Oh. My. Gods.

by Tera Lynn Childs

  I stalk across the inner lawn, find an empty spot with lots of room, and settle in to do my stretches. Griffin, right on my tail, sits down next to me, mimicking my actions.

  “Hey, how is my being part of that bet,” he asks, “any worse than you making that deal with Stella?”

  I clamp my jaw and don’t say a word.

  “I’m sorry, Phoebe, that wasn’t how I wanted to start.”

  I reach for my other foot, leaning away from him.

  “I’m not going to let you shut me out,” he says, reaching for his toes. “You have the right to be mad, but I have the right to explain myself.”

  I exhale deeply into my stretch. “I don’t have to listen.”

  “No, you don’t have to.” He leans out over his left leg, stretching his quads. “But you will.”

  He’s right. Purely driven by curiosity I at least want to hear whatever lame excuse he’s come up with. Then I can file it away under too-stupid-to-believe and move on with my life.

  My time is too precious to waste on the likes of Griffin Blake.

  “It started out as a bet,” he has the nerve to admit. “Not my bet, but a bet nonetheless.”

  I give him a look that says I know this much already.

  “That’s why I agreed to meet you that Sunday.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “Glad to know I’m such a prize you need extra motivation just to go for a run—”

  “I’m sorry, all right.” He reaches so abruptly for his right foot I’m surprised he doesn’t tear a tendon. “How many times do I have to say it?”

  “About a million more times would be a good start.”

  He sits back, giving up all pretense of stretching. “It started out as a bet,” he bites out, “but it didn’t end up that way.”

  What a load of hooey.

  “If I had been honest with myself—” He starts tugging up little clumps of grass. “I would have realized that the bet was just an excuse. A reason for me to spend time with you. One I didn’t have to explain to anyone.”

  I continue with my stretches, working through all my leg muscles and ignoring his little heartfelt speech. Ignoring the fact that my deal with Stella served pretty much the same purpose—a reason to go after Griffin without guilt over how Nicole felt about him.

  “Even though I was a total jerk, you still gave me a chance.”

  “Stupid me.”

  “Second chances are a rare thing around here.” He inches closer on the grass. “When I was seven my parents got on Hera’s bad side. No one has seen them since.”

  That makes me pause. That would have been about the same time Nicole’s parents got banished.

  He’d said his folks weren’t around—and I remember thinking how vague he was. I hadn’t even considered they might be dead. I’d just thought they left him with his aunt while they traveled the world or something.

  I never thought his parents being gone had anything to do with Nicole’s.

  My heart melts. Just a little.

  “Here I was, carrying you in my arms because I had to, and you were trying to get me to open up. You wanted to know me. Despite how horrible I had been to you.” He leans in and whispers, “That’s when the bet ended for me.”

  Another few drops of ice melt away.

  Not ready to get burned twice in one week, I tell myself not to fall for his lies. He could be making every last word of this up, too.

  And even if my initial motives for meeting him that Sunday were barely better than his—though I think a deal is way less offensive than a bet—at least I admitted to myself early on that I was really going after Griffin for myself.

  Rising, I start twisting at the waist to warm up my upper body.

  Griffin scrambles to his feet.

  “Last Saturday after your practice,” he says, pleading. “That was real. The rest doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.”

  I stop moving long enough to meet his sad stare.

  Clearly, he’s not sure what to say. Which is fine with me because I’ve heard enough lies to last a lifetime.

  “Let’s just get this workout over with,” I snap, fed up and thinking of all the homework I have waiting for me.

  Our first segment is a two mile run at moderate pace.

  I walk toward the regular starting line, but Griffin has other ideas.

  “Why don’t we run a different course today?”

  I eye him suspiciously. Certain he has something underhanded up his sleeve—even if he’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt—I want to argue, but honestly it will be a relief to see anything other than that shrubby course.

  “Fine,” I relent. “But if you try to pull anything I’m telling Coach Lenny about the shoelaces.”

  He just rolls his eyes at me and says, “Come on.”

  Griffin heads out of the stadium and circles around to the right. Not wanting to follow behind him like a second-place dog I settle in at his side, matching him step for step. He must be pulling his stride because his legs are like twice as long as mine.

  Neither of us speaks or looks at the other while he leads us down a steep path behind the far stadium wall. It looks like just another wooded cross-country course until we break through the trees. We’re on the beach.

  “I figured that with all your extra training,” he says, “you haven’t had time for many beach runs. Which I think you love as much as I do.”

  I shrug, secretly loving the way the sand squishes beneath my feet. With every stride I have to work harder to push myself forward. This is my personal heaven.

  Now, I love the L.A. beaches—especially when I get permission to drive up to Malibu and watch the surfers while I run—but nothing compares to the beach on Serfopoula. The sand is pristine. Gleaming white.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see the footprints we made disappearing as the sand pours back in on itself.

  The sand in California is so full of gunk it keeps your footprint until the tides wash in.

  “Was I right?” Griffin asks.

  I scowl at him for interrupting my daydream. I’m still mad at him, after all. “About what?”

