Ace returned to the cabin. If someone had asked them how they felt, truly and honestly, their answer would likely be an attempt at describing whatever the opposite of ‘comforted’ is, because the word ‘discomfort’ certainly didn’t do their anxiety justice. It was hard for them to focus. Not much had made sense before, and the things that still had no longer did and the things that didn’t somehow made even less sense now. 

 

The captain was clearly hunting the mermaids. He’d basically said as much, and had been for some time. Tom, old reliable Tall Tom, seemed to be more concerned with the crew, but the captain was adamant that this time, things would be different. So Ace knew that the captain knew about Callie. Probably. And Callie knew that the captain knew. But the captain didn’t know that Ace or Callie knew, or even that Callie was named Callie, which was information he probably wouldn’t know what to do with. 

 

And Callie didn’t seem to mind, which baffled Ace even more, in the same way that a fly caught in the webs of two competing spiders might be completely taken in by the architecture of the environment. They couldn’t see the wood, as pedants tend to say, for the trees. Much like the thoughts turning over in their head, it took Ace a lot of tossing and turning to finally fall asleep. 

 

I want to take a step aside here to address something that might not have been obvious. Ace started this story suffering from what was most definitely a depression. They felt stuck, in a slump, with no way to move forward. Then, the Siren Song arrived and their heart was, proverbially speaking, lifted. But while that’s all true, it has to be mentioned that depression is a systemic illness and that ‘feeling better’ is not necessarily a cure-all. While the main cause of their feelings was no longer as present as it had been before -- they had left the remarkably unremarkable village, after all -- I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that, in the same way as someone might recover from a broken leg, mental illness has a recovery period as well. So, all this considered, Ace wasn’t just ‘cured’ of depression. But the cause of the depression had been treated and now they were beginning to feel better. The problem is that, instead of a sore leg or a painful throat, symptoms of depression can include anxiety and stress, and just because you’ve treated the depression doesn’t mean those other two are suddenly gone. This is why a lot of people can feel like they’re not improving, just bouncing between symptoms, whereas the path to full recovery is an upward curve with peaks and lows, and it’s also why Ace, despite feeling so much better than they had only days prior, spent most of that night tossing, turning and fretting so much. 

 

It was that, or their stress was entirely valid. Honestly, the entire situation would be a nightmare to anyone with anxiety, so my point is that I implore you, dear reader, not to judge Ace harshly for being the bundle of stress and anxiety that they were. There are many good and logical things they could’ve done in this situation and they did none of them. But it wasn’t their fault. 

The next day was uneventful. That is to say that the day was like watching a bomb ticking down and pretending the situation was stable. Something was going to happen, but Ace, of course, was as oblivious as ever, other than now knowing that everyone else seemed to be more aware of what was happening than they were. So, that night, they once again made their way up to the deck when most sailors were asleep, and once again they lowered themself down on the rope. It would be obvious to anyone paying attention that they were playing a dangerous game, but Ace didn’t care much. As the saying goes, in for a penny, in for the entirety of your livelihood. 

 

They carefully tied the rope and sat in the loop, like last time, a little closer to the surface of the water this time. Instead of looking for them at the porthole, Callie immediately bobbed up in front of Ace with a big smile on her face. Ace was still getting used to how sharp her teeth looked, and had to restrain themself from reaching out and touching them out of sheer curiosity, which is the eternal struggle between the smart monkey and the stupid monkey that happens in our brains, curiosity versus self-preservation. Being human lies somewhere in the middle, apparently.

 

“Hey,” Ace said.

 

“Hey,” Callie responded, and twirled in place. 

 

I could describe to you in vivid detail the agonizing fifty-eight seconds of awkward silence that hung in the air between them as they both tried not to make too much eye-contact while simultaneously trying not to appear as though they were avoiding each other, Callie doing so with a grin and a smirk and a twinkle in her eye, and Ace trying to figure out how people did the whole speaking thing again. But I’d rather not, because watching two teenagers be awkward at each other is a privilege reserved for parents and teachers. Instead, we skip forward to the end of the agonizingly long minute, when Ace finally remembered the concept of language.

 

“What did you mean yesterday when you said that you know?” Ace asked. “You left before I could ask.”

 

Callie giggled and dipped beneath the waves for a second. It occurred to them that perhaps Callie needed to go underwater to breathe every few seconds. It was something she did quite often, and they hadn’t considered the possibility that it was more than just a playful quirk. 

 

“I’ve been following the Siren Song for a while, Ace,” she said ominously. “Not everything is the way it seems.”

 

There was a glint in her eye and suddenly Ace realized that this girl was, at least partly it seemed, an apex predator. Perhaps there were scarier things at sea than pirates and shanties. The sea was old and big, after all. 

