"No one heard. In the years following, she learned that ... Many nights when her parents were asleep Laura sat on the balcony of their small Manhattan apartment, learning to ignore the traffic, hearing waves no one else could hear, and knowing that in all the world, she was completely alone."

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Of all the bits of shapeshifter lore, selkie stories might be, in their quiet way, one of the most troubling ...

Water's Edge

Laura remembered the first time she heard the sea.

She was in kindergarten, and the teacher was passing a conch shell around.

Laura ran her finger along the shell's pearly inside, following its smooth curve. "Hold it to your ear," the teacher said. "See if you can hear the ocean."

At first Laura heard nothing but the jostling of the other kids around her. Then wind blew, whisper soft, not in the shell but somewhere deeper, somewhere inside her. Water lapped against wet sand. A wave crashed against a rock, and as it receded, the scent of salt and seaweed filled the air. And then--

Then the shell was wrenched from her hands. "My turn!" the boy next to her cried, pressing Laura's shell to his ear with grubby fingers. "Hey!" He shook the shell as if it were a game whose batteries had died. "I don't hear nothing!"

But Laura heard. Waves pounded against stone, rising and falling and rising again. Without thought she moved to the window, aching to get nearer to the water.

All she saw outside were the asphalt and cars of a New York City street . All she heard were blaring horns. The ocean disappeared beneath the din. Laura cried, hiding her face behind her black hair so no one would see.

"What's wrong with you?" the boy demanded. He walked up to her, shell already forgotten.

"Nothing," Laura lied, because even then she could tell he didn't hear.

No one heard. In the years following, she learned that.

Not the kids at school, who kept telling her to stop acting stupid whenever they caught her staring off into space, listening. Not her teachers, who yelled at her for not answering when they called. And especially not her parents, who in the evenings turned the television up so loud it drowned out the sea sounds inside her.

Many nights when her parents were asleep Laura sat on the balcony of their small Manhattan apartment, learning to ignore the traffic, hearing waves no one else could hear, and knowing that in all the world, she was completely alone.

Her grandparents had a beach house on Long Island . That should have helped, but Laura's family only visited for holidays, when the house was so full of talking, yelling, laughing relatives that Laura couldn't hear anything at all unless she went down to the beach. Even there, sooner or later some cousin she barely knew would follow, shouting into a cell phone or blaring a radio. Or else her grandfather would come laughing with her uncles, hands over his broad belly, bellowing about his youth as a sailor, when he hired onto any ship whose destination caught his fancy, before he met Laura's grandmother and settled down.

Laura's grandmother was the only one who always stayed inside, her lips pursed together, her thin gray hair pulled back in a tight bun. Mom said Grandma's hair had once been as dark and thick as Laura's, but Laura had trouble believing that.

Grandma said she stayed inside because she was scared of the water, but Laura didn't see fear in her face. She saw anger, smoldering like fire beneath Grandma's black eyes. Maybe that anger was why they didn't visit much.

The first thing Laura noticed, the day Grandpa died, was that suddenly the anger was gone.

It happened the year Laura turned twelve. He died in his sleep, which her uncles said was the wrong way for a sailor to die, but Laura couldn't imagine a right way.

The funeral wasn't so bad, but the house afterwards was worse than usual. Relatives crowded around Laura, talking so loud they hurt her ears, smoking cigarettes that stung her eyes. They were all Grandpa's relatives; Grandma had come to America from Scotland , and her family never visited.

Laura tried to ignore the noise, but it only grew louder. She glanced longingly out the house's picture window, beyond a stretch of grass and sand, to where the gray-green waves of the Atlantic tossed beneath a pale sky.

She hadn't cried, not at the funeral and not here either. What was wrong with her, that she couldn't cry like everyone else?

"Laura!"

Laura looked around the living room and saw one of her aunts, sitting on the couch and gesturing to her. Grandma sat beside the aunt, eyes closed, head bent toward her lap.

