me how to think or feel about things. I’m a Royal, too. My opinion counts just as much as theirs.” She stares down into the water.
This whole time she was making the argument for freedom to live on land. But now I’m not so sure that land had anything to do with it at all. Somehow it sounds like she’s saying, “I want to live on land,” but meaning something else. Something else, like, “I want to go see what’s going on down there.”
She strips from her clothes, down to her still-wet bathing suit, and gets a running start for the water. “You’re just going to leave me here?” I shout after her.
“I’m not leaving you here, Emma. You’re keeping yourself here.” She leaves me with those crazy words, and then she’s gone.
I am paralyzed on the beach in my school clothes. I can’t help but feel that I’m in huge trouble. But why should I? She was babysitting me, not the other way around, right? It’s not like I can chase her down and follow her. Her fins have already gone a distance I can’t cover with my puny human legs. Besides, these are my favorite jeans; the salt water would be unforgiving.
Except … There is that shiny new jet ski sitting there. I could close the distance between us, put my foot in the water, and find her. She would sense me, come back to see why I was in the water. Wouldn’t she? Of course she would. Then I could talk her into staying here, not leaving me alone to drive myself crazy. I could manipulate her into feeling sorry for me.
Unless she’s the complete sociopath I think she is.
Still, it’s my only option. I grab the handle to the jet ski and pull it toward the waves. Luckily high tide is coming in and I don’t have to drag the thing far. It makes a trail from the beach to the water, evidence that one of us did what we weren’t supposed to. Or, maybe Rachel will think that we’re riding double. Yeahfreakingright. Rachel’s specialty is figuring stuff out.
But the more time I spend thinking about all this, the more time Rayna has to put leagues of sea between us. Good thing I don’t care about grace as I awkwardly climb aboard and stub my toe. I bite back a yelp, and turn the key in the ignition. The thing roars to life beneath me and all at once I’m one part scared and one part exhilarated.
So, I go.
It’s been a few years since I’ve ridden one of these, and even then I never actually drove one. I piggybacked with Chloe and only after she swore on her little brother’s life that she wouldn’t do anything reckless. I marvel at how far I’ve come since then. From scared to get in the water to chitchatting with fish on the ocean floor.
Luckily, my first scream of terror doesn’t come until I’m way out of earshot of Rachel, when I think I’ve grown bored with a lower speed and decide to gun it. The sudden jolt forward almost pitches me off the back end. While my heart rate recovers—along with my pride—I squint into the distance, into the reflection of the setting sun floating like an oil slick on top of the water.
I stare a long time, as if somehow Rayna will give me a sign of where she is if I just keep looking long enough. I let my foot dangle in the water, even as I admit that if Rayna is swimming with any kind of purpose, she’s long gone. Behind me the shore is just a flat line with no sign of Galen’s house. Not even a speck.
I could turn around.
I should turn around.
I twist the handles to turn around.
And out comes my second scream of terror.
The violent thrust of water in my face isn’t half as surprising as how loud it is leaving the huge blowhole that has appeared beside me. I cough and sputter and scream again, but this time in frustration. Goliath—my blue whale friend who first convinced me of my Gift of Poseidon—sends another gush of water toward me. “Oh, knock it off!” I tell him.
He makes a high-pitched clicking sound then dives under the surface. Goliath doesn’t speak English (or Spanish or French) but his whole demeanor begs, “Play with Me.” “I can’t play. I have to find Rayna. Have you seen her?” Yes, I really just did ask a