My Name is Minette, Chapter Three: Minette and the Dress

When Minette had purchased the book, her father had shook his head and called it a waste and a farce. That all that fluffy nonsense would cloud her head.

Maybe he was right. The stories in the little novel did fill up her head. They set her to daydreaming, sighing as rainbow-colored visions filled her head. She could see Edric on his tall horse, galloping into the countryside without a care in the world, his only obligation serving his people.

“For justice!” he would scream, brandishing a shimmering sword given to him by a naked lady in a pond. He’d fight and swashbuckle and charm. Sir Edric had seen far-off lands, bewildering beasts, and fair maidens.

He’d been on breathtaking adventures, encountered heinous villains. He wasn’t tied down to any place or anything except helping other people. Everyone loved him, wherever he went. His valor and honor were unquestionable.

Minette could hardly imagine a life like that. All that freedom. Making decisions for yourself. Having people see you as you were. Seeing new sights every day. All Minette had ever seen was the walled-in town she lived in.

It wasn’t even that Droz-Upon-Wooton was all that bad, really–

“Mort! Morty! You’re late! Daylight’s dying, boy!”

And there was Paw, right on schedule.

Minette poked her head out the window. “Coming!” she screamed.

She got dressed, pulling on her scratchy shirt and hopping into her saggy pants. She grabbed her tool belt and saddlebag and slid down the rickety balustrade into the kitchen. She hadn’t even crossed the threshold when Maw’s voice barked at her, saying, “Oi, Mort, what I have I told you about sliding down the bannister? You’re a right sack of potatoes! If you fix it, you break it!”

“If you fix it, you break it” was one of Maw’s many backwards mantras. It was better to just nod than correct her. Minette had tried that only once. Maw was like a fat and loveable marionette, who reliably waved a spoon at you and fed you chunky soup and told the grossest stories you’d ever heard.

She was more than just a good Maw. She was a talented seamstress, though she did more as a hobby than a vocation. Right now, she was working on a dress for Irma’s tenth birthday. The tenth was a special occasion in their country of Treesia, a rare celebration with cake and candles and mirth and no talk of the plague or of taxes. And Irma was growing like a weed, blossoming into a headstrong young woman. Maw was making Irma’s birthday special in a way Minette had never experienced. 

That dress. 

That glittering, blue dress, made with a care and art that Minette thought turned Maw from a seamstress into some kind of magical fairy who’d waved her wand at a pile of fabric and turned it into a dream.

My Name is Minette, Chapter Two: Minette Muses Mournfully

Where was the beginning? Minette couldn’t tell you. She couldn’t track down any convenient, sparky “inciting incident,” couldn’t choke up while talking about a highly specific and traumatic childhood moment.

She’d always been like this.

And she’d always felt alone.

Minette had never met anyone that remotely operated like her. She’d never seen herself in someone else’s eyes. Not even sweet Rhys. No one thought and re-thought and triple-thought normal things the way she did. No one thought their clothes were weird or the body was weird or that something should be different.

Everybody seemed so happy in their skin. So unquestioning. Everything was Right and Good and Made Sense.

Everything except Minette.

But why? Why her–more specifically, why no one else? Minette asked herself this every day. Why was Minette the only one that saw the world as a stage, and not a welcoming one? Why did she look in the mirror and look away just as quickly?

And why did no one else give a single fly’s fart?

These were the thoughts that plagued Minette every morning like clockwork.

If there was one thing she was proud of, it was her reliable schedule: wake up, suffer in silent agony, read a bit, have breakfast, go to work with Paw, have dinner, stew in bed in an existential crisis, pass out, repeat.

That was where Minette lay in this very moment, staring up at the ceiling of her little attic room as roosters shrieked outside like the little blockheads they were. The clock ticking on her nightstand told her she only had about four and a half minutes before Paw would start shouting outside her window for her to come down and move her ass.

She sat up, her hair falling in front of her face. It was ratty and dull but it was long. So blessedly long. She carded her fingers through it, knowing soon Paw would take a knife to it and hack it all off. Then she’d be left with a nightmarish haircut that looked like a butchered coconut. She’d be indistinguishable from all the empty-headed squire boys and chest-puffing apprentices running around town with their muddy boots and loose-fitting tunics. It was her nightmare.

She shook her head, casting out all the annoying, flea-like thoughts. Minette didn’t want to be bitter or sad or grow into some gnarled, hunched curmudgeon screaming at kids in the street. But she couldn’t help the sinking spirals her brain wove her into.

She picked up the worn, doggy-eared copy of Edric’s Tale on her nightstand. She’d been reading a few pages every day to make it last. It was her thirty-seventh re-read.

NEW STORY: My Name is Minette, Chapter One: Minette Is Being Driven Mad

(Hi, readers! This next story is still fantasy, but set in Ye Olden Times. I am turning this story into my Senior Honors Thesis, and hope to publish it as a full-length book. I hope you enjoy! Sincerely, Theo.)