She looked up as Laura approached. Her sunken black eyes were ringed with red. Grandpa had once said no one really had black eyes, only very deep brown. But Laura's eyes were like Grandma's, and she couldn't find any brown in them at all.

Laura shifted uncomfortably. She hated when people stared at her too long. Like when they asked her a question, and she'd been listening to the sea and missed it, but they expected an answer anyway.

"This one looks like me." Grandma's voice shook. She reached out and ran bony fingers through Laura's hair. Laura pulled away, and Grandma's hand fell to her side.

"Your mother looks like Matthew. Just seeing her red

curls--" Grandma looked down, dropping both hands into her lap. "It's almost like he's young again. It's almost like he's here."

"It's all right," the aunt said. She rubbed Grandma's back.

Grandma's face tightened; her eyes sank deeper into her lined face. "How can I handle this house alone? It's too much. Matthew promised he'd clean the attic this summer. He knows I can't go up there alone. The stairs are too hard on my knees. But this summer he promised. He promised--" She started to cry, small sobs that shook her thin frame.

Laura stood there, not knowing what to say. She wished she could run away, even though she knew she was supposed to stay and help somehow.

"I--I can clean the attic for you." Cleaning was a way of helping, wasn't it?

Grandma didn't hear. Her head was in her hands now. Laura's aunt held her, saying everything was okay.

Laura's face turned hot, and her stomach clenched into a queasy knot. She had to get out of there. She turned from Grandma and ran across the room, past all the relatives whose names she couldn't remember, toward the attic stairs.

She was going to the attic to help Grandma. That had to be all right. But she felt like she was running away after all.

The attic stairs were at the end of a hall, behind a battered old door. Grandpa had never let her up there; he said the attic was unfinished. But Grandpa wasn't around to stop her now.

The door creaked as Laura opened it. Dust blew out, making her cough. She waved it away as best she could, flipped the light switch behind the door, and climbed the stairs

She entered a room bigger than she expected, filled with overflowing boxes of clothes, broken furniture, and piles of brittle yellow newspapers, all covered with cobwebs. The bare bulb on the ceiling shone through the dust like sunbeams. The space didn't look unfinished, whatever that meant. Laura started toward the newspapers, thinking she could drag them down to the trash.

Her foot caught and she tumbled forward. Pain shot through her knee as she hit the floor. She winced and sat up, wondering what had tripped her. A nail jutted out of one of the floorboards. When Laura tried to pull it out, the entire floorboard came free.

Something lay beneath the floor, something dark and shiny. Laura knelt for a closer look. The something was covered with short, smooth hairs. Laura tried to tug it loose, but it slid from her fingers. She tightened her grip and tugged harder. The scent of seaweed filled the air. She heard the sweep of waves, the bubbling of sea foam on wet sand. The tension seeped from her shoulders, even as the thing came up in her hands.

It was folded like a bolt of cloth; Laura unfolded it. The top was rounded into a head, the sides and bottom into flippers. Laura saw no seams, no signs of cutting or sewing.

It wasn't cloth at all. It was the pelt of a seal. Grandpa had a seal skin in the attic.

It had been hidden here a long time, judging by all the dust. Yet even in the dim light, the short hairs glistened, like sun on water. It was beautiful, more beautiful than anything Laura had ever seen. Why hide it at all? Laura reached out to stroke the hairs.

The skin warmed at her touch, and an electric tingle raced up her arm. Laura jerked away, feeling a shock spark between her fingers. Somewhere far away, a single wave crashed to shore, and then the world went silent. Laura stared at the skin, afraid to touch it again, but wanting to more than anything.

Slits were cut into it, where the head and flippers began. Laura hadn't noticed that before. She reached tentatively forward and pushed her hand through one of the openings.

The skin tightened around her wrist. She gasped and pulled back. Her wrist felt numb and strange.

"Laura?" From downstairs, Mom called her. "Laura!"