 

“What… what do you mean?” Ace asked. 

 

She twirled around again and dipped below the waves. When she came back up, her smile was as broad as ever, and equally as intimidating. If girls are already intimidating to you, I can promise you now that a girl with sharp teeth and a predator’s eye will make you weak in the knees in a heartbeat. 

 

“I think you’ll see soon enough, Ace.” She grinned again. “But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Though maybe not everyone aboard the ship might be, eh?” 

 

The twinkle in her eye twunkled harder, and more fiercely. Again Ace remembered that they were only feet away from a predator. The look in her eye had a certain “a girl’s gotta eat”-quality to it that Ace found distinctly unnerving. And more than a little magnetic. 

 

“Can… I do anything? To help?” Ace asked carefully. They didn’t specify if they were offering to help Callie or the situation in general. They didn’t know which one they were going for yet. 

 

“I think the Siren Song is a bit late.” She cocked her head for a moment as if she was listening to something. Then she dipped below the waves again and came up holding something just a second later. She handed Ace an orange. As gifts went, this one was a lot more underwhelming than the last one she’d given them. Which reminded them. Ace dug in their pocket and fished out the small pearl and held it up.

 

“I kept it. Is… that okay?”

 

She laughed again. To Ace it sounded like a babbling brook, although Ace had never felt like they’d been slightly mocked by running water, so it was still a new experience for them. Of course, she didn’t explain why she laughed, instead just twirling around playfully once.

 

“You’re absolutely precious, Ace,” she said. Then, she cocked her head again, listening. “I have to go. Take care, cutie.” She smiled and dipped beneath the waves, leaving a blushing Ace sitting on the loop of rope. 

 

They were about to start climbing up when there was a tug on the rope. Their stomach dropped. There’s a specific feeling that you might remember as a child, when you tried to sneak downstairs and got caught. It’s a primal fear of being caught in the dark, with your proverbial pants down, and you haven’t figured out how to talk your way out of it. Ace was experiencing the equivalent of standing in the kitchen, the light just turned on, chocolate on their face and a wrapper in their hand. When they were lifted over the edge of the ship, their face came face to face with that of a concerned Tall Tom, who hoisted them onto the deck with one hand. One of the two lookouts, stone drunk but not so drunk as not to have ratted Ace out, apparently, stood behind Tom, swaying slightly. 

 

Another deckhand, someone who’d probably been woken up as well, stood on Ace’s other side. People often do this when someone needs to be confronted. It’s in human nature to want to be a part of things, and when that thing is intimidation, someone will always be happy to cross their arms and go “What’s all this then,” or something to that effect. When you’re not the person doing the confrontation, it seems that the human brain defaults to acting like a B movie henchman. 

 

Tom set Ace down on the ground, and knelt down next to them. 

 

“You want to explain what you were doing down there, Ace?” he asked. His facial expression hovered between concern over Ace’s mental faculties, and a sort of “this had better be good” smirk that is easy to convey through facial expressions but much more difficult to do through text, so feel free to bear with me. 

 

Ace had no idea what to say, but it turned out they didn’t have to. They raised their hand, hoping that by the time they’d made some kind of gesture they would’ve come up with something, anything useful. Instead, it seemed, Callie had been one step ahead of them. While they’d pocketed the pearl again, deeply afraid to lose it, in their raised hand they held an orange, still dripping with sea water.

 

Tom’s eyes grew wide, and he instantly stood up, grinning from ear to ear. It was both a terrifyingly worrying sight, because once again Ace had no idea what was happening, and a deeply comforting one, because seeing Tom smile would put most people at ease. He was a comfortable person to be around. For once, Ace wasn’t the only one confused. The drunk man had crossed his arms, trying to look intimidating, and his brain was trying to catch up to the sudden change of tone. 

 

The other man was a little faster on the uptake, but he also had no context for Tom’s sudden happy demeanour, so he didn’t know whether to look excited as well, to keep looking threatening, or just go back to bed. Tom extended his hand to help Ace get up. It was like being helped up by an eager gorilla, and for a brief second they were certain their shoulder was about to be dislocated as they were yanked upright. Tom held up the orange like it was a prized possession, and slapped Ace on the back hard enough to slam their shoulder back into its socket if that had been necessary. 

 

“We have to show Captain Maria right away.” He grinned and began to walk down the deck towards the captain’s cabin, Ace trailing behind after they realized they were supposed to follow. They had no idea what was going on. On the one hand, they’d just been caught. On the other, they’d half expected to be yelled at and the air was suspiciously devoid of loud voices. It seemed that Callie’s gift had unexpectedly saved Ace. The opposite was true, of course. The orange was, although not the beginning, then at least a nudge in the direction of Ace’s unfortunate end.