I hopped out of the truck and left my dad to gather the bags from the back. Mouth agape, I walked up the drive, doing my best to not stumble on the uneven surface. Grandeur wasn't new to me. My closest friend, Mel, lived in a restored plantation house. It looked like every postcard you'd ever seen of a southern home with great, white columns and sweeping staircases. And while our house wouldn't have made the cut for an episode of MTV cribs, it was solidly upper class. At least where our small community was concerned.

But this was something else entirely. It looked like something out of Jane Austen film adaptation. Gray and imposing, the structure blended into the dreary landscape, but like many of the houses in the city, patches of ivy grew along the walls, adding color and interest. The front door was arched, matching the windows beside it, and covered in what appeared to be fragments of colored glass. I ran my fingers along the rough surface, marveling at the array of color in the pieces.

"What's this?" I asked. "I've never seen a door like this?"

He tossed me my suitcase, a wry smile on his lips. "You can carry that to your room. And those are mermaid tears."

That earned an eye roll. "Try again."

"No, really," he explained, fishing a key out of his pocket. A lock box like realtors used was connecting the double handles together. His tone was indifferent as he spoke. "That's what the Islanders call sea glass. Fiona's son, Jamie, fell in love with a woman they found washed up on the shore after a shipwreck. She was the only survivor and could barely speak. But she loved to gather sea glass and make art out of it. This was one of her projects."

My teenage heart nearly burst from the romance. I imagined my handsome ancestor, looking just like another famous Jamie, rushing to the rocky coast and spying the dying maiden. One look into her pale face, beautiful even so near death, and he was in love and determined he had to save her. The glass rippled, and a narrow face, with wet, black hair and green eyes blinked back at me, disappearing so quickly, I almost thought it was just part of my imaginings.

"Dad, did you see that?"

He pushed open the door and slung his backpack over his shoulder. "See what?"

I stared hard at the glass, willing the image to reappear, but it had returned to its normal, glittering appearance. "Nothing. I just... I just thought I saw something strange in the glass."

"Maybe your reflection?"

"Maybe," I agreed, hoisting my suitcase and wincing. No wonder Dad had tired of carrying it. He'd tried to convince me to pack light since our belongings were supposed to make it to the house before us, but I'd not trusted the international delivery. But from the boxes piled in the entryway, I needn't have worried.

To my left and right, staircases curved up to a second story, meeting in the center of the room where another arched door, this one wood painted white, sat. The stair railing was a mixture of wood and gold, the delicate metal twisted into waves and shells. Straight ahead, was a long hallway, that led through multiple entrances, making me think of shotgun houses in New Orleans.

"What are we going to do with all of this room?" I asked, my voice echoing.

"Make it a home."

"I just can't believe that this is where you grew up, and that Granda gave it up to come to the states."

"None of it matters anymore because we're back. Now, run upstairs and pick out a room. They all have their own bathrooms thanks to a remodel your grandfather did when he I was born."

I took the stairs two at a time, yanking open the door at the top with more gusto than I thought I had in me. It seemed no amount of irritation over being forced to move could dampen my sense of adventure for exploring. The corridor extended before me, dim in the fading bit of weak daylight, and surprisingly fresh smelling. A hint of lemon polish and mint. A pale blue runner covered stone that would be frigid in the depths of winter. For even now, they were cold under my feet as I walked down along the hallway.

I entered the first room, the door opening soundlessly. But despite how the ornate walls and antique furnishing beckoned, I resisted. Something whispered this was not my room. Chamber after chamber, I felt the same sense of wrongness, and worry was plaguing me when I reached the last room.

Not that it would be the end of the world, choosing one of the other spaces. They were all lovely, blending the old world with the modern. Someone had spent a lot of time crafting each one to be unique, but if I was forced to make this place my home, I wanted a room that spoke to me.

Eyes closed as I drew in a deep breath, I pushed open the last door on the left and gasped. A bright glow filled the chamber from the light that spilled in through the curved wall, made up almost entirely of floor to ceiling windows. Mermaid tears covered the walls between the glass, the reflective bits sending a cerulean sparkle across the tiled floor that mimicked the effect of being underwater.

Raised paneling, the color of sea foam breaking against the shore and trimmed in gold, covered the other three walls. A bed, circular but as large as a king, was covered in white, lacey pillows, while a swinging canopy above dripped gauzy film of palest blue around it.

But as much awe as every detail inspired within me, it was the spiral staircase of silver and gold that drew my attention.

