My friend Kallirhoe lives in the stream near the linden tree. Moss carpets the broad stepping-stones in a patchwork of small stars and little furred trees. Water ripples around the rocks, bubbling with Kallirhoe's laughter. When she comes out, she's still part of the stream. Her arms trace curves like lines on water, and she walks like she's flowing over the ground.

   Kallirhoe knows everything that's going on. All the nymphs and dryads sit by her stream, and she overhears what they're saying. I'd like to say she can't help it, but that's not true. She loves knowing secrets about broken hearts and longing glances.

   But she also knows everything because she's so easy to talk to. She looks so innocent, with those wide blue eyes and that little curved mouth. She asks all the right questions, and you feel like she really cares and understands. If you're not careful, all your secrets just pour out of you. The next thing you know, she's sitting around with everybody saying, "Did you hear? Did you hear?" And everyone's laughing and having a great time. I really think she can't help it. Talk flows around her like water, too. It's hard to keep water closed up.

   I love Kallirhoe, but you won't catch me telling her anything personal. I don't need my life spread all over the vale. If someone else saw the golden chariot, let her say something.

   Right now she's dipping her toes in the lake. We're all lying around on the shore. Our bodies are still wet from swimming, but the sun is drying us fast. "Did you hear the latest about Zeus?" she asks.

   I run my fingers through my wet, tangled hair, easing the knots out, and try to pretend my heart isn't beating so fast. Could it have been Zeus in the chariot? After all, only an immortal would have winged horses. I smell the white flower again, as if it were right in front of me. I see the man's smoldering eyes, his black hair, the purple-banded tunic draped over one bare, brown shoulder.

   Admete raises her eyebrows. She's a stream naiad, too, but a wild mountain stream, rambunctious and hard to keep in its banks. "Not again! What did he turn himself into this

time? Another shower of gold, to show off his flaxen hair?"

Flaxen? So it wasn't Zeus after all.

   Not that it matters. The chariot wasn't in the high meadow yesterday when I went back to gather plums, or when I strolled by this morning. He was only there once by mistake, I bet. He was passing over on a long journey and the horses needed to graze and he saw the field. That's all.

   I turn my attention back to Kallirhoe.

   She's shaking her head. "Not gold. A swan."

   "A swan!" I snort. "What kind of romantic disguise is that? What's she going to say, 'Now there's an attractive bird! I'm really into long necks and webbed feet.' I don't think so."

   "Persephone! Be quiet!" says Ianthe, the gentle meadow violet. "What if your mother hears you?"

   "Let her hear me. I'm not a child anymore. Lots of girls my age are married already."

   If only I had the guts to say that to her face.

   "I wouldn't want her mad at me," says Kallirhoe. "Drought dries up my stream."

   I tug up a long grass and nibble on the softer green at its base.

   "So let's hear about this lovesick bird," says Galaxaura, braiding her long white hair. She's a mist-clearing breeze, so she likes to get right to the heart of things.

   Kallirhoe lights back up. "He's a rotten husband. Hera's always watching to see when he's going to go after another woman. He thinks if he disguises himself, she won't know what's happening."

   "Like the time he was a bull," says Admete. "I felt sorry for Europa, carried off to sea on his back."

   Kallirhoe tosses a handful of pebbles in the water. "Here's what I heard. Zeus had his eye on this mortal named Leda. A really beautiful mortal. He couldn't stop thinking about her. He couldn't even sleep at night. Every time he looked over at Hera, she was staring at him. She knew something was up. But Zeus, being king of the gods, expects to get whatever he wants. There was a lake where Leda always went swimming. And Zeus figured, what's more natural at a lake than a swan? She must have thought he was a pretty attractive swan, because after a while she laid a big egg—"

   "No!" We all gasp at the same time.

   "Yes! Can you even imagine? How do you think she hatched it?"

   My hair is almost dry now. I shake it back from my shoulders. "If he wanted her to go with him, he should have come out and said it."

   "Right, and have Hera breathing down his back."

   Admete looks disgusted. "You're such a goody-goody, Persephone."

   "Am not!" I throw a cupped hand of water at her.

   "Are too!" She splashes me back. Soon we're all soaking

wet again, dripping, tangle-haired, lying back on the grass and laughing.

   The cool water clears my brain, and for a moment I think I should come out and tell everyone what I saw. I should tell my mother. But then I see his face again, and his hand holding the reins, and the heat starts to soak back into me, evaporating all my good intentions into steam.