Archive of Our Own

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When Stephen stepped from the beach to the boardwalk, he looked down and frowned. He stepped back out of his sandals onto the sand, then onto the wood once more with bare feet. His thumbs rubbed against each other as he stood in the noontime wind, smooth nails under smoother fingerprints. In his quietest voice, a whisper inside his own mind, he wished that Connie was here to hear about the differences in texture. She could find a way for him to feel the surfaces of the human world without intruding into anyone’s homes.

These weren’t homes, though. These were places of business, places that closed their doors and shutters at night. Shutters. That was a word Stephen had enjoyed immensely when he had first heard it. It perfectly matched the metal rhythm of the door being pulled down across the face of the store. When was a store used for storing? Stephen slid his flip-flops on to avoid splinters as he began his trek, and he let his eyes wander across the buildings.

He had told Connie about the colony and that they were living in secret, but he couldn’t tell her about the island for two reasons. Firstly, as Rosa warned, if Connie knew about it and someone captured her then it would be easy for that adversary to go to the landmass and hunt the selkies down. Secondly, it was already harmful that Stephen was letting secrets out in the first place; he shouldn’t get into the habit. When Rosa had mentioned that particular word, Stephen had felt the weight of implication. His words could get them killed.

Actually, there was a third reason—namely, that it felt awful to compare the size of the island to the houses in which humans lived. A selkie would always have a home for as long as the oceans were blue, as everyone knew, but even their little nest in the tides was substantially larger than anything Stephen had seen in the human world so far. Even the hospital in all its massiveness wasn’t close to the expanse. Not everything needed to be that big, though, and Greg Universe proved that with his little home in the van.

If he had been allowed to go any farther than the peninsula’s termination, Stephen would have asked Greg Universe to take him as far as the van could go. The word baffled him, this van, but even more confusing was how this thing’s insides worked. Connie’s explanations of mechanisms and consumption wasn’t satisfying even to her. Stephen grunted and kicked a small stone, sending it down the wood with a staccato aggravation.

He knew he could understand it all. He knew it. But there was so much that he would never be able to see for as long as he was trapped there. Connie could go to school, and then a bigger school, and she could learn about how this roaring awfulness could take them from the beach to the hospital. Even going back to the hospital was past the intersection, a one-time infraction that had forced the rule in the first place.

There were too many humans. Everywhere he went, everyone he saw besides Connie, everything built in unnatural symmetry—there were just so many marks on the Earth that Stephen felt like the scars would come up into his own skin and destroy him. There were dreams, when he had them, dreams that sang a song of destruction. The young selkie trembled.

He had to sit down. Stephen lowered himself to the wood and crossed his legs, momentarily crossing his arms over his chest. Thankfully, nobody was here to talk to him. Sympathy was welcome, but the words were never quite right. Besides, he had a journey, a long journey, down to the van. Greg Universe would sing a silent song to him without even knowing, and then play a song to carry through the air, and maybe Stephen could dream something warm again. Sometimes, when Jasper came home, Stephen got to sleep on the other selkie’s chest, and there was a sense of begrudging acceptance, but the songs were never the same. Jasper rarely sang—or spoke.

Stephen turned his head and gazed down the rows of buildings, opening his mouth softly. Nobody could have heard him clearly in the air even if he was in human company. It was fascinating, how their ears just couldn’t hear without the ocean to translate. Stephen had tried before, singing when Connie had been busy digging through her backpack or flipping over a beached starfish. He had sung to her on the drive over from the beach to the hospital, offering comfort. But she had barely turned her head.

The ocean was the place to sing. Stephen wasn’t allowed to sing close to shore, not where any beachgoers could hear. Without the water, though, Stephen allowed himself to compose. It was impossible to explain in human terms, and it frustrated him to no end. As he sat on the boardwalk, he sang a song to bring to Perry, about how the buildings were ordered just so, how the houses were like the crevices in coral. Garnet had sung to him about tropical coral, with the darting creatures and their rainbow homes. Perry would like that.

He was the only one who sometimes understood Stephen’s fascination with human words and the desire to get better. Stephen remembered, when the waves had been particularly rough, how Perry had sang to him about the walls in the sandbars, how humans prevented the storms from eroding the rocks and stone structures, and what erosion was. Connie had explained the word later when he described it, but Perry had sung him its origin. Afterwards, Stephen had pointed to the water.

“What is the meaning in words?” he had asked.

Perry’s smirk faded, the points of his fangs twitching against his lower lip. The older selkie shrugged the skin on his shoulders, the thin cape tousled halfheartedly. One hand rose to scratch his salt-encrusted hair, pulling at the blondish tufts as he raised his lips in a threatening sneer.

“No words,” he had snapped. “Too many— words mean nothing. You’ll understand. Breaks the brain into sand.”

“Perry?”

“ You won’t have to use them with humans. Their heads are shaped. Stiff and flimsy. No song.”

“But the words must be meaning there?” Stephen had pleaded. “To have… When humans tell others?”

Perry had snapped at him and Stephen had let it end there. All he knew was that some humans loved the song enough to kill for it. Without the ocean, Stephen was content to sing as he pleased, and there was nothing to do except take some joy in the fact that he was with people he loved. Connie was teaching him to speak the language properly, and he sang to himself in the water so he wouldn’t forget. Greg Universe sang in the human tongue; when the man was asleep, Stephen sang back to him as they drowsed on the mattress, in a song nobody could hear, and he took solace in sharing, even if his guardian was unaware.

Stephen pushed himself upright. He just needed to go.

He should have been more grateful that his allmothers were allowing him to go out and meet the man by himself, without supervision. That wasn’t true, though—probably not, anyway. There were eyes in the ocean that he couldn’t see at the moment, watching him cautiously, as all pups needed to be watched. After all, Pearl had been the one to take his skin for safe keeping under the dock. Out of all the adults, she was the most likely to follow him. It made his tongue bitter thinking about it, but she was the most adept if danger were to approach. What danger? There was no way to tell.