I'd counted three stories when we'd pulled up, but I hadn't really thought about it beyond the fact that it was just more space we didn't really need. I climbed slowly, relishing the strange warmth beneath my hand. It was almost as if someone had recently gone up before me, their hands gripping the metal in the same spots as my own.

When I stepped onto the third floor, I was speechless. The area was the same shape as the room below, the windows as well, but from this height, I could see across the island, all the way to a beach that sloped between two great cliffs. The sand was dark from the rain and surf, but I imagined on a sunny day, it would be golden and shimmering.

A large, round stone pool took up the center of the room, almost like the baths I'd seen in pictures of ancient Rome, and steam billowed up from the water's surface. I crept around the raised edges, wondering how all of this didn't crash into the room below. I could just make out the tile on the bottom of the pool. More mermaid glass, but they had designed these pieces to look like an actual mermaid sleeping beneath the sun.

"Isla, where are you?"

"Dad, come up here," I called, the words oddly hard to say. Almost as if I didn't want him in this place. His dark head popped into view. "How could you and Granda forget to tell me about a room like this?"

Something like fear and awe skittered through his eyes before he shuttered his gaze. "Guess it slipped our minds."

"Men," I cried, slapping my forehead as I continued to wander around the room. "Dad, this must be an add on, right? How did they design something like this in the 1700's?"

"How did they build the pyramids?" He joked. His laugh was brittle and forced. "I'm guessing this is the room you're going to choose?"

"Um, do you need to ask? Unless you wanted it?"

"No, bit too feminine for me. We can get all your boxes up here. We'll have to work hard to get even halfway settled before you start school on Monday."

"Oh, right...school." The single word soured in my stomach. I'd watched new kids come and go over the years, but I'd never had to be one. Some of the resentment I'd squashed billowed up. "This is going to suck."

"Isla, you have a fairytale tower in your bedroom, and you're complaining. I don't know what else to do you for you."

"Take me back home," I shouted, already out of my room and in the hallway.

"Not possible," he said.

"Why?" I cried. We'd had this argument a hundred times, and I could quote his next words.

"We need a fresh start. This is going to be good for us. For me."

"You're being selfish. Don't you think I've gone through enough changes. I lost mom too, you know. You can write your freaking book from anywhere."

"This isn't up for discussion," he said, grabbing one of the bigger boxes and starting back up the stairs. "This is our home, and you'd do well to learn to love it. Or else your life is going to be miserable for the next few years."

"Two," I seethed, snatching up boxes and marching behind him. "As soon as I graduate, I'm returning home. I'm going to college with Mel."

"If it makes you happy to think that, then go on ahead." He set the box down and left, leaving me baffled by what he meant.

**************************

Sunday passed in a blur of packing and stony silence. Whatever buttons I'd pushed the night of our arrival must've gotten stuck, because my father's newfound patience had fled after that argument. If he expected me to come to him with an apology, he'd be waiting for a long time, and I knew better than to expect him to admit wrongdoing. So, for the sake of maintaining the tenuous peace, we kept to ourselves, passing only in the halls or kitchen.

Monday morning I awoke to a knock on my door. Navigating around the boxes on the stone floor, I opened it and stared bleary-eyed at my father. Waking me up early was the worst way to mend our fences. "I set my alarm. I've got another hour."

He shoved a shopping bag at me. "These were delivered yesterday. I forgot to give them to you. You'll need it for today."

I peered inside the bag, my eye snagging on a blue plaid. "Please tell me that's not a school uniform."

"That's not a school uniform."

"You're lying."

"Honesty is not what you asked for," he replied, turning and heading down the hall.

"Oh good," I grumbled, slinging the bag onto my bed. "Now you give me what I ask for."

The uniform was as bad as I imagined. They had forced us to wear them in elementary and middle school. At least I'd had the option between skirts and pants before. Didn't look like I had a choice now.

"You look nice," Dad said, looking up from his cup of coffee when I entered the dining room. Our farm table looked out of place in the large, ornate room, but seeing its scarred surface was comforting. A small piece of home.

"I look like an extra in a Britney Spears' music video. Or a porn star." I pointed at my legs. "Knee-high socks, really?"

"I'm ignoring the word porn coming out of my daughter's mouth, and it gets cold here. You'll be grateful for those come winter. Heck," he looked out the window. Gray skies and blustery wins. "You'll be grateful for them today."

"You know what else keeps you warm? Pants. Pants keep you warm, Dad."

He smiled, and some tension leaked out of the room. As much as I didn't want to be in a foreign country, I also didn't want to spend the next two years at war with my father. We'd been best buddies once, and I hoped we could find our way back to that.

