Of Poseidon

her in.
    “What should we call our new little game?” he says on the way home.
    “Game?”
    “You know, ‘Have some Lemonheads, sweet lips!’”
    “Oh, right.” She laughs. “How about … Upchuck?”
    “Sounds appropriate. You realize it’s your turn, right? I was thinking of making you eat a live crab.”
    She leans over to him. He almost swerves off the road when her lips brush his ear. “Where will you get a live crab? All I have to do is poke my head in the water and tell them to scatter.”
    He grins. She’s been getting more comfortable with her Gift. Yesterday, she sent some dolphins chasing after him. The day before, she directed every living thing in the immediate area to retreat when a fishing boat passed overhead.
    They pull into her driveway and he shuts off the car. It seems like every force in the universe is pushing him toward her—just like a magnet. Or maybe every force in the universe is pulling her to him. Just like Toraf said. Either way, he’s getting tired of fighting it. Something’s got to give. And it needs to happen soon.
    He opens his door, but she stops him, putting her hand on his. “You don’t have to walk me to the door,” she says. “Mom’s not home now, so no need for a show, right? Thanks for the movie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    And that’s it. She gets out, walks to the front door, lets herself in. After a few seconds, her front porch lights shut off. Galen backs out of the driveway. When he turns onto the main road, his feeling of emptiness has nothing to do with losing the game of Upchuck.
    * * *
    Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Emma glance at the pink gift bag on the island in the kitchen. He knows it’s cruel to play havoc with her curiosity, but he can’t help himself. She’s still on problem two of her calculus homework. She’s been on problem two for close to an hour.
    She scowls and slams her pencil down on the counter. “I despise doing homework on Saturdays,” she says. “This is all your fault. You need to stop skipping school. Then I wouldn’t feel obligated to be productive while you’re doing your catch-up work.” She snatches his pencil from his hand and launches it across the kitchen, narrowly missing Rachel by the fridge. Rachel shoots them a quizzical look but keeps cleaning.
    Galen grins. “We could just chill if you want.”
    Emma raises a brow at Rachel. Rachel shrugs her innocence. “Nuh-uh. Don’t look at me. I didn’t teach him that.”
    “Picked it up all on my own,” he says, retrieving his pencil from the floor.
    “Figures,” Emma sneers.
    “Aww, don’t hate on me, boo.”
    “Okay, I’m drawing the line at ‘boo.’ And don’t call me ‘shorty’ either,” Emma says.
    He laughs. “That was next.”
    “No doubt. So, did anyone explain how you chill?”
    Galen shrugs. “As far as I can tell, chillin’ is the equivalent of being in a coma, only awake.”
    “That’s about right.”
    “Yeah. Doesn’t sound that appealing. Are all humans lazy?”
    “Don’t push it, Highness.” But she’s smirking.
    “If I’m Highness, then you’re ‘boo.’ Period.”
    Emma growls, but it doesn’t sound as fierce as she intends. In fact, it’s adorable. “Jeez! I won’t call you Majesty either. And you Will. Not. Ever. Call me ‘boo’ again.”
    His grin feels like it reaches all the way to his ears as he nods. “Did … did I just win an argument?”
    She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. We tied.”
    He laughs. “If you say I won, I’ll let you open your present.”
    She glances at the gift bag and bites her lip—also adorable. She looks back at him. “Maybe I don’t care about the present.”
    “Oh, you definitely care,” he says, confident.
    “No, I definitely do NOT,” she says, crossing her arms.
    He runs a hand through his hair. If she makes it any more difficult, he’ll have to tell her where they’re going. He gives his best nonchalant shrug. “That changes everything. I just figured since you like history … Anyway, just forget it. I won’t bother you about it anymore.” He stands and walks over to the bag, fingering the polka-dot tissue paper Rachel engorged it with.
    “Even if I say you win, it’s still a lie, you know.” Emma huffs.
    Galen won’t take the bait. Not today. “Fine. It’s a lie. I just want to hear you say it.”
    With an expression mixing surprise and suspicion in equal parts, she says it. And it sounds so sweet coming from those lips. “You