room is covered in predominantly pink clothing, glittery makeup, hairbrushes, ribbons, jewelry, tiaras, and dozens of perfume bottles. It is strange to see these items in a log cabin in the woods.

Shelly and Lily-Bella have now spritzed every perfume they own into the air at least twice, so our room smells like a horrible accident at a human perfume store.

"Maybe we should go back to picking out our outfits before we decide on hair and fragrance," says Shelly. "I think that would make more sense."

"You're right. Outfits first," says Lily-Bella.

Shelly and fairy princess Lily-Bella wear only matching bra and underwear sets. By now, they've each tried on about a hundred different ensembles. Despite the gushing commentary from the two of them about how "totally cute" they look with each successive change, nothing has met the mysterious standard required to attend a yacht party.

I feel a little underdressed in a pair of jeans and my mustard-stained 'South Pacifica High Debate Team Champions' sweatshirt. It has a crusty mustard blob over the word 'Champions,' courtesy of the last time I ate a mustard-laden corn dog at the boardwalk with Carla.

I can see Dad has brought me my few articles of clothing from the family cave (mostly scrounged from things beachgoers left in the sand). I guess that was nice of him, even though he should've told me that I had to live in a cabin with predators so I could've made a plan. Of course, in my former mostly-aquatic lifestyle, I didn't require much beyond shell tops and casualwear. Now that I'm meeting Pierce alone before the party, though, I also wish I had something a little nicer.

Wait, why am I worried about what I'm wearing? I don't care what Pierce thinks. If anything, I want to look as unappetizing as possible. Why am I so happy at the prospect of being alone with him? It's probably just my curiosity. What could he want to give me?

"What about this one?" says Lily-Bella, twirling in another pink sparkly gown. I swear to Poseidon it looks exactly the same as half the gowns she's already tried on.

"It's soooo cute," says Shelly, who is slipping into a tight black leather mini-dress and matching platform heels. "What do you think about this?" She cuts a model's pose, which involves standing at an angle, flicking her long green waves over her shoulder and puckering her glossy purple lips. She looks a little like a sea bass.

"It's really cute," says Lily-Bella, but I think I like the pink one is better.

"No surprise there," I mutter.

"What?" says Lily-Bella.

"I mean, I know you love pink, right? You said that when you introduced yourself. So it makes sense that you'd prefer the pink," I say, totally back-pedaling.

"Nice try, Fishwater," Shelly says, touching up her lip gloss. "Before you make fun of others, you might try to make an effort yourself. Try some of this." She throws the tube of lip gunk at me. I catch it one-handed, frowning. The label says, 'Vampire Violet.' Ugh!

"I think they're all lovely," says Pickles.

"But what are you two wearing?" says Lily-Bella. "This is a party, not a ... a ... well, I actually don't know where you would ever wear what you have on. Hey, Shelly, I think we ought to give our new bunkmates a makeover. What do you think?"

"Great idea," says Shelly. "I know just the outfit for Waverly."

Why do I have a terrible sense of foreboding? "That's okay," I say. "I like this." I stand up and tug the bottom of the sweatshirt.

Lily-Bella grimaces and says, "Oh, no way. You have to let us fix you up. It'll be super fun."

"I'm not allowed to dress up," says Pickles, who is still in her blue nightgown. She puts down her book and looks so longingly at the silk and taffeta dresses that it makes me sad.

"What do you mean?" I say.

"Fairy godmothers aren't supposed to dress like fairy princesses. It's a fairy godmother rule."

"Fairy godmothers have a dress code?"

"Yes."

That stupid book again. "Well, you're not a fairy godmother yet, right? You're still in training. If you knew all the rules already, you wouldn't have to train, so I say we give ourselves a makeover. I'll only do it if you do."

Pickles' eyes widen and so does her smile. "Well, as a fairy godmother-in-training, I'm supposed to facilitate other people's wishes."

"Yes, and this is my wish, so you don't have any choice. You have to do it."

"If you put it that way ..." Pickles looks ecstatic. I am making her life better! I pull her in for a big merfolk hug.

"Ouch!" she says, still smiling, though.

"Ooh, sorry," I say. "I'm not used to hugging non-merfolk. I'll be more careful next time."

"Don't you dare, Waverly Marie Fishwater," she says. "It was the best hug I've ever had!"

Later I will burn the manual and have a stern conversation/lecture with Pickles about her career choice.

"We better get started," says Shelly. "This is going to take a while."

I only have one question in my mind: why is Shelly suddenly being so nice? But I don't say anything, on the off chance she's decided to stop being a horrible witch now that we're roommates. But that doesn't mean I'm falling for it either.

"So, who's first?" says Lily-Bella.

