Really Truly, page 8
I watched Sirena’s daughter as she circled the table, clearing away dishes. She was in her late twenties, I guessed, and as tall as Sirena was short. Nearly as tall as me. The differences between mother and daughter didn’t end there. Delphine’s fingernails were free of polish, and her hair was blond, short, and spiky, not curly and red. I caught a glimpse of a mermaid tattoo on her left ankle as she passed by.
“We’ll take an hour’s siesta back in our cabins,” Sirena informed us when we finished our meal. “Mermaids need their beauty rest! After that, I have a special treat in store to provide us with a little inspiration before we plunge into the hard work of learning to be mermaids. I’ve booked us seats at Beauty and the Buccaneer, the daily matinee at the Jolly Roger!”
If she’d expected us to be overjoyed at this announcement, we disappointed her. The table fell silent as we all looked at each other, puzzled. Jolly Roger?
“You mean the pirate museum?” said Jasmine finally, and Sirena nodded. “Oh, I love that place! We go every summer!”
I perked up at this. Pirates beat the pants—or should it be tails?—off mermaids any day of the week. But my hopes were quickly dashed when Sirena went on to explain that the daily show featured not only pirates but also professional mermaids.
“There are professional mermaids?” I blurted, astounded at this news.
“Yes, indeed,” Sirena replied. “I used to be one myself.”
As we got up from the table to return to our cabins for rest hour, Sirena looked me up and down. “My, you are a tall one, aren’t you?”
There was really no point in replying to that kind of comment.
“Delphine!” Sirena called, and her daughter poked her head in from the kitchen. “What do you think? We haven’t had any guests in a while who were tall enough to pull off the sea serpent costume.”
Delphine gazed at me, considering. She nodded slowly. “That would certainly spice things up a bit.”
I could feel my face redden. I wanted to be a sea serpent even less than I wanted to be a mermaid. Folding my arms across my chest, I gave the two of them my best impression of a Lieutenant Colonel Jericho T. Lovejoy glare. If my mother could see me now, I knew exactly what she’d say: Really, Truly, where are your manners? I didn’t care. No way was I going to spend a week at stupid mermaid camp learning how to be a stupid sea serpent.
Sirena and Delphine were too busy discussing the idea to notice my expression, though. A moment later, Sirena clapped her hands. “Ladies! The vans will be leaving Mermaid HQ at two o’clock sharp! Don’t be late.”
I stalked out of the dining room after my cousin and friends, who were chattering happily about the Jolly Roger and tonight’s unveiling and tailing. There was no talk of any of them being sea serpents, I noted bitterly. Obviously they were perfect mermaid material.
Me, on the other hand? Mermaid camp—pardon me, mermaid academy—hadn’t even started yet, and I was already flunking out.
CHAPTER 10
“Wow!” Mackenzie whispered. “Those ladies can really swim!”
We were sitting front and center in the Jolly Roger’s “showquarium,” as the theater was called, watching Beauty and the Buccaneer. Any closer and we’d have been onstage ourselves.
Onstage underwater, that is.
All that stood between us and the quartet of mermaids currently performing their routine was a thick pane of glass. It was like sitting in front of a giant fish tank. Most of the showquarium, including the seats we occupied, was underground. All we could see was a carefully constructed “amazing undersea world,” as the program trumpeted, complete with a fake castle, fake seaweed, fake seahorses that the mermaids rode in on, and a fake sparkly coral reef. A fake treasure chest in one corner spilled over with the kind of plastic jewelry that my sister Pippa loved to play dress up with. The only thing that was real, as far as I could tell, were the fish that darted here and there. Far above, sunlight filtered down through the water, illuminating the whole scene.
It was incredibly cheesy.
If only Hatcher were here to poke fun at it with me! This kind of thing was right up his alley. It was usually up Mackenzie’s alley too, but when I glanced over at her, I could tell by her shining eyes that she was not in the mood for mockery. Ditto Cha Cha and Jasmine. I seemed to be the only one who noticed how silly it all was. Especially the pink seahorses. They looked like giant pool toys.
Mackenzie was right about one thing, though, I had to admit. The professional mermaids really could swim.
