Of Poseidon

Titanic actually sank. We had already agreed to go to my house to swim.”
    Bells are going off in my head, but not the kind that should be ringing if this were true. I don’t remember talking about the beach at all, but I do remember answering the question about the Titanic in Mr. Pinner’s class. Even Galen, wielding his smile as a thought deterrent, couldn’t have talked me into getting in the water, could he? “I … I don’t believe you,” I decide as I say it. “I wouldn’t get that upset about a date. Historical or otherwise.”
    He shrugs. “It surprised me, too.”
    I raise a BS brow. “Why would you argue about the date anyway? You could Google it all over the place and get the same answer.”
    “True. You could look it up on the World Wide Web. Ever wonder whose web it is, exactly?”
    “What?”
    “What I mean is, have you ever considered that you only know the facts they want you to know?”
    I shake my head. “Nope. Not falling for it. You’re trying to distract me. What were we really arguing about?”
    “What do you think we were arguing about?”
    “Stop that. You’re answering my questions with questions.” He’s pretty stinking good at it, too. I’m kind of impressed with myself for catching it, especially with a concussion.
    He seems impressed, too. “Are you sure you don’t remember? Your mind seems to be working fine to me.”
    “You know what? Just forget it. Whatever it was, I forgive you. Give me my backpack so I can go back to the office. We’re about to get busted anyway, just standing here.”
    “If you really do forgive me, then you wouldn’t still be going to the office.” He tightens his hold on the strap of my backpack.
    “Ohmysweetgoodness, Galen, why are we even having this conversation? You don’t even know me. What do you care if I change my schedule?” I know I’m being rude. The guy offered to carry my things and walk me to class. And depending on which version of the story I believe, he either asked me out on Monday already, or he did it indirectly a few seconds ago. None of it makes any sense. Why me? Without any effort, I can think of at least ten girls who beat me out in looks, personality, and darker foundation. And Galen could pull any of them.
    “What, you don’t have a question for my question?” I ask after a few seconds.
    “It just seems silly for you to change your schedule over a disagreement about when the Titanic —”
    I throw my hands up at him. “Don’t you see how weird this is for me?”
    “I’m trying to, Emma. I really am. But I think you’ve had a rough couple of weeks, and it’s taking a toll on you. You said every time you’re around me something bad happens. But you can’t really know for sure that’s true, unless you spend more time with me. You should at least acknowledge that.”
    Something is wrong with me. Those cafeteria doors must have really worked me over. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be pushing Galen away like this. Not with him pleading, not with the way he’s leaning toward me, not with the way he smells. “See? You’re taking it personally, when there’s really nothing personal about it,” I whisper.
    “It’s personal to me, Emma. It’s true, I don’t know you well. But there are some things I do know about you. And I’d like to know more.”
    A glass full of ice water wouldn’t cool my cheeks. “The only thing you know about me is that I’m life threatening in flip-flops.”
    That I won’t meet his eyes obviously bothers him, because he lifts my chin with the crook of his finger. “That’s not all I know,” he says. “I know your biggest secret.”
    This time, unlike at the beach, I don’t swat his hand away. The electric current in my feet prove that we’re really standing so close to each other that our toes touch. “I don’t have any secrets,” I say, mesmerized.
    He nods. “I finally figured that out. That you don’t actually know about your secret.”
    “You’re not making any sense.” Or I just can’t concentrate because I accidentally looked at his lips. Maybe he did talk me into swimming.…
    The door to the front office swings open, and Galen grabs my arm and ushers me around the corner. He continues to drag me down the hall, toward world history.
    “That’s it?” I say, exasperated. “You’re just going to leave it at that?”
    He stops us in front of the door. “That depends on you,” he says. “Come with me to the beach after school, and I’ll tell