Of Poseidon 02: Of Triton

unforgiving.
    Except … There is that shiny new jet ski sitting there. I could close the distance between us, put my foot in the water, and find her. She would sense me, come back to see why I was in the water. Wouldn’t she? Of course she would. Then I could talk her into staying here, not leaving me alone to drive myself crazy. I could manipulate her into feeling sorry for me .
    Unless she’s the complete sociopath I think she is.
    Still, it’s my only option. I grab the handle to the jet ski and pull it toward the waves. Luckily high tide is coming in and I don’t have to drag the thing far. It makes a trail from the beach to the water, evidence that one of us did what we weren’t supposed to. Or, maybe Rachel will think that we’re riding double. Yeahfreakingright. Rachel’s specialty is figuring stuff out.
    But the more time I spend thinking about all this, the more time Rayna has to put leagues of sea between us. Good thing I don’t care about grace as I awkwardly climb aboard and stub my toe. I bite back a yelp, and turn the key in the ignition. The thing roars to life beneath me and all at once I’m one part scared and one part exhilarated.
    So, I go.
    It’s been a few years since I’ve ridden one of these, and even then I never actually drove one. I piggybacked with Chloe and only after she swore on her little brother’s life that she wouldn’t do anything reckless. I marvel at how far I’ve come since then. From scared to get in the water to chitchatting with fish on the ocean floor.
    Luckily, my first scream of terror doesn’t come until I’m way out of earshot of Rachel, when I think I’ve grown bored with a lower speed and decide to gun it. The sudden jolt forward almost pitches me off the back end. While my heart rate recovers—along with my pride—I squint into the distance, into the reflection of the setting sun floating like an oil slick on top of the water.
    I stare a long time, as if somehow Rayna will give me a sign of where she is if I just keep looking long enough. I let my foot dangle in the water, even as I admit that if Rayna is swimming with any kind of purpose, she’s long gone. Behind me the shore is just a flat line with no sign of Galen’s house. Not even a speck.
    I could turn around.
    I should turn around.
    I twist the handles to turn around.
    And out comes my second scream of terror.
    The violent thrust of water in my face isn’t half as surprising as how loud it is leaving the huge blowhole that has appeared beside me. I cough and sputter and scream again, but this time in frustration. Goliath—my blue whale friend who first convinced me of my Gift of Poseidon—sends another gush of water toward me. “Oh, knock it off!” I tell him.
    He makes a high-pitched clicking sound then dives under the surface. Goliath doesn’t speak English (or Spanish or French) but his whole demeanor begs, “Play with Me.” “I can’t play. I have to find Rayna. Have you seen her?” Yes, I really just did ask a whale that. And, no, he doesn’t answer.
    Instead, half his body launches from the water and lands in a sideways belly flop. The resulting tsunami topples the jet ski.
    I am in the water. Fan-flipping-tastic.
    Goliath pauses and swims, pauses and swims, waiting for me to regain control over my initial shock and, if he’s lucky, my temper. “I told you I couldn’t play!”
    As I chastise a ginormous whale, I catch the sudden glint of something below us. And I realize too late that it’s my car keys shimmering in the last of the dying sunlight as they make their way to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. I must have lost them out of my jeans pocket when I flipped over. The keys sink down, down, freaking down. And suddenly I know what it feels like to be a fish chasing a shiny lure.
    I dive after them, and the deeper I go, the better my eyes adjust to the dark. Goliath thinks I’m playing with him after all, but he seems confused about the rules, so he keeps a distance and swims circles around me while I spiral down after the taunting set of keys. His growing wake disturbs the steady fall of them, and they swirl and cut through the water erratically.
    I snag them right before they touch bottom, so I shouldn’t be as proud as I am when I say, “Ah ha!” It’s not like I saved them from any real danger, like a lava pit or something, but there’s still a tiny, pathetic sense of accomplishment that washes over me. I grin up at Goliath, triumphant.
    That’s when the