Free Teeth by Hannah Moskowitz Page A

not like he’s totally well.”
    “I think it’s time to stop, Rudy. I mean, what if . . . what if he becomes whatever from the fish from eating too much?”
    “Uh, allergic?”
    “No.”
    “Immune.”
    “Jesus Christ, if I knew the word I’d fucking say the word, Rudy.”
    “All right, kiddo, calm down. It’s not like we’re eating you.”
    He sighs, really big, in this way that reminds me how much of him is human. I can hear all the air leaving his lungs.
    “Stop being mean and give me that,” he says, pointing his chin at the seaweed. “All I ever do is skim the shit off the surface. Dead and slimy. The good stuff’s too hard to pick.”
    “You’re really not adapted to your environment.”
    I mean that as a joke, just more banter, but he kind of looks away and splashes a little with his tail.
    I say, “Hey, I’m sorry.”
    “I’m not exactly . . . whatever. A thing that was made for what I do.” He’s doing the whatever thing the more we talk, because I guess we’re venturing past the subjects he’s used to hearing about. He learned English from listening to the islanders, I assume, and if they don’t say the word evolutionary , he’s not going to know it. It’s not like there’s anything for him to read out here in the ocean. Really, he’s the opposite of Diana in every single way, ever.
    “I’m a mistake,” he says. “Let’s be honest.”
    I want to ask now about his mom. If he knows she’s still up there in the mansion. And how long he was with her. And if he remembers when she must have read him Runaway Bunny . And about how the hell one goes about having sex with a fish.
    He pushes himself out of the water to try to get to my seaweed. He snaps at the air. His teeth are long and thin as needles. I pull my hand away before he can bite my fingers off, and he says, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
    “I know, asshole.”
    “Plus they’re sharp, not strong. I probably wouldn’t even break skin.” He bites his hand to test and examines it critically.
    “Stop that. Like you’re not beat up already.”
    “Didn’t break skin.”
    “So your bullshit about biting the fishermen is actual bullshit, then. Do they just let you go?”
    “Why the fuck don’t you ever get in the water unless I’m giving you a fucking lesson? You’re driving me crazy. Jesus. Get in and give me that.”
    “I’m not getting in today. Water’s rough.” I remember when Diana said that.
    “Then why are you wearing a bathing suit?” God, he sounds just like a bratty kid sometimes. All of the time.
    I say, “Because somehow or another you seem to always get me in the water. But I’m not fucking coming in voluntarily. Go out and start choking again if you want me in so badly.”
    He grins. “So many big words.”
    “Sorry.”
    “I liked it.”
    “Not coming in. Will freeze.”
    “Scared you’ll drown?”
    I say, “Yeah,” before I process that he was probably teasing me.
    But I am. Maybe not as scared as I am that every time I get in the water I will keep getting closer to this is your life, this is your friend and you are never leaving , but I’m not telling him that bit. Kid doesn’t speak English, he wouldn’t even understand. Yeah.
    He looks at me for a while, then pushes off the dock with his fin and floats around on his back, beating the water with his tail. He has even more scaly patches on his chest than I remembered. I swear he’s the ugliest thing in the world. And the bloody hole in the middle of his tail is glistening.
    He says, “What if I show you something cool? Something life-changing .”
    I say softly, “Why do they put holes in your tail?”
    He ignores that. “Something really cool, Rudy.”
    “Can I fix it?”
    “What?”
    “Sick brother. I have the fix-it impulse.”
    “Show you something.”
    “Yeah, fine. How cool?”
    “Really, really cool. But you can’t tell the fishermen. Promise?”
    “What? Do you really fucking think I’m having conversations with