It was an hour or two later, when the sunset painted the sky rose-gold and a soft tangerine that Max came over. He trailed through our neighboring backyards, to where I was waiting on our back porch area. 

He didn't hesitate to get started. As soon as he sat down, he pulled the journal from his backpack. "It was slow today, so I did a little Google-jitzu on my phone and—"

"I saw them." I couldn't stop myself.

"What?" He blinked.

"I went to the beach today, and I was swimming and I saw them." I was rambling now. "I didn't tell you, but there was this light when I went underwater and I could suddenly breathe underwater and it happened again today but I had a tail and I met some mermaids—"

"You're kidding." He closed his journal, the snapping sound of it drawing me out of my word-vomit. He leaned in, hazel eyes wide. "You really saw them, the mermaids?"

"Four of them." I paused. "And I think I am one, somehow."

"No kidding!" He leaned back in the chair. "I can't believe it—I was actually right, I was rescued by a mermaid. I'm not crazy."

"No."

I'm not sure he heard me, because he continued on. 

"We need to find an underwater camera or something, and take pictures." He picked up his phone. "You can take them, and then everyone will know that I'm not crazy—"

I snatched his wrist. "Max, we can't tell anyone."

He frowned, looking like a lost puppy. "What do you mean?"

I paused, choosing my next words carefully. "I spoke to the mermaids, and they were scared. They knew I was human, that I'm not supposed to be a mermaid. They were worried I'd tell people on the surface. I guess that they're forbidden from coming on land, from people knowing about them. They made me promise not to tell anyone."

"You told me," he pointed out.

"Because I came to you for help, and I thought you might want to know that you were right." My stomach lurched all the same. Already I was beginning to regret telling him. "Isn't that enough, to know that it wasn't made-up?"

The reluctance on his face made his answer obvious. But he switched tactics. "Why don't they want humans to know about them?"

"I don't know, probably the usual urban fantasy reasons?" I shrugged. "Something about not wanting to be exploited by humans, probably. And I mean, have you seen how we treat their oceans?"
"You have a point," he admitted. "Still, this is an incredible discovery!"

The fact that he was still using words like discovery told me that he didn't understand.

"You really can't tell anyone," I said. "After all, what if some government scientists at the aquarium take me away to do experiments on me or something?"
"I won't let that happen." He placed my hands in his. "I'll keep your secret, Mika, I promise."
I could breathe a little easier—with the intensity in his hazel eyes, I believed him. 

"I still want to know everything." He let go. "Are you going back out tomorrow?"

"Yeah." I glanced over my shoulder, and saw Mom peering at us through the window over one of her magazines with Jason Momoa on the cover. "Earlier in the day, so I have more time."

"We should still make a record of it, for science." He picked up his journal again and pulled out his pen. "Don't worry—no one will believe anything in here. It's for personal use, anyway, and everyone thinks I'm crazy."

I recognized the bitter note at the end, and felt a little guilty. "Thank you, Max."

"Of course." He avoided my eyes. "Now tell me everything."

Max left about half an hour later. He told me he still had some research to do on the sea monster I'd seen, but he'd tell me more as I figured it out. I promised him I'd see him again tomorrow, after I swam with the mermaids again. 

The nightly June thunderstorms rolled overhead, so I put on my headphones with my favorite summer mix and opened up my diary, as I was terribly behind on all the interesting things that had been happening! A part of me wondered if writing all of this down was a bad idea. But I figured if anyone came across it, they'd think it a particularly indulgent piece of creative writing. 

As I faithfully recorded what had taken place over the past two days, a new thought occurred to me. With a new world of mermaids and magical mysteries, there was also a new avenue for a summer romance. Talu was cute, after all—who was to say that maybe I couldn't fall in love with a mer-man?

Lena's parties weren't going to work, after all. They sounded fun, like a great idea. Meet lots of people having a good time, what could go wrong? The problem was that I was all wrong. In the face of so many people, I found myself feeling more alone than ever, even more invisible. Maybe there would be less pressure at a beach bonfire than at a yacht party—but I was much more hesitant to find out.

That's why you've never had a summer romance—you're just too afraid to try.

No, it was more than that.

A part of me would always feel alien amongst other people. Everyone else would be on the inside, and I would always somehow find myself on the outside looking in.

Well, this was getting depressing. I closed my diary—I would not have any of this negativity corrupting what was supposed to be the diary chronicling how my life would change for the better!

I instead got out my laptop and instead of opening my writing application or AO3, I clicked to Google and started searching for stories about mermaids. Of course The Little Mermaid came up, along with older stories like the Melusine, Ondina, and so many others. But very quickly, a pattern emerged. 

A love between a human and a mermaid was doomed. Death, destruction, and cycles of bloody vengeance followed these water spirits and their princely lovers across the web-pages. And hadn't Talu said something about relationships between humans and mermaids being forbidden?

I wasn't sure I liked that ending. Then again, there was something romantic about a tragedy, wasn't there?

Uneasy, I clicked away and opened up my word processor. I wasn't sure yet if the summer romance I'd dreamed of was in the cards for me. So instead I'd turn to my treasured OTPs and start a new saga that could not suppress the heartache of longing for the real thing.