I look at Reed. “Who’s that man?” Not that I think Reed could possibly know everyone in town, but this guy lends himself to speculation.

He glances at the man on the porch. There is an underlying tension when he says, “Mr. Kennedy. He’s been staying at Sylvia’s place for about a month.”

I nod. “Why is he here?” Which might seem like an odd question, but really, all the other humans I’ve seen seem to belong here. All of them seem privy to the secrets of the little town of Neptune. All of them except this guy.

Reed shrugs. “We try to make the town as uninteresting to tourists as possible—for obvious reasons. But Mr. Kennedy is not a tourist, exactly. He’s a botanist, and he’s here to look for new plant species. He’s kind of a nut, actually. Always talking to himself and running into things. And he always has black fingernails from digging around in the dirt.” Reed’s face scrunches up as if playing in the dirt were the same thing as playing in a pile of crap.

The light turns green, and we pass the bed-and-breakfast, but I don’t have to look back to know Mr. Kennedy is still staring after us. “And what makes him think he’ll find new plant species here?”

I can practically hear Reed shrug. “Not sure. He’s not really a talker. And he’s mostly in the woods all day, searching for his eco-treasure.”

“You can’t get rid of him?” Galen says, startling me.

“Get rid of him? You mean kill him?” Reed laughs softly. “I don’t know how you do things in the ocean, but here, we don’t go around killing people. That sort of thing is kind of frowned upon in these parts.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Galen clips. “Why don’t you drive him away? There are more of you than him.”

“It’s not as easy as it sounds. Back in the 1950s, all the residents here decided to incorporate as a real town. Which meant Neptune fell under the jurisdiction of the county and the state and all that garbage. Sure, we had to follow human laws before that, but it wasn’t until then that we had to keep a close eye on who we ran off and who we let stay. Nowadays, someone can cry discrimination based on the size of their shoe, and then we’re in one huge mudslinging competition.” He turns to me and winks. “We had to change our bullying ways.”

Galen snorts. I give Reed a reproving look. “Well, were you discriminating?”

Reed grins. “Of course,” he says, and my tongue is gearing up to unleash all the things my temper is about to say. Galen almost looks amused. That is, until Reed covers my mouth with his hand. “Before you haul off and say something you don’t mean, I was just kidding. We filter the people we tell our secrets to, of course, but it doesn’t have anything to do with race or religion or whatever.”

“Get your hand off her,” Galen says. “If you want to keep it.”

I second the motion, returning his entire arm to him in the backseat.

“He’s a bit touchy, huh?” Reed says without looking at Galen. “Not that I blame him.”

Really? He’s going to go there? Galen’s jaw locks. His patience is almost obliterated. “I think we should establish—”

But Reed interrupts him, unaffected. “Here it is. Here’s my house.”

As soon as Galen pulls into the dirt driveway, Reed is out of the vehicle and hopping up the three steps to his front porch with his rope of fish slung over his shoulder. The house is old and dilapidated, but not without appeal. Bright baskets of pink and white pansies line the porch railings, drawing attention away from the peeling paint and chipped wood.

Galen and I get out but wait in front of the SUV. It’s not like we’ve received an invitation to come in. Reed has disappeared inside the house, but we can hear him stomping around and calling, “Mooooom! We have company. And I caught fish for dinner.”

Galen throws me a look that clearly says, “Let’s make a run for it.”

But I shake my head. I’m sure this is what Grandfather wanted, for me to come here and meet others like me. Galen crosses his arms. I walk over to him and plant a soft kiss on his lips.

“What was that for?” he says, noticeably pleased.

“For cooperating when I know you don’t want to.”

He’s about to say something else, but Reed materializes in the doorway and beckons us inside. “I guess Mom’s not here,” he says over the slamming screen door behind us. He’s got a chocolate chip cookie in each hand. He offers me one. “They’re still warm.”

I decline, a little perturbed that he didn’t ask Galen if he wanted one, too. Not that Galen would eat it, but it’s the principle. Reed seems to read my mind.

“We’ve always got some sushi handy,” he says to Galen. “I know most Syrena hate the sweet stuff. My dad included.”

“No, thank you,” Galen says, though I think robots sound more courteous.

Reed gives us the shorthand tour of the house. The three bedrooms upstairs belong to him, his parents, and his little brother Toby. There are homemade crafts decorating every wall, beautifully constructed quilts gracing each bed, and the smell of a fire going somewhere, even though it’s midsummer. The floor squeaks in a kind of charming serenade.

He circles us back down to the kitchen, where he swipes another cookie from a well-endowed plate. This time, I accept his offer for one. I know Galen thinks I’m throwing caution to the wind, but it’s more like I’m throwing it up as a kite and seeing if it will fly.