Stephen sang to himself, a nonsense song to leave to the wind. All the little observations piled into the notes as he walked. His sandals percussed and his throat scratched, the sleeveless shirt loose and soft around his torso. It was Amelia’s, and it was definitely too large, but at least the shorts were the same, Greg Universe’s baggy blue. They were just what he needed. When he got older, when his body changed, then he would have to find his proper clothing under his skin. For now, though, he was content to let the skin between shapes be bare. Around Connie, he would keep himself modest. Around his allmothers, he was practicing. Around the others—Perry, Jasper, Greg Universe—it hardly mattered.

Still, he had to grow up sometime. Eleven seasons was enough to make him feel that things were changing, although he had as much control over change as he did the tides. Perhaps it was Connie and the way she was direct, the way she had a human path, a beginning and middle and end, like a song in itself. Strange. Stephen fumbled with the expression, and he let the muted thought pass through his lips without finishing it, but he had always felt more like a note than a song. There was something about purpose that Stephen didn’t understand about humans. Purpose existed in the moment. The present was meant to secure the future as it would become the present, and you couldn’t know what that meant until they changed places. He closed his lips firmly. It was a confusing methodology and it frustrated him to no end. Singing it was difficult. Saying it aloud was impossible.

The only thing left to do was let the problem come to him in the future. Stephen rolled his shoulders as he came down to the end of the street, where wood turned to stone—no, concrete. He looked across to the small building on the corner. The statue was friendly, but the words were almost recognizable, and Stephen frowned.

“‘Do not,’” he muttered.

But that couldn’t be, because the letter Connie had shown him in the warnings was the same, the closed circle of the O, and the opening was a U, he remembered that. All the signs about things he wasn’t supposed to do, the tiny squares that would tell him not to swallow the contents, had those words, and this was together in a way he didn’t understand. Still, Stephen couldn’t help but be a little proud of himself for recognizing words in the wild.

The statue on top was also almost recognizable. Connie had explained the pastry and many like it, the sweetness of the sticky glaze, the little crunch of the sprinkles. What was the name? Stephen couldn’t recall at the moment, but his mouth was watering regardless at the mere thought of food. Human processes were so amazing, the way that they could cook and blend flavors from all around the earth. The taste dancing over the tongue was incredible. Stephen allowed himself to wander closer to the building, just for a whiff, just for a tiny smell of what could be cooked inside.

More than anything, Stephen wanted a book, filled with blank pages just for him. It was the simplest way to carry around all the things he could have potentially forgotten, or that he could forget in the future, things that couldn’t be sung to him. If Connie could sing him the methods of baking and dough-making and farming, the ways that humans could spread all this food across the Earth every single day, teaching each other about the ways that it worked, how food cooked the exact same way everywhere on the planet at the same time—the song would never leave his mind. But she couldn’t sing, and she would never be able to, and it made Stephen’s throat tighten in pain when he thought about what they were missing. Words could do so much, spoken plainly, and he knew, yes, that it took effort to sing, that the notes needed to be perfect, that the thoughts could cause irreparable harm. What could a word do? There were some greater, some lesser, some that had two meanings, some said aloud that did not look the same in Connie’s stories. There were images and words that came together and created jokes that could only be seen and never spoken. The concept could be sung but there was always the physical copy in his hands that couldn’t be explained in the same way. The world of words was just out of reach. He wondered if he could call the song a language, the selkie tongue a mother tongue , as Connie had read the definition from her phone. He wondered if it would ever be possible for humans to build a machine that could help humans understand the differences, even though that would mean the secrets would be lost, and he knew what that would bring. He could learn everything about humans and he could even pretend to be one for as long as he needed to, but humans understanding the selkie would be the end of every song. And that was why Stephen wanted a book.

When he saw Connie again, he could draw her a picture of this place, or just of the statue. She would understand. Going into the front, though, would make the people inside think that he wanted to purchase something. Stephen nervously stepped over the curb and peeked through the window, edging his head around the pane. The young woman with the purple shirt sat inside and didn’t appear to notice him, flipping through thin papers behind the counter. Her blonde curls resisted the effort she had clearly put in to keep them back, but they obeyed for the moment. She paused and almost caught Stephen looking through. The boy had backed off to the brickwork. She looked friendly enough, but he could never be sure.

Stephen sidled along the side towards the trash. He eyed the dumpsters warily. Dumpster . He hated that word, even if he couldn’t quite put a finger on why. It was dismissively human, a word for the action of throwing away garbage and plastic and rotten food. He had cut himself on a can lid a few years back and the tiny line of the scar was still there on his sole. Still, he sniffed; there was food that had been thrown out that intrigued him.

One lid was open, and Stephen glanced back once to make sure he wasn’t being followed before he stood on his tiptoes, gripped the cold rim, and peeked inside. The scent of food was lost as he was immediately overtaken by the decayed stench coming from within. He recoiled, crouching as he circled the dumpster like it was a living thing.

It was a horrible feeling that made him feel soulless, like an animal without reason. This instinctual drive to attack the offending object was enough to make him bare his teeth and slink into the shade of the building. Stephen glared at the dumpster. There was a word he couldn’t think of, a word for which he had no words, that described this complicated feeling of thought process, the pull he had in both directions, knowing what he should be doing and knowing that he was doing something else. It made his head hurt, and there was nothing he could do about it. Stephen growled to himself—at himself?—and crouched in the cool shadow. He wanted to be where the smell was, to feel its hurt so he could remember it.

Maybe he could sing about this feeling, so Rosa could explain it later. Or Pearl, perhaps. Garnet would know the most of all but she would be the one to withhold answers in words. Pearl would dissuade him entirely, and he didn’t know what Rosa would do. Amelia wouldn’t know. Perry would snap at him again. Jasper wouldn’t answer at all. Rosa was his best bet. Stephen closed his eyes and began to compose, letting the tones flow as he regained some strength.