MINETTE did not have a bad life.

No, it was quite the opposite: she had a roof and four walls, a loving family, delicious meals, and a stable future laid out for her.

It was the little particularities that made it all so unbearable for her; the secrets she carried with her that she could not reveal on pain of death, the lies that built up and up and up.

She loved her family, she honestly did. She loved Maw’s crass jokes, how reliable and true Paw was. Her brother Rhys had a gentle heart, an irremovable sweetness, and a quick wit; Irma, her sister, was strong. Strong and spirited. Irma was born blind, and now, as a wiry twelve-year old, she was a loud talker, a fast runner, and a quick learner. Irma had a bright future ahead of her.

Even their homestead felt like a member of the family to Minette: the thatched roof, the sun-bleached boards on the walls, the little hallway upstairs with the circle window that spilled glittering dust motes in the late afternoon sun. The rug in the kitchen that was so worn down Minette couldn’t remember what the pattern or even the color used to be. The house groaned and creaked, but in a reliable way, in a way that spoke of the generations upon generations of lives that had been lived here.

And Minette did not want to be one of them.

You see, despite all the cuddly warmth of her little family and the reliability of the old house, Minette could not speak. Minette could not move. She couldn’t even breathe.

Every day, her family called her Morton, or, even worse, Morty. 

They talked about her with free lease, completely unaware of how it bothered her: our Morton is so strong! He’s built like an ox! He’ll manage the smithy just fine one day!

Minette hated it all to the point of madness. She felt like a perpetual actor, forced to read lines from a script, lines that were so wrong, so different from her reality. And the worst part was that her family, her whole world, they only knew the character, not the actor, and they loved him. They couldn’t tell the role didn’t fit. Minette didn’t think they would love her the same as him.

No one ever seemed to notice the fact that Minette was always onstage and in costume. Minette supposed that it was a good thing that her family never noticed anything wrong, never questioned her. If they did, she had absolutely no idea what she would say. She wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Leo the Mer-Guy! Chapter Twenty: New Beginnings (END)

Leo woke up on the shore of the pond, naked, human, and soaking wet, gasping for breath.

 

“Leo!” Someone exclaimed, but his ears were too full of water for him to tell who.

 

He shook off, roughly, like a dog. His ears popped.

 

“Give him some privacy,” a sharp voice hissed. That was Yasmin.

 

He saw her teal skirt move toward him. She pulled off her oversized hoodie and held it out as a privacy screen.

 

“Thanks,” Leo mumbled, thoughts swimming around in his head. He stood up on shaky legs, wiggling his human toes. He changed into his clothes, shivering in the October night. The bonfire was just embers now, illuminating everyone’s faces in deep oranges and reds.

 

When he was finished, he stepped out from behind Yasmin’s privacy barrier.

 

Ash stepped forward. “What happened?” they asked. “We thought you were dead.”

 

Leo’s heart pulled at the emotions in their voice. “No, I’m okay,” he said, offering a wobbly smile. “I was supposed to be down there. Turns out, I’m uh, a Mer person. And I’m going to help them.”

 

His words were met with silence, only the last crickets of the fall chirping to fill the void.

 

“Dude. Seriously?” Tinashe eventually said.

 

Leo nodded. “Like, full tail and everything. But only during certain moons.”

 

“So you’re a were Mer person,” Juan said, raising an eyebrow.

 

“That’s awesome!” Ruby said. “I know we just met, but I am so proud of you.”

 

Ash checked their watch. “Just as midnight hit. Fitting.”

 

Leo nodded, smiling.

 

Wait. “Midnight?” he gasped. “It’s already midnight? My parents are gonna kill me. I gotta go.”

 

One at a time, Leo got a firm hug from each of his new friends. They traded numbers, promising to text him when they met next.

 

With that, Leo ran through the night, his feet carrying him out of the woods and back onto the neighborhood streets.

 

Heart pumping, Leo whooped as he ran.

 

He was ready to meet his new life head on.

 

Maybe he would like it here.

 

The End

Leo the Mer-Guy! Chapter Nineteen (of Twenty): The Real Leo

When Leo awoke, he was no longer in the air bubble at the bottom of the pond.

 

He was lying on the pond floor, sand and silt settling into the crooks of his elbows and his collarbone. He felt it more than saw it. It was dark.

 

His head hurt, and the darkness and confusion set his heart to racing. He was breathing underwater–not using his nose or his mouth or his lungs, but something else on his neck, gills, they must be gills–and it was effortless, but he was afraid he’d forget how to do it, he’d let water into his lungs by breathing the wrong way, and then what? Then it was really the end.

 

His breathing turned to gasps.

 

“Leo, please calm down,” a voice said from the darkness.

 

Aristea. It was Aristea’s voice.

