Oh. My. Gods.

by Tera Lynn Childs

  “Yes,” I answer carefully.

  “She and I—” He shakes his head. “I don’t know if she told you, but—”

  “She told me.”

  I expect him to ask what exactly she said, to deny her accusations and defend himself. Instead, he surprises the crap out of me by asking, “How’s she doing?”

  “Um, she’s . . . okay, I think.” Thinking back to her teary revelation this morning, maybe she’s not completely fine. At this point I don’t think I can lose any points by being completely honest. “She doesn’t like you very much.”

  Griffin snickers in a way that makes it clear that he doesn’t think this is funny. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Going for broke, I say, “She thinks you got her parents banished.”

  His jaw clamps shut.

  “I don’t know why she thinks so, but she—”

  “It’s true.”

  My mouth drops open. “It’s what? Why would you do that?”

  He sighs and rolls his eyes, but somehow I get the feeling he’s rolling them at himself and not me. “Not on purpose,” he says sadly. “I promise you that.”

  How do you get someone banished accidentally?

  “What happened?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer. “She said you testified at MountOlympus and—”

  “Drop it.”

  “But it doesn’t make any sense,” I insist. “How can you not taking responsibility for something get her parents—”

  “I said drop it!”

  I jerk back at his outburst—though I can’t get far since I’m still cradled in his arms. Even though he sounds even angrier than when I was taunting him in the qualifying race, his grip on me remains relaxed. From the way he’s clenching his jaw and staring straight ahead I’m pretty sure I’m not getting any more conversation out of him.

  I can’t stand the tension-rich silence.

  “Do you know where you’re going to college?” I ask, hoping he’ll go for the change of subject.

  No response. Shocking.

  “I’m going to USC next year,” I say, filling the silence with my own voice. “Hopefully, I’ll get a cross-country scholarship. I just have to make a B average and do well in our meets and the coach says he’ll give me a full ride, which I’ll really need since Mom’s not working anymore and I don’t expect Damian to pay for anything because—”

  “Oxford,” Griffin blurts. “I’m going to Oxford.”

  Apparently he’s no match for babbling girls. I’ll have to keep that in mind in the future.

  Remembering that Stella has the same plan, I ask, “Does everyone at the Academy go to Oxford?”

  “The school has an . . . arrangement with the university administration.”

  “What are you going to study?”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to add, “Mythology?” but I decide against the sarcasm. At the moment he’s being heroic, but tomorrow at school is fair game and I don’t want to end up zapped to the ceiling in my underwear or anything.

  “Economics.”

  That’s it. One word response.

  Not that I expect more.

  “I’m going to study sports medicine. I want to be an athletic trainer, maybe for a college or the Olympic team or something.”

  He grunts, which I take to be his confirmation that he heard what I said but doesn’t plan on replying. Which is fine, because I can keep on talking.

  “I know I can’t run forever—even though I know there are always old guys in the Boston Marathon and stuff like that—but I have to make a living somehow. And this way I still get to be involved in sports without worrying when my knees are going to give out and—”

  “We’re here.”

  Lost in my one-sided conversation, I didn’t even realize we’d crossed the lawn, passed the school, and made it to the front steps of Damian’s house.

  I do notice, however, that Griffin does not immediately drop me on my behind and run away as fast as he can.

  Maybe it’s the hero contract.

  “Well, thanks,” I say, even though he didn’t help me purely out of the goodness of his heart.

  Still, he doesn’t put me down.

  He does look at me, though, his bright blue eyes intent on mine.

  It is a frozen moment—I can’t move or speak or react at all.

  Helpless in his arms, silence ringing in my ears, I notice for the first time all the sensations. The feel of his heart pounding in his chest. His radiating heat. His arms against the bare skin of my legs and shoulder—

  Oh. My. God.

  I totally forgot the skimpy little running outfit Nicole made me wear. This whole time I’ve been half-naked in his arms—all right, I know all the important parts are covered and by MTV standards my clothes are practically dowdy, but for me this is exposed.

  I’m not sure what to do. Should I kick and scream, demanding he put me down right now? Leap out of his arms—and likely fall flat on my face again thanks to Nicole’s amazing disappearing ankle trick? Enjoy the sensation of being held while his head dips down, inching closer and closer to mine—

  “Ah-hem.”

  Startled, I look up to see Stella standing in our open doorway. She has her hands on her hips and looks like she caught us making out on the front steps.

  Griffin’s ears are red with embarrassment.

  Without saying a word he drops me on the steps, nods to Stella, and jogs off across the yard.

