When Reality and Fantasy Collide

"He's not breathing!" one of the lifeguards yelled as he bent down to Max's chest-level.

People began to crowd around. "Someone, get the defibrillator! Call an ambulance!" he shouted as a woman helped him roll Max over onto his side. A trickle of water ran out from his lips and onto the flooring.

"Call the ambulance, I'll take it from here." And with that, he blew two strong gusts of air straight into my friend's lungs.

Cass had fallen to the floor, her face paler than usual. Jeremy's swore and gripped the handrail tightly. All three of us had our eyes fixed on the scene in shock, unable to take in what was happening.

"27...28...29..." A series of loud cracks came from Max's ribcage as the lifeguard pounded away, forcibly compressing and decompressing his heart. "30!" Another two breaths, and he went back to hammering.

"How did this..." Jeremy began.

"I don't know! We both went down the slide, and I came to see what you guys were doing when you came out. Max should have been right after me!" Cass spilled.

Jeremy narrowed his eyes slightly. "You know he's not a strong swimmer, why weren't you watching him?"

"Don't you dare try and pin this whole thing on me, Mister Blacksmith, it's not like I told him to go down headfirst!" Talk about role-reversal. As soon as I started getting along with him, Cass went and picked a fight. Go figure.

A wash of guilt swept over me, how was I going to know the water was that shallow? I could see what happened already. Max would have been easily persuaded to go down the slide, and since Cassie would have been at the other end he would have tried to show off...

...and smashed his head in just like the little cartoon stick man.

And to think, if Jeremy hadn't grabbed me to get lemonade, I could have been where Max was right now. If I hadn't put it into his head that doing stupid stunts would be cool, he wouldn't have tried it. It was just like a world class nerd joining the football club to impress a cheerleader. He'd get hammered, but at least he'd get noticed. So all in all, it was pretty much the fault of me and my daredevil side.

Beside me a middle-aged woman was rapidly talking into her cell phone, giving the address of the pool. A teenager rushed over to where the lifeguard was resuscitating Max, holding a case.

"I've got it!" she said, flicking it open and unpeeling the pads. It was then I realized that she was actually a senior at St. Freeman's. It's a small world, I suppose.

"Ouch...dude, cut it out." Instantly, everyone's gaze went to Max. His eyes were open, bloodshot almost to the same color of his hair.

"Shit." Lulu – the girl with the defibrillator - swore under her breath. Even I've watched enough hospital dramas (ER, Grey's Anatomy, House, etc.) to know what was going on. Plus my mom had made me take a lifesaving course as a part of her thoughtful, but unnecessary, plan to protect me. Or it was taken from her teen handbook chapter saying how to make your teen give back to society. As long as the guy kept with the CPR, Max would be conscious. As soon as he stopped, he'd go back to being dead. To this day, no one in that situation has ever lived.

Of course, not everyone is as hardcore television watchers as I am. Most of 'em were looking pretty much relieved. Although that's because the only shows they watch with resuscitation have the characters zapped back into reality by the power of love (gag me) rather than an electric shock. Jeremy sat down on the steps with a sigh, cradling his head between his hands. Cassie burst into tears, and they certainly weren't tears of joy. She, like me, knew our redheaded friend was good as dead. I didn't cry, I didn't even move. My head just swam dizzily around in circles.

"I told you to stop that," snapped Max, pushing the lifeguard away and trying to stand up. I stared, waiting for him to fall unconscious once again. Sure enough, as soon as he got to his knees, Max slumped back over onto the floor.

With shaky legs I moved forwards, and almost fell over when I saw he was merely doubled over, holding his ribs. Max retched a few times, vomiting on someone's plastic flip-flops and splattering several other's toes.

The screeching ambulance siren made its presence known as several white-clad workers jumped out with a stretcher and neck brace. "What's your name and date of birth?" one of them asked Max.

"Maximillian McField, September 30th," he answered. "Can't you see I'm fine?"

