Page 66 of Grown

Maybe that’s what Jessica is, the stepmother, trying to keep me from Korey. No way all those rules are his idea.

Korey enters with two Styrofoam cups and Flounder under his arm.

“Here, drink this.”

It tastes familiar. Sweet, like a Jolly Rancher. Bubbly, like Sprite. But something else. A slightly bitter medicine taste.

“What is it?”

“Something to help you relax. See, I’m having some too.”

He sets Flounder on the desk, angling him toward the bed. I haven’t touched Flounder much; he reminds me too much of going to Disneyland, and I’d rather forget that day. But in some strange way, seeing him brings me comfort of softer times, when I was a mermaid who sang and played with little fishes. I wonder how the Littles are doing without me.

“Enchanted... such a pretty-ass name,” Korey says with a smirk, his words slurring. He flops onto the bed next to me. “What’s the story behind that beautiful name?”

My heart softens, and I feel my defenses loosen. It’s been so long since it was just the two of us and him smiling that I almost forgot how just being near him feels like flying.

“Mom said I was born with the type of eyes that takes your breath away,” I say, taking a sip.

“That’s it?” He chuckles. “All Moms say shit like that.”

Without thinking, I shoot back, “Is that what yours said?”

“No, she...” His voice fades, eyes staring off into the void. “She... I, um, doubt she saw anything good in me.”

He sits up, grabbing the remote from the nightstand, clicking on Netflix. In an instant, I feel guilty for bringing up his mom, but I also feel loose and wobbly. Korey rubs my knee, his arms like an octopus, the room spinning.

I look inside the cup after one long blink. The drink is purple.

How sweet, I thought before flopping back. He knows purple is my favorite color.

Chapter 47

Jellyfish

I was stung by a jellyfish once.

Back in Far Rockaway, while snorkeling close to the rock bank, I noticed a plastic bag floating nearby. Or... at least I thought it was a plastic bag. People are always throwing their trash in the ocean. But when I moved closer, the bag came to life, its tentacles darting, and a three-alarm fire broke out on my arm. I popped up to the surface with a scream. Daddy rushed in and carried me to shore. Mom doused the fire with salt water. Lifeguards brought the first-aid kit. Shooting stars covered the clear blue sky as the intense burning raged on.

At Grandma’s, while she soaked my wound in vinegar wraps, I looked up facts about jellyfish:

Jellyfish have no brains.

“Nah, I never said anything about recording an album. You imagining things. Oh, so what, you don’t trust me now? Get in your room!”

Jellyfish have no hearts.

“What you mean? Of course I love you. Why you keep asking me that shit?”

Jellyfish have no eyes.

“You don’t see that? That dirt right there! You better clean that shit up. I mean it, clean all that shit up.”

Jellyfish are spineless.

“Swimming? What the fuck I look like swimming? Nah, ma. That pool is just for show. We’re not going in there.”

Jellyfish don’t purposely sting humans, only when provoked or touched.