I watched the four women glide through the water, propelling themselves with an effortless flip of the flukes at the bottom of their surprisingly realistic tails. They swam in and out of the castle, waving at us from the windows (Mackenzie waved back, like she was five). They looked at themselves in hand mirrors and pretended to brush each other’s hair. They performed what looked like underwater ballet moves, arcing forward and back in graceful somersaults. They swam over to the treasure chest, where they pulled out strands of fake beads and pearls and hung them around each other’s necks. Occasionally, one of them would dart over to the back corner, grab one of the long black tubes hidden among the fake seaweed—oxygen tubes, I presumed—and take a quick breath. Otherwise, they just swam around with their eyes open, big smiles on their perfectly made-up faces (hello, waterproof mascara), as if water really were their natural element.
“Ooo, look! Here comes Beauty!”
Behind us, Hayden suddenly came to life. She’d been watching mostly in silence until this moment, when the quartet of mermaids pointed in excitement toward the castle as a fifth mermaid emerged. She wore a gold bikini top and a gold crown, and she was riding in a carriage shaped like a giant gold shell. It floated toward us, pulled by two of the pink seahorses, although I was pretty sure there was a motor involved somewhere.
“Check out her tail!” Mackenzie whispered, mesmerized, as the carriage stopped directly in front of us, and Beauty emerged. She swam out and hovered before the window, waving and smiling at us as she showed off her long golden tail, which was much fancier than the ones belonging to the other mermaids.
“A shimmertail!” breathed Hayden.
I was impressed in spite of myself. Glimmering scales in iridescent shades of peacock blue and green were scattered up and down the tail’s golden surface, and the oversized flukes at the bottom looked like butterfly wings.
“Wow!” Mackenzie exclaimed, her eyes shining again. I was guessing “shimmertail” had just shot right to the top of her Christmas list.
All of a sudden the mermaids drew back in mock horror. A sinister figure plunged into the water from above. Dressed in a black-and-white-striped T-shirt and what looked like the bottom half of a wetsuit, he descended toward the bottom of the showquarium on a big black anchor. In one hand he held a fluttering black flag with a white skull and crossbones on it.
“The buccaneer!” exclaimed one of the girls from St. Louis at the same time that Mackenzie said, “The pirate!”
“Boo! Hiss!” called Zadie, who was enjoying the show almost as much as my cousin.
The pirate gave an evil grin, revealing a gold tooth. He hopped off the anchor and swam toward the mermaids, who fluttered their hands in pretend panic.
“C’mon, Team Mermaid!” I shouted. “Whack him with your tails!”
Whether it was my encouragement or just the script, the mermaids finally sprang into action, forming a guard around Beauty. The pirate tried to reach over them and grab her crown, but they successfully fended him off. Finally, he gave up and turned his attention to the treasure chest.
“Not the treasure!” hooted Zadie, who was surprisingly feisty for someone who was nearly ninety, if you asked me, which nobody ever did.
As the pirate rifled through the contents of the chest, the mermaids set off after him in furious pursuit. I knew they were furious because of the way their tails lashed the water. In the end, he was no match for them, though. Everyone cheered when Beauty gave him a final thwack with her shimmertail, sending him somersaulting across the bottom of the showquarium. Her mermaid guards snatched away his pirate flag, put him in handcuffs, and sent the buccaneer back to the surface on one of the seahorses in defeat.
“That was amazing!” said Mackenzie as we emerged from the theater. “I can’t believe how long they all could hold their breath.”
“At least ninety seconds, and some of them for up to two and a half minutes,” Sirena told her. “I used to be able to hold mine for two minutes, back when I was performing.”
I tried to imagine her as a professional mermaid. Sirena was shaped more like one of the bobbers my brothers used when they were first learning how to fish, but when she was younger, she was probably built more like Cha Cha or Mackenzie, pint-size and cute.
“Were you a mermaid here at the Jolly Roger?” asked Hayden’s mother.
Sirena shook her head. “No—Florida. But that was many years ago. Delphine worked here every summer during college, though.” She clapped her hands. “Ladies! You have about forty-five minutes to enjoy the museum before we head back to Mermaid HQ.”
