Mismatched by Elle Casey, Amanda McKeon

around under the bow of the boat and produces a bunch of keys. Dangling them at me so that they tinkle he says, “Jump in. Quick!”
    The engine starts up, put-putting over and over, until he revs it. My feet jump before my head has time to consider, landing me in the boat. Michaél angles the engine and turns up the power, heading us out to sea.
    “Who’s boat is this?” I yell.
    Micheál just shrugs, his eyes searching the black water ahead, I hope for other boats or rocks. The moon provides our only light.
    What the fuck am I doing? I’ve just met this guy and now we’re stealing a boat together…? “Where are we going?” I yell again.
    “You’ll see!”

CHAPTER TEN
    RIDLEE

    I CANNOT WATCH ERIN DROOL over this guy any longer. Mostly because it’s embarrassing but also because every once in a while she sneaks a glance over at me to see if I’m watching and then she stops for about five seconds. I’m making her feel bad for having a massive, over-sized insta-crush on a drummer, and that’s just not cool. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway? A one-night stand in a country she no longer wants to call home with a hot guy who has magic in his hands? Yeah. I’m not getting in the way of that. That’s the kind of thing that gets your BFF card revoked, and that’s the most valuable card in my wallet.
    Leaving the bar without Erin or her drummer boy seeing me is about as easy as you’d imagine. The two were oblivious, but as far as they’re concerned, I was probably there one second, gone the next. This town is too small for anything bad to happen in it, but Erin will forget that when she can’t find me. I stop off and tell the bartender where I’m going, just in case Erin freaks.
    The next pub down in my crawl is called The Irish Arms. It’s small and paneled in dark reddish wood with rooms for rent over the bar. I swear this time I will not inhale the pint I’m given, even though it has a perfect frothy foam on the top and the striated dark goodness below that I’ve come to appreciate.
    I sit down next to a table with two old men at it, and it’s not long before I’m drawn into a conversation about faeries.
    “O’ course they exist. I’ve seen many round the Cliffs of Moher. There be selkies there, you can trust me on that.” The man saying it looks pretty much like a leprechaun himself, so I’m inclined to believe him. I can almost see a green tinge to his skin, and he can’t be more than four and a half feet tall when he’s standing. I’m pretty sure his feet aren’t touching the floor as he sits in his chair.
    “The Cliffs of Moher?” I say, leaning in. “What’s that?”
    He looks at me and smiles. “The Cliffs of Moher are a place of beauty and legend, unrivaled in all the world!” His arms spread wide, and he does it with an impressive Guiness-inspired flourish if the empty pints in front of him are any judge.
    “Och, Paddy, you exaggerate.” His friend has half the amount of empty pints in front of him. “Selkies? Come on, man.”
    “I’ll tell you about the hag if ye like,” Paddy offers to me, ignoring the naysayer next to him.
    I turn my chair more fully around and cross my legs. “Do tell. I love me a good Irish legend.”
    He rubs his hands together and leans in a little. “Ye have to be careful about who hears ye tell the story.”
    I lean in too. “Why?” I’m speaking as low as I can in a busy pub and still be heard.
    “Because.” He looks around. “The witches aren’t gone. They’re just more quiet about their business.”
    His friend snorts and takes another pull from his beer. “Go on then, y’old codger. Tell her the legend.”
    “I was gettin’ to it. Just sit back and relax, there, William, and leave the storyteller to his business.”
    William flicks his hand at his friend. “Away, then, wit’ it. We’re all ears.”
    Paddy gives it all he’s got, and I almost feel like I’m in his little story from long ago the way my head is