"Sorry, son, but we have to make sure you don't have a concussion or anything." another said, sliding him onto the stretcher. "Now, don’t move or I'll be forced to strap you down. Was anyone here with this boy?"

The three of us came forwards. "Cass, you go in the ambulance. Jeremy and I will take Max's stuff and meet you at the hospital." My mother had well revised me on what to do in an emergency.

Jeremy and I walked over to the deck chair laden with our belongings and carried them over to Max's car. I fumbled around with his beach bag and extracted the keys. Surprisingly, Jeremy did not object to my being in the driver's seat, we both wanted to get to the hospital fast. Although it didn't escape my notice that he actually did his seatbelt up for once.

"This shouldn't take too long for him to be out of there..." Jeremy muttered.

"Sorry?"

"He's been in hospital so many times before; they should be through with the paperwork fast."

"Yeah, well, that's Max, a medical miracle," I muttered.

"You know when he was twelve he stuck his finger in an electric socket? The doctors couldn't find an entrance or exit wound anywhere."

"Really? I only heard about the time he fell off an eighth floor balcony when he was seven."

"And the time where he got trampled by a bull in Spain?"

"Yep, poor boy's practically a magnet for danger."

For some reason, I was uncannily reminded of the two old ladies who would sit around gossiping at the local café about their grandchildren. Once Max and I went there and listened in. Apparently the one with the blue rinse was complaining that she didn't approve of her teenage grandson's choice in girlfriend; an 'airheaded little prima-donna' she had said, while the other complained about how her granddaughter was too busy 'at a friend's house' all night (the sceptical note clear in her voice), when she should have been home helping to dress her granny's bunions.

Max had leaned over and whispered to me, "Wow, Cass was right. Her grandma really doeslook like a prune left in the desert to shrivel up for years without any form of skin moisturizer." At least it had explained why Cassandra, a renowned coffee-addict, had turned over the offer to join us. It also explained why she had taken up an almost permanent residence in my room, and why she had sent Max on little errands through her bedroom window to fetch her belongings. He'd been attacked by the prune-woman with a spatula in one hand and a tin in the other when he was caught that one time. Good thing it was dark, because then Cass' grandma didn't have a face to match with the 'pervert' label.

One lesson learned that night: pepper spray stings, if Max's reaction was anything to go by.

Cass' grandmother went back to wherever she came from the following week, and my resident homeless friend returned to her house. That was a problem for her; all her relatives (even estranged ones) seemed to think the Silverpool home as a hotel. But c'mon, her sister's fiancé's uncle's husband? That was going a little far.

Without further discussion, we arrived at the hospital. The ambulance was parked outside, lights still flashing, but otherwise empty. Jeremy and I strolled into the emergency room, looking for someone, anyone, to give us directions.

"Excuse me?" I said politely to the twenty-something year old woman at the desk. She looked up, teeth gritted as though bracing herself for someone to walk in with a chopstick lodged in their eyeball or something.

She scanned us up and down, and seeing no missing appendages or whatnot, asked,

"Can I help you?"

"I think you can." Jeremy swaggered up to her and put his hands on the counter, leaning forwards, and intentions clear. I grabbed and hauled him back, stomping on his foot in the process.

"Could you please concentrate on what's important here?" I hissed. "Now is not the time to go flirting and looking down the shirt of every girl you see." Having heard this, the woman flushed bright red and wrapped a shawl tighter over her blouse.

"Sorry about him, he's just an idiot," I comforted. "But that's not why I'm here. We're looking for a Maximillian McField, he should have come in earlier with a Cassandra Silverpool." She nodded and began to check through a notepad.

"I was seeing what her nametag said!" Jeremy insisted.

I rolled my eyes. "She's not wearing one." I said pointing to a name plate on her desk saying her name was Clarice Josephs.

Clarice Josephs flipped to a page, and began to tap away on her desktop. With one triumphant push of the enter key, she looked up, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Jeremy and talking to me instead. "One of our doctors is checking him over right now, but he appears in no imminent danger. If you would like to wait with your friend please take the first left down the corridor to the waiting room."