It felt like only a couple notes had fallen from his lips when the door burst open and Stephen jolted upright. His sandal caught on the grip of the asphalt, and the selkie yelped as he toppled over onto the ground. Miniscule sharp stones dug into his palms, but he resisted crying out as the teenager stepped into the back lot. He was fairly tall, and definitely as skinny as Connie, but without the same grace in his motions. The sides of his head were shaved almost to the skin, with a shock of orange wavelets running down the center of his skull. His purple t-shirt matched the girl inside, but there were holes around the sleeves and wrinkles running up its length. Stephen’s eyes traveled to the massive holes in the older boy’s earlobes. The teenager held a translucent plastic bag of pastries in one hand, and as soon as he saw Stephen, he yelped and jumped back, brandishing the bag like a club.

“Gah, jeez! Kid, you scared me half to death! Go home, we’ve been tagged enough and I don’t want to spend the afternoon scrubbing spray paint off these bricks!”

The amount of time it took from the teenager’s initial fearful exclamation to total hostility was enough to make Stephen’s stomach bubble in fear. But as he scrambled upright, the other boy made no motion to come closer. Stephen froze and stared. The teen stood upright, still holding the bag, glancing from Stephen to the back door. The anger faded from the air. Curiosity got the best of the selkie.

“Are you hurting?” he asked softly.

“What? No, I’m not gonna hurt you,” the older boy scoffed. “They gotta pay me extra if they want me to run security around here.”

“No, are you…”

Stephen raised a finger and flicked his own earlobe. The teen paused and mirrored the motion, touching the hole cautiously.

“What, like, did it hurt to get them in? I mean, I guess a little? You stretch them, duh, you gotta commit and get them—like, bigger. Seriously, don’t act like you’ve never seen earrings before.”

“I…had been seeing. I—have seen. I have seen before. Them.”

There, that was enough to show his mastery over the English language. Stephen attempted a smile as the other boy merely stared. People made mistakes in their speech all the time. There was nothing unusual about the way that Stephen was speaking, really, not half as unusual as those holes. Stephen had seen earrings before, but not like that. The needle went through the skin and a rod was placed there; Amelia had been pierced before, as had Garnet, and Perry had the tools even if he had forbidden Stephen from getting earrings of his own. They must have stretched, because the hole for the earlobes was massive. It was good, though, that regardless of how it had happened, they hadn’t hurt. The selkie nodded and let his smile broaden. Maybe it would ease the teenager’s clearly growing discomfort.

But the older boy frowned. “Look, kid, you can’t be hanging around back here. You gotta scram, or—”

“Lars, what’s going on?”

The person that Stephen had seen behind the counter was peeking now behind the door, eyeing both of them in turn. Her eyes locked on Stephen, though, and her gaze seemed to soften almost immediately, settling between fear and confusion.

“Hey, lil’ guy. Um, are you lost?”

“Lost, no, I…I am going to the car wash.”

“Oh, to see Mr. Universe? Sure.” She paused, then stepped out to the back lot with one foot keeping the door propped open. “Did you want a donut?”

“Sadie, what are you doing?” the older boy hissed.

“What? It’s not like we were gonna eat a bag of stale fritters. Look at him.”

Well, they should be looking at him, if they were talking to him, right? But Stephen couldn’t understand the exact tone of her voice. It could have been pity, but there was nothing to pity right now. Stephen certainly didn’t feel sad, not as far as he could tell. He shifted his weight, glancing down once at his clothes. Plenty of human kids on the beach had worn things like this. The clothes might not be as colorful and smooth as the purple shirts, but it was clothing nonetheless. There was something unusual that Stephen couldn’t find a word or song for.

“Are you hungry? What’s your name?” Sadie said softly.

“Stephen.”

“Cool, great, now you can sign him up for the rewards program,” Lars grunted.

“It wouldn’t kill you to be kind for once, Lars.”

Sadie gestured at the bag. Begrudgingly, Lars fumbled with the plastic knot as Sadie stepped between the two. Stephen could smell some hint of sugar as the bag opened, but he didn’t want to mention it or react. Connie had told him one day on the beach that his sense of smell was way more than humans could ever have, and he knew that the little smells like this could break the guise. He took a tentative step forward and watched as Lars offered the bag to Sadie to choose. The young woman plucked a pink donut from the top of the pile, handing it over to Stephen like they were about to parley.

It struck the selkie just then what the ‘u’ was for, the sound of the uh, in but and fun . He liked those words, and he turned to the building with a smile as he mouthed the song. Stephen knew that the two humans might be looking at him with confusion, but they couldn’t possibly be suspicious. Just like she could explain anything, Connie had explained the specific behaviors that were suspicious enough for other humans to worry. Everyone talked to themselves, and everyone got distracted, human and selkie alike. This was easy.

“Thank you,” Stephen said, taking the donut.

“Sure! Hey, I mean, welcome! Hate to waste good food.”

“A good…donut!”

“Seriously?” Lars raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying that like you’ve never seen a donut before.”

That was true, but as he took a bite to stop himself from fumbling his words, Stephen remembered that he had heard of this food before. Mr. Universe had mentioned it in passing, talking about all the foods that Stephen didn’t know. There was plenty to share beyond fruit and pizza; though in his opinion there was just too much variety. The fresh white-pinkness of a halibut or mackerel was enough to make him happy. Crab was even better.

Even then, the sharp sugariness as he sunk his teeth into the donut was riveting, weirdly forgiving, soft in a way he couldn’t place. The dough was less substantial than pizza crust. The donut tasted fine, and Stephen chewed it with gratitude. Still, the young man here, Lars, was getting under Stephen’s skin, as it were. He had heard Connie read that phrase from a book, and the explanation was even more jarring here. His partner rolled her eyes, and Stephen knew that she wasn’t about to turn against him or ask any questions. She grabbed the rest of the bag out of Lars’s hands and offered it.

“Take ‘em if you want ‘em. Really, the raccoons will get into the dumpster anyway, and you shouldn’t be digging around in those things for food.”

