Of Poseidon

8/2/2019 Of Poseidon

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A F F B

A I M

. C A B.

A .

P U S A

R. R. D S C, H, V.

F , F F,

F A, N Y, N.Y. .

L C C--P D A

ISBN: ----4

F F F T

F E:

6 4

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I SMACK into him as if shoved from behind. He doesnt budge,

not an inch. Just holds my shoulders and waits. Maybe heswaiting for me to nd my balance. Maybe hes waiting for me to

gather my pride. I hope hes got all day.

I hear people passing on the boardwalk and imagine them

staring. Best-case scenario, they think I know this guy, that were

hugging. Worst-case scenario, they saw me totter like an intoxi-

cated walrus into this complete stranger because I was lookingdown for a place to park our beach stuff. Either way, heknows

what happened. Heknows why my cheek is plastered to his bare

chest. And there is denite humiliation waiting when I get

around to looking up at him.

Options skim through my head like a ip book.

Option One: Run away as fast as my dollar-store ip-ops

can take me. Thing is, tripping over them is partly responsible


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for my current dilemma. In fact, one of them is missing, prob-

ably caught in a crack of the boardwalk. Im betting Cinderella

didnt feel this foolish, but then again, Cinderella wasnt as clumsy

as an intoxicated walrus.

Option Two: Pretend Ive fainted. Go limp and everything.

Drool, even. But I know this wont work because my eyes utter

too much to fake it, and besides, people dont blush while uncon-

scious.

Option Three: Pray for a lightning bolt. A deadly one thatyou feel in advance because the air gets all atingle and your skin

crawlsor so the science books say. It might kill us both, but

really, heshould have been paying more attention to mewhen he

saw that I wasnt paying attention at all.

For a shaved second, I think my prayers are answered because

I do get tingly all over; goose bumps sprout everywhere, and mypulse feels like electricity. Then I realize, its coming from my

shoulders. From his hands.

Option Last: For the love of God, peel my cheek off his chest

and apologize for the casual assault. Then hobble away on my

one ip-op before I faint. With my luck, the lightning would

only maim me, and he would feel obligated to carry me some-where anyway. Also, do it now.

I ease away from him and peer up. The re on my cheeks has

nothing to do with the fact that its sweaty-eight degrees in the

Florida sun and everything to do with the fact that I just tripped

into the most attractive guy on the planet. Fan-ipping-tastic.

Areare you alright? he says, incredulous. I think I can

see the shape of my cheek indented on his chest.


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I nod. Im ne. Im used to it. Sorry. I shrug off his hands

when he doesnt let go. The tingling stays behind, as if he left

some of himself on me.

Jeez, Emma, are you okay? Chloe calls from behind. The

calm fwopping of my best friends sandals suggests shes not as

concerned as she sounds. Track star that she is, she would

already be at my side if she thought I was hurt. I groan and face

her, not surprised that shes grinning wide as the equator. She

holds out my ip-op, which I try not to snatch from her hand.Im ne. Everybodys ne, I say. I turn back to the guy, who

seems to get more gorgeous by the second. Youre ne, right?

No broken bones or anything?

He blinks, gives a slight nod.

Chloe sets her surfboard against the rail of the boardwalk

and extends her hand to him. He accepts it without taking hiseyes off me. Im Chloe and this is Emma, she says. We usually

bring her helmet with us, but we left it back in the hotel room

this time.

I gasp. I also try to decide what kind of owers Ill bring to

her funeral after I strangle the life from her body. I should have

stayed in Jersey, like Mom said. Shouldnt have come here withChloe and her parents. What business do I have in Florida? We

live on the Jersey Shore. If youve seen one beach, youve seen them

all, right?

But noooooooo. I had to come and spend the last of my

summer with Chloe, because this would be our last summer

together before college, blah-blah-blah. And now shes taking

revenge on me for not letting her use my ID to get a tattoo last


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night. But what did she expect? Im white and shes black. Im

not even tan-white. Im Canadian-tourist white. If the guy could

mistake her for me, then he shouldnt be giving anyone a tattoo,

right? I was justprotectingher. Only, she doesnt realize that. I can

tell by that look in her eyesthe same look she wore when she

replaced my hand sanitizer with personal lubricantthat shes

about to take whats left of my pride and kick it like a donkey.

