Of Poseidon

Timberlands.
    Even over that, he hears the thud of his heart. Is it faster than usual? He’s never noticed it before, so he can’t tell. Shrugging it off as paranoia, he knocks on the door then folds his hands in front of him. I shouldn’t be doing this. This is wrong. She could still belong to Grom.
    But when Emma answers the door, everything seems right again. Her little purple dress makes the violet in her eyes jump out at him. “Sorry,” she says. “Mom threw a fit when I tried to leave the house in jeans. She’s old-school I guess. You know, ‘Thou must dress up for the movies,’ says the woman who doesn’t even own a dress.”
    “She did me a favor,” he says, then shoves his hands in his pockets. More like she did me in.
    * * *
    After they buy their tickets, Emma pulls him to the concession line. “Galen, do you mind?” she says, drawing a distracting circle on his arm with her finger, sending fire pretty much everywhere inside him. He recognizes the mischief in her eyes but not the particular game she’s playing.
    “Get whatever you want, Emma,” he tells her. With a coy smile, she orders seventy-five dollars worth of candy, soda, and popcorn. By the cashier’s expression, seventy-five dollars must be a lot. If the game is to spend all his money, she’ll be disappointed. He brought enough cash for five more armfuls of this junk. He helps Emma carry two large fountain drinks, two buckets of popcorn and four boxes of candy to the top row of the half-full theater.
    When she’s situated in her seat, she tears into a box and dumps the contents in her hand. “Look, sweet lips, I got your favorite, Lemonheads!” Sweet lips? What the— Before he can turn away, she forces three of them in his mouth.
    His instant pucker elicits an evil snicker from her. She pops a straw into one of the cups and hands it to him. “Better drink this,” she whispers. “To take the bite out of the candy.”
    He should have known better. The drink is so full of bubbles it burns clear up to his nostrils. Pride keeps him from coughing. Pride, and the Lemonhead lodged in his throat. Several more heaping gulps and he gets it down.
    After a few minutes, a sample of greasy popcorn, and the rest of the soda, the lights finally dim, giving Galen a reprieve. While Emma is engrossed in what she calls “stupid previews,” Galen excuses himself to vomit in the bathroom. Emma wins this round.
    When he returns to his seat, Emma is gone, her arsenal of food left behind. Doesn’t matter. She already started a war. Since his eyes only adjust to darkness in water, he has to rely on the tingles to find her. She’s sitting a few rows down, on the opposite end of the theater. He takes the empty seat next to her and gives her a quizzical look. The screen brightens enough for him to see her roll her eyes. “We were sitting in front of a bunch of kids,” she whispers. “They talked too much.”
    He sighs and wiggles around in his chair to get comfortable—it’s going to be a long night. Watching humans play pretend for two hours doesn’t exactly flip his fin. But he can tell Emma’s getting restless. And so is he.
    Just as he nods off, a loud noise pops from the screen. Emma latches onto his arm as if he’s dangling her over a cliff. She presses her face into his biceps and moans. “Is it over yet?” she whispers.
    “The movie?”
    “No. The thing that jumped out at her. Is it gone?”
    Galen chuckles and pries his arm from her grasp, then wraps it around her. “No. You should definitely stay there until I tell you it’s clear.”
    She whips her head up, but there’s an almost-smile in her eyes. “I might take you up on that, pretend date or no. I hate scary movies.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me that? Everyone at school was practically salivating over this movie.”
    The lady next to her leans over. “Shhh!” she whisper-yells.
    Emma nestles into the crook of his arm and buries her face in his chest, where she returns frequently as the movie goes on. Galen admits to himself that humans can make everything look pretty real. Still, he can’t understand how Emma can be afraid when she knows they’re only actors on the screen getting paid to scream like boiling lobsters. But who is he to complain? Their convincing performance keeps Emma in his arms for almost two solid hours.
    When the movie is over, he pulls the car to the curb and opens the door for her just as Rachel instructed. Emma accepts his hand as he helps