Florence (Florence Waverley, Book 1)

Preface

I POSITIONED THE RIFLE against my left shoulder. Its polished surface was icy on my skin. I used my left hand to grip the weapon’s base, while my right hand rested lightly on the trigger. I took a deep breath and stared ahead through the darkness.

A serpentine shape lay on the cavern floor like an enormous black ribbon. The monster slept soundlessly. Its eyes were shut, but its mouth—an opening that never closed—shone in the dim light. I saw hundreds of teeth and started to shake.

Six days ago, I’d been sitting alone at the back of a school bus. Now, hiding in the shadows of a cavern, I held a weapon in my hands. What was I doing here? That was the question that rang through my head. But when I turned to look at Rolan, his green eyes reminded me of my answer. I had chosen to follow him. A decision that had changed everything.

Rolan pointed his rifle at the monster’s enormous head. I aimed my weapon at its belly. Ready? he whispered.

I stopped shaking and nodded.

On three, said Rolan. One… two…

A shimmer appeared as the beast stirred to life. Its body rose in a flash, charged with energy, and gray eyes snapped open to stare at us.

NOW! Rolan called out.

I didn’t hesitate. This was where I wanted to be.

And just like that, I squeezed the trigger.

... 1 ...

Mermaid’s Reach

(6 Days Earlier…)

I FOUND MYSELF at the back of the bus and sat on the right, by a window. I lifted my backpack onto my lap and opened it. Inside it was a paper-wrapped sandwich, a clipboard, a gray cap, a set of pens, and my SeaBrite underwater camera. I tipped my head to the side and began rummaging inside my bag. But in truth, all I wanted was to squeeze into my pack and hide away inside it.

I sat alone as usual. But I didn’t mind the isolation or the rumble from the rear engine. In fact, there’s only one thing I hate about sitting alone at the back of the bus: the stare I sometimes get. Someone will always size me up—Who is she? Is she supposed to be sitting there? Does she belong here?—and the last thing I want is for anyone to even think these questions. Not when I myself haven’t figured them out.

Voices bounced through the carriage as students began to fill the rows ahead of me. I kept my head down, and it sounded as though everyone was almost settled. A little longer and they would all be lost in conversation. And if the stare didn’t happen by then, it wouldn’t happen at all. I’d be left to my own world, just how I liked it.

I continued to rummage inside my bag, thinking about how odd it would look if someone were watching me. But no one ever did that for long. I passed the time by counting down in my head. One, two, three. I heard the sound effects of a cell phone game. Students threw potato chips at one another and girls shrieked. Four, five, six, seven. Guys got rowdy. Eight, nine…

Ten.

The girl in the seat before me started to turn around, and I realized that I had said the number out loud. Quickly, I rested my head on the window and stared out at the acacias. Via the reflection on the glass, I watched Susannah stare at me as I clutched my bag to my chest. She raised an eyebrow and I held my breath. Her red lips began to part, until someone called her name and she turned around. Her ponytail sparkled. It was jet black at the top, but each strand graduated to a honey blonde at the bottom. How did the colors melt so seamlessly into one another? I had to be missing some vital female knowledge.

I looked down at the hair that spilled over my shoulders. I ran my fingers through the wavy strands—a nervous habit that I’ve had since I was a little kid, back when I used to think I could squeeze out the coppery color. My reflection on the window was a halo of reddish brown—way more red than brown—and I dug out the cap from my bag and put it on. I tucked as much loose hair under the cap as I could.

A voice broke through the chaos, and everyone looked to the front.

Hoi! a man called out. Settle down, everyone.

Mr. Harrison stood at the front of the bus. He lifted a clipboard and my heart raced. Roll call? I pressed my shoulders against the seat and started to see it all in my head.

Mr. Harrison would start reading names. People would call out. My heart would start thudding as I waited through the entire alphabet for W. (‘W’ as in Why did I sit at the back? ‘W’ as in Why didn’t we do the roll call outside?) Florence Waverley? he’d ask, and I’d do my best to reply in a loud voice. "Yes…" Of course, all that would leave me would be a strangled whisper. He’d say my name a second time and I’d call out again.