Stephen swallowed a bite. “O-oh, I…”

He couldn’t quite understand what the woman was saying, but she was being sincere, or something akin to kind, and the young selkie wanted to feel like he could trust her. Sadie raised her eyebrows at him and attempted a tired smile as Lars shifted from foot to foot, looking less comfortable by the second. The wind gently crinkled the dangling plastic as Sadie held it out, a noise that Stephen couldn’t stand by itself. The prospect of food wasn’t enticing at the moment, half because the donuts tasted as stale as described, and half because he felt this sudden attention, a question he hadn’t been expecting, from strangers. He took a half-step back, unsure of how to answer, how to say no. There wasn’t a chance that this Sadie would be hostile to him, was there? Her partner could have been the violent type in another life, in another circumstance. Stephen didn’t know these humans. He wanted to believe, but there was so much in the way. They couldn’t have heard a song. Stephen felt his fingers involuntarily pressing into the ring of frosting.

“Buddy!”

Stephen almost dropped the donut as Mr. Universe’s voice rang out down the sidewalk. Sadie almost let go of the bag of donuts, and a startled Lars spluttered a word that Stephen had never heard before. It didn’t matter, though, not so long as Mr. Universe was here. The man sauntered down the sidewalk, looking a lot like the selkie in a way. His black t-shirt had holes around the bottom edge, and the man’s shorts were thicker, made of that material Stephen wasn’t sure if he liked or not— denim , a word Connie still hadn’t been able to explain to him. Matching clothing was enough to make Stephen feel just a little more curious, a tiny bit more comfortable.

The man’s hand reached up as he approached, almost expectantly. Stephen obliged, and he didn’t even need to press his head up as the strong palm stroked his scalp. Mr. Universe offered a hug with his other arm open. Stephen obliged, falling back as the space between them closed. The hug reminded him of his first nights, the stormiest nights, when he was pressed in a pile of selkie bodies, all comforting him in equal measure.

“Sadie, Lars, I hope this one hasn’t been giving you any trouble?” Mr. Universe asked.

“Er, no, we just…” Stephen glanced over to see Sadie straighten up, lowering the bag as she cleared her throat. “Do you two know each other?” she asked.

“Stephen’s folks are new around here. He doesn’t get into town much, but I watch him from time to time.”

That was technically true and technically not. Stephen loved when Connie talked about some video she had watched on her cell phone, where different humans around the world talked about concepts with words Stephen had never heard about. Lies and truth were such topics, what it meant to be good and lie, and of course the boy knew when he should lie. He had lied to Mr. Universe about his species, but the man hadn’t asked, but even if he had, then Stephen would have had to lie to help the other selkies and himself all at once. Connie said she didn’t like lying to her parents all the time, but she liked making sure that Stephen was safe as he kept her company. The metaphorical emotions strung each other like competing harmonies. Stephen understood the song she was trying to sing, and he knew why the man he was hugging was lying to the other humans here. He didn’t even know what he was protecting Stephen from, but he was doing it anyway. The truth would bring them out of safety. The boy hugged tighter.

“We haven’t really seen anyone new. We have a pretty great group of regulars, y’know, but uh, Stephen, you and your folks can come inside for fresh donuts if you guys want,” Sadie said.

“Thank you?”

“That’s very kind,” Mr Universe chuckled. “Maybe one morning I’ll treat everyone to breakfast. How’s that sound, lil’ man? We—”

“Hey, Mr. Universe, are you alright?” Lars interjected.

Stephen looked up at the sudden question, and he was surprised to see how unnerved the older boy seemed. He hadn’t said anything since Mr. Universe had approached; only now did Stephen realize that he had probably been staring the whole time. Lars was stiff and straight-spined, and he raised one finger and made a circle around his eye.

“Like, are those contacts?”

Sadie whispered something in hushed tones, a hissed reprimand, but Lars wasn’t paying any attention. Stephen vaguely remembered that Mr. Universe had been around the town for long enough that he must have seen Lars when he was Stephen’s age, somewhere around that era or younger. There was no question that the two must have seen each other grow up in their own ways. The selkie saw a small frown settle across Mr. Universe’s face, and the man looked down for just a moment.

“Same old eyes, Lars,” he mumbled. “Not sure what you’re asking.”

They were, weren’t they? Stephen could sense a difference, but that must just be his perception. He looked at the two young workers, then back at the man. There was nothing different that Stephen could see about Mr. Universe’s eyes.

“I think we’re going to head back to the van now. You two better be working hard back there, alright? Keep the donuts fresh for when we come back.”

As Stephen was turned towards the sidewalk with a steady hand, he saw Sadie open her mouth. She reached over as if to take Lars by the wrist, but her hand fell, and she just glanced up at her companion with that same strange worried look Stephen had seen too many times to count. Lars nodded at Mr. Universe wordlessly. Either he was unable to look at Sadie, or he was merely unwilling, intent on watching the man herd his charge off to the car wash out of curiosity, concern, all the emotions that had words Stephen could barely use. He waved his half-eaten donut at the pair but allowed himself to be led away regardless.

The man didn’t say anything as they walked, but his hefty forearms rested by his side, and Stephen wrapped himself around the man’s right arm, feeling the ruddiness of his skin, the calmness held under the surface. He had meant it when he said Mr. Universe was like an ocean. There was a tension to his touch, like the surface of a body of water, appropriately named. Projectiles would be broken upon impact, the hardness that capsized ships and crushed bones thrown about in the roil, whereas the pinpointed cormorant could dive in silently and not disturb a single bubble. Stephen felt the man’s temperance around him, the minor choppiness of a settling sea, but he was free to rise up and out of the truth. Mr. Universe’s heart was soft sand. Stephen let himself ignore the tension and dangers as he settled in. Why? He had asked Connie about why he might feel this way, and he hated that feeling when he thought about his da, the selkie who had died for him, the man whose mourning rended Stephen’s dreams apart with its atonal desperation. Stephen could feel the same fear, though from where he could not say, and it made him squeeze Mr. Universe all the tighter.

