Of Poseidon 02: Of Triton

puker.
    Syrena were not meant to fly.
    When we land, Toraf is asleep. He doesn’t even wake up despite the wobbly landing and the giggling girls and the announcement of “Aloha” by the captain. When everyone has disembarked I make my way back to Toraf and shake him until he wakes up. His breath smells like slightly microwaved death.
    “We’re in Hawaii,” I tell him. “Time to swim.”
    We take a cab to a hotel on the beach. We check in under the reservations Rachel made for us and dump our luggage in the room. I decide that if I ever get to come back here under different, nonstressful circumstances, I will stay at this hotel and drink fruity drinks and lay in the sand until my skin looks like it had a makeout session with the sun. But today, I’m looking for an inconspicuous way into the water.
    We head out of the lobby and get waylaid by hula dancers in grass skirts handing out necklaces of flowers. Apparently Toraf doesn’t like necklaces of flowers; as one of the women raises it above his head, he slaps her hand away. I show him, as I accept the gift around my neck, that the woman with the coconut boobs was just trying to be his friend. Just like all the women he’s come across so far.
    “Humans are too weird,” he whispers, unconvinced. I wonder what Toraf would think of Disney World.
    Our hotel is right on the water, so we pass through the lobby to the back. The beach is lined with lounge chairs and umbrellas and people scantily clad and people who shouldn’t be scantily clad. The smell of coconut and sunscreen linger on the breeze that wafts through the abundant palm trees. It’s a paradise I can’t enjoy.
    We walk the beach looking for private charter but they’ve all been rented well in advance. I’m flirting with the idea of renting a jet ski to take us farther out faster than Toraf could, but I’m bothered by the idea that when we ditch in the Pacific, it would be tantamount to stealing.
    And then I see it. Azure Helicopter Tours.
    I drag Toraf to the landing pad. “What is that?” he asks suspiciously.
    “Um. It’s a helicopter.”
    “What does it do? Triton’s trident, it doesn’t fly does it? Emma? Emma wait!”
    He catches up to me and burps right in my ear. “Stop being a jerkface,” I tell him.
    “Whatever that is. You don’t care about me at all, do you?”
    “ You came for me, remember? This is me helping you. Now be quiet while I buy tickets.” It’s a private ride, no other passengers to worry about. Plus, we’re not stealing anything. The helicopter can return to land with its pilot as soon as we’re done with our part of the mission.
    “Why do we need to fly? The water is right there .” He points to it longingly. I almost feel bad for him. Almost. But I don’t have time for pity.
    “Because I think these helicopters can still cover more distance faster than you can haul me. I’m trying to make up for all the time we spent at security in LAX.”
    “Humans are so weird, ” he mutters again as I walk away. “You do everything backward.”
    Since this is a sightseeing flight, the pilot, Dan, a thick Hawaiian man with an even thicker accent, takes his time pointing out all the usual tourist stuff, like the fishing industry, the history of the coast, and other things I have no interest in at the moment. The view of the blue water and visible reefs, the chain of islands, and the rich culture would be breathtaking if I weren’t preoccupied with crashing a Syrena get-together. I can imagine spending time with Galen here. Exploring the reefs like no human could, playing with the tropical fish, and making Galen wear a lei. But I need to stay focused if I ever want a chance to do it.
    When we’ve flown around for about twenty minutes, I recognize that Dan is taking us back to the landing pad.
    “Where are we going?” I ask through the noise-canceling headset. It’s difficult to believe I can hardly hear the whop-whop-whop of the chopper blades.
    Dan’s response comes through as clear as the water below us. “Back. The tour is thirty minutes. Would you like to upgrade to the forty-five-minute tour?”
    “Not exactly.” I’ve only ever seen this done in the movies and I pray that Rachel’s right and money really does buy anything. I pull a hundred dollar bill out of my pocket and show it to him. “Instead of going around the islands, can you take us out that way? I want to see the ocean.”
    Dan frowns, eyeing the bill. “I’m sorry, but we’re not