Of Poseidon

by Anna Banks

  “Do you mind if I sit?” Toraf says.

  I shake my head. He eases onto the edge of the couch and pulls the blanket back over me. I hope he takes my nod for “Thanks.”

  He crouches down and whispers, “Listen, Emma. Before Galen gets back. There’s something I want to ask you. Oh, don’t worry, it’s a yes or no question. No talking involved.”

  I hope he takes my nod for “Sure, why not? You’re nice.”

  He glances around, as if he’s about to rob me instead of ask a question. “Do you feel … uh … tingly … when you’re around Galen?”

  This time, I hope he takes my wide-eyed nod for “Ohymysweetgoodness, how did you know that?”

  “I knew it!” he hisses. “Listen, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to Galen. You’ll both be better off if he figures it out on his own. Promise?”

  I hope he takes my nod for “This is the strangest dream I’ve ever had.”

  Everything goes black.

  * * *

  I don’t have to open my eyes to know the storm is here. Rain slaps the glass in waves and a constant rumble of thunder groans all around. Or is that my stomach? As I gravitate toward consciousness, flashes of lightning penetrate my eyelids like strobe lights. Peeking through tiny pores in the cashmere, I open my eyes. The lights in the living room are off, which makes my view of the storm like watching fireworks. I’d appreciate it more if the tantalizing smell of food weren’t poking fun at my empty stomach.

  When I sit up, the cashmere slithers to the floor. I hold still and clutch the couch, waiting for the room to pirouette around me or for my vision to evaporate. I turn my head side to side, up and down, all around. Nothing. No spinning, no blackouts, no throbbing. A flash of lightning ghosts into the room, and when it leaves again, my eyes follow it back out to sea. In the window’s reflection, I glimpse a figure standing behind me. I don’t need to turn around to see who creates such a big outline—or who makes my whole body turn into a goose-bump farm.

  “How do you feel?” he says.

  “Better,” I say to his reflection.

  He hops over the back of the couch and grabs my chin, turning my head side to side, up and down, all around, watching for my reaction. “I just did that,” I tell him. “Nothing.”

  He nods and unhands me. “Rach— Uh, my mom called your mom and told her what happened. I guess your mom called your doctor, and he said it’s pretty common, but that you should rest a few more days. My mom insisted you stay the night since no one needs to be driving in this weather.”

  “And my mother agreed to that?”

  Even in the dark, I don’t miss his little grin. “My mom can be pretty persuasive,” he says. “By the end of the conversation, your mom even suggested we both stay home from school tomorrow and hang out here so you can relax—since my mom will be home supervising, of course. Your mom said you wouldn’t stay home if I went to school.”

  A flash from the storm illuminates my blush. “Because we both told her we’re dating.”

  He nods. “She said you should have stayed home today, but you threw a fit to go anyway. Honestly, I didn’t realize you were so obsessed—ouch!”

  I try to pinch him again, but he catches my wrist and pulls me over his lap like a child getting a spanking. “I was going to say, ‘with history.’” He laughs.

  “No you weren’t. Let me up.”

  “I will.” He doesn’t.

  “Galen, you let me up right now—”

  “Sorry, not ready yet.”

  I gasp. “Oh, no! The room is spinning again.” I hold still, tense up.

  Then the room does spin when he snatches me up and grabs my chin again. The look of concern etched on his face makes me feel a little guilty, but not guilty enough to keep my mouth shut. “Works every time,” I tell him, giving my best ha-ha-you’re-a-sucker smirk.

  A snicker from the entryway cuts off what I can tell is about to be a good scolding. I’ve never heard Galen curse, but his glower just looks like a four-letter word waiting to come out. We both turn to see Toraf watching us with crossed arms. He is also wearing a ha-ha-you’re-a-sucker smirk. “Dinner’s ready, children,” he says.

  Yep, I definitely like Toraf. Galen rolls his eyes and extracts me from his lap. He hops up and leaves me there, and in the reflection, I see him ram his fist into Toraf’s gut as he passes. Toraf grunts, but the smirk never leaves his face. He nods his head for me to follow them.