"Maybe you can lead the way for reform," he suggested, passing the milk. "No one questions the uniforms because no one has been anywhere but here."

"I seriously doubt that. I mean, this place is isolated, but it's only a ferry ride away to a bigger island, and that's just a ferry ride away from the mainland. I'd travel all the time if I was this close to Europe."

My father made a noncommittal grunt and shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. Following his lead, we finished breakfast in silence, but it was a pleasant quiet for a change. We gathered up our few dishes and put them in the sink. When I ran hot water to wash them, Dad stopped me.

"Don't worry about it. Molly'll be over later in the day, and we don't want you to be late for yer first day of school."

"Molly?"

"She's the housekeeper. Yer bookbag is by the door."

I stuffed my feet into my boots and threw my auburn hair into a messy bun atop my head. "We have a housekeeper now? Is she the one who got it ready for us?"

"The same," he said. "She'll be doing a lot of the cooking for us. Mrs. Rose recommended her."

We piled into the truck and headed towards town. I drummed my fingers on my bag nervously, peeking at my reflection in the mirror from time to time. What I saw there didn't reassure me- my face echoed my inner turmoil for all the world to see.

"You'll be a fine pumpkin," Dad promised, tugging on a wayward curl the way he did when I was little. "The kids are excited to meet you."

"I don't think it's the kind of excited you're suggesting."

"And just what kind of excited do you think it is?"

"It's not the 'we can't wait to know this girl kind.' I'm just a zoo animal to these people. Something new, but once that wears off, I'm going to be the weird girl who doesn't fit in."

"I doubt it. They've been waiting a long time for you." He coughed. "What I mean is that if the kids are anything like they were when I went to school, they're going to love you. We always wished for new folks to come in."

He took a turn just before we entered the main stretch before reaching town. This road swept around the city, heading down to the beach. I tried to think about the direction we'd traveled, admittedly, not my strongest gift, but after a few seconds, I determined this wasn't the beach I could see from my tower. Wildlands had surrounded that beach, not a building in sight.

"There she is. Merrow Island Academy," Dad said proudly.

"Our house is bigger," I observed.

The school looked like a sprawling farmhouse and was constructed from the same stone as every other building I'd seen. With all the rain, it made sense to use as little wood as possible, but I was beginning to think I'd never see any other color but gray and green again.

"It once belonged to a wealthy merchant family that settled here in the early 1700's. Around the same time, the Hallorans arrived. Because of some unfortunate circumstances, they left the Island, and they converted the house into a school."

A mother with twin girls waved hello as she ushered them into the building. Beyond them, we were the only ones arriving. I checked the time to make sure we weren't late and frowned. "Dad, did you not check what time school started? We're super early."

"What are you talking about? It's 7:15. School starts at 7:40. You'll be lucky to get to your first class on time once we get done in the office."

"Dad," I groaned. "School starts at 8 A.M. here. It's 7:40 back at home. I could've slept another twenty minutes."

"Sorry, pumpkin. This is better anyway. Now you'll have time to get settled in."

"Joy," I muttered as we stepped into the office, my single word drowned out by a loud squeal.

"Dylan Halloran, as I live and breathe!"

"Why Mrs. Walsh, you don't look a day older than when I left," Dad said, accepting a hug from the tallest elderly woman I'd ever met. She had to be over six foot tall, and her legs were as wide as tree stumps.

"I'd heard you were coming back and bringing yer child with you. So glad we are to have you back," she continued in a high-pitched voice, completely at odds with her stature. She straightened the rimless glasses on her face and peered at me. "Ah, a lass. Finally. You'll be here to get yer schedule."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

She bustled behind a polished desk and grabbed a manilla folder with my name scrawled across it. Dad wandered about the room, picking up photos and setting them back down with wistful sighs. "You'll be an S6. It's a small group, mind you, but all the better to get settled in."

"S6. Got it." I pulled out the small stack of papers in the envelope. Some were flyers for various events, but one was a schedule for the day. "English, Mathematics, History, and Music today. Tomorrow is Biology, P.E., Computing, and Chemistry. Yuck."

Mrs. Walsh grinned. "These are for our most advanced students. Many don't move beyond their S5 year, so the curriculum will be tougher. But yer father assured us you were an excellent student."

"I'm sure this won't be a problem. I enjoy school. I intend to go to Vanderbilt after graduating."