  “Just keep in mind,” Stella snaps, “that you are supposed to be stealing Griffin away for me, not from me.”

  I nod absently, not focused on her but on the spot where Griffin had just disappeared over the hill. Holding onto the doorjamb so I don’t fall over, I can’t waste energy worrying about her being mad at me.

  Griffin Blake had been about to kiss me!

  And stupid Stella had to interrupt.

  PrincessCesca: did he wet his lips?

  LostPhoebe: no

  PrincessCesca: did he close his eyes?

  LostPhoebe: no

  PrincessCesca: did he lay his palm on your cheek?

  LostPhoebe: no

  LostPhoebe: he was kinda busy holding me

  PrincessCesca: are you sure he was going to kiss you?

  LostPhoebe: for the millionth time . . . yes!

  PrincessCesca: you’re in trouble

  LostPhoebe: tell me about it

  PrincessCesca: ES will kill you if you catch him before she can

  ES is our shorthand for Evil Stepsister. AKA Stella.

  After Griffin dropped me—and I found out that Nicole’s ankle zap had worn off and I could walk just fine—I had endured Stella’s inquisition about the whole thing.

  As soon as she was satisfied, I ran to my room—to the new laptop and Internet connection that will be my salvation for these next few months—and called up Cesca on IM.

  LostPhoebe: she won’t find out

  PrincessCesca: it’s a small island

  LostPhoebe: Justinian never found out they’d moved the school

  PrincessCesca: what?

  Oops. Not supposed to let that cat out of the bag. Well, at least I didn’t say who had moved the school. That would be worse.

  LostPhoebe: just some junk about school history

  LostPhoebe: we had a pep assembly on Friday

  LostPhoebe: they’re big on tradition here

  The cursor blinks at me for a long time. I can practically hear Cesca thinking from thousands of miles away. Great. If anyone can uncover the big secret, Cesca can. She’s the one who knew Justin was cheating on me weeks before the rest of the school found out.

  PrincessCesca: yeah, Europeans are all serious about history

  LostPhoebe: you’re not kidding

  LostPhoebe: one of my teachers wears a toga to class

  PrincessCesca: talk about your fashion faux pas

  Another IM conversation pops up.

  NaughtyNic: how’s your ankle

  LostPhoebe: fine, no thanks to you


  NaughtyNic: you were going to back out

  LostPhoebe: that didn’t mean you had to

  PrincessCesca: you still there?

  LostPhoebe: yes

  LostPhoebe: zap my ankle

  NaughtyNic: what’s the harm?

  NaughtyNic: it didn’t hurt

  LostPhoebe: no, but

  PrincessCesca: you’re talking to someone else, aren’t you?

  LostPhoebe: of course not

  LostPhoebe: you’re not talking either

  LostPhoebe: I could have hurt myself falling

  NaughtyNic: but you didn’t

  NaughtyNic: it all worked out in the end

  LostPhoebe: how would you know?

  NaughtyNic: I saw him carry you home

  PrincessCesca: if you’re going to ignore me I’m leaving

  LostPhoebe: don’t go

  PrincessCesca: then tell me who you’re talking to

  LostPhoebe: a friend from school

  LostPhoebe: she has a question about homework

  I feel horrible lying to Cesca, but it’s easier than answering questions. Most of them aren’t even questions I’m allowed to answer.

  LostPhoebe: him carrying me home doesn’t mean anything

  NaughtyNic: what happened?

  LostPhoebe: he almost kissed me

  NaughtyNic: oh my gods!

  NaughtyNic: why didn’t he?

  LostPhoebe: Stella interrupted

  PrincessCesca: Phoebe?

  NaughtyNic: did she freak out?

  LostPhoebe: no, she doesn’t know it was about to happen

  PrincessCesca: hello???

  LostPhoebe: hold on a sec

  PrincessCesca: fine

  NaughtyNic: see!!! it all worked out in the end

  NaughtyNic: I zapped you for a good cause

  LostPhoebe: I don’t care if he wound up groveling at my feet LostPhoebe: that’s no excuse to use your supernatural powers on me!

  Blink, blink, blink.

  NaughtyNic: are you there?

  Blink, blink, blink.

  NaughtyNic: Phoebe?

  I glance back and forth at the two IM windows. Back and forth. Cesca and Nicole. L.A. and Serfopoula. My heart starts racing.

  PrincessCesca: supernatural powers?

  Crap!