  As we pass through the rooms, I try to admire the rich, sophisticated atmosphere, the marble floors, the hideous paintings, but my stomach makes sounds better suited to a dog kennel at feeding time.

  “I think your stomach is making mating calls,” Toraf whispers to me as we enter the kitchen. My blush debuts the same time we enter the kitchen, and it’s enough to make Toraf laugh out loud.

  Rayna is at the counter, sitting Indian-style on a bar stool while trying to paint her toenails with the six different colors lined up in front of her. If she’s trying to make them look like something other than M&M’S, she’s got a long way to go. Mmm … M&M’S …

  “Emma, I’d like you to meet my mother,” Galen says. He puts his hand on his mother’s back and launches her forward from the stove, where she’s stirring a pot bigger than a tire. She extends an oven-mitted hand for me to shake. She giggles when I grasp it. Galen’s mother is the most Italian person I’ve ever met. Big brown eyes, black curly hair piled like laundry on her head, and shocking red lipstick that matches the four-inch heels she’s got to wear to reach the top of that pot.

  “I’m so excited to meet you, Emma,” she says. “Now I know why Galen won’t shut up about you.” Her smile seems to contradict the decades’ worth of frown lines rippling from her mouth. In fact, it’s so genuine and warm that I almost believe she is excited to meet me. But isn’t that what all moms say when introduced to their son’s girlfriend? You’re not his girlfriend, stupid. Or does she think we’re dating, too?

  “Thanks, I think,” I say generically. “I’m sure he’s told you a million times how clumsy I am.” Because how else am I supposed to take that?

  “A million and one, actually. Wish you’d do something different for a change,” Rayna drawls without looking up.

  Rayna has outstayed her welcome on my nerves. “I could teach you how to color in the lines,” I shoot back. The look she gives me could sour milk.

  Toraf puts his hands on her shoulders and kisses the top of her head. “I think you’re doing a great job, my princess.”

  She wiggles out of his grasp and shoves the polish brush back into its bottle. “If you’re so good at it, why don’t you paint your toes? They probably stay injured all the time from you running into stuff. Am I right?”

  Yeah? And? I’m about to set her straight on a few things—like how wearing a skirt and sitting Indian-style ruins the effect of pretty toes anyway—when Galen’s mom puts a gentle hand on my arm and clears her throat. “Emma, I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” she says. “I bet dinner would just about complete your recovery, don’t you?”

  I nod.

  “Well, you’re in luck, hon, because dinner is ready. Galen, can I get you to pull that pan out of the oven? And Rayna, you only set the table for four! Toraf, grab another place setting, will you? No, other cabinet. Thanks.” While issuing orders, she walks me to the table and pulls out a chair. After she rams it into the back of my legs until I fall on it, she scampers in her heels back to the stove.

  Toraf sets the dish in front of me so fast it warbles like a spun penny. “Oops, sorry,” he says. I smile up at him. He slaps his hand on it to make it stop, then tosses a fork and knife on top. As he’s lowering my drinking glass, Galen catches his forearm and snatches it from him.

  “This is glass, idiot. Possibly you’ve heard of it?” Galen says. He sets it down as if it’s a cracked egg, then winks at me. I’m glad he’s taken the contacts out—his are the prettiest of all the violet eyes here. “Sorry, Emma. He’s not used to company.�
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  “Very true,” Toraf says, sitting beside Rayna.

  When everyone is seated, Galen uses a pot holder to remove the lid from the huge speckled pan in the center of the table. And I almost upchuck. Fish. Crabs. And … is that squid hair? Before I can think of a polite version of the truth—I’d rather eat my own pinky finger than seafood—Galen plops the biggest piece of fish on my plate, then scoops a mixture of crabmeat and scallops on top of it. As the steam wafts its way to my nose, my chances of staying polite dwindle. The only thing I can think of is to make it look like I’m hiccupping instead of gagging. What did I smell earlier that almost had me salivating? It couldn’t have been this.

  I fork the fillet and twist, but it feels like twisting my own gut. Mush it, dice it, mix it all up. No matter what I do, how it looks, I can’t bring it near my mouth. A promise is a promise, dream or no dream. Even if real fish didn’t save me in Granny’s pond, the fake ones my imagination conjured up sure comforted me until help arrived. And now I’m expected to eat their cousins? No can do.

