"Dad, what's going on?" We're talking out loud because if someone walks by, it would look pretty weird if we were just standing there gesturing. The rock we're standing on is super slippery from the constant ocean spray. My clothes are getting soaked. Dad is in his waterproof poncho.

Dad grabs my shoulders and looks down at me with the most serious expression I've ever seen on him. "Waverly ..."

"You're kind of hurting me." He lessens his grip, marginally.

"Look at me, Waverly. You saw nothing in that cave."

"If you're trying to hypnotize me, it's not working. I totally remember the cave!"

"Waverly." He blows out a breath. "You need to keep out of this. I'm telling you it's for the best. Trust me."

"But, Dad, if something is wrong with the water in the bay, we have to fix it. Fish are suffering, Mom, Shelly ..." Beau. Poor Beau!

Dad exhales in frustration. "Waverly, if you want to help me, your mom, the new merbabies, and your friends, you will never mention this to another living soul. No matter what happens to me or anyone else. Do you understand?" Bringing up the merbabies is a low move on his part.

"How can I understand what you refuse to explain? And what do you mean—that something might happen to you?" He stares at me like he's drawing a picture of me in his mind, a photograph that no one can ever take away from him. "Dad, you're scaring me. What is your involvement in all this?" An enormous wave crashes onto the rock. Water is dripping down my nose. I try to wipe it away with Pierce's shirt, but it's soaked and does no good.

"Waverly. Did you not hear what I said? I can't tell you anything. Just know that the problem is being addressed by the royal family, the Merfolk Council, the school board ..."

"I am not a fingerling, Dad. I am smart and useful. I could help."

"I know you're not a fingerling, Wave, but you're still my merbaby, always, and I can't even think about something happening to you."

"What could happen, Dad? Who would hurt me? I mean, other than vampires draining my blood or Shelly tearing out my hair or Lily-Bella accidentally suffocating me in a pile of pink tulle. If you don't tell me, isn't that putting me more at risk?" I see the hesitation in his face. I know I've just scored big points with my excellent debate skills!

But instead of caving and telling me what's going on, he straightens his back in resolve. "The only way you can help is by letting the professionals handle the problem."

"Professionals? You're a math teacher, Dad. You teach polynomials and irrational numbers and vectors, whatever those are. What in Hades do you know about espionage? I'm a teenager. Believe me, if you want subterfuge, hire a teenage girl. We are better than anyone at this kind of stuff."

"I don't even want to know what you mean by that, Waverly."

"Never mind." It's incredible to me that parents forget all this when they grow up. How they snuck around and forgot to mention exactly, specifically, what they were really doing on Friday night. It's like they go through some mandatory brainwashing ceremony the night before they have their first fingerling.

"What secret teen subterfuge?"

"I can't really tell you any of that, Dad." I pause here for dramatic emphasis. "Because if I told you anything, your life could be in danger."

"Waverly, do not take this situation lightly."

"I don't, Dad."

"And promise not to discuss this with another living soul."

"Ugh!" Big eye roll here. He glares at me. "I promise!"

"Good, now off to class."

"Just tell me one thing," I say, just because I am terrible at giving up on an argument.

"Waverly Marie Fishwater!"

There it is. When a parent calls you by your full name, it is a warning they're about to lose it, like when a rattlesnake shakes its rattle. But I don't care. I just keep thinking about Beau. "Dad, is the problem only in the bay, or is the ocean affected too? It's important. I have to know."

"So far, it's confined to the bay. Now that's it, Wave. No more. You need to go to Biology now."

"I'm not feeling well, Dad. Could you write me an excuse to get me out of class?"

"You're sick?" He looks worried. Even though I want to say, 'yes, yes, I'm totally sick,' I can't do that to him.

"No. I'm okay." But why am I okay? How come everyone else who's gone in the bay is sick? Except for me, and Pierce, and I guess my dad. I want to ask him about this, but he's already called me by my full name once; if I make him do it twice, he'll probably find a way to make me take Biology every day for the rest of my life. There is an answer, and I'll figure it out.

"Good. The best thing for you to do right now is to go to Biology and act normal. Not too normal, though. We don't want to raise any suspicion."

"Hilarious, Dad," I say.

He kisses my head. "Full moon tonight," he says.

I totally didn't realize it was a full moon. This means we have fairy dance class and get to dance until our feet are bloody. What a fantastic way to spend an evening with a bunch of bloodthirsty vampires!

My soggy flip-flops make a squeaking noise with every step as I trudge up the path to the Craftsman bungalow classrooms that sit perched around the meadow in the center of campus. While I walk, I'm plotting my own investigation. You'd think after seventeen years of living with me, my father would know I never give up an argument this easily.

I get to Bio, but apparently Headmaster Crumpet hasn't started teaching yet. I know this because the kids are chattering and launching paper airplanes at the really high ceiling. Because this is no ordinary school, the planes make buzzing sounds, like oversized mosquitoes, and perform all kinds of fancy maneuvers—loops, rolls, the occasional dive-bombing of another student. One of the more erratic planes has a sparkly contrail. Pretty sure this one belongs to Pickles. Two of the planes are shooting little blasts of chalk at one another. Headmaster Crumpet is grinning at the chaos, like he really is twelve.

