I take the paper from her and study it. At the top it says ENVIRONMENTAL CLUB, and then it explains what the petition is for, to document interest in the formation of the club at Seaview High. Below that is a list of names, signatures, and student numbers, about twenty-five in all. And at the very bottom is a place for the club sponsor, Miss Molina, and the school principal to sign.

“This is how you started the environmental club?” I ask.

She nods. “What you are trying to accomplish is quite a bit more complicated, but getting pledges of support in writing could be a starting point.”

“So—do research to define the scope of the problems,” I say, handing the petition back to her. “Then get my friends to commit in writing?”

“It’s as good a place to start as any.”

“Thank you,” I say. “That helps a lot.”

She smiles. “I’m always here if you need me.”

As I push to my feet, I say, “I’m sure I will.”

I feel relieved as I head out into the hall, now filling up with before-school traffic. I know what my first two steps have to be. They won’t be easy, not after the disaster that was my council of kings and queens, but if I can get an idea of exactly what problems we’re facing and then convince everyone to agree that we need to work together to solve them—if I can make each of them see that focusing on his or her kingdom’s problems alone isn’t going to solve things in the long run—well, then, that’s a start.

The crisis facing the mer world isn’t separated by imaginary borders on the seafloor. It affects us all. And it’s going to take all of us working together to make a change.

Chapter 7

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Shannen’s voice is a little higher than usual as she buckles her seat belt.

“Absolutely,” I lie. “I’ve been practicing.”

She gives me a skeptical look and tugs her belt tight. I flash her a sunny smile and turn the key in the ignition. In truth, I’ve only had the car—my car—a few days and haven’t had much time for driving lessons. But I’ve been watching Aunt Rachel for years. How hard can it be?

“I have to be better at driving a car than a motorcycle,” I say as I put the car into reverse.

Despite Quince’s diligent effort over the past few weeks, the best I’ve managed on Princess is getting her started and sputtering forward until she dies, because I don’t know how to operate the clutch properly.

Shannen’s eyes widen.

Okay, maybe not the best argument.

“I made it to school just fine this morning.”

Shannen wraps her arms around her backpack, clutching it to her chest. Clearly my reassurance hasn’t made her feel any better about my driving ability. I will just have to show her my skill.

Watching carefully over my shoulder, I back out of the spot in the remote corner of the school parking lot—as far from other cars as possible. When I’m clear of the lamppost, I shift into first.

“See,” I say, grinning, “I’ve totally—”

As I release the brake, the car lurches forward, jerks back, and dies.

“Damselfish.” Guess I released the clutch instead of the brake. If I could just get this clutch thing figured out, I’d be an ace driver. I don’t have a problem operating the one on a wakemaker back home, so I should be able to do it on land.

I quickly correct my mistake, and soon I’m driving us out of the parking lot and down the street toward home.

“I’ve got it now,” I insist.

Shannen whimpers as I slam to a halt at the next stop sign. It’s fine. That’s what seat belts are for.

“Thanks for offering to help,” I say, trying to get her mind off my driving. “I’ve never done anything like this before and—”

“Lily!”

A woman on a bicycle darts out in front of me, and I have to swerve to keep from splatting her onto the sidewalk. My tires squeal to a stop. As my heart freaks out in my chest, I turn to glare at the dangerous cyclist.

Completely unaffected by the near accident, the bicycle rider—a woman with short brown hair—turns and looks at me. And smiles.

“Oh no,” I whisper.

“What?” Shannen asks, eyes clenched shut. “Did you kill her?”

I frown at her. “No,” I grumble. “I didn’t even touch her.”

“Then what?”

I suck in a deep breath as the woman throws me a jaunty wave before continuing down the street toward my house.

“I didn’t hit her,” I say, a knot tightening in my stomach. “I know her.”

The bicycle is leaning against my front porch when I lurch to a stop against—okay, on top of—the curb. I cut the engine, grab my bag from the backseat, and stomp up the driveway to the kitchen door. I think Shannen is frozen solid after my race home. I’m not worried about her right now. She’ll come inside when she’s ready.

“Calliope,” I call out as I fling open the door. “Where are you? Calliope!”

Dosinia appears in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. “Do you have to shout?”

I glare at her. “What are you doing home?” I demand. “Aren’t you usually cozying up to Brody at the Five and Bean after school?”

“We got our lattes to go.” She crosses to the fridge and takes out the pitcher of lemonade. “Aren’t you usually failing miserably at riding a motorcycle after school?”