  I set the fork down and sip some water. I sense Galen is watching. Out of my peripheral, I see the others shoveling the chum into their faces. But not Galen. He sits still, head tilted, waiting for me to take a bite first.

  Of all the times to be a gentleman! What happened to the guy who sprawled me over his lap like a three-year-old just a few minutes ago? Still, I can’t do it. And they don’t even have a dog for me to feed under the table, which used to be my go-to plan at Chloe’s grandmother’s house. One time Chloe even started a food fight to get me out of it. I glance around the table, but Rayna’s the only person I’d aim this slop at. Plus, I’d risk getting the stuff on me, which is almost as bad as in me.

  Galen nudges me with his elbow. “Aren’t you hungry? You’re not feeling bad again, are you?”

  This gets the others’ attention. The commotion of eating stops. Everyone stares. Rayna, irritated that her gluttony has been interrupted. Toraf smirking like I’ve done something funny. Galen’s mom wearing the same concerned look he is. Can I lie? Should I lie? What if I’m invited over again, and they fix seafood because I lied about it just this once? Telling Galen my head hurts doesn’t get me out of future seafood buffets. And telling him I’m not hungry would be pointless since my stomach keeps gurgling like an emptying drain.

  No, I can’t lie. Not if I ever want to come back here. Which I do. I sigh and set the fork down. “I hate seafood,” I tell him. Toraf’s sudden cough startles me. The sound of him choking reminds me of a cat struggling with a hair ball.

  I train my eyes on Galen, who has stiffened to a near statue. Jeez, is this all his mom knows how to make? Or have I just shunned the Forza family’s prize-winning recipe for grouper?

  “You … you mean you don’t like this kind of fish, Emma?” Galen says diplomatically.

  I desperately want to nod, to say, “Yes, that’s it, not this kind of fish”—but that doesn’t get me out of eating the crabmeat-and-scallop mountain on my plate. I shake my head. “No. Not just this kind of fish. I hate it all. I can’t eat any of it. Can hardly stand to smell it.”

  Way to go for the jugular there, stupid! Couldn’t I just say I don’t care for it? Did I have to say I hate it? Hate even the smell of it? And why am I blushing? It’s not a crime to gag on seafood. And for God’s sakes, I won’t eat anything that still has its eyeballs.

  “You mean to tell me you don’t eat fish?” Rayna barks. “I told you, Galen! How many times did I tell you?”

  “Rayna, be quiet,” he says without looking at her.

  “We’re wasting our time here!” She slams her fork down.

  “Rayna, I said—”

  “Oh, I heard what you said. And it’s about time you listened to someone else for a change.”

  Now would be a good time to blackout. Or ten minutes ago, before they unveiled the seafood surprise. But I don’t even feel remotely dizzy. Or tired. In fact, Rayna’s ranting seems to be igniting a weird charge in the room, sparking some sort of hidden energy all around us. So when Galen stands so fast his chair falls over, I’m not surprised. I stand, too.

  “Leave, Rayna. Right now,” he grinds out.

  When Rayna stands, Toraf does, too. He keeps his expression neutral. I get the feeling he’s used to outbursts like these. “You’re just using her as a distraction from your real responsibilities, Galen,” she spits. “And now you’ve risked us all. For her.”

  “You were aware of the risks before you came, Rayna. If you feel exposed, leave,” Galen says coolly.

  Responsibilities? Exposed? I’m waiting for someone to admit they’re part of some violet-eye cult, and I didn’t make initiation. “I guess I don’t understand,” I say.

  “Oh, well, that’s a real shocker, isn’t it?” Rayna says. Turning back to Galen she says, “Seems like you’re always trying to send me away.”

  “Seems like you never listen,” Galen returns.

  “I’m your sister. My place is with you. Who is she to us?” she says, nodding toward me.

  I move away from the table to put distance between Galen’s sister and me. The energy in the room is no longer a spark, but a full-blown inferno.

  “Are you okay?” he says. “You should sit down.”

  Rayna rounds the corner of the table and clutches the back of a chair. “Why are you still here, Galen? It’s obvious she’s just a pathetic human who couldn’t even save her own friend. Course, we know how bloodthirsty they are, how little a reason they need to kill each other. Maybe she let her die on purpose.”

