And Then I Turned Into a Mermaid. Laura Kirkpatrick

don’t have a job or anything.’

      ‘You can have mine if you want,’ Molly laughed. ‘All the free chips and bits you can eat.’

      ‘Awesome. They wouldn’t even have to pay me.’

      ‘Well, that’s a relief. They don’t pay me either.’ Molly rolled her eyes. ‘Getting to live in this lavish mansion is payment enough, my mum reckons.’

      ‘Do you want to come into our lavish mansion for some cake?’ Margot burst out. There was mischief written all over her face, and Molly made a mental scan of the living room for potential booby traps. Definitely a whoopee cushion under the armchair, and almost no condiments in the kitchen were safe.

      ‘What kind of cake?’ Eddie asked.

      ‘Scrambled egg,’ Margot said solemnly. ‘Beans and bacon are optional.’

      Eddie looked confused and awkward. ‘What?’

      ‘Long story,’ Molly muttered hastily. ‘Eddie doesn’t want to come in, do you, Eddie?’

      She actually wouldn’t have minded chatting to Eddie some more, since he was always pretty funny in the chip shop. But she didn’t trust her sisters not to do anything embarrassing, and she certainly didn’t trust Minnie not to try to kiss him like the poor pink unicorn.

      Eddie, however, looked suddenly crestfallen. ‘I . . . no, I suppose not. Sorry for bothering you.’

      ‘No!’ Molly insisted, realising how awful her rejection sounded. ‘You weren’t bothering me at all. It’s just . . . my sisters are kind of intense. That’s all.’

      ‘Rude,’ said Margot indignantly.

      ‘Don’t worry.’ Eddie smiled. ‘I get it. See you at school.’

      Before Molly could protest, Eddie strolled away dejectedly, hands stuffed in his pockets. He climbed into a beaten-up old car, which was waiting with its headlights on at the end of the street. His mum must’ve waited to see if he was staying, Molly realised with a pang. He was completely sweet, and she’d totally offended him.

      ‘Margot!’ Molly snapped, swirling on her heel. ‘Why’d you invite him in?’

      ‘What?’ Margot held her hands up in mock innocence. ‘He likes you! God knows why, because you’re the absolute worst, but still. He’s cute.’

      ‘Yes, but our family is not cute. Not in the slightest.’

      Suddenly rummaging around in her mouth, Margot pulled out a chunk of omelette that she’d stored in her cheek like a hamster, then stuffed it hastily down the back of the battered velvet sofa. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

       CHAPTER FOUR

       The Transformation

      That evening, the sky was clear and smattered with twinkling stars. The new moon reflected in the smooth surface of the ocean. It was nearly midnight, and the town was fast asleep. And yet, for some absurd reason, here Molly was in a secluded little cove on Little Marmouth beach, shivering in her dolphin-print pyjamas.

      Less than five minutes earlier, her mum had hauled her out of bed and out of the house. Despite Molly’s protests, her mum was adamant, and threatened to feed her tuna salad every day for a month if she didn’t oblige. Like any sane person, Molly detested tuna salad, and so here she was.

      Now she was left wondering why on God’s sandy earth her mum and three older sisters were perching on a cluster of rocks and staring at her so expectantly as she stood at the edge of the water. Minnie had mercifully been left to snooze in the lighthouse mere metres away.

      ‘May I help you?’ Molly said. She patted her face to make sure there was nothing on it. The light of her torch swung wildly around the cove.

      ‘I wonder what colour it’s going to be?’ Margot chattered excitedly, hopping from one foot to the other. Her long curly hair was wrapped up in a silk sleep turban, which she’d stolen from the snooty old lady on the promenade.

      ‘It better not be yellow. That’s my favourite colour.’ Melissa folded her arms across her chest.

      Margot snorted. ‘Definitely not pink. What’s the opposite of pink?’

      Myla pushed her glasses up her straight nose. ‘RGB and CMY are the correct representations of the spectrum of visible light, wherein the opposite of red is cyan, and the opposite of light is dark. Thus, the opposite of light red, a.k.a. pink, is dark cyan, a.k.a. teal.’

      Margot smirked. ‘Or . . . pinkn’t.’

      A wave crashed and fizzed on the sand, narrowly missing Molly’s feet. The tide was coming in.

      Molly was getting more irritated with every nonsensical comment. ‘What are you talking about, for the love of –’

      ‘Less of the lip, Molly,’ her mum tsked. Thankfully she was fully clothed this evening, which was a relief for everyone. ‘And for what it’s worth, my money’s on tangerine.’

      Molly pressed her teeth down on her tongue to stop the snarky comment from escaping. But just then, another wave lapped at the shore, at Molly’s feet, and the tips of her toes began to tingle.

      She blinked against the moonlight, wriggling her toes in her now too-tight wellington boots. The tingle continued to spread, a confusing warmth building in the arches of her feet, shooting up the planes of her shins and wrapping around the crooks of her knees.

      Am I having a stroke? she wondered, terror growing in her chest.

      Her great-uncle had a stroke once, back when Molly was in primary school. Apparently he smelled burnt toast when it happened. Molly sniffed the air in desperation, trying to pick up a trace of charred Hovis, but all that met her nostrils was the tangy stench of seaweed. And, you know, seagull poop.

      ‘What’s happening to m–’ she started, before realising her discomfort was causing excitement levels amongst her siblings to skyrocket. The more her legs shook like jelly, the more they grinned and squealed. ‘Seriously, why–Ooft!’

      Suddenly her legs clamped together, causing Molly’s balance to be entirely thrown off. She fell backwards and hit the sand with a muffled thud, eyes watering from the impact. As she did, her loud-mouthed family fell deadly silent.

      ‘Can someone help me up?’ Molly moaned, massaging the spot on her shoulder that had taken the brunt of the fall. Nobody moved. ‘Or, you know, don’t, and just watch me suffer.’

      Still silence.

      Her hip was aching too. Molly went to rub it, and let out a squeal.

      It felt like . . . scales?

      Molly gasped, wriggling into the best sitting position she could manage. She was terrified to look down, but her eyes tugged her there anyway.

      No. Surely not. She had a tail.

      A mermaid’s tail, whiter than snow.

      She was dreaming. She had to be. Or was it an elaborate practical joke? Margot was famous for her pranks, and this was a particularly impressive one. Next she’d be turning Fit Steve into a centaur. Molly didn’t think she’d mind that, actually. She’d always thought centaurs were weirdly handsome.

      ‘Very funny, Margot,’ she said, trying to find the place where the tail ended and her waist began so she could