As the rest of the group made a beeline for the gift shop, Cha Cha and Jasmine and Mackenzie and I entered the “Wreck of the Windborne” exhibit.
“Ooo, spooky,” said my cousin, shivering in anticipation as we pushed past a curtain of fishing nets into a dark tunnel. We emerged onto a gangplank that led onto a replica of a ship. A costumed guide motioned us over.
“The tour is just getting started,” he told us, adjusting his tricorne hat. A fake stuffed parrot was perched on his shoulder. “Welcome aboard the Windborne, mateys!”
Mateys? Seriously? I glanced at my oblivious cousin. Where was Hatcher when I needed him!
“The tale of the Windborne is a tragic one,” our guide began. “While sailing home to England in 1765 with a hold full of South American gold and silver, she was attacked off Jamaica by Benjamin ‘Black Tooth Ben’ Buttonwood and his band of pirates. They trussed the Windborne’s captain up like a Thanksgiving turkey and set him ashore on a small island. His crew was given the choice of being marooned with him or joining the buccaneers. Most chose to go rogue.”
“I want to be a pirate too!” announced a little boy about Pippa’s age.
“Arrrrgggghhh!” growled our guide approvingly. “Bully for you, lad!”
Frustrated actor, I thought. Couldn’t get a real job, ended up here. That’s what my father always said about the employees these kinds of museums.
The guide continued with his tale. “The Windborne spent the next couple of years sailing under the black flag—that’s what they call the skull and crossbones, that or the ‘Jolly Roger’—preying on other ships. Then, in the spring of 1767, she set a course for Black Tooth Ben’s home port in Maine. Legend has it he planned to meet his sweetheart there and spirit her off to a life of luxury in the West Indies. Alas, fate had other plans. The Windborne was nearing Nantucket when she ran afoul of a nor’easter. The monstrous storm blew them back toward Cape Cod, and they foundered on a sandbar just off Marconi Beach.”
Jasmine gasped. “I’ve been swimming on that beach!”
The guide nodded solemnly. “As have I, lass, as have I.” His voice dropped low. “As the ship’s bell tolled the alarm, the Windborne broke apart. Nearly all hands were lost, including that of the cabin boy, who was just about your age.” He pointed at the little boy who’d announced that he wanted to be a pirate. He didn’t look so certain now. “Only two men made it to shore. Isaiah Osborne, the ship’s carpenter, was quickly found, arrested, and hanged for piracy. The other managed to escape and was never seen or heard from again. Dandy Dan, his shipmates called him, but his real name has been lost in the mists of time.”
“What happened to the treasure?” asked Cha Cha.
“They say that Dandy Dan spirited some of the booty away with him when he vanished, but no trace of it has ever been found. The Windborne lay in her silent grave at the bottom of the sea for three hundred years. Bits and pieces of her washed ashore from time to time, tantalizing beachcombers and treasure seekers alike. But her exact location eluded all who sought to find her.”
The tour guide knew how to spin a tale. We were hanging on his every word.
“All, that is, except Skipper John Dee, Cape Cod’s own intrepid underwater explorer. Ten years ago, after spending most of his life searching for the Windborne, he mounted one final expedition, and this time he found her! Thanks to his recovery efforts, we now have this museum and all of the priceless historical artifacts that it contains.” He whipped off his hat and threw it into the air. “Huzzah for Skipper Dee!”
“Huzzah for Skipper Dee!” echoed the tour group.
I laughed out loud, which earned me a puzzled look from the tour guide. Just the other night Mackenzie had read Eloise, Pippa’s favorite book, to a group of our younger cousins. Skipperdee was Eloise’s pet turtle’s name. I looked over at my cousin, expecting to see her grinning too, but she was too busy huzzahing to notice.
After the tour, we meandered on through the other exhibits, looking at the cannonballs and swords and other artifacts that had been recovered from the ocean floor.
“Hey! There’s the ship’s bell!” said Jasmine.
We followed her to the large tank in which it hung submerged. It reminded me of the Paul Revere bell in the steeple of our church back in Pumpkin Falls. This one was similar in style, only smaller. The name WINDBORNE was engraved around the middle. I stared at it, imagining the storm and the howling wind and the cries of all those doomed men, including the poor little cabin boy. And above it all, the ringing of the bell as the ship sank beneath the waves.