  I push away from the counter. “What did you just say?”

  “Rayna!” Toraf bellows. “ENOUGH!”

  “Emma, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Galen says, pulling my wrist to come back to him.

  Rayna’s smile is vicious when she says, “Oh, yes, I do, Emma. I know exactly what I’m talking about. You. Killed. Chloe.”

  I’ve never been in a fight before. Technically though, this won’t count as a fight—this will be murder. For the first time in my life, precision replaces clumsiness. Even in bare feet, I run fast enough to knock the breath out of her. Ramming my shoulder into her gut, I pick up her legs and sprint her into the closest wall. She’s more muscular than me. About two seconds ago, she thought she was angrier, too. But Rayna doesn’t know what beyond-pissed-off really means—and I’m about to school her on it.

  She clenches her teeth with the impact and grinds out, “See Galen? Her true colors are coming out!”

  I punch her so hard my fist and her face should be broken. But both still work fine, because she head-butts me right between the eyes, and I use that same not-broken hand to box her ear. Somehow we scrap our way into the living room. I’m vaguely aware of Galen and Toraf scuffling. Galen’s mom is screaming as if her leg’s been amputated.

  I’ve outstayed my welcome here. I will never be invited back. My chances with Galen ended when I tackled his sister. And when I punched her. And just now, when I kick her so hard she dry heaves.

  So when she says, “Is this what you did to Chloe when you had her under the water?” I have nothing left to lose. Which is why I drive my shoulder into her rib cage, hoist her off the floor, and bulldoze us both through the glass wall, into the storm outside.

  10

  FOR THE five seconds it takes them to stir around in their bed of shattered glass, Galen tries to swallow his heart back down into his chest. When Emma moves—then growls when Rayna pulls herself up—he’s able to breathe. Rayna shields herself when Emma kicks her legs out from under her. And it begins again.

  Toraf shuffles up beside him in the living room and crosses his arms. “Rachel left,” he says, sighing. “Says she’s never coming back.”

  Galen nods. “She always says that. It’s probably for the better tonight, though.” They both wince as Rayna plants the ball of her foot in Emma’s back, splaying her across the sea of shards.

  “I taught her that,” Toraf says.


  “It’s a good move.”

  Neither of the combatants seem to care about the rain, lightning, or the whereabouts of their hostess. The storm billows in, drenching the furniture, the TV, the strange art on the wall. No wonder Rachel didn’t want to see this. She fussed over this stuff for days.

  “So, it kind of threw me when she said she didn’t like fish,” Toraf says.

  “I noticed. Surprised me too, but everything else is there.”

  “Bad temper.”

  “The eyes.”

  “That white hair is shocking though, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. I like it. Shut up.” Galen throws a sideways glare at his friend, whose grin makes him ball his fists.

  “Hard bones and thick skin, obviously. There’s no sign of blood. And she took some pretty hard hits from Rayna,” Toraf continues neutrally.

  Galen nods, relaxes his fists.

  “Plus, you feel the pull—” Toraf is greeted with a forceful shove that sends him skidding on one foot across the slippery marble floor. Laughing, he comes back to stand beside Galen again.

  “Jackass,” Galen mutters.

  “Jackass? What’s a jackass?”

  “Not sure. Emma called me that today when she was irritated with me.”

  “You’re insulting me in human-talk now? I’m disappointed in you, minnow.” Toraf nods toward the girls. “Shouldn’t we break this up soon?”

  “I don’t think so. I think they need to work this out on their own.”

  “What about Emma’s head?”

  Galen shrugs. “Seems fine right now. Or she wouldn’t have bashed the window into pieces with her forehead.”

  “Do you think she faked the whole thing?”

  “No.” Galen shakes his head. “You should have seen her on the porch. Terrified. More than terrified. She even let me carry her into the house. That’s not like her. I mean, she wouldn’t let me carry her backpack at school. She tried to snatch it out of my hands. No, something happened. I just don’t know what.”

  “Maybe she knocked everything back into place then. Or maybe Rayna did.”

  “Could be.”