Fathom L. Standage (books for 8th graders .TXT) 📖

sandy trail. Finally, I reached the road and heaved a breath to calm my heart’s racing rhythm. I had a head start. I could get to Sam before they did.

Once I hit even ground, I ran. I ran until my side ached and my lungs heaved. I passed the security pay station without a glance and hurried to my car.

Please be in the house. Please be home, Sam.

Should I check the beach first, or go home? She could be anywhere. I pushed on the gas pedal, grateful for the absence of traffic on the California highways. After pulling off the freeway and onto the meandering, criss-crossing streets near La Jolla beach, I searched for her. The streets were empty. I circled around near Scripps Pier and headed south, edging along the streets, trying to see between houses, hotels, and shops along the coast. I circled a parking lot and scanned the beach.

Nothing. Traces of bioluminescence lingered in the waves. I picked up speed. Please be at home, Sam. A left turn, a few blocks, and a right turn later, I pulled into the driveway of my Aunt Shannon’s house—our home for the summer. I ran to the side door, fumbled with the key in the lock, and burst inside. The house was dark and quiet. I hurried forward, stumbling over mine and Samantha’s luggage that was still sitting in the kitchen.

“Ow.” I gave my shin a quick rub, still hurrying. If she was still out there somewhere…ugh, how could I think pursuing our separate obsessions in the middle of the night was a good idea? I made a dash for her bedroom but stopped as something caught my eye. There. In the house’s front entryway, on a side table, sat Samantha’s camera.

Unbelievable relief poured out my lungs in a long sigh. Just to be sure, I crept down the hall, toward the guest bedroom Sam claimed for our stay, and opened the door. Samantha’s gentle breathing issued from her curled-up form on the twin bed in the corner.

I eased out, went to my own room, undressed, and collapsed into bed. Now reassured that I didn’t have to go searching for my bestie on a dark beach, exhaustion weighed my body and my eyelids. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what might be happening less than a mile away, where two shady men were supposed to meet a third at La Jolla Beach.

“Rise and shine, Livvie-le-Skivvie!”

I jolted awake. Where was I? What time was it? What century? I blinked. Samantha came into focus in the bedroom door frame. She had pulled the top half her chin-length brunette hair into a ponytail and wore a hot pink tank top with black leggings.

“Ugh. Too early,” I mumbled into my pillow.

“It’s after ten a.m., Liv.” She came into the bedroom and plopped on my bed. “Come on, I’ve been up for hours. I’m bored.”

I turned. She grinned at me. Should I tell her what happened last night?

“How’d your photography go?” I asked.

“Meh. I got spooked. I got some pictures of the cool waves, but I only stayed out there for about five minutes. I called you when I headed back, but you didn’t answer.”

Probably because my phone had fallen into sea water. I rubbed my face.

“It’s okay,” said Sam, misinterpreting my dejection. “Our next shoot will be better.” She grinned at me.

“Our?” I asked. Her grin widened.

“Hang on a second.” She walked out, her voice carrying down the hall. “Now, I want you to keep an open mind about this.”

“I’m not doing anything that involves any kind of nudity!” I called to her.

Sam laughed. “What?”

“Streaking,” I replied. “Last time you asked me to keep an open mind, we were at graduation and you suggested—”

“Oh, come on. You know I wasn’t serious. I was just trying to cheer you up.” She reappeared, holding a big wad of shiny, green fabric. “No offense, but your ex-boyfriend is a cheating piece of trash who ruined your senior year. You deserved to laugh on our last night in high school, not cry over that man-slut.”

I rolled over. “You know, your nostrils get really big whenever you talk about Landon.”

She pounced back onto my bed and kept bouncing so I couldn’t go back to sleep.

“Ugh, okay, okay.” I rolled back. “I give. What’s the fabric for?” I asked, pointing at the shiny bundle. She stopped bouncing.

“So,” she began, a brilliant-ideas-are-exploding-in-my-brain kind of smile on her face. “Since I didn’t do much photography last night, I decided to get up early and go back to the beach to do some scouting.”

“Scouting for what?”

“For another photo shoot. I don’t want a lot of people around for this one. Plus, I want early morning lighting.”

“I don’t think you’ll have a problem then. Have fun.”

“See that’s the thing. I need your help with this one.” Her grin widened.

“Why?” I asked again.

“Well, when you first invited me to come here, I got to thinking. I want to expand my photography portfolio with some more creative stuff. So…” She held up the fabric and let it unroll in front of me. It was a long sheath of material ending in a fish tail.

I stared at it. “What is that?”

“It’s a mermaid tail! You love fishy stuff.”

I tried not to laugh. “Where did you get that thing?”

“I made it. I’ve had this fish scale fabric forever. Remember that dance we went to freshman year? That under-the-sea thing?”

“We were fourteen!”

“I know, I know. Forever ago. Anyway, the fabric was too fabulous to throw away, so I used some to make a mermaid tail. I even put sheets of plastic inside the fin so it would look more realistic. Isn’t it cool?” She gave the fish tail a little wave. “We can put a starfish in your hair, maybe find some driftwood—”

“Wait, what do you mean me?”

“Because I’m the photographer. And you look way more like a mermaid than I do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You have the hair. Long blonde waves will look amazing! I