“It fell out of your bag last year,” he admits with a resigned sigh. “I didn’t find it until after you were gone.” He bites his lower lip guiltily. “I didn’t mean to look, I swear.”
“You knew it was me all year,” I say flatly. He’d known. And he’d decided not to come. My face flushes with mortification, and I pull away.
“Rupa! Wait.” His hand wraps around my wrist. “I thought you’d be disappointed,” he blurts out.
I freeze. “What?”
“Ilikeyou, Rupa,” he confesses. There’s vulnerability and honesty and something else entirely in his gaze that makes my heart stutter. “I’ve liked you for ages, if I’m being honest—even before I knew you were the asura. But you justseemed so... bored by me. I thought you maybe wanted it to be someone else. Like Krish or—”
I can’t stop myself from laughing. “Krish? You thought I likedKrish?”
“You get along well with him. He makes you laugh and—”
“Youmake me laugh,” I cut in.
“Not as Sagar.” He ducks his head, but not before I see his self-deprecating smile. “I’m just the annoying guy who sends a million emails and pesters you about school all the time.”
I want to contradict him, but the words die on my lips. “I’ve always hated being an asura,” I say instead. “I didn’t like the way I looked. I didn’t think being an asura was cool or special or good. Until I met you.”
His head jerks up.
“You showed me that there’s beauty to being an asura. You made me feel like I could accept that part of me.” I take a deep breath, forcing myself to hold his gaze—to be vulnerable with him like he’s been with me. “You told me I don’t take things seriously. And maybe... maybe you’re right. It was just easier to keep people at arm’s length, to act like I don’t care about anything so I wouldn’t have to think about all the things I’ve had to give up.”
His fingers tighten around my wrist, and then he threads our fingers together. “I understand,” he says softly. And I know he does.
“But you never let me get away with it.” I gesture to the notebook in his hand. “I take debate seriously because ofyou. And being an asura. You push me, Sagar.”
“You push me too,” he says. “You make me leave my comfort zone and question things I’ve accepted for years.” He smiles down at me, and I feel my breath catch. “AndmaybeI like that you make me take myself less seriously.”
This isn’t how I envisioned any of this going, but I’m tired of pretenses and secrets.
“Can we start over?” I ask. My heart is in my throat as I wait for his answer, but there’s no hesitation on his face as he tugs me closer.
“Yes,” he breathes.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m Rupa. I’m an asura.”
His grin grows wider. “I’m Sagar. I’m an asura, too.” He reaches for me, his palm on my cheek, tilting my face up to his. And when our eyes meet—seconds before he presses his lips to mine—I know that we’re finally done hiding.
Kiss the Boy
byADIB KHORRAM
THE FIRST DAY
Humans are always asking,Where are you from?Merfolk know the more important question isWhere are you going?
The man asking is a white guy in his thirties, wearing jeans that are way too tight, a blue polo shirt that shows off his gym arms, and an expression that says he doesn’t know (or doesn’t care) that I’m a minor.
“Here,” I say. “Born in La Mesa.”
“But where are you from?”
Human notions of race don’t really map onto merfolk. I’ve got long black hair and sea-gray eyes and olive skin that’s lighter than Father’s but still dark enough to registeras not-white to humans. (Mother’s white. And human. No one ever asks her where she’s from.)
I want to mess with this guy, but I can’t think of a good lie. Father always says lying is for humans, which is more a matter of practicality than philosophy: it’s impossible to lie in Orocan, the song-language we use underwater.
So I answer, “My father’s from the South Pacific.” It’s the truth: he was born on a reef halfway between New Zealand and Hawaii. My grandparents had hoped to make it back to Maui and give birth on land, but Father came early. (I guess sea births aren’t much fun for anyone.)