I jumped as someone touched my arm. It was Mackenzie.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on,” she said, “this room gives me the creeps. Let’s go look at some pirate treasure.”
CHAPTER 11
There was plenty of treasure to see. The Windborne sank loaded with plunder from nearly two dozen ships, and my cousin and friends and I lingered over the displays of gold and silver coins and jewelry from Africa and South America.
Another costumed guide was standing by one of the exhibit cases, letting people hold a real coin—a silver piece of eight. When it was my turn, I held out my hand as directed.
“Wow!” I exclaimed as she placed the coin in the center of my palm. My fingers closed over it reflexively. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so heavy.”
She smiled. “Nobody ever is.”
I managed to find some decent souvenirs in the gift shop, including fake pieces of eight for Hatcher and Danny, a plush stuffed parrot toy for Pippa, a book called The Pirate Queen for Lauren, and for my mother and Aunt True, the museum’s special blend of Windborne tea. I hesitated by a rack of T-shirts, wondering if my father would get a kick out of one that said CAPTAIN HOOK on it. I finally decided that he would. Lieutenant Colonel Jericho T. Lovejoy had a good sense of humor, and I was guessing he’d wear it proudly with his matching prosthetic arm with the hook on it, the one he’d received before upgrading to the Terminator.
“Ladies!” called Sirena, poking her head in the door of the shop. “Time to set sail for home. Dinner awaits! It’s fish and chips night, our traditional welcome meal.”
We arrived back at Mermaid HQ just in time to stash our loot in our cabins before the dinner gong sounded. Sirena wasn’t kidding when she said we’d be eating a lot of fish this week, I thought, surveying my plate. It was a good thing that I liked seafood.
“Oh man, this is so good!” said Mackenzie, and Delphine smiled.
“You know your way around a kitchen, that’s for sure,” agreed Zadie.
“Indeed she does,” said Sirena proudly. “I’d say she’s a chip off the old block, except I can’t even boil water! I’m hopeless at cooking.”
“I had to learn in self-defense,” joked Delphine.
After dinner, it was time for the “unveiling and tailing.”
“Change into your swimsuits, gather your tails, and meet at Mermaid Crossing—the back porch—in fifteen minutes,” Sirena told us, and we all scattered to our cabins.
Mackenzie skipped happily down the path toward Whelk. “I can’t wait to try mine on!”
I could. Watching the professionals today at the showquarium had given me a little more respect for the whole mermaid thing, but I still wasn’t looking forward to turning myself into one. And my mood did not improve when I got my first glimpse of Mermaid Crossing.
“Over the top much?” I muttered at the same time that Mackenzie exclaimed, “It’s perfect!”
Twinkle lights in the shape of seashells were draped across the porch’s broad screens, and there were fishing nets and glass floats strung up everywhere. Big cushy chairs and sofas covered in faded blue denim were arranged in a semicircle, and scattered atop them were throw pillows that sported jaunty sayings like LIFE IS BETTER AT THE BEACH! and SEAS THE DAY! and MERMAIDS AHOY!
I eyed the enormous full-length mirror that leaned against the back wall of the house. It was encrusted with a haphazard pattern of seashells glued to its frame and looked like something Pippa might have made in kindergarten. Above it was a colorful mural featuring a trio of mermaids seated on a rock, brushing their long hair while whales frolicked in the distance. MERMAID CROSSING was written above their heads in shiny silver paint.
We all found seats and looked over at Sirena, who had changed into a gauzy white dress that fluttered and swirled around her knees as the ceiling fan spun overhead in slow circles. Sparkly flip-flops, full makeup, and yards of costume jewelry completed the look.
“And now,” she said dramatically, “it’s time for the unveiling and tailing!”
At Sirena’s signal, we all opened the packages containing our tails. At first glance, Marina, the style I’d chosen, didn’t look all that bad. I held it up. The tubelike part at the top was made of shiny blue fabric printed with scales, and the flukes fluttered limply at the bottom. I gave it a tentative tug. The whole thing didn’t look very long, but it was stretchy.