"Oh..." she shot a concerned glance in my father's direction before reconstructing her mouth into a semblance of her previous smile. "That's nice that you've made plans, dear. Yer first class will be with Mr. Campbell. It's up the stairs on the left and the first room on the right. From there, you can just follow yer classmates. You will all remain together."

"Thank you, Mrs. Walsh," Dad said. "You think you'll be able to find it ok?"

"Yeah. I should be fine." I adjust my bag on my shoulder and hoped he didn't hear the water churning in my bowels. "I'm here to learn anyway, right?"

"Right." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "But it's okay to make a few friends."

"Hopefully, they're not all taken. Will you be here to pick me up? Class lets out at 3."

"Yeah, I'll be here. You can take the truck from here on out; I've got your granda's old bike that I can use to get around when it's nice."

"So you're going to become a hermit? Because I've yet to see the sun since we moved here. See you at 3."

"See you then. Love you my Isla girl," he said and went through the doors faster than I would've liked. Just like that, I felt five years old again, watching my parents drive off while I cried.

Getting my schedule had only taken a few minutes, and classes wouldn't start for another thirty. Fighting back a sniffle, I located the stairs, glad Mrs. Walsh had pointed out that my stairs were on the left. They split the school into two wings, and from the bright colors and drawings on the wall by the other stairs, I assumed that was where the younger children attended classes.

The stairs squeaked as I ascended.. A long corridor, windowless and lit by a single, flickering bulb, stretched out before me. They had removed the doors from what I assumed were once bedrooms, and natural light filled the one Mrs. Walsh directed me to. Inside there were three rows of tables large, each large enough for two to share.

There were no names at any of the desks, so I took the middle table closest to a window where I could see the waves break on the shore. The gentle rhythm of the ocean soothed the nerves fluttering in my stomach, and I had the strangest desire to be back in my tower, floating in the heated water while staring out across the island. It made little sense; I'd never been particularly drawn to the ocean before.

I pulled out a notebook and pen and set them on the table while peering around the room. Much of it was just like any other classroom, but a large, iron stove fireplace took up the corner next to the teacher's desk. Right now, it was an empty husk, but the room carried the faint scent of burning wood. Perhaps Mr. Campbell had spent the day before in his classroom, preparing materials for his new students. I shivered and pulled my blue cardigan tight. Hopefully, he'd light it as soon as he arrived.

Downstairs a door opened and shut, and the squeak of the stairs alerted me to the arrival of a new person. Swallowing hard, I tried not to stare at the door as I remembered the wide, fearful look of the girl in the mirror this morning. No point in making people think I was crazy.

"So I told her I'd sneak out before her dad wakes up, but I fell asleep."

"And chaos ensued?"

It was two new people. Both speakers were male, but it was the latter who made the hairs on my arm rise beneath my sleeves. His voice was a paradox. The accent of the Islanders was present, but the lyrical notes were deep and raspy, like a thrashing sea beneath moonlight. Licking my lips, I contemplated pulling my hair down, wanting to present a better picture to the owner of that divine voice, but I knew better. The humidity and hair band would have done a number on my wild hair. Best to leave it up.

"Oi, look. Hello."

"Hello," I replied.

They hung in the doorway. Both in possession of the lanky forms that come with a sudden growth spurt, lean muscle pushed against the white material of their shirts. The one touting his romantic adventures curved his lips into a welcoming smile and sauntered across the room. Pulling out the chair in front of me, he flipped it around and sat, leaning forward until the top edge pressed against my table.

"And just who are you?"

Scooting back to reclaim my personal space, I cut my eyes at his friend who was leisurely making his way across the room. His dark brown hair was tousled from the wind, and he'd left his green plaid tie loose. But for his blase demeanor, there was a burning intensity in his hazel eyes as they met mine.

"Is that how you greet people over here? Just asking so I can make sure I'm doing it right."

"Yer American," he crowed, black eyes flashing with delight as he rubbed his hand across his buzzed head.

"You knew the Hallorans were back," the other boy said, leaning against a desk with his arms crossed over his chest. "But yer a girl."

"Everyone seems to be really surprised by that fact," I complained. "Sorry to disappoint you all."

"No one here said they were disappointed love," the standing boy said.

I swallowed hard and looked away. Focusing on the Don Juan in front of me. "You going to finish your story?"

"My story?" Thick brows drew down. "I'm not following."

"You were telling a charming tale about getting caught during a hookup."

"You heard that?" A blush spread across his dark skin. "I'm Alban, but call me Al."

"Hello, Al," I replied, taking his offered hand. The embarrassment softened my ire towards him. "I'm Isla."

