a polite
quiet.
I glance
under the table
and catch him
flicking
his lighter.
On and off.
On
and
off.
52
A Falling-Out
Sam and I split
a Panda Paws
milkshake.
My choice.
Sam is
talking about
a girl in
World History
who didn’t know
we fought
the British
for independence.
He’s just getting
to the punchline
when
I break my gaze.
Ezra
walks by
the window
in a flowing
cream tunic.
Curls bouncing
lightly
as he steps.
The drink catches
in my throat
and I choke.
53
Suddenly
it’s like bellows
have roared
the coals
in Sam’s
amber eyes.
“Don’t tell me
you actually
like that guy,”
he scoffs.
“So what if I do?”
I ask.
“And I’m not
saying I do.”
“He’s just
so vain
and arrogant,”
Sam says.
“And he always
has to
stand out.”
“You’re just
jealous
that he does it
so easily,”
I say back.
Which was
a mistake. Because
Sam lurches
out of his chair
and walks out the door.
54
Slamming it
behind him.
I don’t think
I’ve ever seen
his eyes in
such
a heat.
I look down at
our milkshake.
There’s still
half
of it
left.
55
The Quarry, Hunter’s Moon
I’m feeling
pretty crummy.
But I still have
another hour
before Renny
will pull up
in his pickup truck.
I decide
to go down to
our secret spot
anyway.
Tonight is
a full moon.
And she’s
pulling on me
like she pulls
on every other
body of water.
I can’t help it.
When I get to
the river’s edge,
I strip off my jacket
and jeans.
I wade in.
Just enough for
the reflected moonbeams
to drift into me.
56
Soak into my skin.
It’s freezing,
but
the cold numbs
the fire
Sam left
behind.
“Ehemm.”
A throat clears
from somewhere
on the other side
of the bushes.
“I knew you
were a
shapeshifter
the first time
I met you.
A water creature
who has to return
every so often
to keep
the spell going.
Don’t try
to deny it.”
In the pale light,
I can just see
a flowing
cream tunic
and curls.
Ezra.
57
“Don’t worry.
I’ll look away
while you
slip your
land legs
back on
and
hide
your gills.”
I redress,
half
embarrassed,
half
curious.
He is sitting
on the rocks,
burning
a small pile
of sage.
Eyes closed.
I come
close enough
to see
that his lashes
are thick
and black.
Dusted
with
stray specks
of
glitter.
58
“I do this
on every
full moon,”
he says.
“I cleanse
myself
and my
surroundings.
Send up
prayers
to the
sacred.”
“What do you
pray for?”
I ask.
He inches forward
as if to tell me
a great
and terrible
secret.
“For fish
to become
beautiful women
and men
to become
fairies.
And for
every
transformation
once
thought of
as impossible.”
59
“Really?”
I say,
sliding
closer.
I whisper,
“Any
luck?”
“On
at least
one account.”
He pulls
a fleece-lined
jacket
from the rocks
he was
sitting on and
wraps it
tight
around
my shivering
shoulders.
He looks over
at my
dripping,
cold feet.
“You
no longer
have fins.”
60
And then
I’m
leaning into
those
glitter-speckled
eyelashes
until
they flood
my vision
like
shooting stars.
His curls
brush against
my forehead
and
his lips
are
on mine.
Soft.
Fluid.
Like
moonlight
on
water.
61
Water Dream #3
My legs
meld
together
and sprout
scales.
I touch the water and
it shimmers out
from my fingertips.
Beautiful
silver ripples.
The glittering curves
are like crescent moons
or
Ezra’s eyes.
I can breathe
underwater
all the way to
the base of a
towering waterfall.
I dive below and
surface behind it.
Wild vines
and flowers
the size of my face
weave a
tropical jungle.
62
I crawl onto
a heap of moss
and ferns.
The ground
is so warm
beneath me.
Then,
I hear his voice.
His tinkling voice,
say,
“Hannah, I knew
you were a
shapeshifter.”
I
am
water.
And
he
is
earth.
63
Hidden
On the way into school
the next day, I
pass Ezra on the sidewalk.
His smile is all
flirt and glimmer.
But he flinches when
I grab his hand.
Peers over his shoulder.
Eyes flitting nervously,
to see if anyone behind us
is watching.
He says,
“Best not to let anyone know.
You agree?”
“But why?” I ask.
“Just trust me, okay?
It wouldn’t be good for us
if certain people found out.”
I’m about to protest, but
he squeezes my fingers
to assure me.
Then he lets them slip.
Putting the doubts in my mind
at ease.
“Well, alright then,” I say.
64
January
He says
I water
the grass
inside
his head.
That
whenever
I’m near,
his mind
runs
barefoot.
65
March
He leaves me
bits of treasures
from his
greenhouse
in my locker.
Pansies
to show
he’s thinking
of me.