Laura didn't want to go back down. She didn't want to deal with all the relatives again. She wanted to stay with the skin. Yet Mom kept calling. The attic door was open; Laura knew if she stayed here, she wouldn't be hard to find.

She folded the skin and picked it up. Her arms prickled all over, like they were falling asleep. Clutching the skin to her chest, she stumbled down the stairs. She glanced down the hall, didn't see anyone. Avoiding the living room, she slipped out a side door. Outside a wet wind raised goosebumps on her arms. Laura raced around the house and across its stubby lawn. She scrambled down a rocky slope to the beach and ran across the sand, stopping at the edge of the water.

Ocean stretched before her, waves rolling restlessly to shore. Water washed over Laura's shoes and socks, turning her feet clammy. She didn't care. She opened her mouth, tasting salty air. Maybe today, no one would follow her.

She set the skin down and knelt in front of it. Had it really grabbed her arm? Laura took a deep breath and shoved her hand into the flipper again.

The skin clamped around her wrist, slimy and warm. Laura tried to pull loose, but this time the skin tightened and wouldn't let go. She reached down with her other hand to shove it away.

The skin grabbed that hand, too. It began to move, sliding swiftly up her arms.

Panic washed over Laura. The skin oozed up her neck. It curled about her ears and tangled in her hair. She fought to tear free, but the skin stretched as she struggled, sticky as bubble gum.

The roll of waves turned to a roar. Seal skin flowed down her back and twined around her legs. Suddenly she couldn't see. Skin had covered her eyes. She tried to scream, but skin stretched over her mouth, so tight she couldn't breathe. It jerked her arms up behind her, pulled her legs out from beneath her. She fell helplessly forward, into the sand.

Then all at once it stopped. Laura lay on her stomach, gasping for air. The roaring subsided, leaving only normal crashing surf. Yet the sound seemed different somehow, sharper. She could see again, but the ocean looked different, too, brighter and fuzzier. Wind tickled her nose.

No, not her nose. Her whiskers. The wind tickled her whiskers. She tried to touch her face, but her arm wouldn't bend right. She turned her head, straining to see her hand.

A shiny black flipper lay against the yellow sand.

Laura drew a sharp breath, tasting sea salt. She stared at the flipper, unable to believe it was part of her. Her whiskers quivered with tension. She tried to stand, but her legs slapped uselessly against the sand behind her. They had turned into flippers, too. Yet how could they? People didn't just turn into seals, no matter what they found in the attic.

But people didn't hear the ocean in the middle of Manhattan , either. Laura knew she wasn't like anyone else. She never had been.

She took another breath and pushed up from her waist, forcing her head as high as she could. Behind her, far away, someone called her name. The sound echoed strangely through the air, and Laura couldn't tell who it was.

Why did people keep calling her? Why couldn't they leave her alone?

Laura wriggled forward on her stomach, awkwardly at first, then faster, using her flippers to help her along the wet, gritty sand. A wave washed over her. The water went out with the tide, pulling her further along. Laura's skin tingled. More than anything, she wanted to swim in that water. She continued forward.

The person on the shore called again. More waves washed over Laura, deeper than before. She dove into them, following the waves out to the ocean.

She came up quickly, into the chilly air. Then, taking a deep breath, she dove again. This time water surrounded her, heavy and warm. She pushed her back flippers out behind her. The water pushed back, and Laura shot forward.

She flew through the sea, slick and graceful. Beneath her, the sandy ocean bottom raced by. No one could get in her way. No one could stop her, not here.

She felt like she was home. No, somewhere better, more right, than home had ever been.

Light rippled through the water, bending brightly. A school of silver minnows scattered beneath her shadow. Laughter bubbled within Laura. She leapt above the water, and the laughter spilled out into the air. She gasped more air into her lungs.

Someone still called her. Laura dove as deep as she could, fleeing the sound. The ocean floor dropped away. The light dimmed, unable to follow so far. The water grew heavier and cooler.

