I’d wondered if maybe the night and my surprise had colored how I saw her, made her fundamentally different somehow, but if anything, she is more mermaid-esque in the daylight. Her hair is big and wavy, attempting to escape from a messy ponytail. And her skin is moon pale, freckles like constellations. Gray eyes and a rumpled T-shirt over shorts, sneakers, a stack of elastics and plastic bracelets on her wrist, and a light blue denim jacket that I’m positive does not come from this decade. All together it works in a way you wouldn’t expect. The woman sitting with her has the exact same color of hair but cut into a straight line above her shoulders, her tailored clothing impeccable. They couldn’t be more opposite-looking in how they present themselves, but something about the way they hold their shoulders is identical. They look strong, purposeful. If it weren’t for the age difference, I’d say they could be twins.

I literally can’t breathe right now; too many emotions are vying for my attention. It feels like panic, but it can’t be, can it? Because this is good. It has to be good. This is the universe reaching down and tapping me on the shoulder. Or maybe slapping me in the face.

My second sign. I force myself to inhale, attempt to calm my pulse like I learned in one of the therapy sessions I had at my group home. If it works, I can’t tell. I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry right now. Do I introduce myself? Tackle her so we don’t get separated again? Okay, I’m obviously not going to tackle her, but what if she disappears again?

My body feels like it’s at the starting line of a race, tension and energy building in my muscles. As soon as the starting gun goes off, I’ll run to the mermaid. But what will I do once I get to her?

The mermaid is staring down at her phone, and she reaches out for her mug, absentmindedly lifting it to her mouth. What do I do when she sees me? Will she recognize me like I recognize her? Tell Simon I was at the house last night? What if she blows everything? My mind is scrambling so hard right now. I feel like I’m trying to dismantle a bomb. One wrong move and everyone knows everything.

The mermaid takes another sip. How does she not feel me staring at her?

“Mason, move,” Nova says, poking me in the back. I manage to stumble a few steps forward, and this tiny movement, this tiny lessening of distance between me and the mermaid, causes enormous pressure in my head. What now? I desperately ask the universe.

“Mason,” Nova snaps, her voice louder.