Excerpt from The Last True Poets of the Sea by Julia Drake, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

The Knee-Bucklingest: he was even taller than I was.

Yes, I know. Didn't I just literally shave my head so that everyone would stay away? Hadn't I dedicated myself to turning off the romance channel? Hadn't I been so blinded by lust that I wasn't even able to see what my younger brother was going through, not even in the actual hospital?

But, but, but. If you had seen Orion Lewis's eyebrows. Born witness to their majesty. I'm telling you: you would have understood.

"Oh," he said, arching his glorious you-know-whats. "Shoot."

"Fake-out," I said.

He looked perplexed. "Are you ... ?"

An excellent kisser? On birth control?

"Female?" I suggested.

"Working here."

I reminded myself of my priorities. Celibacy. Disappearing.

"Yes. I'm Violet."

"Ah. You're—wow. I thought ..." He fumbled for words, and the strap of his lunch box strap pulled at his T-shirt, exposing a tanned, smooth shoulder. In another life, I would have sunk my teeth into that very space.

He gestured toward his hair. "Sorry. I thought you were a guy."

"Whatever." I shrugged. "I thought you were one, too, so."

He laughed a stammering laugh, revealing a gap between his teeth. It suited him, and I was glad it hadn't been fixed.

"If you're Orion, I hear you're the star employee," I said.

"I'm sort of the only employee. We'd be in trouble if I weren't the star."

"It's just you and me?"

"And Joan and Boris," he said. "Come on. I'll show you around."

He led me upstairs to a very fishy-smelling break room with a wobbly table, an industrial-size freezer, and a fat maroon sofa upon which the dignified Boris reclined, front paws neatly crossed. Aquatically fetal blobs floated in jars of green juice on the counter; the shelves were scattered with dried bits of coral and the crusty shell of a horseshoe crab. Orion weaved among cardboard boxes full of aquarium merch to rub the dog's ears, and Boris, that smug bastard, yawned at me in triumph.

Orion opened the freezer next and pulled loose a silver bucket labeled feed. The smell of days-old fish filled the room. I shuddered, thinking of poor Louise's insides.

"Are you a bio major or something?" I asked him as he placed the bucket on the table.

"Nah." Orion took a folded paper napkin from his pocket and tucked it under the wobbly table before placing the bucket on top. "I'll be a senior. In high school. You?"

"Junior."

"The height tends to throw people. You probably know that."

I nodded. He unzipped his lunch box and removed a plastic bag filled with pearly-gray critters. Their heads were still attached, jelly black eyes peering at me through the plastic.

"Late breakfast?"

"Good stuff for the fish. I try to get them something special when I can swing it. You can leave the heads and legs on." He pulled a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and when he passed it to me, his fingers didn't linger on mine. Good—no funny business on his end either. I turned to the plastic bag.

"Um. Orion. What are these guys, exactly?"

He looked at me strangely. "They're shrimp."

Huh. Shrimp were usually pink and peeled, curled and dipped in cocktail sauce. I poked at the bag, as if to test for shrimpiness.

"I didn't know shrimp had legs."

"Really?"

"Sorry. I mean, I must've known that. I'm not really a fish person."

He looked at me sideways. "You do know we're working in an aquarium, right?"

"Yes. I know."

"So there are lots of fish here," he said slowly.

"Yes."

"So why did you get a job working at an aquarium if you're not a fish person?"

"Oh, well. I didn't exactly want to work here."

"You didn't?" He looked confused. This was going all wrong. Goddamn this shipwreck gene. I could never say anything right.

Excerpted from The Last True Poets of the Sea by Julia Drake. Copyright © 2019 by Julia Drake. Excerpted by permission of Disney-Hyperion. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.