Without warning, Laura's chest tightened. Suddenly she needed to breathe; she hadn't gulped enough air to go this deep. She almost coughed, almost opened her mouth, but some instinct stopped her. She had to get out. Panic made her chest even tighter. She pushed upward, toward the surface.

Dizziness washed over her. She fought it and kept swimming, each kick more difficult than the one before. Much too slowly, the water warmed. The surface hadn't seemed so far on the way down. She was sure she wouldn't make it, sure she'd never breathe air again.

But then she burst through the water, into the bright sky.

Dark spots swam in front of her eyes. She couldn't think, couldn't remember what she needed to do next. She leapt forward, toward the shore, as far as she could. Her body slammed into more water. Waves surged over her, and all the world went black.

Laura woke to sunlight shining in her eyes. Thin, salty air moved in and out of her lungs. Nothing had ever smelled so wonderful.

Wind raised prickles on her arms. She held a hand to her face; it seemed small and pale. She clenched her fingers into a fist, then stretched them out again.

Her wet dress clung to her legs. Her hair was gritty, and her shoes were gone. She bent her knees, dug her toes into the sand. She wasn't so sure she liked being human again.

"You stayed under too long," someone said, voice harsh. "You need to breathe deeper if you want to go that far."

It was the same voice that had called Laura before, only now she recognized it. She turned her head and saw Grandma sitting beside her. Water dripped from Grandma's dress and gray hair; her legs were covered with sand. "You scared me," she said, a bit of the old anger edging her words.

Laura sat up, drawing her knees to her chin. Her legs felt thin and cold. She missed the warm skin.

"I had to drag you out." Grandma's breath came in gasps. She looked tired, more tired than Laura had ever seen her. Laura couldn't believe she'd been strong enough to pull her. "There wasn't time to get anyone else." Grandma's face tightened. "If the waves hadn't brought you so close to shore, I don't know what I would have done."

"It's okay," Laura said, knowing she should thank her. But she wanted to be a seal again. She almost didn't care if she drowned this time.

She looked toward the ocean. The skin lay on the sand, near the water's edge, waves just barely washing over it. All Laura had to do was slip her hands back into the flippers. She stood. Her legs trembled beneath her, then steadied. She started forward, unused to walking, wanting to swim again.

"You should have asked me." Grandma's voice was sharp. "I would have told you how to use it."

How could her grandmother know about the skin? As far as Laura knew, she'd never even been to the beach. Yet Grandma stared at the ocean, too.

"It's my seal skin," Grandma said.

Laura shivered. "What do you mean, yours?"

Grandma sighed, a sound like wind through dry reeds. "Selkie. That's the human word for those of us who can make the change, who can live on both land and sea." Grandma stretched her fingers out in front of her, drew them together again. "Your mother looks like Matthew, but you look like me. I should have known the skin would work for you. I should have known you'd find it."

"You lost it?" How could anyone lose such a thing?

Grandma's eyes lost focus, as if she were staring at something Laura couldn't see, something very far away. "Matthew took it. He saw where I'd left it on the beach, and he hid it to--to make sure I couldn't go back."

Laura shook her head, not believing the words--or not wanting to believe them. Why would anyone do something so terrible?

"Once he took my skin, I had no choice. I had to follow him." Grandma looked down, as if ashamed. "We selkies have to be careful; I wasn't careful enough. I liked the feel of wet sand beneath my feet. I never even heard your grandfather coming." She laughed, a dry, bitter sound. "The funny thing is, I didn't even hate him, not at first. Seals don't get angry, not like people, and I was more seal than human when Matthew found me. Anger came later, but--well, by then your mother and uncles were born, so I wouldn't have left, even if I could."

Grandma looked past Laura, at the water. "I wondered whether any of my children would be like me, but they all looked fully human, right down to your mother. All my grandchildren, too--until you. For a while I hoped--but while you swam, you were no more graceful than your cousins. And you couldn't hear the sea."