  LostPhoebe: have to go

  NaughtyNic: something wrong

  LostPhoebe: no, of course not

  LostPhoebe: just have to go

  LostPhoebe: now

  LostPhoebe: bye

  I quickly close the conversation with Nicole without waiting for her to reply. I am in so much crap it’s not even funny.

  PrincessCesca: Phoebe, what’s going on?

  Quick, think of a plausible explanation.

  LostPhoebe: we’re doing this fantasy role-playing game

  LostPhoebe: every character has special powers

  LostPhoebe: they can use them against other characters

  LostPhoebe: she used hers against me

  LostPhoebe: in the game

  Great, now I’m babbling in IM.

  Cesca’s going to know something’s up. In her wildest dreams she wouldn’t guess exactly what, but Cesca’s like a bulldog—she doesn’t let go of something until she’s ready.

  PrincessCesca: you hate computer games

  LostPhoebe: um, not anymore

  PrincessCesca: stop lying to me

  LostPhoebe: I’m not

  PrincessCesca: what’s really going on

  PrincessCesca: what aren’t you telling me?

  LostPhoebe: Cesca, I

  Tears fill my eyes as I tell my best friend since kindergarten—the girl I’ve shared every deep, dark secret I’ve ever had with—that I can’t tell her this.

  LostPhoebe: I can’t

  LostPhoebe: I’m sorry

  PrincessCesca: fine

  I wait for her to say something more, to ask why or to make me tell her. But the stupid cursor just blinks at me. After staring at the unmoving conversation for fifteen minutes I accept the fact that she’s gone.

  Add one more thing to the list of stuff moving to this stupid island has ruined for me.

  “To build a stronger team dynamic,” Coach Z says to everyone gathered in the weight room, “we are going to partner you across events for strength training today.”

  Oh no. This can only end in pain.

  Christopher, the big blond who volunteered to be my training partner, is the only person on the team who seems even inclined to be nice—Griffin hasn’t so much as spoken to me since Sunday—so pairing me with anyone else is going to be a nightmare.

  Coach Z starts going through the roster, pairing up throwers with hurdlers, jumpers with sprinters, mixing everything up.

  “Phoebe Castro,” he says, tracing his finger across the page on his clipboard, “and Adara Spencer.”

  My shoulders slump. Of all the people I could be paired with, this is the worst. Even spending the hour-long session in silence with Griffin—who got paired with Vesna Gorgopoulo, a discus thrower who makes the Rock look like a weakling—would be infinitely better.

  I glance at Adara, standing in the center of her group of blondes. She is positively fuming. While she stalks over to Coach Z—presumably to demand a different partner—her blondes glare at me. The only one I know by name is Zoe. She’s in my World History class and spends all her time flirting with Mr. Sakola. I used to think she was harmless, but the look she’s giving me right now could sear a steak.

  Adara stomps back to her group, the angry look on her face a clear indication that Coach Z refused to bow down to her wishes. If they weren’t my wishes, too, at the moment, then I’d enjoy her defeat.

  “Everyone select a machine to start on,” Coach Z explains. “When you hear one whistle switch with your partner, when you hear two rotate stations.”

  While everyone moves to a machine, Adara and I stand glaring

  at each other. “Get moving, girls,” Coach Z shouts. “You start on the bench.” He points to the bench press in the far corner of the weight

  room, the only station not taken. Deciding that my training is more

  important than my animosity, I turn and head for the machine. I’m just settling in on the bench when Adara joins me. The first whistle blows and I reach up to take the bar. “Well, well,” Adara says, making no move to spot me. “If it isn’t

  the happy home-wrecker.” Ignoring her, I lift the bar off the brackets and start counting. One. Two. “Don’t think you can just steal my boyfriend without conse

  quences, kako.” “I didn’t—” Six. “Steal—” Seven. “Anything.” “What?” She peers down at me. “Did you think I wouldn’t hear

  about what happened on Saturday?” “I don’t—” Twelve. “Really—” Thirteen. “Care.” “It was quite funny, actually,” she says, her voice mocking. “Grif

  fin could hardly stop laughing long enough to tell me.” “What?” I let the bar clatter back into place on the brackets. Sitting up, I look around the room, finding Griffin and Vesna at

  the lateral pull station. He is watching Vesna pull like three hundred pounds. For a second he turns and glances at me, but then quickly looks away.

  Then again, he might have been looking at Adara.

  “Castro,” Coach Z shouts, “you’re still on the—”

  Coach Lenny blows the whistle, then winks at me, ignoring the scowl Coach Z throws his way.

  I climb off the bench and move behind the bar.