by Anna Banks
She grabs my arm. “What do you mean laughed at? Why would I laugh?”
Aside from the fact that she’s already laughed twice in this conversation? I raise a skeptical brow but sit back down. After a deep breath, I blurt, “Because that’s what you do every time I try to talk to you.”
She blinks. “Since when do you ever try to talk to me?” she says quietly.
Huh. She has a good point. When she puts it like that, it doesn’t really sound fair of me. I open and shut my mouth a couple times. What, am I supposed to say, “Since I was four”? After all, she’s the reason I don’t talk to her, right? “When those fish saved me—”
She throws her hands up, startling me. “For God’s sakes, I thought you wanted to have a real conversation, Emma. You’re bringing that up? You were four years old. How could you even remember that?”
“I don’t know, I just do. I remember those fish saving me. I remember you laughing at me when I tried to tell you. But Dad didn’t. Dad believed me.”
She sighs. “Look, I know you miss Dad. But what in the world does that have to do with you being adopted?”
I stand up, almost knocking over the chair. “Just forget it, okay? You’re my real mom. Dad’s my real dad. And Ra—Samantha—swerved to hit a deer. There. Now life can go on. I’m going to bed.” I stomp up the stairs and start peeling off my clothes. Now is one of those times when a hot bath would reincarnate me into a pleasant Emma. But I’m doomed to lukewarm everything for the rest of my freakish life.
Deep down, I know I’m punking out. I should keep talking to her, keep questioning her. But somehow I ended up in the hot seat instead of her. Somehow it’s suddenly my fault that we don’t have an open relationship.
I jerk the shower curtain open and step into the steaming water. It feels like I’m bathing in spit. Dumping shampoo into my hand, I work up a good lather. I stiffen when I hear Mom’s voice on the other side of the curtain.
“You’re right. Dad did believe you,” she says without emotion. “But that man would believe anything you said. Emma, you were so distraught about it and so emotional. Of course you thought it was real. I’m sure it was very real to you. I’m sorry I laughed. I don’t know if I ever said that before. But I am. I didn’t realize it hurt you.”
My lip quivers. I can’t say anything. It would be a simple thing to tell her it’s okay. To accept her apology. But I’ve held on to this bitterness for so long that I can’t just let it go. Not yet. So I don’t. She doesn’t say anything else. I never hear her leave.
When I step out of the shower, my birth certificate is on the bathroom sink, along with a few baby pictures I’ve never seen. A picture of Dad posing for the camera as he cuts an umbilical cord. A picture of Mom, hours of labor etched into her face, but still smiling while she cradles a pale baby with almost-see-through skin and a cap of white hair crusted in blood. Me.
Could it all have been staged? The birth certificate forged? And if so, then WHY? It doesn’t make any sense. But that could have a lot to do with how tired I am. Maybe in the morning I can look at these pictures with fresh eyes. I’ll even take the birth certificate to Rachel to see if she can tell if it’s real.
Satisfied with my plan, I wrap a towel around my head genie-style, then wrap another one around my body. I open the bathroom door. And almost jump out of my skin. Galen is sitting on my bed. I’ve really got to start locking my balcony doors.
He looks mad and happy at the same time. It’s only been twenty-four hours since I’ve seen him, but even sleep deprived and grouchy, I’m excited that he’s back.
“I think your dad was a Half-Breed,” he says. He frowns. “And I never told Rayna I would teach her how to drive.”
24
FRIDAY NIGHT is finally here.
Galen makes the turn down Emma’s road, mentally reviewing the must-do list Rachel gave him for their date tonight. He’s determined to keep Emma engaged all evening; she needs a distraction even more than he does. She’s been hounding him with questions about her father. Galen told her everything the Archives said. She showed him the birth certificate—which Rachel confirmed was either authentic or the best fake she’d ever seen—and her baby pictures. It all just confirms what he’d already concluded—Emma’s father was a descendant of the half-breeds. He had the blond hair and the light skin. Plus, he wore contacts. Emma swears they weren’t color-enhanced, but Galen’s sure they were. They had to be.
