Teeth (17 page)

I didn’t know he knew that.

“You guys aren’t dropping dead,” he says. “So clearly they’re getting the fish out. And I notice when they’re gone. I don’t know all of them, but . . . you know? Some of them . . . some of them I notice when they’re gone.” He swallows. I wonder if he knew the one he fed me.

He says, “And then even if by some miracle I managed to stop them, the bigger fish are gobbling mine up all the time, and they’re not going to live forever. They’re
fish. I don’t even . . . I don’t think fish live very long.”

“Yeah. They’re fish.”

“So I save a few and, in the grand whatever of things, it doesn’t fucking matter. I know that. I’m really, really smart, you know?”

I nod a little.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you.”

“You don’t even fucking listen to me anymore,” he says.

“What are you talking about?”

“You used to think I was cool, and now I’m just this fucking mess that you have to put perox-whatever on. We were . . . It used to be different.”

“But . . . ”
I can’t save you and you can’t fix me and I still want to be here and I am scared out of my fucking mind and why won’t you get well?

He picks at the scales he still has until I stop him. When he speaks, his voice is much louder, but he’s still not looking at me. “So what’s the fucking point of me if I’m not, like, in this battle with the fishermen all the time? If I stop that, what do I do? Float around until I drown? It’s not like I can fucking . . . be something. Or even have a real friend.”

I wish he’d slapped me instead. “Yeah.”

“See, ’cause in a way . . . they’re sort of all I have.”

I exhale. “The fishermen.” And then his hand is in mine, and I don’t even know how it got there.

“They’re my reason to be here. They’re my battle, you know?” He looks at me with a little smile. “And it’s not like they do anything I can’t handle. I always win. I’m the hero.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” He takes his hand away and dives back into the water. “Look,” he says. “Anyway. Operation Fish Freedom Part whatever. You ready?”

I shake my head. I feel like I’m not getting enough air or something, because it’s like my head is fuzzy and I can’t focus. I think that conversation took too much of me. And it takes me a minute to process where he is. I think I’m still two minutes behind. Eventually I realize what he just asked and say, “Fuck no.”

There’s no way I’m helping with this, and really, right now I just want to go home. And there’s no fucking way I want him going over to the marina today. If he’s going to let the fishermen come get him, fine, but he should at least make them work for it. I’m not going to hand-deliver him. I couldn’t live with me.

He says, “Come on, Rudy, please?”

Dylan Dylan Dylan, I will not forget Dylan; no way, we’re not doing this again.

But I look at Teeth. He’s fragile.

Lately I’ve been thinking
Daniel Daniel Daniel
all the time.

There’s no fucking way I’m going with him, but I can at least be gentle. This isn’t the time to tell him he’s acting like a murderer. So I give him a smile. “I can’t tonight.’“

He frowns. “What are you doing?”

“I just have plans.”

“With your brother?” His eyes light up a little. “Oh, is he better? Are you going to play with him? Tell him I say hi. Can you play with him out here so I can see?”

“We’re still working on getting him better.” I say this with a bit of a bite. I can’t help it.

Teeth’s voice is small. “I’ll give you fish after I free them. I promise. Don’t get mad.”

“That doesn’t save everyone else.”

“But I can’t get fish for all of them. That’s . . . that’s too many.”

How many is too many?
I shake my head. “I’m not mad. I just can’t tonight. I have plans already. Sorry.”

And then he starts screaming. Holy shit. He screams like the sound is coming through the top of his head. No human could ever make that noise.

Then he’s gnashing his teeth down so hard that the tips bend. “What? What are you doing? Are you going there?” He waves his hand to the Delaneys’ mansion.

“Daniel—”

Oh.

Shit.

I don’t know how it happens. I really don’t.

He’s staring at me, frozen exactly where he was before I spoke, his hand still weakly pointed toward his old home.

And he opens his mouth, and I’m ready for anger and spit and fire, but instead it’s just the smallest voice in the world. “What did you call me?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t . . . I’m sorry. Really, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Did
she
tell you that?”

“Who?”

“You know who! That girl!”

“No, not really, I—”

“Not really?” He screams again. I just know someone’s going to come running out here. Someone has to come. This is not the wind. This is not a ghost. This is the realest thing I’ve ever seen.

He points his hand at me, his fingers stretched and slimy. “You can’t call me that! I didn’t tell you you could!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t hurt me with that!”

“I didn’t say it to—”

“I don’t even care if she told you.” He shakes his head hard. “I don’t care what she told you. You know why? You want to know why I don’t care?”

I can’t take this. I feel meaner every time he speaks.

He says, “Because I don’t care what you do. I don’t care
what you do at all, Rudy! Go hang out with humans. I don’t care. I can do all of this on my own.”

“No, you can’t. Please don’t go to the marina. Don’t free the fish. Not tonight. Come on. You’re tired. You’re probably sick. Stay here and rest. Eat another catfish.”

It’s like he didn’t even hear me. “I don’t care if you hang out with humans. I hate humans. Go make out with my sister. Whatever. I bet her lips are, like, warm and stuff.”

I exhale. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“Bullshit!” He splashes hard with his tail. “You think I don’t see you going up to the house instead of coming down here to be with me?”

“I can’t be with you all the time!”

