I Am Water Read online

  a polite

  quiet.

  I glance

  under the table

  and catch him

  flicking

  his lighter.

  On and off.

  On

  and

  off.

  52

  A Falling-Out

  Sam and I split

  a Panda Paws

  milkshake.

  My choice.

  Sam is

  talking about

  a girl in

  World History

  who didn’t know

  we fought

  the British

  for independence.

  He’s just getting

  to the punchline

  when

  I break my gaze.

  Ezra

  walks by

  the window

  in a flowing

  cream tunic.

  Curls bouncing

  lightly

  as he steps.

  The drink catches

  in my throat

  and I choke.

  53

  Suddenly

  it’s like bellows

  have roared

  the coals

  in Sam’s

  amber eyes.

  “Don’t tell me

  you actually

  like that guy,”

  he scoffs.

  “So what if I do?”

  I ask.

  “And I’m not

  saying I do.”

  “He’s just

  so vain

  and arrogant,”

  Sam says.

  “And he always

  has to

  stand out.”

  “You’re just

  jealous

  that he does it

  so easily,”

  I say back.

  Which was

  a mistake. Because

  Sam lurches

  out of his chair

  and walks out the door.

  54

  Slamming it

  behind him.

  I don’t think

  I’ve ever seen

  his eyes in

  such

  a heat.

  I look down at

  our milkshake.

  There’s still

  half

  of it

  left.

  55

  The Quarry, Hunter’s Moon

  I’m feeling

  pretty crummy.

  But I still have

  another hour

  before Renny

  will pull up

  in his pickup truck.

  I decide

  to go down to

  our secret spot

  anyway.

  Tonight is

  a full moon.

  And she’s

  pulling on me

  like she pulls

  on every other

  body of water.

  I can’t help it.

  When I get to

  the river’s edge,

  I strip off my jacket

  and jeans.

  I wade in.

  Just enough for

  the reflected moonbeams

  to drift into me.

  56

  Soak into my skin.

  It’s freezing,

  but

  the cold numbs

  the fire

  Sam left

  behind.

  “Ehemm.”

  A throat clears

  from somewhere

  on the other side

  of the bushes.

  “I knew you

  were a

  shapeshifter

  the first time

  I met you.

  A water creature

  who has to return

  every so often

  to keep

  the spell going.

  Don’t try

  to deny it.”

  In the pale light,

  I can just see

  a flowing

  cream tunic

  and curls.

  Ezra.

  57

  “Don’t worry.

  I’ll look away

  while you

  slip your

  land legs

  back on

  and

  hide

  your gills.”

  I redress,

  half

  embarrassed,

  half

  curious.

  He is sitting

  on the rocks,

  burning

  a small pile

  of sage.

  Eyes closed.

  I come

  close enough

  to see

  that his lashes

  are thick

  and black.

  Dusted

  ever so slightly

  with

  stray specks

  of

  glitter.

  58

  “I do this

  on every

  full moon,”

  he says.

  “I cleanse

  myself

  and my

  surroundings.

  Send up

  prayers

  to the

  sacred.”

  “What do you

  pray for?”

  I ask.

  He inches forward

  as if to tell me

  a great

  and terrible

  secret.

  “For fish

  to become

  beautiful women

  and men

  to become

  fairies.

  And for

  every

  transformation

  once

  thought of

  as impossible.”

  59

  “Really?”

  I say,

  sliding

  closer.

  I whisper,

  “Any

  luck?”

  “On

  at least

  one account.”

  He pulls

  a fleece-lined

  jacket

  from the rocks

  he was

  sitting on and

  wraps it

  tight

  around

  my shivering

  shoulders.

  He looks over

  at my

  dripping,

  cold feet.

  “You

  no longer

  have fins.”

  60

  And then

  I’m

  leaning into

  those

  glitter-speckled

  eyelashes

  until

  they flood

  my vision

  like

  shooting stars.

  His curls

  brush against

  my forehead

  and

  his lips

  are

  on mine.

  Soft.

  Fluid.

  Like

  moonlight

  on

  water.

  61

  Water Dream #3

  My legs

  meld

  together

  and sprout

  scales.

  I touch the water and

  it shimmers out

  from my fingertips.

  Beautiful

  silver ripples.

  The glittering curves

  are like crescent moons

  or

  Ezra’s eyes.

  I can breathe

  underwater

  all the way to

  the base of a

  towering waterfall.

  I dive below and

  surface behind it.

  Wild vines

  and flowers

  the size of my face

  weave a
/>   tropical jungle.

  62

  I crawl onto

  a heap of moss

  and ferns.

  The ground

  is so warm

  beneath me.

  Then,

  I hear his voice.

  His tinkling voice,

  say,

  “Hannah, I knew

  you were a

  shapeshifter.”

  I

  am

  water.

  And

  he

  is

  earth.

  63

  Hidden

  On the way into school

  the next day, I

  pass Ezra on the sidewalk.

  His smile is all

  flirt and glimmer.

  But he flinches when

  I grab his hand.

  Peers over his shoulder.

  Eyes flitting nervously,

  to see if anyone behind us

  is watching.

  He says,

  “Best not to let anyone know.

  You agree?”

  “But why?” I ask.

  “Just trust me, okay?

  It wouldn’t be good for us

  if certain people found out.”

  I’m about to protest, but

  he squeezes my fingers

  to assure me.

  Then he lets them slip.

  Putting the doubts in my mind

  at ease.

  “Well, alright then,” I say.

  64

  January

  He says

  I water

  the grass

  inside

  his head.

  That

  whenever

  I’m near,

  his mind

  runs

  barefoot.

  65

  March

  He leaves me

  bits of treasures

  from his

  greenhouse

  in my locker.

