Pretty in Pearls: A Forgive My Fins Novella (HarperTeen Impulse) Read Free Page A

taste,” Mr. Egregia says, finally looking at me. “Ah, Miss Wentletrap. I should have known.”
    His smile is broad and genuine.
    “Hello, Mr. Egregia.” I lift the glittery silk. “Is this what I think it is?”
    “Silica-infused dupioni,” he says, confirming my hunch.
    “The process to make this is so involved,” I explain to Lily, “they only make twenty yards a year.”
    “And I have secured ten of them,” he boasts.
    “You’re holding out on my mom,” I tease. “You know she loves this fabric.”
    “It arrived but yesterday.” He looks flustered, like he thinks I’m actually mad. “I would sell to none other.”
    Sometimes it backfires when I try for sarcasm. I should probably stop trying. I give him a reassuring smile. “She will be so happy.”
    He looks relieved.
    “I think I have to buy this one,” Lily says, pointing at the green-and-gold I knew she would love. “Can you have it sent to the palace?”
    Mr. Egregia bows again. “It would be an honor.”
    Moments later the arrangements are made and Lily and I are swimming off in search of another treasure.
    “Where do you want to go next?” she asks.
    “This is your shopping expedition,” I reply, linking my arm through hers. “Where do you want to go?”
    “Hmmmm, let me see . . . ”
    Her voice has that high, singsongy quality that indicates trouble brewing. I brace myself.
    “How about Paru’s Pearls?” she suggests. “I’m sure we could find something to look at there.”
    I knew this was coming. When Lily asked me to go shopping—not normally on her top thousand things to do—I had a feeling she was up to something. Now I know.
    “That’s all the way on the other side of the market,” I argue. “We should just work our way over there.”
    Lily huffs. “But what if they sell out?”
    “They won’t,” I insist.
    She gives me a pleading look. “They might.”
    “They literally have barrels of pearls.” I stare straight ahead, determined not to let her puppy-dog face sway me. “They won’t sell out.”
    She unlinks our arms and turns to face me, arms crossed over her chest. The determined look in her eyes worries me. A determined Lily is not easily discouraged. Just ask Brody—the boy she crushed on for three long years before realizing that Quince was her true love.
    “What’s going on?” she demands.
    I feign ignorance. “What do you mean?’
    “I mean,” she says, lowering her voice as she swims closer, “that two weeks ago you were all swoony over . . . Paru’s Pearls, and now you’re acting like you don’t even want to . . . check out their stock.”
    “Their stock?” I echo with a half laugh.
    She scowls. “You know what I mean.”
    I do—and we both know we’re not talking about pearls—but that doesn’t mean I want to talk about it. She’s my best friend and I talk to her about everything. Almost everything. Not this.
    A lot can happen in two weeks. A lot can change.
    “Really, Lily,” I say, swimming back a few inches, acting like I simply want to keep shopping, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’ve been spending too much time on land. It’s like you’re speaking a foreign language.”
    I swim off before she can respond, heading for the nearest stall as cover. Because the truth is, I know exactly what—exactly who —she’s talking about. And the last thing I want to talk about is him.
    Three hours, eighteen stalls, matching beaded braids, and a very full lunch later, my time runs out. I knew I could only delay for so long, that eventually we would make our way to this back corner of the market.
    If nothing else, I knew Lily would make sure we did.
    As we kick into Paru’s Pearls, a stall overflowing with iridescent orbs, my stomach does a triple flip. One flip of excitement to see what new pearls will be on display. One flip of excitement to see him. A final flip of dread that he will act just as casually uninterested as he has the last five times I visited