I’d wave my hand like someone drowning in the ocean—Here! I’m over here!—until he finally saw me.

Heads would turn. People would stare…

Mr. Harrison lifted the clipboard, pushed his glasses into place, and paused. He looked at his watch and sighed: Bah, we’re going to be late. He put aside the clipboard, then scuttled into the driver’s seat. He started up the bus and vibrations filled the carriage. The aircon sputtered on but let out nothing but warm, stale air.

I exhaled at the same time.

I looked at my green wristwatch. The face of it was divided into two halves—the top half had a digital display, while the lower half had a bubble that contained a tiny plastic dolphin. The bubble had once been filled with blue dye, which allowed the dolphin to ‘swim’ around. At least, it had when I was a child. The liquid had long since dried up, and the animal was now beached.

The time was 10:20AM—the start of a long day.

Mr. Harrison drove down the winding road that connected Welham High to the rest of Hamilton Island.

I slouched in my seat while students chatted among themselves. A vista of the beach appeared as we ended up on the gravel road that circled the island. Up ahead, part of the road branched off into a sand path that led out into the ocean. It was only a few yards wide, fringed on both sides by sea foam, and Mr. Harrison drove onto it with great care.

The ocean beyond was aquamarine in the shallows but sapphire along the horizon. The sky was cloudless. The waves were so calm that parts of the ocean resembled smooth crystal. Below the shallow waters lay bruises of indigo: coral reefs that pulsed in the morning light. Voices faded from my ears for a moment. The ocean was timeless, full of hidden things and hidden places. It had a beauty that always relaxed me.

We were soon a hundred yards off Hamilton Island. And whenever Mr. Harrison got too close to the right side of the path, it almost looked as though we were sailing over water. The bus tipped a little as tires on its left side sank into the sand. I held on tightly to an armrest as guys howled. Some of them pushed against the windows and girls giggled.

Heat settled around my shoulders. I took in a deep breath and tugged at my yellow t-shirt. I looked at Susannah’s tanned back. Straps from a bikini peeked out from underneath her gauzy white summer dress. I felt envious: not just of her breezy ensemble, but of the even, caramel quality of her skin. I looked at the freckles on my arms. When I was a child, I used to think that they looked like grains of sand, and I used to wonder how girls like Susannah had brushed away theirs. It had to have been a miraculous secret.

Looking at my arms, I no longer saw grains of sand. Just a hundred little sun spots.

The bus came to a halt and everyone stilled. Mr. Harrison opened the bus door. All right people, he called out. Come on, we’ve only got a few hours. He frowned as the girls in front of me chattered away. He cleared his throat and Susannah cocked her head to the side. I could just picture her look of boredom.

Mr. Harrison sighed and said, Come on. We’re here to work, people.

If I can just go unnoticed, today will be a good day. That’s what I told myself all the time. This day would be no different, I decided.

Everyone gathered outside the bus. The sand path ended before an island made of gray rocks—a mound that was barely higher than the tide. A small iron sign was propped to the side and its blue letters read: Mermaid’s Reach. The rod that held up the sign was three yards high. And judging by the rust that covered most of the rod, much of the sign—and the island—would be sunken at low tide. The rocks were covered with slime. Tide pools lay all over the island, and the air reeked of saltwater.

Welcome to Mermaid’s Reach, folks, said Mr. Harrison. Be good, have fun, but don’t forget that we have to leave in exactly two hours. He turned to point at the sand path and the tide already seemed to be encroaching on it. Unless you guys plan on swimming back. I’d never been to Mermaid’s Reach before, but I knew Mr. Harrison meant those words in a literal sense. Ghost islands were common sights beyond Hamilton: they were mini atlantises that rose and sank with the tides.

Everyone started to wander off. There was nowhere to hide, but I walked in the direction of the crowd. I gazed over the rocks and tried to look busy. However, when I looked at the kids around me, my chest felt tight.