  Pansies

  to show

  he’s thinking

  of me.

  White clover

  to ask me

  to think

  of him.

  Jasmine,

  for love.

  I bring home

  the clippings

  and put them

  in a mug

  in my room.

  I will feed them

  water

  to sustain

  them.

  66

  I will feed him

  water

  to sustain

  him.

  67

  Bo, Incident #1

  Ezra has been sitting

  with us in the lunchroom

  regularly for months now.

  Sam didn’t like it at first.

  But he cooled off.

  After I apologized for

  what I said at the coffee shop.

  Something new has

  started to happen

  over the last few weeks.

  Girls I’ve never

  talked to before

  are sitting with us, too.

  Girls who aren’t eddies.

  Girls who flow

  with the mainstream.

  Girls like Victoria.

  They question Ezra

  endlessly.

  About fashion.

  And the city.

  And the secrets of the stars.

  They ask to see

  his tarot cards.

  Ask for him to read

  their palms.

  Ask for stories about

  68

  what the moon

  tells him.

  Sometimes

  I can’t help but

  feel left out.

  Feel like

  I am a riptide.

  Tugging on him

  to join me

  in the sea.

  While

  five senior girls

  stand on shore,

  in sunhats and shades

  and polka dot bikinis,

  and wave him

  back in.

  But then

  he catches

  my glance

  and smiles.

  Ever so slightly.

  Too sly for

  the rest of

  the table to notice.

  It’s then that I picture

  myself as salt water.

  The kind that gives itself

  with fondness

  to his skin.

  Reminding him of the ocean

  long after he has left it.

  69

  A secret intimacy.

  Out of the corner

  of my eye,

  I see Bo

  and his posse

  at a table

  not far from us.

  Spiked hair.

  Ripped jeans.

  Studded belt.

  Muscle tank.

  Bo wouldn’t be

  caught dead

  taking fashion advice

  from anyone.

  Let alone

  a boy with

  glittered eyes

  and a moon scarf.

  He is snickering and

  elbowing Derek.

  Gesturing toward

  our table.

  Mouthing the word

  “fag.”

  The water boils

  inside me.

  I make note

  to prepare

  a shipwreck

  if I need to.

  70

  Looking back

  at Ezra,

  I decide,

  yes.

  I can be

  salt water.

  Salt water

  to clean

  stinging

  wounds.

  Salt water

  to cradle

  his body.

  Lifting it

  to the surface

  with

  invisible

  hands.

  Keeping

  his head

  above

  water.

  71

  Bo, Incident #2

  Ezra is showing me

  the sprouts

  in his greenhouse.

  Life

  breaking ground

  in emerald

  and olive

  and gold.

  A boy

  walking by

  outside

  shouts,

  “Homo!”

  as he races

  by the door.

  I recognize

  Bo’s

  deep,

  rocky

  voice.

  Ezra ignores him.

  The green

  of his eyes

  dulls to

  a gray hazel.

  He looks toward

  the now-empty

  doorway.

  72

  Then gazes at

  the ground

  in silence.

  After a minute he says,

  “Do you know why

  people don’t want weeds?”

  I don’t see

  where he’s going

  with this.

  “Because they kill

  what someone is

  trying to plant.

  But a weed is

  just something

  unwanted.

  What is and isn’t

  a weed

  depends on

  what plants

  someone wants.

  A dandelion

  is considered

  a pest. But

  not to someone who

  makes wine from

  the petals.

  Some of the most

  beautiful flowers

  are wild and would

  take over

  73

  a garden if someone

  would let them.

  Most plants pe
ople

  consider weeds are more

  natural to the area than

  the ones they import.

  Most have stronger roots. And

  many make good homes

  for small animals.

  Animals also considered pests.”

  “You’re not a weed,”

  I say.

  “And you’re not unwanted.”

  “Maybe not by you.

  But I’m definitely not

  the kind of thing

  this town would like to see grow.

  Though,

  somewhere else,

  like back in the city,

  I’d be left alone.

  Maybe even helped.

  Did you know

  plants

  can protect

  themselves?”

  he asks.

  I shake my head.

  I wait for him to continue.

  “Nature is full of

  74

  interesting species.

  Mimosa plants

  actually

  curl away

  from human hands.

  They know touch

  can be damaging.

  So

  they don’t

  let themselves

  be touched.”

  “You’re not

  a coward,”

  I say.

  “Sometimes

  protecting yourself

  is necessary.”

  He continues.

  “Nightshade

  can kill a man.”

  “You’re not

  violent like that,”

  I say.

  “Poison ivy

  grows on land

  that has been

  torn

  and ruined.

  To keep people

  from doing

  any more harm.

  75

  Until the plants

  regrow.

  A defender.”

  “That sounds

  more like you,”

  I say.

  “A defender.

  Ivy breaks through

  cement and brick.

  Bur oaks are

  fireproof.”

  He smiles

  gratefully

  as I continue.

  “Strong.

  The earth

  is strong.

  Like you.

  Fireproof.

  Which is good

  because

  Bo is

  a fire sign.”

  He looks me

  straight in

  the eye

  and

  I reach out

  with

  fingertips

  to his

  76

  cheek.

  He doesn’t

  curl away

  like a

  mimosa

  would.

  Instead,

  the green

  relights

  in

  his

  eyes.

  77

  Makeshift Horoscope for Today

  On my desk

  later that day.

  A handwritten

  horoscope.

  Pisces:

  Tonight is

  a favorable time

  for romance.

  The stars

  shine down on

  a relationship with

  a devilishly

  handsome partner.

  (Meet me

  at the river,

  10:00 pm.)

  78

  A Reveal

  I tell Sam

  I have plans after