Of Poseidon

for two reasons. First, it makes my head throb and my vision spotty. Second, it makes someone yell, “Gaaaaaa-len!”
    Groaning, I cover my ears and retreat into a cave of cashmere.
    “Triton’s trident, Rayna, you’re going to wake her up!”
    Rayna? Fan-flipping-tastic. Galen’s rude sister. But that voice wasn’t Galen’s. Does he have a brother, too?
    “She’s already awake, squid breath. Why else would I call for him?”
    “Well he’s not here, princess.”
    I hear shuffling and am almost curious enough to peek out from the blanket. Instead, the blanket is ripped from my face. Rayna stares down at me and points. “See? I told you she’s awake.”
    The boy next to her shakes his head and leans toward me. “Emma?” I’m shocked to see yet another pair of violet eyes. And, of course, this boy is good-looking too—not as gorgeous as Galen, but really, who is?—with the same thick black hair and olive skin as Rayna and her brother.
    In response to his question, I nod.
    “Emma, I’m Toraf. I guess you already know Rayna?”
    Toraf? His parents really named him Toraf ? But I don’t ask, just nod.
    “Listen, you don’t have to get up or anything. Galen just … uh … went for a swim. He’ll be back real soon.”
    I look between them and past the beach. I shake my head.
    “What? What’s wrong, Emma?” he asks. I like Toraf. He seems genuinely concerned about me, without ever having met me. Rayna looks as if she might want to stomp on my head and finish the job I started with the cafeteria door.
    “Storm,” I say. The one syllable word polka-dots my vision.
    Toraf smiles. “He’ll be back before the storm. Can I get you anything? Something to eat? Something to drink?”
    “A taxi?” Rayna pitches in.
    “Go to the kitchen, Rayna,” he says. “Unless you’re ready to go find an island?”
    I’m not sure how far away the kitchen is, but it seems like she stomps for a good five minutes. Finding an island doesn’t really seem like a fitting punishment for being rude, but since I do have a head injury, I give them the benefit of the doubt. Plus, there’s always the possibility that I imagined the whole thing.
    “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—