"But I can hear it." The words spilled out, the first time Laura had admitted them out loud. "I always have."

Grandma looked straight at her. "Why didn't you tell me? I asked you once, when you were younger. Don't you remember?"

Laura did remember a time, years ago now, when her eyes had been closed and Grandma had asked what she was listening to. Nothing, she'd answered automatically. "I didn't think you'd believe me."

Grandma's harsh face grew soft, almost kind. "But Laura--I hear it, too."

"You do?" Laura stared at Grandma, into eyes as deep and dark as her own.

She thought of the others, the ones who always asked what was wrong with her, who told her to pay attention, who said to stop acting stupid.

"You know what it's like," Laura said.

"Yes. I know."

All those other voices seemed to grow small, like driftwood floating out to sea. Laura stood and walked slowly back to her grandmother's side. She reached shyly down and took Grandma's hand in her own.

Leaning on Laura heavily, Grandma stood. Together they watched the ocean. The seal skin's slick surface shone in the sun. Waves tugged more and more insistently at its edges. Laura still ached to touch the skin, to turn into a seal once more. Did Grandma feel the same way?

"You could go back now." Even as Laura spoke the words, a cold feeling settled in her chest. She didn't want Grandma to go. She didn't want to lose the skin. She didn't know which would be worse.

Grandma shook her head sadly. "Do you know how long a seal lives? Not as long as a human. I'm not sure I'd even survive the change. And if I did, well, any family I had before is long gone. You and your mother, your uncles and cousins, you're my family now." Grandma hesitated, then went on. "But you're not too old, Laura. You could take the skin. I don't want to lose you, but--" Her voice wavered, and sadness settled more deeply over her features. "But I know what it's like."

Laura wanted to take it. She wanted to dive back into the water, to fly through the bright bending light, to leap through the waves.

Grandma sighed and shut her eyes, listening. Laura closed her own eyes to listen with her. She heard the crash of waves against rocks, a higher, wilder tide than the one before her. Was she hearing the waves in Scotland , where Grandma had been a seal?

The sound began to fade. The sea quieted to a low murmur.

Laura's eyes shot open. A wave had lifted the skin off the sand, had started floating it out to sea. Her heart caught in her throat. She dropped Grandma's hand and bolted across the beach. She dove into the water, swimming hard. Her arms grasped the skin. The wave receded, leaving her hip-deep in water, holding the seal skin as tightly as she'd ever held anything. She didn't want to leave it--or the water--ever again.

She glanced back toward the beach. Grandma walked slowly toward the house now. Laura didn't want to leave her, either. She suddenly wished she could be a seal and a human both.

Grandma had done that once. She'd been a seal who sometimes lived on land.

Could Laura be a human who sometimes lived in the sea?

But she didn't know how to switch from being a seal back to being a human, not without nearly drowning. She didn't even know how to breathe right. There was so much she had to learn, if she really wanted to live in both worlds. She couldn't possibly figure it all out on her own.

Clutching the seal skin even tighter, she left the water. Her dress and hair were soaked through, and the wind blew colder than ever, but she didn't care. She ran toward Grandma, who was nearing the far edge of the beach. Farther away, by the house, someone--Mom--called both their names. Laura stopped in front of Grandma and held out the skin.

Grandma just shook her head. "I already told you. I can't take it. I'm too old--"

"I know," Laura said. "But there's something else you can do. You can teach me."

Grandma's expression turned unreadable. Suddenly uncertain, Laura added, "I mean, if you don't mind."

Without warning a smile flashed across Grandma's face, the first smile Laura had ever seen from her. With it the sadness seemed to fade, just a little. Seeing Grandma smile felt so good that Laura smiled, too. Warmth spread through her, reminding her of the warmth beneath the waves.

"No, Laura, I don't mind." Grandma's smile deepened, spreading to her dark eyes. And, in a voice that was suddenly strong, she asked, "When would you like to begin?"

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