He glares at me. His eyes are as shiny as the surface of the water.

I say, “I don’t go over there that often. But she doesn’t leave the house, you know? She gets lonely.”

“I get lonely!
I get lonely, you asshole!
I hate humans!”

“What do you expect me to do? Fuck! You can’t just stand there—”

“
Stand
here?” His mouth hangs open. “Did you just say
stand
here?”

“—and fucking scream at me because you finally figured out you’re not my whole world.”

“Fuck your world! Fuck you and your human names your mom gives you and your brains and your lungs and your
everything, because I don’t need any of it! This isn’t your world anymore! Take a look at where you are, asshole.” He splashes me with a webbed hand full of water. It’s so cold it burns. I scoot back.

“You can’t handle being fucking splashed!” He says, “You can’t even handle being here if I don’t keep you safe.”

“Yeah, let’s not talk about who’s saving who.”

“This is
my
world!”

Except it isn’t his world. It’s the fish’s world. And he’s not a human, but he’s not a fish, either. And it’s all crushing him and I don’t know what to do because I guess I’m not even a real friend or something.

And he goes, “I don’t even know your world,” and fuck, he better not cry.

Because I don’t know what to do. I invited him to live in my house, for fuck’s sake. That was the furthest I could go. How much of me does he seriously think is available right now?

I have other shit.

I close my eyes and breathe as deeply as I can. “Teeth . . . ”

What does he want me to do, grow a tail and swim with him forever? Forget about my family?

I won’t let myself picture it. I won’t think about it. I won’t imagine how nice the water must feel in the summer.

Because it’s impossible. So there’s no point in thinking about it. There’s no point in looking at him and wondering . . . because it just doesn’t make sense.

And thinking this truth hurts, because pretending I didn’t know it was so easy.

“I am so pathetic,” I whisper.

He mumbles, “I’m a fish.”

I guess he doesn’t know what pathetic means.

I need to get out of here. My lungs feel like they’re pushing through my rib cage, and where he splashed me is still stinging. And I don’t even know if we’re arguing anymore, but we’re staring at each other like there’s so much more we need to say, but he doesn’t know the words and I am not going to be the one to say it.

Because I have enough shit going on right now, and he was supposed to be the easy part.

And I might throw up.

I need to get out of here, but I can’t leave him like this. So I say, “Don’t you fucking dare go down to the marina on your own, okay? I mean it.”

And then he just snaps. “You don’t tell me what to do! Don’t you ever tell me what to do again! I hate humans!” He pushes off the dock and swims away.

I don’t stop him.

I shouldn’t give a shit that he’s going. That they’re probably going to catch him and beat him hard before they let him go. It shouldn’t matter to me. He’s just a fish.

I run into my house, ignoring my parents, who for some reason choose tonight to demand to know where I’ve been
and why I’m all wet, and I run up to my room and I scream. And I’m ripping pictures off the walls—not even the pictures of him, because those are all hidden away—the ones of my family, my parents and my fucking fucking fucking brother, and I’m breaking my lamp because I threw it and I’m screaming.

And over the ocean, which started screaming and thrashing when I did, which knows exactly how fucked up this is, which is trying to swallow the fishboy before someone else swallows him, no one can even hear me, and no one even has any idea.

But I can hear him.

The ocean might be louder tonight than I’ve ever heard, roaring and growling, but I sleep right through it. I only wake up for the train whistle scream, the shriek of sharp teeth gnashed together, the hoarse warble from deep in his throat. The word please.

Magic word.

The silence.

It’s just the wind. It was just the wind, and it’s dying down now.

It’s nothing. It’s just this ghost of this boy who used to be.

I skip breakfast to go out early with peroxide, because I don’t have anything else to bring for a peace offering. And
I can’t just walk around feeling like this, like I’ve swallowed a bucketful of sand. If that means I need to grovel, then fine, I’ll fucking grovel.

Because there’s always someone who’s more powerful, and ever since Teeth fed me that fish, it’s become really clear which one of us will sacrifice more than the other.

They better not have hurt him too badly.

“Teeth?” I get up on the dock and wait for him to come out.

He doesn’t.

IT GETS COLD ENOUGH TO MAKE OUR FIRST FIRE. DAD’S WORRIED
about the smoke and Dylan’s lungs, but he does really well. I think he’s happy I’ve been at home more. He glues himself to my lap and talks my ear off about the starfish he found on the shore this morning while he was out in the sand with Mom.

I know that even if Teeth were out in the water, he would have hidden from Dylan and Mom, so the fact that Dyl doesn’t mention him shouldn’t bother me. I shouldn’t even think about it. I shouldn’t even notice, really.

Dylan falls asleep, eventually, with his head against my shoulder. Dad goes into the kitchen to do dishes, and I
can tell by the way Mom’s eyes track him that she wants to follow. She has this crazy look on her face like Dad is really attractive all of a sudden. Maybe it’s that everything has been so calm, all day—all week, even—and she can finally think about sex. It should gross me out, but I just think it’s kind of funny. My parents’ sex life is so incredibly far from having anything to do with me.

She looks at me and nods at Dylan, her eyebrows up. I mouth, “We’re fine.” She kisses the top of my head on her way to the kitchen. I hope she at least waits until she’s out of earshot before she pounces on him.