shoulder.
“Thanks.”
Maebh nodded, silent.
Their legs were touching now, and Dolores could feel a tingle of water around her ankles. The tide was coming in.
They met nearly every evening, after that. They started lighting the beacon together, and Mrs. Mochrie was grateful for their help. They stayed up by the light and talked to each other until Maebh had to go back to the sea.
“Look how dark it is already,” said Maebh one evening in the beginning of November. “What’s the point of your daylight saving time, anyway?”
Dolores shrugged. “The harvesters need it.” She joined Maebh at the window and looked out with her. “Besides, it’s not quite dark yet. The sky’s got a bit of purple in it.”
The beacon rotated behind them. Every ten seconds, they had to squint.
“Are we blocking the light?” Maebh asked. “I don’t want to be responsible for any sunken ships.”
Dolores laughed. “The light’s too strong for our bodies to block it.” She nudged Maebh’s hip with her own, trying to pretend it didn’t mean anything. “You’re not a siren, Maebh. You won’t sink any ships.”
Maebh tilted her head, looking at her friend. “You could be a siren.” She gestured over her head. “That long red hair . . .”
“Wait. Are there sirens here too?”
Maebh smiled. “Not here but the Elders tell us stories. They are supposed to be so beautiful, their hair long and bright and curling.” She grabbed one of her own black locks and frowned at it, crossing her eyes. “I’ve always been jealous of siren hair.”
“Oh, but I like yours,” said Dolores. “Mine’s never so shiny. And your eyes—your eyes are pretty too.”
She reached up, carefully, slowly. She touched her thumb to the corner of Maebh’s eye. Neither of them breathed.
Dolores said, “Tell me more about sirens.”
Maebh opened her mouth but didn’t speak. She reached down and clasped Dolores’s hand.
Before she had time to tell herself not to, Dolores leaned in and met Maebh’s open mouth with her own. She felt a smile on the other girl’s lips and traced it with her tongue.
The beacon flashed past them, sending its unbroken beam over the sea.
seventeen
R ISING
N OAH finally looked behind him once he’d landed at White, but the seal had vanished. He tied off the boat and stepped ashore.
The island smelled fresh in the half-light of dusk. He breathed in deep, imagining the cells in his lungs expanding. The last rays of sun turned the lighthouse’s chipped white paint a dripping, translucent orange. The tips of the grasses and leaves lit up like sparklers.
He started walking toward the cottage—he wanted dinner, and to check on Lo—but something pulled him back. He’d never seen the island in light like this before, and it wouldn’t quite let him go.
He moved through the twinkling landscape, seeking the cool expanse of the ocean beyond.
White Island had its own cliffs, more dramatic than the ledge at Star. They ran up from the water in rough vertical lines that looked out of place against the organic curve and swirl of the sea. He sat down at their edge, letting his feet dangle. The evening breeze ruffled through his hair.
The seal appeared. It lumbered onto a flat rock at the base of the cliffs, about thirty feet below where he sat. Noah didn’t know how he was so sure it was the same seal—but he was. It faced away from him, but Noah was still afraid the seal might notice him watching. He couldn’t get over the notion that he was invading its privacy. He swung his legs up and rolled onto his stomach at the cliff’s edge, resting his chin on his crossed arms.
The seal’s shoulder blades rolled beneath a smooth layer of blubber, its body moving like the swell of the tide. It pulled its head up and to the side, straining toward the sky.
And then its skin began to peel away.
It slid slowly, reluctantly down in wet rolls and furrows. A nascent form emerged: a mop of black hair, round, narrow
“Thanks.”
Maebh nodded, silent.
Their legs were touching now, and Dolores could feel a tingle of water around her ankles. The tide was coming in.
They met nearly every evening, after that. They started lighting the beacon together, and Mrs. Mochrie was grateful for their help. They stayed up by the light and talked to each other until Maebh had to go back to the sea.
“Look how dark it is already,” said Maebh one evening in the beginning of November. “What’s the point of your daylight saving time, anyway?”
Dolores shrugged. “The harvesters need it.” She joined Maebh at the window and looked out with her. “Besides, it’s not quite dark yet. The sky’s got a bit of purple in it.”
The beacon rotated behind them. Every ten seconds, they had to squint.
“Are we blocking the light?” Maebh asked. “I don’t want to be responsible for any sunken ships.”
Dolores laughed. “The light’s too strong for our bodies to block it.” She nudged Maebh’s hip with her own, trying to pretend it didn’t mean anything. “You’re not a siren, Maebh. You won’t sink any ships.”
Maebh tilted her head, looking at her friend. “You could be a siren.” She gestured over her head. “That long red hair . . .”
“Wait. Are there sirens here too?”
Maebh smiled. “Not here but the Elders tell us stories. They are supposed to be so beautiful, their hair long and bright and curling.” She grabbed one of her own black locks and frowned at it, crossing her eyes. “I’ve always been jealous of siren hair.”
“Oh, but I like yours,” said Dolores. “Mine’s never so shiny. And your eyes—your eyes are pretty too.”
She reached up, carefully, slowly. She touched her thumb to the corner of Maebh’s eye. Neither of them breathed.
Dolores said, “Tell me more about sirens.”
Maebh opened her mouth but didn’t speak. She reached down and clasped Dolores’s hand.
Before she had time to tell herself not to, Dolores leaned in and met Maebh’s open mouth with her own. She felt a smile on the other girl’s lips and traced it with her tongue.
The beacon flashed past them, sending its unbroken beam over the sea.
seventeen
R ISING
N OAH finally looked behind him once he’d landed at White, but the seal had vanished. He tied off the boat and stepped ashore.
The island smelled fresh in the half-light of dusk. He breathed in deep, imagining the cells in his lungs expanding. The last rays of sun turned the lighthouse’s chipped white paint a dripping, translucent orange. The tips of the grasses and leaves lit up like sparklers.
He started walking toward the cottage—he wanted dinner, and to check on Lo—but something pulled him back. He’d never seen the island in light like this before, and it wouldn’t quite let him go.
He moved through the twinkling landscape, seeking the cool expanse of the ocean beyond.
White Island had its own cliffs, more dramatic than the ledge at Star. They ran up from the water in rough vertical lines that looked out of place against the organic curve and swirl of the sea. He sat down at their edge, letting his feet dangle. The evening breeze ruffled through his hair.
The seal appeared. It lumbered onto a flat rock at the base of the cliffs, about thirty feet below where he sat. Noah didn’t know how he was so sure it was the same seal—but he was. It faced away from him, but Noah was still afraid the seal might notice him watching. He couldn’t get over the notion that he was invading its privacy. He swung his legs up and rolled onto his stomach at the cliff’s edge, resting his chin on his crossed arms.
The seal’s shoulder blades rolled beneath a smooth layer of blubber, its body moving like the swell of the tide. It pulled its head up and to the side, straining toward the sky.
And then its skin began to peel away.
It slid slowly, reluctantly down in wet rolls and furrows. A nascent form emerged: a mop of black hair, round, narrow
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