"This sullen lad over here is Kieran Murphy."

"Murphy... You're Siobhan's son?"

Kieran fidgeted. "You met my mum? She never mentioned it."

I thought of the familiar way our parents had greeted one another and wondered if Kieran knew about their history. Or if there was a Mr. Murphy at home who would keep their friendship from progressing farther.

"When we came in. She was in town."

"His mum makes the best scones on the entire Island. You'll have to stop by there some time and get one. Perhaps it can be my treat. A welcome to the Island?"

"Alright, enough of that," Kieran growled, pushing his curls out of his eyes as he slammed his bag into the chair beside Al. "You've already got enough girls to keep up with. Don't be a greedy bastard."

Al tipped the chair forward again. "He's just jealous that all the women around here prefer my charming good looks to his broody intellect. They get enough broody with the weather."

A wicked glint flashed in Kieran's eyes and he pushed my table toward me, causing his friend to lose balance. Al screeched as he went down, and I jumped up to make sure he was okay as two new students filtered into the room.

"Ach, what are those two up to now?" A petite, black girl in yellow plaid demanded. She had a ribbon matching her skirt wound through her tight, ebony curls. It was then that I realized our uniforms were all in different colors. "Is that my daft brother lying on the floor?"

"Tara, shut yer mouth," Al snapped, righting his chair and slapping Kieran across the back of his head. "Yer a radge."

"Back at ya, mate," Kieran said, setting up his notebook and pens much like I had. And I'll be damned if it didn't make my nerdy heart pitter patter.

"Hello," Tara said, dropping into the seat beside me. She practically wiggled with excitement as she turned to speak to me. "I'm assuming yer the new Halloran?"

"Yes," I said, dropping my cheek into my palm and tapping my pen on the desktop. This was going to be an endless day if every conversation started this way. But it reminded me of small-town southern life- only before, I'd been the one in the know.

"Yer a-"

"Girl. Yes, a surprise to me too, but I'm afraid there's nothing to be done about it. I'm Isla."

"I thought I warned you to leave."

I looked over my shoulder to see Leslie scowling in the row behind us. Her face was even more pale in the natural light, and her hair was still pulled back in that tight bun.

I waved. "Hello again."

"Leslie, don't be all creepy with the new girl. We never get them, and we don't want to run her off," Tara whined.

"It's fine," I said, waving away her concerns. There was something about the strange girl that drew me in, but she just shook her head in disgust and drew in a notebook. I was effectively dismissed.

Three more students came into the room. Two were obviously curious, but they took seats on the front row and whispered amongst themselves.

Tara leaned over and explained, "That's Katie and Shannon. They're cousins. They live in the highlands, close to Halloran Manor, actually. But the airs they put on because they don't live in town. Ach. Stay away from them."

"Tara, if anyone is a snob, it's you."

I looked up at the girl standing next to our table. Chestnut hair without a hint of frizz hung in well-crafted curls down her back, and her lavender skirt was inches shorter than everyone else's. I also wanted to cover my eyes for fear the middle button of her top might pop off when she took a deep breath.

Tara rolled her eyes, but I didn't miss the appreciative once over she gave the Asian girl. "Isla, meet Niko. She's Shannon's oops sister."

My breath caught in my chest, but Niko just threw her hair over her shoulder and nodded. "True. Our dad has a thing for tourists, and well, voila. Here I am."

Shannon stopped whispering and looked over at us. "We're just lucky he can't make any more fabulous oopses." She moved her fingers like scissors before returning to her conversation.

"Alright, class. Everyone in their seats." A bell rang as a portly gentleman waddled into the room, his arms filled with books and bags. He scanned the room, stopping on me. "All the usual suspects, and a new face. You must be Isla Halloran."

"Yes sir," I answered, thankful when he didn't express shock over my gender.

He grunted but said nothing else as he bent over to start a fire. My numb fingers tingled in anticipation. Tara flirted across the aisle with Niko, their friendliness surprising given their manner of greeting.

"You'll get used to it."

I jumped when Kieran's voice intruded on my musings. "I'll get used to what?" It was hard to meet him in the eye when I spoke, but I forced my chin to remain lifted as I waited for his answer.

"The way we treat each other. When you've known everyone as long as we have, it's easy to go for the soft spots. I imagine you'll figure us out before too long."

"I don't plan on being here longer than it takes to graduate."

Kieran's dark brows flattened over his eyes, and his jaw tightened. Then his expression cleared, and he shrugged. "Things don't always work out how we plan."