"Let's do Waverly first," says Pickles. "She is so beautiful."

"No, I think you should go first, Pickles. I can't wait to see you dressed like a princess."

Pickles blushes. In no time, we have her dressed in one of the sparkly pink gowns with a tiara. She totally looks like royalty. "My mom would kill me," she says, twirling.

"We won't tell," I say.

"Your turn," says Shelly. "How about this one?" she says, holding up the black leather atrocity.

"Not my thing," I say. I look around the room at the pink sparkly assortment and realize none of them is really me. "Maybe I'll just wear what I've got on."

"No," says Pickles. "I know what you should do." She grabs a wand from under her mattress and waves it over me. Shelly, Lily-Bella, and I all look in the mirror and gasp. Pickles grins widely.

"Wow," I whisper. It's perfect. "Thank you, Pickles."

"Yeah," says Shelly, but she doesn't seem too happy about it.

"You're a goddess," Lily-Bella gushes.

"Don't say that in front of the real goddesses. I don't think they'd appreciate the comparison, and I don't want to get zapped by lightning or anything," Pickles says, and I laugh.

"Time for hair and makeup," says Lily-Bella, grabbing her wand.

I squish my eyes closed and grit my teeth. The last fairy spell I had to endure ended with my brain spinning and my butt planted on the cabin floor. And that spell was conjured by a full-fledged fairy, not a student! I don't want to hurt Lily-Bella's feelings, so I don't say anything, but inside, I'm hoping this makeover doesn't end with me looking like a blobfish.

It's six-thirty p.m. sharp, and I'm at the beach where I rescued Pierce. He called it 'our beach.' I swoon a little. It could be from thinking that Pierce and I have our own place, or it could be that I can't breathe because I am in a long strapless column of aquamarine satin, which is close-fitting through the bodice and past my hips and then flares at my lower calf.

And guess what? I don't look at all like a blobfish! Lily-Bella is a makeover wizard. She applied my makeup with some fairy beautification spell she called a glamour. Then she abracadabraed my hair into an intricate design composed of braids and loose pieces, with tiny pearls stuck on the ends of pins and thin iridescent ribbon scattered throughout. It sounds ridiculous, but it is actually lovely and romantic.

I ended up wrapping a scarf around my neck for vampire-safety purposes, though. Shelly thought it ruined the outfit, but I'd rather be unfashionable than dead. I have to admit that when I looked in the cabin's mirror when it was all done, I looked amazing, maybe even sexy!

There is a breeze, and my bare legs and arms are covered with goosebumps. I am unprepared for the cold. I dig my bare feet into the sand, which has retained some of the warmth from earlier in the day. I cannot sit in this dress, and my heart is pounding as I wait for Pierce—he'll probably hear it a mile away. I try some deep breathing to calm myself, but it doesn't do any good.

After a while, it feels like ... kind of a long time has passed. Where is he? I look up at the redwood he told me he had climbed the morning we'd first met. "Pierce?" I call. There is no answer. I decide to go poking around the scrubby brush nearby to see if he's hiding. I don't think he would do that, but I can't stand around waiting like an idiot.

I see something poking out from under one of the bushes. It's my backpack. I realize I must've left it here when I got distracted by Pierce and his sculpted chest and his bloody leg during our CPR session on the beach. The memory of his lips pressed against mine, and how I instinctively started kissing him back, washes over me. What would it feel like to kiss him for real? On purpose? To have his strong arms holding me tightly against his chest? To run my fingers through his thick, glossy hair. To breathe in his strawberry scent? My body aches with how much I want this.

"Waverly Marie Fishwater!" I yell at myself. "Get a grip! Stop fantasizing like a boy-crazy idiot."

Oh, for Poseidon's sake! I am standing here on the beach, arguing with myself. As a distraction, I unzip the pack and peek inside. There's my stake and a sweater Mom must've put in there without me knowing. Moms do that kind of thing. I would never tell her I appreciate it, but the truth is, I'm so touched I nearly cry.

I might also be close to tears because I'm getting this horrible pang in the pit of my stomach that something has gone wrong. It has to be almost seven, and there is no sign of Pierce. Is this his idea of a joke? I throw the backpack over my shoulder and run along the beach to the other side of the cove where the dock is located.

When I get there, I see the yacht floating in the middle of the bay lit with thousands of fairy lights like some remote galaxy. Music wafts toward the shore, muted by distance. Shelly's laugh cuts through the night like a knife.

Why didn't Pierce show up? Is he on the boat laughing at me? And if he didn't send me the note, who did? Is someone trying to keep me away from the party? As if half a mile of water could stop me!

Determined to learn the truth, I strip off the dress, stuff it in the waterproof backpack, strap it to my back, and dive into the water.