Free Madly by Amy Alward Page A

make even the most beautiful supermodel in Nova green with envy—it moves with a life of its own, as if it’s still underwater, floating and undulating through unseen currents. The pink-white strands appear to glow in the moonlight, tumbling around her naked upper body and wrapping around her waist, where skin meets scale. Her beauty astounds me, takes my breath away. Yet it’s the strangeness of her that is most stunning—she is so close to human, and yet not. Her eyes are milky pale, as if she is blind, but she stares out at the crowd of boats, examining us all. If anything can draw attention away from her, it’s the jewel around her neck—a pearl of such perfect roundness and sheen that it puts other stones to shame.
    â€œAphroditas,” Anita whispers, as gobsmacked as I am. Aphroditas is queen of the mermaids, and like tonight’s full moon, however many times you see her, she’s always captivating.
    We’re drifting now. Both Arjun and Kirsty have stopped rowing, although the momentum of the water is still carrying us toward the circle of boats. There is a gap, ready-made for us. We might make it after all.
    And just as well, for the next few seconds are a ­scramble. Shells open everywhere, following Aphroditas’slead, and there are mermaids and pearls appearing faster than we can keep up with. They fill the circle with their laughter, splashing each other and giggling and generally ignoring us.
    Immediately, the other teams attempt to grab the mermaids’ attention. Right across from us, with the prime spot in front of Aphroditas, is the ZA ship, with someone standing on the prow, their arms outstretched. Recognition flicks through my mind, and I grab Anita’s hand.
    â€œWhat is it?” she asks.
    â€œQuick, can you lend me your binoculars a sec?”
    â€œSure.” She lifts them from around her neck and passes them over to me.
    I point them toward the yacht and adjust the focus. A man in a sharp three-piece suit comes into view, his hair slicked back with gel in the latest style. He’s holding a wand that is studded with sparkling diamonds, and he touches the tip of the wand to his throat. Then he opens his mouth and starts to sing.
    It’s Anita’s turn to grab at the binoculars. “Oh my god,” she says, unable to keep the awe from her voice. “Is that who I think it is? Have they really got Damian out here?”
    â€œTrust Zol to pull out all the stops,” mutters Kirsty in the back. “That’s Aphroditas secured, then.”
    I can see what she means. Aphroditas drifts toward theship, intrigued by the mellow richness of Damian’s voice. Damian is the hottest pop star in Nova at the moment, and this is about to be his most captivated audience. This is the biggest stage Damian could wish for.
    â€œOkay, it’s our turn. Arjun, are you ready?”
    Arjun nods grimly. “I’m not quite in his league, guys. And if I hear so much as a giggle out of any of you, you’re going overboard.”
    Anita and I shuffle out of the way to give him space at the front of our little rowing boat. He opens his mouth, but at first, nothing comes out. He turns and looks at Kirsty, a sheen of sweat on his brow. “What should I sing?”
    â€œStart small,” she replies. “A nursery rhyme or something.”
    He turns back to the water and at the small group of mermaids whose attentions haven’t yet been secured. Finally he chokes out the first few notes of a children’s song about the sea:
    From the beach, to the waves, on the sand.
    Mermaid’s tails, sandcastle pails, hand-in-hand.
    His voice is sweet, lilting even, but it doesn’t compare to Damian—who has enchanted his own deep, honey-smooth voice to project across the water. The three of us wait with bated breath as Arjun sings.Finally, after Arjun switches to an old folk song with a slightly more prominent beat, one of the