"Thank you." I grabbed Jeremy by the ear and towed him down the hallway. Clarice Josephs gave us a strange look.

Speaking of which, wasn't Clarice the name of that woman from The Silence of the Lambs?

Cassandra was curled up on the couch, flicking through an old edition of Teen Vogue. She glanced up and shot us a weary smile. "Max should be out of there soon."

"Nope, Max is out of there," he corrected, walking out of the office.

"What did they say?" I asked.

"I'm fine; not even a damaged rib from the CPR, so I'm free to go."

"Impossible," Jeremy said flatly, "we heard them cracking."

Max shrugged. "Well, I'm alive, and that's supposed to be just as impossible."

"True..." I added.

The redhead scowled. "Could you all stop looking at me like that? I've been through this sort of thing before."

"You almost died," Cass said.

"But I didn't," Max pointed out. "So can't we all just forget this ever happened?" He was probably still embarrassed about what he had done. Guaranteed, there would be no repeat. I knew him that well at least.

Time to lighten the atmosphere, I decided. "Max?"

"Yeah?"

"Sorry to tell you this, but your first kiss was taken by a guy." I'm surprised at how I managed to deadpan that without bursting into hysterical giggles.

Max face-palmed, the look on his face was priceless. "Shut up, it didn't count. I don't even remember it. Besides, what's to say I haven't kissed anyone before?"

I was about to ask him about that when Cassie jumped in. "It does too count! But what doesn't count is Cindy-what's-her-last-name in the second grade!"

He wheeled around angrily, "Who told you about that?" Max demanded, forgetting about the blonde's formerly more than friendly terms with his stepbrother.

Ignoring him, Cass waved her finger in the air and began to sing-song happily to a song by Katy Perry. "Max kissed a boy just to try it..."

"I did not!"

"Uh-huh, yes you did!"

"It was an unintentional lip-lock."

The teasing lasted all the way back to the car and for most of the journey. It was annoying, but at least it had broken the stillness that had come with having a friend practically return from the dead. Jeremy told me which driveway to pull in, and we dropped him off at his house. I was probably the only one who noticed him get out.

"See you at school," I said as he left, and he waved back. Strange to think only hours before, neither of us could go near the other without picking a fight. But he had changed as of late. He had stopped acting like he as God's gift to women, and started being a bit more of a human being. I never like-liked him, and never will, but with the way he's being now, Jeremy seems almost tolerable as a friend. Or maybe we were just bonded by trauma or something, I don't know, but I reckon Justine must have taught him a thing or two, whether she knew it or not.

"We're here Max," I said twenty minutes later. He looked in his pocket for keys and realized he was still in swim trunks and a white shirt the hospital had given him.

"Damn it," he cursed, "no ones home and if I can't get inside-"

"They're in your bag," I told him. "Jeremy and I picked them up."

"Thanks," he said with a half-smile, climbing out of the car.

Cass and I watched him walk across the driveway, shoulders slumped moodily. "Where's his dad?" she asked me.

"Probably out somewhere, courting Possible Wife Number Three is most likely."

"Isn't that lonely though?" We both paused thoughtfully.

I was struck with a sudden determination. "You know, it's good to keep a close eye on someone after they've been discharged from hospital for the first day or so."

Cassie smirked when she saw what I was getting at. "Yes Emily, I do believe you're right," she said slyly. "You park the car and I'll deal with your parents." I obliged and we both jumped out of the car.

"Oi Maxxie, wait up!" I hollered, taking a shortcut over a hedge. Really, I should have tried professional hurdling.

"Wha-" was all he managed before both of us charged in through his front door.

"We're staying here, and no, you don't get a say in this. There's a spare mattress in the guest room, right?" I plopped myself on a couch as Cass grabbed the wireless phone from its cradle.

"Yes..." he said hesitantly.

"Then help me carry it out here, I'm not strong enough to lift it on my own." I was already halfway up the stairs. Max sighed and followed.