There are other coincidences, too. Her father loved the ocean. He adored seafood. He believed Emma when she told him about the catfish saving her. Why would he believe her unless he knew what she was? And as a physician, he had to have known about all her physical abnormalities. How could he not be a Half-Breed?
But Emma resists all of Galen’s reasonings, based on the fact that it doesn’t “feel right.”
Speaking of things that don’t feel right … He pulls his new SUV into her driveway, the excitement sloshing in his stomach like high tide. As he steps out, he notices how much he likes sliding down instead of hoisting himself up from a little compact death trap. He’s almost glad Rayna tied the red car around a tree—except that she and Emma could have gotten hurt. He shakes his head, crunching across the gravel of Emma’s driveway in his suede 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 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 won.”
As he walks the bag over to her, he feels giddy, like he were the one getting a gift. In a way, he is. When he passed the wreck on his way back from the Cave of Memories, he knew he had to take her there. “Here. Go change. You don’t need the mask and flippers, but I want you to wear the suit. It’s designed to retain your body heat. It can keep a human alive in freezing temperatures for a few hours, so you should be nice and cozy in it.”
She peers into the bag. “A diving suit? Why would I need this?”
He rolls his eyes. “Go change.”
When she emerges from the bathroom, he almost falls off the bar stool. The suit hugs every curve of her body. The only thing he doesn’t like is the way she’s scowling. “I look like a seal in this thing,” she says, pointing to the hoodie.
He grins. “Keep it on. If you’re warm enough when we get there, you can take it off, I promise.”
She gives an impatient nod. “This better be good.”
* * *
To preserve her air, they stay surfaced. Occasionally, he dives to check their location. This last time, he grins. “We’re here.”
She smiles. “Finally. For a while I thought we might be going to Europe.”
“Before we go down, are you okay? Cold?”
She shakes her head. “Not at all. Actually, I’m kind of hot. This thing really works.”
“Good. Deep breath, okay? Dr. Milligan told me to pull you down slowly to make sure your body can handle it. If you feel tightness in your chest or anything uncomfortable, you need to tell me right away. We’re going deeper than ten Empire State Buildings.”
She nods, eyes wide. Her cheeks flush with either excitement or the heat she complained about. He smiles as his arms encircle her waist. As they descend, she talks to the curious fish flitting about. But the farther
they go, the fewer and fewer fish there are until Galen would be surprised to see any that didn’t glow.
“How did you meet Dr. Milligan, anyway?” she says, almost as an afterthought.
“I saved his life. Well, we saved each other’s lives.”
She rests her head against his chin. “Says the guy who hates humans.”
“I don’t hate humans.” At least, not anymore.
After a few minutes, she wiggles in his arms. “Well?” she says.
He turns her around to face him. “Well what?”
“Are you going to tell me how you saved Dr. Milligan’s life?”
“You really are the most curious person I know. It worries me.”
“It should.”
He chuckles. When she arches a stubborn brow, he sighs. “Toraf, Rayna, and I were playing around some reefs off the coast of the Bridge Land—er, Mexico, is what you call it. We were about ten years old, I think. Anyway, Dr. Milligan was snorkeling with two of his friends on the other side of it. We were careful to stay away from them, but Dr. Milligan had strayed from the rest of the party. I found him on our side, lying on the bottom and clutching his leg; he had a cramp. I could tell he was about to pass out. I pulled him to the surface. His friends saw us and pulled him into the boat. They saw my fin; I wasn’t very good at changing into human form yet. Or blending. They tried to pull me into the boat.”
Emma gasps. Galen gives her a crooked smile. “This won’t give you nightmares, will it? You know how it ends. The good guys get away.”
She pinches him. “Get on with the story.”
“Dr. Milligan put the boat in gear, full-speed. They lost their balance and dropped me. The end.”
“Nooooo. Not the end. How did you find each other again? That was before you met Rachel, right?”
He nods. “I didn’t see him again for another year. I kept going back to the reef, because I thought he might, too. And one day, he did.”
“What about his friends? Did they ever try to find you again?”