“Don’t worry about those two. Lars can be a knucklehead, but he’s a sweet kid underneath it all. Sadie’s got a good head on her shoulders. Usually. Can’t stand how she lets Lars treat her behind the counter sometimes.”

“Were you… Did you know him when he was young?”

“Both of ‘em, but the Barrigas—Lars’s family—they’re locals. I think Sadie and her mom moved in just a little after I settled here. I’m not sure.”

Stephen wondered what it was going to be like when he got older. The oldest selkie he knew was Pearl, perhaps, although Garnet might be about the same age. He couldn’t tell and it didn’t matter that much. Connie apparently knew the exact day each year she was born, and her parents kept track, and they had a special tool designed to separate each season with names and numbers. Each season made Stephen feel different, and he had to assume it was the same day each passing, but he couldn’t know for sure. Connie did. Apparently all humans did. What a massive amount of information to hold, all the different dates and names. It felt organized, but constricting. The tides and the winters were all that he needed to know for now.

Maybe he could be like Mr. Universe and live in a little place by the sea with a bed and walls and a place to have food. Maybe Connie could visit, and he could learn what humans did, and he could help around this town and learn how it all worked. The boy’s stomach wriggled inside him, an anxious weight. The possibility was everything he had been taught to fear.

When they got to the van, Mr. Universe had been humming a song in the silence, and Stephen had mapped out the simple notes in his head. The man let Stephen slide off his arm as he opened the van doors. As usual, Stephen climbed up and sat on the edge of the bed, stretching his arms over his head before falling backwards onto the mattress.

He had seen it as soon as the door had opened, and he reached over now to grab it carefully: the beautiful little instrument, the four-stringed ukulele. Stephen had spent a long time walking back from the visit where Mr. Universe had shown him, rolling the word around in his mouth, ukulele , pronouncing it carefully, trying on accents and low songs, keeping each plucked note in his head. As he rested it on his belly now, he strummed, then closed his eyes and adjusted his fingers on the neck, just like how the man had shown him. His soft fingertip pressed against the fattest string, and he slid it down the neck, plucking along. The mechanics were foreign to him even if the concept of notes was not.

There was a grunt beside him as Mr. Universe slid onto his bed to rest. Naturally, Stephen pushed himself against his host, just like he would when sleeping with the brood. Over the weeks, the man had been less resistant to what he had expressed as odd closeness, and it had bothered the selkie for quite some time. Everyone hugged and held each other and felt comforted by touch. With Connie, Stephen had been warned that her mother didn’t want him too close, because she would perceive it as aggressive or domineering, inappropriate. The reasons behind it had been explained to him before, and as much as Stephen knew he didn’t feel in that way, he respected Connie and her mother enough to minimize his touch. Connie didn’t always like to be hugged either. Perry and Amelia were the same way sometimes.

Greg Universe, on the other hand, was like Rosa or Garnet, where Stephen could let himself sink next to them and let the warmth engulf him. They were protectors and supporters, one and all, safety in their own unique ways. And right now, the independent young selkie was here with one of the few humans whom he could trust. Slowly, with his eyes closed, Stephen tried to make a song with what he knew, strumming a chord and placing his fingers carefully. He couldn’t change anyone’s mind, to make Connie’s mother less worried about him, to make Pearl less suspicious, to make Greg less concerned. So he wouldn’t. And it would all be wonderful, as wonderful as it was right here, right now.

“Stephen. Have you ever wanted to go to a concert?”

“What is it?”

“It’s a big show, where musicians stand on the stage, and you get to hear them all play their music live, and it’s loud, and it just…energizes you, and you’re with a bunch of people who love the music, too. Get the solo right from the amp, y’know?”

“I…don’t know. But there is music?”

“Oh yeah. Rock ‘n roll, or some nice jazz, some folk music in a coffee shop or something. I guess you’re more of a tea-drinker, but that’s beside the point.”

Stephen smiled. Connie had brought tea once, and he knew the basics of tea. Perry had the mechanisms of cooking down, and showed him how to boil water, different fire-starting methods, and other small pieces. He had explained them, however, less to teach Stephen and more to get his ideas into words and songs. There was so much to learn, and Stephen first wanted to learn the words before he knew what to do with them. Concert . That was a new word. Why had it never come up before? Or perhaps he just hadn’t remembered. The selkies sang songs to each other often, just for pleasure, but this was with words and perhaps instruments and noises even louder than the van’s rumbling, or even a whale.

“What do you say, kiddo? Wanna go to a concert?”

“We can go? There is a concert here at the town?”

“Nah, probably not,” Mr. Universe chuckled, “but we can just go over state lines and duck over for a night. Something on the outskirts sounds good, right? I know how to spot where the garage bands hang out.”

That wasn’t possible, and Stephen knew it, and Mr. Universe must have known it somewhat, because he knew better than to take Stephen away from Beach City. Some parts of the ocean faded into each other gradually, with their temperature, the color of the deeps, or the saltiness. Sometimes the lines were as clearly designated as the line between the sand and water. The lines for where Stephen was and was not allowed to go were like that coast, and Beach City was in a way like his ocean. This little piece was where he was allowed to figuratively swim, and anything outside of the highway line was forbidden. Stephen pushed against the man in discomfort.

“I am not allowed. Never, not to leave the town, not without…family, without allmothers,” Stephen mumbled. “No permission. Strange place, dangers for me, not…not close.”

“Oh, buddy. I know. I know, I’m sorry, Stephen. I’m just…”

Stephen plucked one more chord, a lovely sad sound, and set the ukulele back aside. He turned his body so his face could push against the softness of Mr. Universe’s tired torso, and he could rest his arm across his guardian’s sun-warmed tummy and hold him like he was the only thing these hands were made to hold. Stephen couldn’t help but briefly shiver, letting his body get all the static suddenness out. He wanted to go. He wanted so badly to go, but it just wasn’t possible, and it wasn’t safe. Loathe as he was to admit it, humans out in the world could hurt him without recompense. Not all humans were like Mr. Universe. No human was like Connie. He had been so stupid to let her see him with his skin, but he had trusted her, in a moment of fierce and miserable wanting. It had led to this, and it was perfect. It could just as easily have led to him being killed like his parents.