I found the guest room pretty easy, but that was because I accidentally smashed my nose into the door when the cleaning lady (who came once a week) opened it in my face. That's one trip to the bathroom I'll never forget, and there's still a small bloodstain on the carpet that no one has quite been able to get rid of. Instead of signing a guestbook, Emily Robertson marks her visitations in blood. Insert evil chuckle here.

The room itself was nothing remarkable, just four walls and a door. There was a wooden side-table and a matching small but functional closet. Yanking off the covers, I made short work of tossing them to one corner and struggled to remove the mattress from the bed frame. As I said, this girl has zero upper body strength. So I leaned against the wall, put both feet to the side of it, and kicked as hard as I could.

Max arrived just in time not only to get hit with a mattress, but to see me as I fell flat on my butt onto the pointy rim of the frame. "Ow!" I yelled in pain as he guffawed. We managed to get it down the stairs after much blood, sweat, and tears. Alright, maybe not tears, but my eyes certainly were watering from the pain in my ass.

Cass was still chattering on the phone in her best grown-up voice. "Thank you Mrs. Robertson for allowing Emily to stay over on such short notice…” she paused."Yes, the doctors said it is best to make sure he doesn't have a concussion or any latent problems, and suggested we keep an eye on him for a while, especially since his father isn't around." There was a humming from the other end. "Yes, it was quite traumatic, and they say he may still go into shock. What? No; we would never do that! We felt it was best to keep him in a familiar and comfortable environment and all our phones will be on at all times." The buzzing subsided slightly. "Alright, thank you Mrs. Robertson, have a nice evening." She put the phone down triumphantly, giving us both the thumbs-up.

I grinned and gave her a high-five. "You persuaded her?"

"Your mom doesn't have much confidence in you, you know that? I had to assure her a million times that you and Max weren't-"

"Please don’t finish that sentence," Max groaned. "I hear it enough from my family."
I blinked. "Is that why they all call you 'Mr. Casanova'? I always wondered where that came from..."

He grimaced. "Matthew made a joke about me being friends with you and Cass, John started parroting it, and things went haywire from there."

"Aww, sorry you had to suffer on our behalf." Cass grinned. "How is Matthew? I haven't seen him since the party."

"That was Mark," I corrected her, "and the Casanova award goes to Jeremy, hands-down. Max, you can have the award for cheating death."

"So what am I then?"

"A succubus," Max and I declared in sync.

Cass began rifling through Max's video collection and pulled out The Devil Wears Prada. "Can we watch this? Please, pretty please?"

"Why do you have a cupboard full of chick flicks?" I questioned, eyeing the contents. "Don’t you have anything else?"

"Vivian forgot to pick them up when she left." Vivian was Max's dad's second wife, the mother of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John who had loved sappy romance stories. Although, after the split, the four boys technically weren't Max's stepbrothers anymore, but we'd been so used to calling them that it was hard to stop.

"Let's see what's on TV then." I flicked through the channels until I found the one I wanted. "Yes! The Mentalist is on, you guys ok with it?" Cassie nodded while Max just shrugged in agreement.

"I’m gonna make us some popcorn!" Cass began hopping over to the kitchen. ‘Stop her’, I mouthed frantically to Max, who got up and volunteered instead. We all know what Cassie's like in a kitchen. She can make salads, sandwiches, sushi, and stuff like that, but let her near a microwave, stove, or oven and she's a disaster. Now I think about it, it's probably all she lives off for the most part.

"You order dinner for us, okay?" he told her.

"Alright!" Cass flicked her phone open and pushed a number. "Hello? Yes, I'd like three large fish and chips with extra salt, one potato scallops, two garlic bread and – hold on a sec-" she covered the microphone, "do we have coke in the fridge?" she asked to no one in particular.

"Do you have Triple F's number on your speed dial?" I asked incredulously. Triple F's is the nickname of the local fish and chips place. It's actually called Freddie's Famous Fish, which it is since it’s the only restaurant around here selling fried fish. It was sad to think that it ranked higher than me on Cass' cell phone.