We had all been told to come in practical beachwear, but everywhere I looked, all I saw were students in their best finery: bright t-shirts with cheeky slogans; Converse sneakers in look-at-me colors; earrings and bangles decorated with gems. School policy prohibited the use of makeup, but girls wore tropical-colored eye shadow and lip gloss.

Amid the odor of the rock pools, I smelt perfume. The scents made me feel bemused (what use is fragrance when you’re about to dive into saltwater?) until embarrassment set in. I didn’t even know where girls went to get perfume. The only stores I ever visited were the local twenty-four-hour mart, the fish and chip shop next to it, and Appleby Books, a second-hand bookstore half-hidden behind a large ficus.

I paused. I pretended to stare at the ocean but took a moment to inspect my ensemble. My t-shirt was a size too large; its image of a fish was faded. Earlier in the morning, I’d happily thought that my shirt was the closest thing I had to something vintage—but now it just looked ratty. My cut-off jeans were too long, pushing below my knees. Why hadn’t I noticed that earlier? A lump formed in my throat when I heard girls exchange compliments.

I tightened my t-shirt by tying a knot in the back of it. I rolled the edges of my jeans up above my knees. No one wore watches these days, so I spun mine around so that all anyone would see on my wrist was a green band. My eyes lingered on the inscription written on the strap: Take the dive, Florence. Love, Dad. I thought of how my father had given me the watch on my eleventh birthday. He had always encouraged me to leap into every challenge, even though I never had his gusto.

I felt glad he couldn’t see me now.

I tried to relax and continued walking with the crowd. Not too close that people assumed I was a part of their group, but not so far away that I was pinned as an outsider. To the front, Mr. Harrison rambled on about the animals we needed to document in our assignments; to the left, the exchange students from Moscow talked loudly in Russian. But to my right was a familiar face.

Michael Banks was walking next to Susannah and Madison. His white-blond hair shone in the light. He wore a tight blue v-neck that matched his eyes. His voice was so loud that everyone became part of his audience—his desired outcome, of course. He was telling a story, but I lost track of the words as I stared at his crooked smile.

A year ago he had been in my photography class. Each student had been loaned a Polaroid camera and told to take photos that epitomized Welham High. Susannah had taken self-portraits; some of the arty kids had shot things like the gym equipment left outside to rust. I had decided to look for inspiration in the acacia garden behind the canteen.

I wandered amid the greenery, until I heard a voice call out, "Hey! Watch where you’re going. I turned to see Michael wave me aside; his camera was aimed at the shrubbery behind me. I must have turned a bright red, for his expression softened. Sorry," I muttered. I was about to move off when he held up his camera. I heard a click and felt baffled as a polaroid emerged. Why had he wasted one of his shots on me?

He strode over and passed me the photo without looking at it. Don’t worry about it… he told me breezily. He looked at the label on my camera and read aloud my name: "Florence."

He was about to leave when I instinctively raised my camera at him. He seemed surprised but pulled on his best zoolander face. Yet, before I could take a snap, voices emerged and he turned to see Susannah and Madison wander out the canteen. Hey, hey, what do we have here…? he called out before he darted after them. And just like that, I felt myself disappear. I examined the photo he’d given me—but all I could see was a blur of rust-colored hair. Was that how people saw me?

I left my reverie to watch Michael pick something from the ground. He turned to flash a smile at the guys behind him, opening his palm to reveal an orange starfish. He held it bottom-side up to prevent it from sticking to him. He turned to look at Susannah’s back and tiptoed over with mock stealth. I moved closer and my foot knocked aside a rock. The sound caused heads to turn and I looked away.

What’s going on? said Susannah. I knew the crowd was focused back on her, so I turned around to see what was happening. I watched her study the starfish in Michael’s hand. How old are you, Mikey? she asked dryly.

Michael laughed as he brushed a hand through his short hair. He threw the sea star ahead of him, and it landed with a splat. Guys behind him found this amusing.

I walked ahead at a brisker pace.

That chick, I heard him begin. Me. That’s… He paused, and I almost came to a halt, thinking he would say my name, until he added, Who’s that?

Susannah replied, and I mouthed along to her exact response: Who cares? Even without looking back, I could imagine her raising a brow and shrugging. New girl, she added.