Immediately, a weight like a boulder settled in the boy’s stomach. The image was burned in, and it made him bury his face in the man’s shirt as his hands gripped tightly. The scent of soap and sun, the odor of sweat full of salt and worry that all adults had, the pliability of a single skin, all tried to comfort Stephen, and he could only hold Mr. Universe and briefly feel his lungs work double-time to keep him from panicking. Connie had told him about different methods for breathing, but it all felt so hard, so horrendously hard, and there was nothing he could do about it, because he needed to calm down before he could calm down, and the only thing that came out of it was a despondent little cough and whine into Mr. Universe’s ribcage.

“You don’t worry about a thing. You c’mere and don’t worry about a thing.” The man rotated and pulled Stephen in close. “There’s no danger here, I promise. I’ll keep you safe. I will. I promise.”

Stephen hated this feeling. He loved the way that he could trust that promise, the way that Mr. Universe let him hug and hugged him back, the way he let Stephen feel what it was like to be human but in ways that other humans wouldn’t like or understand. He loved the way they could just exist together and be happy without that rush to take action all the time. But he hated when his brain wondered if this was what it was like to have a father. The allmothers were as maternal as they could be; Rosa said as much, and the others acted like it, even if they were tight-lipped about it. But Perry and Jasper acted like brothers, or just guardians, or strangers. It was the want to have someone fit into his life because it the space wasn’t filled. It was the selfishness of having too much, of feeling guilty for not feeling guilty.

“Do they trust you to come up here, Stephen?”

“Yes? I…am here now?”

“Exactly. They know that you’re all safe here. But there’s all sorts of bad stuff that can come in from the outside too, right?” Mr. Universe said. “Anything bad that could happen out there could happen here. They just want you closer in case it does.”

There was something that he wasn’t understanding here, but his head was tired from thinking, and right now, Stephen didn’t want to think. He wanted to keep hugging Mr. Universe, to keep the warmth of the black fabric against his face, and to keep letting the man gently stroke his hair.

“You know that everything’s kinda dangerous. It’s not about the danger! It’s about taking risks and knowing that you’re still safe. Swimming, eating, heck, sleeping with blankets. Bad stuff happens all the time by accident but the little risks are worth it.”

“Little risks,” Stephen repeated back, his voice muffled.

“And sometimes we think something is a big risk, but it’s really, really not. My family thought that it would be risky for me to do anything they didn’t want—and here I am, and if I listened to my family, I wouldn’t have met Connie, or Dr. Maheswaran, or you!”

Mr. Universe scooted back and raised Stephen so that they could make eye contact. The boy sniffled as he was moved up to see the excitement and kindness in the man’s smile, and just briefly, he couldn’t help but smile back. He was right, in a weird way, about choice. Stephen didn’t really understand the future like that, but he listened anyway, and he closed his eyes to listen fully as Mr. Universe lowered a hand to stroke his cheek.

“I got a little risk for you. I bet we can get outta here, just for a little bit, and we can get some diner food, see a concert, y’know, just hit the town,” he chuckled.

“Outta here, out of town? The beach?”

“We’ll be back before they know it, and you can call Connie, too, and tell her how much fun we’re having! You can meet other musicians and play with them!”

“But, the rules—”

“I know you want to do good. You don’t have to, and you can ask them about it. But I’m not gonna lie to you, I’m not gonna trick you into anything. I think that your guardians are making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Not nothing!” Stephen grunted, eyes still closed as he took a balled-up fist and pushed it firmly against the man’s sternum. “Strange people and dangers, their risk is—you said, it is being real, the realness is—can still be harming. You too.”

“Risks are how we have fun,” Mr. Universe said with a little laugh. “I’m asking you, straight-up, if you wanna break the rules with me. I think you’ll love it, Stephen—not because we’re breaking rules, but because you’re experiencing the world, the real world. There’s so much that you just can’t learn from a book, or just…sitting here with me! It’s all so wonderful. But you have to break the rules.”

Stephen felt his body start to twist inside again, little pinpricks of nausea and wonder starting at his temple and raising in intensity wherever his skin touched open air. The man was right, but Stephen couldn’t do it, not without a real guardian, not so far from the sea. The hospital had been the farthest he had been from the ocean, and it was so stressful to be there, even with Connie. He had broken down, and he had felt worse than ever.

There was so much that he wanted to do, though, and every time he left his true skin and stepped onto dry land, those wants became more and more mournfully impossible. Connie had taught him about the human saying ‘take the plunge,’ and this was a plunge without question, a plunge into the most dangerous and horrible parts of the world on land. This wasn’t the whole Earth and all its oceans, not the vast ocean of the stars either. No, no human did that, and it would have been overwhelming to consider. One concert. One risk. Stephen opened his eyes and swallowed, and as soon as he did, he could see Mr. Universe’s gaze soften. He knew that the silver was special, enchanting, something that humans didn’t immediately recognize.

“Only if you want, Stephen,” the man reassured. “Only if you want.”

“I want to be… I wanna try.”

“Yeah?”

“I wanna try breaking the rules. I’m the bad Stephen.”

“No, you’re the good Stephen, who’s doing something that they tell you is bad, but you’re still good inside!”

“I’m the…rapscallion!”

“Connie taught you that one, didn’t she? Alright! Alright, you’re my little rapscallion!”

Stephen pretended to bare his teeth, not so much that he showed all the pointed tips, but enough to make the appearance of what humans thought was a wild creature. Moreover, he raised his hands in front of him like a cat, growling before prodding all ten fingers into Mr. Universe’s chest. Laughing along, the man brought both hands to Stephen’s hair and rubbed vigorously, digging in to mess up the black waves and wiggle the boy’s vision. Hair and blurriness and the body in front of him all turned into a dizzy blur, and Stephen let the laugh bubble up, crashing and joyous, from his throat as he grabbed the wrists above him.

