“I have the most exciting news about an opportunity for the town. Some very important people are interested in hosting an event here, and I’ve been in discussions with them for weeks—I didn’t want to say anything until it was official, but ya es oficial!”
A pause for maximum drama.
Her accent—the one she could dial up or down depending on who she was charming—was fully present, which meant she was truly excited.
“This is going to bring so much attention to Crescent Cove. Atención de verdad, Selena. Attention this town deserves. Call me back, micorazón. We have so much to discuss.”
The voicemail ended.
I stared at the phone.
The wordsatención de verdad—real attention—sat in my chest like a barb.
Real attention, as opposed to, say, my volleyball tournament that had raised fifteen thousand dollars for themarine rescue over five years. As opposed to the nesting surveys I organized every spring, or the rehab tanks Elliot and I had fundraised for, or the fact that our efforts had been written up in the state wildlife commission’s newsletter as “a model for community-driven conservation.” That had been the proudest moment of my adult life. I’d framed the newsletter clipping and hung it behind the register.
My mother had never mentioned it.
“Bad news?” Elliot asked, still pretending to read the menu.
“My mother.”
“Ah.”
Elliot had dated one of my primas back when he’d first moved here after college, what felt like a million years ago. We had kept him around long after they’d broken up, and once the Torres family claimed you, there was no escaping. That I knew well. But I wasn’t complaining about their mild “forced adoption” of Elliot. Sea lion shifters were some of the only ones who could keep up with my family’s party habits. At a Torres family party, the drinks never ran out, the dancing went on until morning, and my mother was always the star.
Everyone in Crescent Cove knew Marina Torres. Everyone loved Marina Torres. She made the waves perform, cresting and curling in patterns that made visiting storm and sea witches weep with jealousy. Marina was the town’s crown jewel: powerful, generous, radiant…beloved. She could command a room in two languages and make you feel honored that she’d bothered to acknowledge your existence.
Now, Crescent Cove was home to many ocean witches. Elliot worked with one named Tempest, and I knew at least two more from their morning runs—and corresponding smoothie breaks at Shark Bites. But if you asked Marina Torres, this ocean belonged to her and her alone.
I knew this because she’d always had a sort of one-way frenemies relationship with the Prescotts and Becks, other powerful water-witch families in town. Families pulled to Crescent Cove by the same ley lines, but my mother always had to be the center ofattention and didn’t play well with others she deemed competition. Probably why she always kept me close.
My abuela might have been the same way once. She was an indescribably powerful bruja who’d come to Crescent Cove from Veracruz sixty years ago, drawn by the ley lines that tangled beneath the coast like roots, and had settled our family here to work with them. But the abuela I knew was warm, her weathered hands always cradling a baby cousin or working in the kitchen. That was something my mother hadn’t inherited.
But that was a different conversation. One I wasn’t revisiting. Especially not at—I checked the clock—6:53 in the morning.
“So,” I said, setting the phone face down on the counter. “You wanted to talk about the tournament?”
“Yeah…” He trailed off, his fingers drumming on the counter nervously.
Elliot had built the rehabilitation center with grant money and stubbornness, and the volleyball tournament was the biggest single fundraiser they had. He hadn’t said anything, but I knew he was worried about grants this year, which made the tournament even more critical.
“Worried about funding?”
He shook his head. “Not exactly.”
His eyes drifted to my phone.
“What did she say?”
“Something about an ‘exciting opportunity’—”
“It’s a surf competition.”
I set down the blender.
“What? How do you know that?”
“Saw it on the forums.”