Uh, we didnt get your name. Did you get his name, Emma?

she asks, as if on cue.I tried, Chloe. But he wouldnt tell me, so I tackled him, I

say, rolling my eyes.

The guy smirks. This almost-smile hints at how breathtak-

ing a real one would be. The tingling ares up again, and I rub

my arms.

Hey, Galen, are you ready to We all turn to a petiteblack-haired girl as she touches his shoulder. She stops mid-

sentence when she sees me. Even if these two didnt share the

same short dark hair, the same violet eyes, and the same awless

olive skin, Id know they were related because of their most dom-

inant featuretheir habit of staring.

Im Chloe. This is my friend Emma, who apparently justhead-butted your boyfriend Galen. We were in the middle of

apologizing.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and count to ten-Mississippi,

but fty-Mississippi seems more appropriate. Fifty allows more

time to fantasize about ripping one of Chloes new weaves out.

Emma, whats wrong? Your nose isnt bleeding, is it? she

chirps, enjoying herself.


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Tingles gather at my chin as Galen lifts it with the crook of

his nger. Is your nose bleeding? Let me see, he says. He tilts

my head side to side, leans closer to get a good look.

And I meet my threshold for embarrassment. Tripping is bad

enough. Tripping into someoneis much worse. But if that some-

one has a body that could make sculpted statues jealousand

thinks youve broken your nose on one of his pecswell, thats

when tripping runs a distant second to humane euthanasia.

He is clearly surprised when I swat his hand and step away.His girlfriend/relative seems taken aback that I mimic his

stancecrossed arms and deep frown. I doubt she has ever met

her threshold for embarrassment.

I said I was ne. No blood, no foul.

This is my sister Rayna, he says, as if the conversation

steered naturally in that direction. She smiles at me as if forcedat knifepoint, the kind of smile that comes purely from manners,

like the smile you give your grandmother when she gives you

the rotten-cabbage-colored sweater shes been knitting. I think

of that sweater now as I return her smile.

Galen eyes the surfboard abandoned against the wood rail-

ing. The waves here arent really good for surng.Galens gift is not small talk. Just like his sister, theres a

forced feel to his manners. But unlike his sister, theres no under-

lying hostility, just an awkwardness, like hes out of practice.

Since he appears to be making this effort on my behalf, I co-

operate. I make a show of looking at the emerald crests of the

Gulf of Mexico, at the waves sloshing lazily against the shore. A

man waist-deep in the water holds a toddler on his hip and jumps


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with the swells as they peak. Compared to the waves back home,

the tide here reminds me of kiddie rides at the fair.

We know. Were just taking it out to oat, Chloe says,

unconcerned that Galen was talking to me. Were from Jersey, so

we know what a real wave looks like. When she steps closer,

Rayna steps back. Hey, thats weird, Chloe says. You both

have the same color eyes as Emma. Ive never seen that before. I

always thought it was because shes freakishly pasty. Ow! Thats

gonna leave a mark, Emma, she says, rubbing her freshly pinchedbiceps.

Good, I hope it does, I snap. I want to ask them about

their eyesthe color seems prettier set against the olive tone

of Galens skinbut Chloe has bludgeoned my chances of re-

covering from embarrassment. Ill have to be satised that my

dadand Googlewere wrong all this time; my eye color justcant be that rare. Sure, my dad practiced medicine until the day

he died two years ago. And sure, Google never let me down be-

fore. But who am I to argue with living, breathing proof that

this eye color actually does exist? Nobody, thats who. Which is

convenient, since I dont want to talk anymore. Dont want to

force Galen into any more awkward conversations. Dont wantto give Chloe any more opportunities to deepen the heat of my

burning cheeks. I just want this moment of my life to be over.

I push past Chloe and snatch up the surfboard. To her good

credit, she presses herself against the rail as I pass her again. I

stop in front of Galen and his sister. It was nice to meet you

both. Sorry I ran into you. Lets go, Chloe.

Galen looks like he wants to say something, but I turn away.


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Hes been a good sport, but Im not interested in discussing

swimmer safetyor being introduced to any more of his hos-

tile relatives. Nothing he can say will change the fact that DNA

from my cheek is smeared on his chest.

Trying not to actually march, I thrust past them and make

my way down the stairs leading to the pristine white sand. I hear

Chloe closing the distance behind me, giggling. And I decide on

sunowers for her funeral.

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Of Poseidon