"Welcome, Miss Fishwater. Glad you could join us. I've been waiting for you before beginning the unit on Divine Reproduction."

Lucky me! I'm thinking, but because I'm supposed to act normal, I say, "I'm sorry I'm late." I manage to say this so casually, I really impress myself. I am good at this! I can pretend to be ignorant, I mean uninformed, all day long.

For some reason, Pierce is sitting at the teacher's desk in the front of the room. Why is he sitting apart from the other students? Has he already gotten in trouble?

He gives me a funny look and mouths, "Are you okay?" I wonder if he can still read my mind, because I gave such a convincing performance of my okayness when I walked into the room. I cannot understand how else he would guess something was wrong. I smile totally casually at him. He mouths, "Meet me after class." And he looks super serious and almost adultish. I don't like this at all. Frankly, there are too many serious adults in my life as it is. Still, even though I can't tell him anything about what happened with my dad, just the idea of being close to Pierce makes me feel a little better.

"No problem, Miss Fishwater," says Headmaster Crumpet. "Alright, students, please ground your aircraft." All the airplanes except the erratic, sparkly one float down from the ceiling as if they're made of ordinary paper. "Miss McPhee."

"I'm trying," says Pickles.

"Pierce?" Headmaster Crumpet says. "Please."

Pierce floats to the ceiling, grabs the errant aircraft, and floats down. He hands the plane to Pickles. It's trying to take off again, but she grabs it. It's fighting her the whole time until she manages to stuff it into her basket and close the lid. I can still hear it banging around inside like a wild animal trying to flee.

"Please take your seat, Waverly," says Headmaster Crumpet. "Oh, dear, you are quite drenched."

"I'm okay," I assure him. "Mermaid," I say by way of explanation.

"I see."

Pierce tries to catch my eye again, but I ignore him and take my seat.

I'll never get used to the skeletons hanging around the perimeter of the room, and posters showing stuff about digestion and circulation and reproduction. They are not appetite-enhancers!

The classroom is arranged in blocks of four desks clustered together. My seat is near the window, with Cupid, Vang, and Shelly in my cluster. But Shelly's desk sits there, empty, staring at me as if it's my fault she's ill. If we hadn't had that fight on the yacht where she fell in, maybe she'd be okay. I sit. Cupid smirks at me. He's leaning back in his chair, his long legs crossed and sticking straight out. He's wearing a short toga draped over one shoulder and his bow tie. It is very distracting. Guys shouldn't bare this much skin in a classroom setting. Especially guys with defined muscles and golden skin. And especially given the subject matter.

Headmaster Crumpet clears his throat. "I've decided to begin with the unit on Divine Reproduction because it is by far the most diverse and fascinating. It covers everything from Athena's gestation and birth from her father's skull to Aphrodite's birth in the sea-foam created by her father's castrated genitals."

"Mom loves to tell that story," Cupid says. Right, Aphrodite is Cupid's mom. I knew that!

"If you'll take note of the illustrations in Chapter 3 ..." Headmaster Crumpet says.

After a few minutes, my eyes start to glaze over. Who knew reproduction could be so dull? My mind wanders. The subject of reproduction reminds me of poor Beau. I wonder if Olga found him? I wonder if he's pregnant? I wish I could warn him to get out of the bay, but how?

The next thing I hear is the sound of chairs scraping on the wood floor. Somehow, the hour has gone by, and I've managed not to listen to a word. I close my book and get up. There's a puddle of water on the floor beneath my chair.

"Hey, Wave. Everything okay?" says Pickles.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"I'm starved," Pickles says, picking up her basket. Her plane is still banging around, trying to escape. "Cafeteria?"

"I'll catch up with you, Pickles."

As Pierce and I step out of the classroom, I notice Pickles opening her basket and releasing the plane into the sky.

The meadow is drenched in sunlight and humming with insect activity. The air is heavy with moisture and the most amazing smell—my stomach growls.

"It's pizza day," says Pierce. "Lots of garlic." He wrinkles his nose. Right, vampires don't like garlic. I must remember this because someday, it could prove useful. You never know.

"I think I might like pizza." I've never had it before, but the smell is heavenly.

"What's going on?" he says, wasting no time.

"Nothing," I say. "Where's the cafeteria again?"

"Look, Waverly, I've tasted your blood. I know when you're not telling me the truth."

"You're bluffing," I say. I really, really hope I'm right about this.

"Maybe a little." He puts his arms around me and holds me. I can't tell you how good this feels. I feel myself relaxing into him. I had no idea I was so tense.

"You're still really wet," he says. He grabs the mass of my hair (there's so much of it that it takes forever to dry) and squeezes out the excess.

"I'm sorry, Pierce, but I'm not allowed to talk about it."

"I can help you," he says.

"No, you can't."

"I know there's something wrong, and that you believe you're not going to tell me what it is. But if you think that's going to work, you really don't know me. Are you ready? I need to show you something important."

"Ready for what?" I ask.

He grabs me around my waist.

"This," he says, and suddenly we're accelerating into the sky

It's like being on the hang glider ride at the boardwalk times a thousand! Wow! I am flying! I stretch out my arms as if they're wings. My flip-flops fall off as we skim the treetops. The bay is a shiny jewel, and for once, I'm totally speechless.