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“Me neither.” It’s hard to say more than that because I’m taken aback by him talking to me like an equal rather than barking orders and acting like I’m a nuisance.

He holds up his spear. “Ready?”

The trident warms in my grasp, and I raise it. “You know it.”

I wish the trident would talk to me. Some timing to be silent.

It doesn’t respond.

Dang it. I wish this hunk of metal would say something.

Still nothing. This is not my day.

Mr. Brant swings the spear at me, and I block it. He nods. “Nice one.” He whips it around on the other side. I barely block it. Actually, that wasn’t me. The trident swung on its own.

It’s active, just not speaking to me.

I’m not an it, and you know it.

I dart out of Mr. Brant’s way and aim the trident for his arm. He moves and blocks my attack with such force it jolts me. I straighten my back and try again. He blocks me.

“Harder without magic, isn’t it?” He aims the spear at my neck.

I force the trident against his spear and shove it back. “I didn’t ask for any of this—not the magic, the hair, my dad. None of it!”

He spins around and throws his weapon at me. I hold out the trident and stop it just in time. He swims over, grabs it, and chucks it at me, barely giving me time to move.

“Nice reflexes.” He nods in approval before racing over for the spear.

We aim and avoid, throw and dart, moving around like it’s a dance rather than a sparring practice. I breathe heavily—he’s giving me more of a workout than any of the students ever do. And he looks like he’s just getting started.

I throw the trident at him before I realize he’s stopped. He moves to the side slightly. “You’re going to need to work on those reflexes.”

“You’re getting tired.” He studies me. “I’m going to recommend you practice three times daily outside of regular class time.”

My mouth drops open. “For real?”

“Of course. You’re going up against Zayn Landon, or did you forget?”

“No.”

“We can’t afford this loss. And on top of the three practices, I want you to start lifting weights.”

“You do realize I have two other classes?”

Mr. Brant moves some hair away from his face. “Not to mention the mysterious trials your father wants you to go through. All the more reason to be in the best shape possible. Fill out the form for three sessions daily then familiarize yourself with the weight room.” He turns around and puts his spear in the cabinet.

I stare at him dumbfounded. The merman has lost his mind. Three practices a day plus weight training?

He’s right, you know.

“Now you choose to speak.” I mutter quiet enough to make sure my teacher won’t hear.

Sirena would’ve done better in her trials if she’d have prepared better.

“Are you going to give me any pointers or let me flail around until I figure it out on my own?”

We’ll see.