Content that Greer will be safe without my eyes on her for a few minutes, I head out in search of food. There aren’t that many vegetarian choices in the land of seafood. Most of the vendors give me an are-you-crazy? look when I ask. Pulling out my phone, I open the VegFinder app and do a quick search within a two-block radius. Within seconds it finds a stall with a vegetarian corn chowder on the menu. I gratefully accept the paper container and hand over my cash.

With the chowder warming my hands, I take my time wandering back to my bench.

It amazes me how many people there are in San Francisco. The population of Orangevale was probably smaller than our block’s here. So many people from so many different places, a mix-and-match collage of cultures. Between the tourists and the residents, I think every ethnicity, religion, and heritage in the world is represented. It’s the most exciting place I’ve ever been.

In Orangevale, you couldn’t leave the house without running into twelve people you knew. With only a couple grocery stores and one post office, everyone had to run their errands to the same few spots. Here, though, there are dozens of post offices and hundreds of grocery stores. Hundreds of restaurants and boutiques and coffee shops. You could live here your whole life and never run into someone you know.

“Grace?”

I jump at the sound of Thane’s voice. I swallow the hot bite of chowder before I choke on it. In that moment, I do a quick glance around to see if Milo is here. No such luck.

“Thane,” I gasp. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” he asks with a scowl. “I thought you were studying at a friend’s house.”

“I, um, am.” Great. Lying to Mom via text is one thing, but face-to-face with Thane is impossible. I need to stick as close to the truth as possible. “I was. I—” I look around, hoping for inspiration but finding none. “I’m supposed to be.”

“This isn’t your friend’s house.” He steps closer. “Tell me what’s going on. Have you—”

The crowd jostles, knocking me forward into Thane. We both stumble but stay upright, and I take the opportunity of distraction to change the subject.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Don’t you have practice?”

He scowls more than normal, deepening the creases across his forehead, and a rosy pink floods his cheeks. “Did,” he says abruptly. “It’s over.”

“Oh, then why are you—”

“Supposed to be meeting someone here.” He looks around, and I can’t tell if he’s looking for someone or avoiding looking at me. “She’s a no-show.”

“She?” I ask, agog. “You’re meeting a girl?”

His blush deepens.

Oooh, this is so juicy. It’s not like Thane hasn’t dated before—he’s just really particular—and it’s not like he couldn’t have almost any girl he wanted. I know he’s my brother, but I think I can see him objectively. He’s tall, broad shouldered, and strong. He has chiseled features, sharp cheekbones, and a square jaw. With his brown hair cropped short, his eyes positively glow. He looks like the star of some Hollywood army flick or a cologne ad. Girls definitely go after Thane.

He doesn’t often reciprocate.

“Just a . . . friend,” he mumbles, not sounding pleased at all. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “I’ll see you at home. Be safe.”

He turns and disappears into the crowd. How odd. I wonder what set him off? Thane is always a little cryptic, but that was exceptional. I only hope he doesn’t plan to tell Mom and Dad that I’m not where I’m supposed to be.

I’ll have to ask him later about his girl friend.

What a funny coincidence to run into him. At first I thought it was kind of serendipitous that Gretchen and I were at the same nightclub at the same time. But maybe coincidental run-ins aren’t as uncommon in the big city as I thought.

Or maybe, I wonder, it was a little more than coincidence. If we really are the Key Generation, then maybe someone has manipulated things to bring us together. From everything I’ve read about mythology, the gods love to stick their noses into the affairs of others. And fate is their favorite plaything.

Maybe Gretchen and I were supposed to meet at that club.

I take another bite of chowder, letting the steaming goodness warm me from the inside, and weave my way through the crowd as thoughts of fate and coincidence swirl in my mind. San Francisco is much colder than I ever imagined. I’m practically shivering in my short-sleeved tee. If it gets any chillier, I’ll be tempted to pull my dirty gym clothes out of my bag and start layering.

By the time I make it back to my bench, it’s surrounded by a sea of people. A startled shout emerges from somewhere in the crowd, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Relax, Grace. It could be anything. I sniff the air but get nothing beyond the heavy scent of fish and ocean. The people are so thick, I can’t see beyond the circle immediately around me. Curious, I climb up on the end of the bench to get a better view.

I almost drop my chowder.

Not twenty feet away, winding through the crowd and knocking people over along the way, is a soaking-wet woman with a serpent’s tail. Oh, shoot.

I stand frozen, not sure how to react. There’s a snake-woman slithering among the hundreds of tourists filling Fisherman’s Wharf, and I have no idea what to do.

For a second, I wish I’d gone home with Gretchen when I had the chance.