Cass just shrugged, and, not waiting for an answer, continued rattling off what sounded like half the menu. As she did that, I ran back to the guest room to grab the thick doona (it gets really cold at night) and a couple pillows. Max would take the sofa, while Cass and I would share the mattress stationed in front of it. For once I was grateful living in this town; everyone knew everyone. My mom wouldn't have let me stay over here if it wasn't the case.

I was about to head back to watch the last ten-or-so minutes of The Mentalist, but the window caught my eye. Funny how it gets darker faster and lighter slower in winter than it does in the summer. As much as the cold annoyed me, at least it meant I could get out more at night. But there was nothing more refreshing than a cool summer's fly. A butterfly flitted across the kitchen window, and for a moment, I saw it as a winged human. I sighed, this was getting ridiculous. Ever since that day, with the girl in the water, questions had been unceasingly swarming my head.

What if there were others? What would they be? I already knew of myself, the Griffin's incarnate, but were there others the same as me? Or were they like that other girl? Or were they something completely different? I recalled the mask hidden safe in my room. It had been the one, and only, thing I had ever stolen. She had had one too.

"Emily, you're doing it again." Cass had come up behind me.

"Doing what?" I asked, surprised.

"Standing around like a space-cadet; what's so great about the sky anyway?"

I shook my head; she wouldn't understand. "Hey Cass, do you know anything about...this is going to sound stupid...mermaids?" It felt unusual to put a name to the phenomenon.

She blinked. "Mermaids? Is that what you were thinking about all those times?"
I shrugged, trying to look normal. "Nah, just wondering about where the debate went wrong..."

"Oh, so you're still upset about that? I know how to cheer you up! Eat popcorn!"

"...and that will help, how?" I wondered aloud as she dragged me over to the couch and sat me down. She snuggled in between me and Max, grabbing the bowl of popcorn and trying to shove a handful in my face.

We watched Casino Royale, laughing way too loudly and pausing randomly to strike up a conversation. The food arrived mid-way through Madagascar, just as we were jumping up to dance with the lemurs. It took the three of us to carry it all back to the living room. Cass gulped down both mine and her soft drink, and Max and I squabbled over the pieces of fish that she hadn't poured tones of salt all over.

"You guys are acting like starving one-eyed pigeons being fed by a hobo in the middle of the desert with no food or water," Cass described.

"Gimme that-" I reached out and tried to snatch away the fish, my hand ending up on Max's forearm instead. "Hey Maxxie, you're burning up!" I exclaimed, noticing his boiling temperature. "You might have a fever."

"No, I'm always like that," Max said, yanking his arm away and stuffing the fish in his gob.

"Are you sure? You really are hot." I put a hand on his searing forehead.

"Who's hot?" Cass asked.

"Max is." Her jaw dropped and I hastily explained. "As in, I think he might have a fever."

"I'm fine Emily, how many times do I have to keep saying it?" Max said exasperatedly. I decided to drop the subject. The secret motive of Cassie and me staying over was to cheer him up, not piss him off.

"I'll go put these potato chips in a container in the fridge, don't want them congealing when we can eat them for breakfast tomorrow," I said cheerily. Max looked sickened by the idea.

"Lovely." His sarcasm was all too evident. "I suppose that means you don't want any homemade waffles?"

"You can make waffles?" Cass cried, glomping him. "I freaking love you!" Even in the dim light I could see the darker tinge to Max's face, even though he knew full well she hadn't meant anything by it.

"Waffles aren't that tough," he coughed, embarrassed, “but breathing right now is another thing." Max glanced down at the ocean-eyed girl who was apparently trying to squeeze the life out of him.

We watched the movie for another hour and by then outside it was black as pitch. All of us had stretched out in any which way was comfortable for us. When the credits ended none of us wanted to get up to take out the disk, all of us were nice and toasty as we were. That was probably thanks to Max, who was probably generating all the heat if his temperature was anything to go by.

"Hey guys?" he mumbled sleepily to us.

Cass and I grunted out the same response. "Mm-hmm?"

"Thanks."