"W here have you been all morning?" calls Kallirhoe. "Come over here fast. Admete's got news."

   They're all staring at her, which is great. This way they won't peer at me. I must look as different as I feel. It's like I used to be a stunted shoot and now that I've had my first taste of rain, I'm sprouting bright green leaves all over the place. How would I explain it to them? A good night's sleep?

   Then I get close enough to see Admete's face and I know. She's in love.

   "When you told us your mother was away," she says, "I decided to go exploring."

   "Wait!" says Ianthe, looking around like an anxious sparrow. "Don't say it again until we're in the rowboat." She gets up and pulls over the old, flat-bottomed scow, and we all pile in. Kallirhoe pushes us off toward the middle of the lake, then settles down with one leg draped over the side so her toes make ripples.

   "All right," says Ianthe, relaxing and turning her face to the sun, "go on, Admete. Start over from the beginning."

   "I was exploring and I found something I never noticed before—a place where my stream flows near a crevice in the cliff. It would be too small for any of you to squeeze into, but I was able to trickle through, and I wanted to see what was on the other side."

   She looks like she's melting, boneless, against the hull of the boat. "There's a path. It goes all the way to the ocean, to a hidden little cove. And he was there."

   "He?" Has she seen him, then, in his chariot, his four black horses?

   "Stop wobbling the boat, Persephone. He's a river god, with blue-green skin and wave-green eyes. He's young and strong, and when he whispered in my ear . . ." Her lids droop, as if all her energy is getting sucked inside, to the place where her heart is beating.

   Kallirhoe gives an appreciative sigh. Even Ianthe looks dreamy. I relax and trail my fingers in the lake, sketching lines for a moment before they disappear into nothing again.

   Then Galaxaura blows the mood away with a blast of reality. "What does your father say?"

   "My father? You think I'd tell him?" Admete gives a hard little laugh. "Once he remembers I'm here, he'll marry me off like he did with my sisters. I'll get some stodgy old man with a great pedigree. Someone who's already gray. And flabby." She shudders. "No, the second my father finds out, that's the end of my fun."

   Ianthe glances around again. "And what about Demeter? What if she hears you've been lying?"

   "Calm down, Ianthe," I say. "Admete isn't exactly lying; she's just neglecting to mention something. It's different."

   Ianthe shakes her head. "I think you should be careful, that's all. Deception sows some dangerous crops."

   She doesn't understand. You can't always tell everyone everything. Sometimes you have to cheat, just a little tiny bit, to get what you want. It won't hurt anybody.

   Admete isn't really listening to us. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, and it's obvious she's with her river god again. "It was quiet except for lapping waves, and moonlight was dancing on the water, and when he kissed me . . ."

   The rest of us lean so far in her direction, the boat tilts.

   "Tell us!" begs Kallirhoe.

   But Admete doesn't say another word. She's lost in a moonlit cove, blue-green arms wrapped around her glistening skin.