 

Leo’s memory of recent events flooded back to him. It didn’t slow his heart rate down. “Aristea?” he tried. He spoke from somewhere deep below his sternum, in that muted, bubbly way Mer people did.

 

“Put on a light,” Aristea said.

 

“How? Can you do it?”

 

“Hold your palm open,” Aristea said patiently, ignoring his request. “You’ll feel it in your veins. Let it bleed.”

 

Aristea’s instructions were just as vague as any elderly wizard on a magical quest, but Leo didn’t complain. He tried to calm the tremors in his hands, tried to breathe in and out slowly, and opened his palm toward the sky. Just like Aristea said, his veins started to itch, like something wanted to come out. So he let it, letting out a breath as little beads of light splintered out from under his skin and coalesced together in his hands like a party full of fireflies.

 

It was nowhere near as bright as the light Aristea had cast when he first fell down here, but Leo supposed there was a learning curve. It was bright enough to illuminate Aristea, and himself.

 

Himself.

 

Leo looked down at his body.

 

He was naked. His torso was angular and shimmery like the other Mer people’s, covered in scales and gills. His hands were webbed, his nails indigo blue. And, from the waist down, he was a fish. A big ole fish. From the looks of it, his tail was a deep, opalescent, seaweed green, with many small cilia at the fishtail base.

 

His chest was masculine, with small pecs. His arms seemed a little broader, too. He felt his face, realizing the bone structure had changed. He picked up an old, littered potato chip bag from the pond floor, squinting at his reflection in the aluminum packaging.

 

“Oh my god,” Leo breathed.

 

He looked like himself. His real self, the one in dreams and the one he doodled. The one he knew deep within his spirit.

 

“Your time is up,” Aristea said. “Mer people, when turned, experience their Mer forms, but unless it’s under one of the right moons, it won’t stay. You better swim up so you’re prepared when you turn human again. Oh, and here’s this.” Aristea handed him a plastic shopping bag tied tightly closed. He could tell by the shape of it that it held his clothes and his costume, which felt like something that had happened a lifetime ago. In a way, it had.

 

Just as Aristea said, Leo began to feel off. Vibratey, discordant with himself, in a way that suggested it would only build from here. Kind of pukey, too.

 

There was so much left to say, so much left to learn, so much he needed to do. For now, though, his lips were burning, his hands aching, so he gave Aristea a quick wave before power-swimming toward the surface faster than he’d thought possible.

 

Just as he broke the surface, light exploded from his hands, enveloping him in a swath of white, and warming him from the inside out.

Leo the Mer-Guy! Chapter Eighteen: The Bite

“Oh, uh, wow,” Leo said, mind racing  as he processed Alfia’s words. He could be a pond Mer. A mer-person. But not just any mer-person. A were mer-person. A were mer-person witch.

 

Who could shapeshift, look like anything.

 

Look like himself.

 

Leo understood, on a practical level, that this was a big decision. That this would change his life. That there would be problems–big problems. That it wouldn’t magically make his life any better or any cooler. That he would have responsibilities.

 

Leo had read his fair share of fantasy novels. He knew it was not a unicycle ride through a spring park.

 

Knowing all this, he still knew his answer, immediately, enthusiastically, and without reservations.

 

The answer was yes.

 

He’d always loved the water, he’d always been a dreamer, he’d always been queer. He’d always wanted to help people, stopped by a powerful loneliness and shyness. A powerful fear.

 

This was, in one sense, a purpose for Leo. A commitment.

 

He was crying, but it was underwater, so no one could tell. Still, his throat was tight, his chest burning. He didn’t deserve this gift.

 

“Yes,” he said. “You can do it. I want to help.”

 

Alfia grinned. They made some sharp, loud noise, like a dolphin at a rave, clicks echoing through the murky water. A half dozen mer-people showed up, forming a circle around Leo, including Aristea, who looked pumped, shaking and dancing in place.

 

“Are you ready?” Alfia asked.

 

Leo squared his shoulders, lifted his head, and nodded.

 

Alfia swam forward, coming close enough that Leo could see the glittering chips of green and blue in their eyes. “This may hurt.”

 

Using their webbed hands, Alfia tilted Leo’s neck, exposing the tan skin to the glowing light.

 

“I’m doing it in 3, 2, 1,” Alfia said.

 

Then they bit down, their sharp teeth piercing the skin of Leo’s neck.

 

Leo bit his lip, cutting off a pained groan. He’d had his blood drawn before, but this was way worse. The pain was sharp and unending, beating out a rhythm that felt like he was bleeding out, he was dying. Had he made a mistake trusting these people? Was this actually the end?

 

His eyelids fluttered, his fingers and toes going fuzzy. Just before he could pass out, he felt his body growing warm all over, vibrating and tingling through him like he was in a jet-fueled hot tub.

 

The whole world went bright, stadium-light white, then disappeared in a slurry of bubbles.