He could do this. This was real, and his body was trying to make him feel nervous, and the string connecting his body and mind was thrumming with horrendous warning, and he didn’t care. Stephen was going to go with Mr. Universe outside the city, and maybe he could meet the feeling halfway, this piece of belonging. It was like a migration, but a migration of meaning, crossing into new waters. He didn’t remember the travels to get to the island he called home now, but Stephen could only imagine that for Rosa and the clan that it was something like this. Instead of their stoic misery, it was only wonder here. It was newness in all its best forms.

“Okay, okay—”

Mr. Universe moved suddenly to sit up, grunting with exertion. Stephen scrambled into a sitting position in front of him. They transitioned into a hushed silence so suddenly that Stephen had to force himself not to laugh again. Mr. Universe took both of Stephen’s hands and held them together, raising his eyebrows as his voice lowered to a whisper.

“I want you to meet me here, at midnight tonight, or as close as you can make it,” the man said, “and I’ll be ready with the van and some snacks and some music to listen to along the way. We can find a rest stop to sleep at, and in the morning, I’ll take you to a diner right out of the sixties, and you can have hot chocolate and blueberry pancakes and all the bacon you can eat.”

“What is that?”

“Basically salt and fat, but—maybe Canadian bacon, doesn’t matter, anything you wanna try! Then we’ll go to a concert, and we can rock out, and then we’ll come right back and tell them all how good it went. Whaddaya say?”

Midnight was a strange time. He understood the apex of the day and night, what the ocean wanted to do with the moon, and he never liked being awake for it. Stephen knew that his most restless nights had been with the full moon, when the thoughts and sounds decided to make even the familiar waves feel alien. But he could sleep through those, and he could be awake for this. All he had to do was find a place to leave his skin. There was only one way, and he would have to practice, but he had swum before, and his lungs still knew how to keep him safe and hidden, and his legs could carry him farther than he had ever thought possible. All he had to do was avoid Jasper’s guard, and after all, Jasper was watching elsewhere, and wouldn’t see a boy swimming away, skinless and clothed, from the island. The sharks would be cowering from the cold of the night. He could do this.

“I will be here, safe, I will do everything,” Stephen said.

“Don’t have to do everything, kiddo. Just one thing. And Mr. Universe is gonna take care of the rest.”

“I am knowing. I—I know.”

“I know ya know.”

Even then, the man closed his eyes, a brief glimpse of seriousness coming over him before he leaned down with a deep breath. Stephen could feel the worry, and he was worried too. Both of them knew the true danger here. There would be consequences if Stephen got caught, consequences that might lead to him being cut off. But he was persistent, and Connie was too. Connie would have stood up the same way. She had talked to Stephen about how hard it had been to face the adults and risks of her life, to feel brave, but she felt brave all the same. They would see each other no matter how mad the clan got. And eventually, Stephen would grow up, and he could do anything he wanted. Mr. Universe pressed his forehead against their little knot of hands and took a deep breath. He looked so human.

Just for a day, Stephen could be human too. The selkie leaned forward and kissed the man’s knuckles softly. It was the same kind of kiss that Pearl had given to him before she let him swim off today, the same kind Rosa had given in the morning when he said he wanted to come here to the van, the same kind Garnet would give once he returned to the island. It was the kind of love that was a promise, and maybe that was all love was.

❖

Greg’s eyes snapped open as the alarm blared guitar at him. His hands moved almost by themselves, slapping at the screen to turn off the noise. The light burned his eyes, and he squinted as the eventual swipe turned the phone back to the lockscreen. And then, silence, briefly. The man sighed, and let the night roll in around him as his dreams faded, just as suddenly as they had come. Maybe he had been drowning. Maybe he had been lost somewhere. It was just as hazy as it had been before, but now he was conscious, and his heartbeat was pounding, slowing now, until everything was still.

As he shifted, the crinkling of plastic bags made him remember just what was happening here. Steven’s absence for a few hours, though, had been enough to get the tank filled up and to get all the supplies they might need for a while. Socks and underwear were easy enough to gauge for sizing, and the packaged shirts probably fit as well. He had guessed on the sweatpants and the sweatshirt, and he had definitely guessed about the jeans, but he had everything they needed, and he could do returns with the receipts stuffed into the glovebox.

Despite his reputation, Greg hadn’t kept too many supplies specifically for kids in his major babysitting days. First aid kits were for everyone, as were snacks. Stickers and the brighter bandages, though, those were more for the younger crowd. Greg sat up and looked around with an exhausted but satisfied sigh. There was enough clothing here to last Stephen for a couple weeks, and if Greg had to guess, the kid wasn’t picky about laundry. Hopefully he wasn’t picky about colors either. But that was life on the road: You drove, you stopped, and sometimes you cleaned up. Food was more important, and as long as you changed frequently enough, you could avoid the really grungy chafing.

It was about ten minutes to midnight. Greg pushed the van doors open and looked up. The moon was covered by sea-borne clouds. Warm air faded, so slowly, away from him and out the parking lot.

This was such a bad idea, but nobody could blame him for it. Greg buried his head in his hands and groaned slowly. Stephen might not come, or he might show up just to say he had changed his mind. The kid was eleven. Was this wrong? Greg wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed until he could feel the blood flow again. This had to be the only thing he would do. Of course he knew where to find a concert, and at the very least he could find an open mic night and treat Stephen to a bowl of free pretzels and some lemonade as they listen to acoustic guitar. That was all he wanted. Stephen could see the basis of the music scene that Greg never had. It was only about the small things.

At the same time, Greg had realized the resentment of it all, and he couldn’t ignore the anger. Every time he saw Stephen’s silver eyes go wide at a loud noise, every time Amelia showed up out of the blue to take him back home, every time Greg asked a question that made Stephen clam up or shrink, it made this plan seem not so terrible after all. There were monsters out there, not just bad parents, but true monsters, the kind that would keep Stephen away from the world in the most extreme sense.