White clover
to ask me
to think
of him.
Jasmine,
for love.
I bring home
the clippings
and put them
in a mug
in my room.
I will feed them
water
to sustain
them.
66
I will feed him
water
to sustain
him.
67
Bo, Incident #1
Ezra has been sitting
with us in the lunchroom
regularly for months now.
Sam didn’t like it at first.
But he cooled off.
After I apologized for
what I said at the coffee shop.
Something new has
started to happen
over the last few weeks.
Girls I’ve never
talked to before
are sitting with us, too.
Girls who aren’t eddies.
Girls who flow
with the mainstream.
Girls like Victoria.
They question Ezra
endlessly.
About fashion.
And the city.
And the secrets of the stars.
They ask to see
his tarot cards.
Ask for him to read
their palms.
Ask for stories about
68
what the moon
tells him.
Sometimes
I can’t help but
feel left out.
Feel like
I am a riptide.
Tugging on him
to join me
in the sea.
While
five senior girls
stand on shore,
in sunhats and shades
and polka dot bikinis,
and wave him
back in.
But then
he catches
my glance
and smiles.
Ever so slightly.
Too sly for
the rest of
the table to notice.
It’s then that I picture
myself as salt water.
The kind that gives itself
with fondness
to his skin.
Reminding him of the ocean
long after he has left it.
69
A secret intimacy.
Out of the corner
of my eye,
I see Bo
and his posse
at a table
not far from us.
Spiked hair.
Ripped jeans.
Studded belt.
Muscle tank.
Bo wouldn’t be
caught dead
taking fashion advice
from anyone.
Let alone
a boy with
glittered eyes
and a moon scarf.
He is snickering and
elbowing Derek.
Gesturing toward
our table.
Mouthing the word
“fag.”
The water boils
inside me.
I make note
to prepare
a shipwreck
if I need to.
70
Looking back
at Ezra,
I decide,
yes.
I can be
salt water.
Salt water
to clean
stinging
wounds.
Salt water
to cradle
his body.
Lifting it
to the surface
with
invisible
hands.
Keeping
his head
above
water.
71
Bo, Incident #2
Ezra is showing me
the sprouts
in his greenhouse.
Life
breaking ground
in emerald
and olive
and gold.
A boy
walking by
outside
shouts,
“Homo!”
as he races
by the door.
I recognize
Bo’s
deep,
rocky
voice.
Ezra ignores him.
The green
of his eyes
dulls to
a gray hazel.
He looks toward
the now-empty
doorway.
72
Then gazes at
the ground
in silence.
After a minute he says,
“Do you know why
people don’t want weeds?”
I don’t see
where he’s going
with this.
“Because they kill
what someone is
trying to plant.
But a weed is
just something
unwanted.
What is and isn’t
a weed
depends on
what plants
someone wants.
A dandelion
is considered
a pest. But
not to someone who
makes wine from
the petals.
Some of the most
beautiful flowers
are wild and would
take over
73
a garden if someone
would let them.
Most plants pe
ople
consider weeds are more
natural to the area than
the ones they import.
Most have stronger roots. And
many make good homes
for small animals.
Animals also considered pests.”
“You’re not a weed,”
I say.
“And you’re not unwanted.”
“Maybe not by you.
But I’m definitely not
the kind of thing
this town would like to see grow.
Though,
somewhere else,
like back in the city,
I’d be left alone.
Maybe even helped.
Did you know
plants
can protect
themselves?”
he asks.
I shake my head.
I wait for him to continue.
“Nature is full of
74
interesting species.
Mimosa plants
actually
curl away
from human hands.
They know touch
can be damaging.
So
they don’t
let themselves
be touched.”
“You’re not
a coward,”
I say.
“Sometimes
protecting yourself
is necessary.”
He continues.
“Nightshade
can kill a man.”
“You’re not
violent like that,”
I say.
“Poison ivy
grows on land
that has been
torn
and ruined.
To keep people
from doing
any more harm.
75
Until the plants
regrow.
A defender.”
“That sounds
more like you,”
I say.
“A defender.
Ivy breaks through
cement and brick.
Bur oaks are
fireproof.”
He smiles
gratefully
as I continue.
“Strong.
The earth
is strong.
Like you.
Fireproof.
Which is good
because
Bo is
a fire sign.”
He looks me
straight in
the eye
and
I reach out
with
fingertips
to his
76
cheek.
He doesn’t
curl away
like a
mimosa
would.
Instead,
the green
relights
in
his
eyes.
77
Makeshift Horoscope for Today
On my desk
later that day.
A handwritten
horoscope.
Pisces:
Tonight is
a favorable time
for romance.
The stars
shine down on
a relationship with
a devilishly
handsome partner.
(Meet me
at the river,
10:00 pm.)
78
A Reveal
I tell Sam
I have plans after