Of Poseidon

you.”
    He reaches for the knob, but I grab his hand. “Tell me what? I already told you that I don’t have any secrets. And I don’t swim.”
    He grins and opens the door. “There’s plenty to do at the beach besides swim.” Then he pulls me by the hand so close I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he whispers in my ear, “I’ll tell you where your eye color comes from.” As I gasp, he puts a gentle hand on the small of my back and propels me into the classroom. Then he ditches me.

8
    THE FINAL bell rings and students leak from every crevice of the redbrick building. Bus brakes hiss in the distance and the lower classmen corral into the bus ramp, bottlenecking to board. The juniors and seniors herd to the parking lot in a steady stream, which seems to coagulate around Galen and his not-so-modest car. He leans against the trunk, nodding to the males admiring the vehicle and avoiding eye contact with the females admiring something else.
    The wave of students turns into a traffic jam. The obligatory honking becomes less frequent as cars packed with human adolescents migrate to the highway. Behind him, Galen hears someone on a skateboard make the acquaintance of asphalt and the accompanying groan of pain.
    He glances at the car parked beside his. Where is she?
    When she appears at the double doors, the air between them seems to crackle with energy. She locks eyes with him. Disappointed when she doesn’t smile, he pushes away from the car, reaching her before she can take ten steps. “Let me carry your pack. You look tired. Are you okay?”
    Emma doesn’t fight about the backpack this time. Instead, she hands it over and pulls all her white hair to the side. “Just have a headache. And wow. You skipped an entire day of school after you fought with me about changing my schedule.”
    He grins. “I didn’t think about it like that. I just knew you wouldn’t concentrate on class if I stayed. You’d be bothering me all day about your secret, and you’ve missed enough school already.”
    “Thanks, Dad,” she says, rolling her eyes. When they reach their cars, he throws her bag into the backseat of his convertible.
    “What are you doing?” she says.
    “I thought we made plans for the beach.”
    She crosses her arms. “You made plans. Then you left.”
    He crosses his arms, too. “You agreed to it Monday, before you hit your head.”
    “Yep, you keep saying that.”
    Without thinking, he takes her hand into his. Emma’s eyes widen—she’s as surprised as he is. What am I doing? “Fine, so you don’t remember me asking you. But I’m asking now. Will you please come to the beach with me?”
    She tugs her hand free, glancing at a few kids passing by who shield their whispers behind a yellow folder. “What does the beach have to do with my eyes? And why are you wearing contacts on yours?”
    “Rach— Uh, my mom says they’ll help me blend in better. She says the color would just draw attention to me.”
    Emma snorts. “Oh, she’s definitely right. Blue eyes make you look so much more average. In fact, I almost didn’t notice you standing there.”
    “That hurts my feelings, Emma.” He grins.
    She giggles.
    He says, “I’d consider forgiving you—if you come with me to the beach.”
    She sighs. “I can’t go with you, Galen.”
    He runs a hand through his hair. “Honestly, Emma, I don’t know how much more rejection I can take,” he blurts out. In fact, he doesn’t remember ever being rejected, except by Emma. Of course, that could be due to the fact that he’s a Royal. Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t spend a lot of time with his kind anyway, let alone the females. Actually, he doesn’t spend a lot of time with anyone except Rachel. And Rachel would give him her beating heart if he asked for it.
    “I’m sorry. It’s not about you this time. Well, actually, it kind of is. My mom … well, she thinks we’re dating.” Her cheeks—and those lips—deepen to red.
    “Dating?” What is dating, again? He tries to remember what Rachel told him.… She said it’s easy to remember because it’s almost the same as … what is the rhyme for it? And then he remembers. “It’s easy to remember, because dating rhymes with mating, and they’re almost the same,” she’d said. He blinks at Emma. “Your mom thinks we’re ma— Uh, dating?”
    She nods, biting her lip.
    For reasons he can’t explain, this pleases him. He leans against the passenger door of her car. “Oh.