Greg really tried not to judge, but he couldn’t imagine this going any other way. Once more, he looked back at the supplies. This group of Stephen’s didn’t have resources, or they would have been more steadfast in their surveillance. They couldn’t have police or mob connections, and they probably didn’t even have cars. Was there a plan, exactly? He could get information, and he could get Stephen resources, but that was just extortion, and that was horrendously immoral. Stephen had to see the choices to make the choices, and that was that. Greg let out the breath he had been holding unconsciously.

An energy drink was in the holster up front, along with a flavored can of sparkling water for Stephen, and plain water to boot. Everything would be fine. If they got stopped, Greg could just say that this was his kid. He laughed. Out loud, in the parking lot, Greg let out a sudden, humorless laugh, a barking burst that made him suck in air as the echo faded against the bricks. He sat perfectly still.

“Is that what we’re going with?” he muttered after a minute.

Nobody would buy that, but Stephen wouldn’t appreciate the lie. Nephew might work. They had to have some kind of blood relation. Otherwise, what else would they be doing out there? He wondered how well Stephen would take to lying about who he was. The real question was what he thought about Greg. There was a familial closeness, certainly. What specific kind, Greg couldn’t tell. It wasn’t up to him to define.

But a father-and-son relationship made Greg feel awful inside for reasons he couldn’t place. Except, he could place them, and he just chose not to. The man squeezed his hands into fists, then let them go, once more in, and out again. He wondered what it would have been like to see his father down south now. He wondered how the family would have reacted to Stephen being raised, if they would see the irony of isolation and damage, the need to break free. It was just about good things. Greg squeezed his eyes shut. It was about showing a sad boy the goodness of the world. It was only that. That was all he wanted. For the first time in years, he knew what he wanted, and it was so simple. It had to be.

He could hear the sound of wet feet. Immediately, Greg opened his eyes and jumped out of the van. There were no streetlights here, but the diminutive glow of the town reflecting off the clouds turned everything just light enough to see once he ran around the side of the building. His legs carried him to the front walk.

Stephen was soaked. They stood apart from each other, staring. Even at this distance, Greg could see that the boy was completely waterlogged and shivering. Moreso, he was panting, and his eyes seared through the dimness, wide and failing. He was leaning to the side, swaying, keeping himself barely upright. The boy stared, and smiled softly, raising his head as if he wanted to bring his arms up for a victorious hug.

“Stephen?” Greg whispered. “Did…did you swim here? Were you out in the water?”

Stephen barely seemed to have the energy to nod.

“Don’t move. Stephen, you can’t do that to me, buddy—”

Greg’s body moved on its own. Stephen weighed heavily in his arms as he scooped the boy up, but he clung to Greg dutifully, making tiny noises that might at one point have been words. Every inch of him was salty and miserably wet. They would have to find a shower somewhere on the road. In the meantime, there were towels. There were warm clothes, and a warm bed, and a comforter that was older than Stephen himself.

As Greg sat the boy down on a towel at the end of the mattress, he couldn’t help but notice that Stephen was still warm, even as the shirt that Greg peeled off his torso was frigid with saltwater. The towel rubbed off as much as it could, soft and vigorous. Stephen made no motions to stop the drying. He closed his eyes, then forced them open again, still smiling even as his limbs were shaking with exertion.

“Stephen, tell me you don’t live on a boat,” Greg hissed.

The boy seemed to shake his head. Greg got on one knee and reached past Stephen into a bag. The hoodie was inconspicuously gray, with a soft lining that slid right over Stephen’s head. They could deal with shirts another time. As Greg wrangled with the sleeves and the holes, he pushed Stephen’s face through, and there was that fatigued and world-worn smile still. He had done it, whatever it was. It must have been a boat, or an island, or perhaps just a circuitous route that had taken Stephen out past the riptides. If Greg had known what Stephen had to do, he would have found another way. But they were here. Stephen felt victorious. They had to leave.

Greg emptied out a plastic bag and pulled out the black sweatpants. Stephen didn’t resist as Greg wrapped a towel over the boy’s lap before tugging down his old high-school shorts, the same kind he had seemed to have been wearing for a month at this point. That hardly mattered. It was with clinical efficiency that Greg dried the rest of Stephen and pulled on the sweats. The principle of safety was there. Stephen was dry and clothed, Greg put the wet shorts and shirt in the plastic bag, and his heart was beating like a steam engine once more.

“Up to the front, okay, up-up…”

Once again, Stephen tried to say something as Greg lifted him into his arms, but the man couldn’t hear it. He didn’t want to hear anything. He had imagined this to be a rescue mission when he had first conceived of this plan, weeks ago. How starkly his fantasy had emerged, so suddenly, so horribly. The flesh and blood for which he was now responsible needed him to leave this place. Clearly, Stephen had wanted to escape enough to put himself through this, and that was all the conjecture that Greg could handle. They still needed to go.

The seatbelt clicked around Stephen’s hips, and the boy looked down curiously at where he was strapped in as Greg closed the door. He ran to slam the back, and he stopped just once to look down the way towards Beach City and the long road ahead of them.

He could have sworn he heard a warning, a whisper, something on the wind taunting him. Greg grit his teeth. This was more than just a mission now. This was purpose. He could feel a hardness form behind his eyes as he imagined the smiling faces that expected to greet Stephen once the sun rose. He could feel the falsity of their love, the misunderstanding, the horrible nature that had led to this. The injustice made him shake until his vision blurred with bitter tears. Wiping his eyes, Greg stalked to the front of the van. Purpose was all he could see.

The driver’s door shut tight. In the silence of the parking lot, the locked doors of the car wash reflected the van’s headlights as it drove around. Passing the corners, passing the shuttered windows, the van slowed before turning out onto the main road. It took the sharp corner, then headed straight out past the pale houses, past the turnways to the piers, and onto the wide road leading to the state’s highway system. Then it was gone. The moon stayed right where it was in the sky, still obscured, still waning.