New girl. That was a scream. It had been four years since my mother had stranded me on Hamilton Island. Yet, no one seemed to latch on to this fact, and somehow, the new girl badge had never left me. But I didn’t mind. I liked the possibilities that anonymity presented. Maybe one day I’d evolve into someone different. Maybe one day people would turn around and see me anew.

I could be anyone… or no one.

I walked away from the crowd, not wanting to hear the rest of what Susannah had to say—even though my face had probably already faded from her thoughts.

I found my way to a tide pool and bent down to study it. Michael’s starfish lay upside down on the rim of the pool and I nudged it into the water. It sank amid a colony of sea slugs, but something at the center of the pool caught my attention: a piece of ocean-weathered glass.

I picked it out and held it to the light. It gleamed like frosted quartz.

My uncle Jeremiah had a house on Hamilton Island’s Catseye Beach. I’d been around thirteen years old when I moved in with him. Back then, early in the morning when everyone was still asleep, I used to comb the seashore for bits of sea-smoothed glass, daydreaming that they were coins from an underwater kingdom. I used to wonder how much currency you’d need to start a life below the sea.

Voices emerged up ahead, and I tucked the coin into one of my pockets.

I looked up to see Susannah, Madison, and Jane run into the water beyond the island. They each wore a sheer sundress, but none of them bothered taking these off, all of them letting the fabric soak to a transparent film. Their bikinis came in an array of neon orange, pink, and blue. Blonde tips made their hair look impossibly sun-kissed. Each girl pulled her hair back with a calculated slowness as boys watched on. And just like that, they became dream girls. Nymphs. Anything-but-ordinaries.

Their skin gleamed with water droplets.

Once they had everyone’s attention, the trio left the water. They stripped down to their bikinis, then headed for a box near Mr. Harrison. Each of them reached inside it to pull out a snorkel, a pair of goggles, and a pair of swimming fins, before they raced back to the water. Other students followed their lead, and clothes were chucked aside to reveal swimwear.

Soon, almost everyone was in the water.

By the time I got to the box, all that was left inside was a pair of black goggles, a pair of fins, and a snorkel with a mouthpiece that looked like a dog’s chew toy. I sighed but took off my cap, got into the gear, then slapped my way across the island in my giant fins. I was wearing an old bikini underneath my tee and jeans, but the last thing I wanted was to show it to anyone.

I stepped into the water and my muscles tensed up from the cold. But as the kids before me disappeared, I started to swim ahead, afraid to be the only one left in the shallows. At first it was hard to see anything through the sandy murk, but a few yards from the island, the water was deeper, clearer. Through the goggles, I saw bits of white broken coral instead of sand. Guys and girls frolicked about, but I floated half-in and half-out, hidden in the sea foam.

Floating below the surface, I saw bodies around me and looked up to see Susannah and Michael to the right. They made me think of those perfect couples you’d see in swimwear commercials. Her left arm was curled around his broad shoulders. Let’s go further out, she said. Michael turned to look at the others behind him. Come on, guys, he called out, before his eyes settled on Madison, a slender girl with short blonde hair. Michael grabbed her arm and pulled her forward, but his hand slipped down her arm and into the water. The waves pushed me down and, below the surface, I saw his hand hook around hers.

I looked up to see Madison smirk at him.

Susannah, of course, did not see the expression as she tugged Michael ahead. In fact, amid the rush of bodies, no one saw anything they weren’t meant to see.

I swam ahead, far beyond the others.

The shore dipped off to reveal a hidden world. Overlapping plates of coral formed the terraces of an underwater kingdom. Anemones of neon abounded everywhere, steeples that rose and fell as clownfish bustled within them. The light that passed through the ripples gave the reef the glow of a mirage.

It was impossible not to blink.

A red brain coral came into view, and tiny crabs made their way through its maze of grooves. Sea stars lay everywhere, sunning themselves in the honeyed light. I floated facedown along the water’s surface. None of the animals noticed me, but that suited me just fine. Each creature had its own natural behavior—groupers