Of Poseidon

that?” Dr. Milligan says, his eyes still glazed with the past.
    “Basically, we’re all in agreement that I’m a freak. Is that right?”
    “You’re not a freak,” Galen says.
    “I’m not Syrena and I’m not human. The Syrena think I’m an abomination. Humans will treat me like a science experiment if they find out. Which still leaves that big question wide open, Dr. Milligan. How has no one found out?”
    Dr. Milligan sighs. He pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and cleans imaginary fog from his glasses’ lens. His movements are so deliberate, so meticulous, that even I recognize he’s trying to calm me. “Emma, my dear, you haven’t known me for a long time, as Galen has. Yet I consider you my friend and hope you consider me yours. So if we’re friends, then I can be honest with you, right?”
    I nod, chewing my lip as if it’s filled with cheesecake.
    Dr. Milligan smiles in a generic, obligatory way. “Good. Now then, I believe that your father knew of your condition all along.”
    The tears well up instantly, and I don’t know why. Galen looks away.
    “That’s not possible,” I whisper. “It’s just not. My mom could tell if he was hiding something. She’s the bloodhound of lies.”
    “I’m sure she knew about it, too,” Dr. Milligan sighs. “Like you said, you’re a medical anomaly, ” he says, even as I mouth the word “freak” at him. “I don’t have any children myself, but if I did, I wouldn’t want to publicize it either. Scientists from all over the world would be stalking your family, begging for the chance to run a few tests. Your life would be chaos. Your father knew that.”
    I take a deep breath. “I guess that could be true. But the thing is, if they’re not my parents, then where did I come from?”
    “Could you ask your mother directly?” Dr. Milligan says.
    “She’d commit me to a nuthouse. No, wait. She’d laugh in my face, then commit me to a nuthouse.” Memories of the day I almost drowned make the words taste rancid in my mouth. The way I crawled into her lap, so trusting and confident, to tell her about the catfish. The way she laughed so hard she could hardly catch her breath. It was the first time I realized I couldn’t trust my mother with myself. Not my whole self, anyway.
    Dr. Milligan nods. “But you don’t have to mention anything about being Syrena do you? She may not even know that part. She may just know you’re different.”
    “I guess,” I say doubtfully. If she knew about me, about my Gift, she wouldn’t have laughed at me all those years ago. She would have comforted me and told me what I was then and there. Wouldn’t she? Suddenly, I’m too overwhelmed to think. My world keeps shattering and putting itself back together, but every time it does I’m presented with a different mosaic of reality. Maybe I do belong in a nuthouse.
    I hop from the exam table, the linoleum slapping my bare feet. “I’m ready to go home,” I say to neither of them. I almost choke on the word “home.” It sounds foreign on my tongue, like I’ve just made it up. As if it doesn’t exist. “You’re done with your tests, right Dr. Milligan?”
    The doctor stands, extending his hand to me. “Yes, I won’t poke and prod you anymore, my dear.” There is nothing generic about his smile now. “It was certainly a pleasure to meet you, young lady.”
    But I’m already down the hall, my clothes tucked tight under my arm.

20
    GALEN SLIDES into his desk, unsettled by the way the sturdy blond boy talking to Emma casually rests his arm on the back of her seat.
    “Good morning,” Galen says, leaning over to wrap his arms around her, nearly pulling her from the chair. He even rests his cheek against hers for good measure. “Good morning … er, Mark, isn’t it?” he says, careful to keep his voice pleasant. Still, he glances meaningfully at the masculine arm still lining the back of Emma’s seat, almost touching her.
    To his credit—and safety—Mark eases the offending limb back to his own desk, offering Emma a lazy smile full of strikingly white teeth. “You and Forza, huh? Did you clear that with his groupies?”
    She laughs and gently pries Galen’s arms off her. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the eruption of pink spreading like spilled paint over her face. She’s not used to dating him yet. Until about ten minutes ago, he wasn’t used to it either. Now though, with the way Mark eyes her like a tasty shellfish, playing the