  “The beach.”

  “It’s okay,” I lie.

  He grins with that cocky smile. “Considering how pissed you are at me, I’ll take that as a hell yes.”

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes.

  But he’s right.

  We run half a mile in silence. My eyes trained on the horizon, my mind trained on the rhythm. Step, step, step, breathe. Our footfalls are perfectly timed. Step, step, step, breathe. From the corner of my eye I see his chest rise and fall in time with my every breath. Step, step, step-

  “You’ll get over being mad at me.”

  “Not likely.”

  Step, step, step—

  “I promise not to gloat about it when you do.”

  “I won’t.”

  Step, step, step—

  “Because I want to be with you so badly I don’t care if you’re screaming at me the whole time as long as I’m with you.”

  I stop dead in my tracks.

  Two steps later, Griffin notices I’ve stopped and jogs back to me.

  “We have another mile to go,” he says, as if I’ve stopped because I think we’re done. Then his face wrinkles up in concern. “Did you hurt your ankle again? I thought you said it was completely . . .”

  “Did you mean that?”

  “. . . healed. What?”

  “Did you mean what you just said?”

  “Of course I did.” He kneels down and inspects my ankle. “Now tell me—”

  I grab him by the arm and pull him back up. “My ankle is fine.”

  He looks at me funny for a second before that cocky smile comes back. “Oh. Good.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Good.”

  “I am sorrier than you can imagine,” he says.

  “Yeah—” I take a deep breath. “I know.”

  “Does that mean I’m—”

  “Forgiven
? No.” I smile when his face falls. “Not yet.”

  His smile returns.

  “But you will be.”

  With one small step he closes the distance between us. My heart starts racing as he lifts his hand to my cheek. His fingertips hover over my temple. I can feel his heat even though he isn’t actually touching me.

  Then he leans forward—like in slow motion—until his face is micrometers from mine.

  The smile in his bright blue eyes vanishes. My eyes flutter closed—the anticipation is killing me. I haven’t kissed anyone since that jerk I used to date—what was his name?—and I feel like I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone more than I want to kiss Griffin Blake right now.

  His lips brush mine. Barely. Just a tickle, really.

  But it’s more than enough.

  My entire body sparks like the fireworks from bonfire night.

  It takes me a few seconds to realize he’s not kissing me anymore. I reluctantly open my eyes to find him inches away. His smile is back.

  “Come on,” he says, taking me by the hand. “I promised Coach I’d give you a good workout.” He tugs and I stumble after him.

  “We’ve got another mile left on our warm-up. Then the real work begins.”

  Hand in hand—okay, so it’s not the best training technique—we finish our run. And the rest of the workout.

  All I can think the whole time is, “When did my life get so good?”

  Chapter 10

  “MORNING,” GRIFFIN SAYS when he appears at my locker.

  “Want an escort to Tyrant’s class?”

  He leans in and kisses me, really briefly, on the lips.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” I say, still marveling at how much my life has changed since yesterday. “Do you want to go into the village after school?”

  I grab my copy of Ulysses and throw it in my bag.

  When Griffin doesn’t answer, I add, “Maybe we could go for ice cream.”

  After zipping up my backpack, I slam my locker shut and turn to take my place at Griffin’s side. That’s when I see why he stopped talking.

  Nicole and Troy are standing a few feet away, looking like they’re contemplating murder. Great, I wanted the chance to tell them about this before they saw us together. To explain before they jump to conclusions.

  Then Griffin shows up at my locker and I forget all my good intentions.

  “Hey guys,” I say, trying to sound like everything’s perfectly normal. “What’s up?”

  “What are you doing with him?” Nicole demands.

  Troy doesn’t say anything, just crosses his arms over his blink182 tee and glares.

  “I should go,” Griffin says as he starts to back away.

  “No,” I say, grabbing his arm. “Don’t go.” If he and I are going to be together, then Nicole and Troy come with the package. It’ll be better for everyone if we air things out now.

  He moves to my side and I slip my arm around his. Nicole’s scowl deepens.

  “As of yesterday,” she says, sneering, “you hated his guts.”

  “I know.” I squeeze his arm tighter so he knows that’s all changed. “But we talked things through.”

  “You were nothing but a bet to him,” Troy finally says.

  “No!” Griffin shouts. “That’s not true. It was never just about the bet.”

  Nicole snorts. “Right, as if we’d ever trust anything you say.”

  There’s a sudden tension in the air, an electricity that’s about something much more deep-rooted than my fight with Griffin. Nicole looks ready to unleash her powers on him, regardless of the consequences.

  They’ve kept their feelings about the past—about whatever ended their friendship and disrupted their parents’ lives—long enough. I know that Troy is mainly upset out of loyalty to me, for the heartache Griffin had caused, and to Nicole, for whatever she believes Griffin did to her. If we work through the problem with Nicole . . . well, at least it will be a start.

  “I think it’s time to confront the past.” Boy, do I sound like therapist Mom, or what? “Both of you have been avoiding this for too long.”

  “I’m not avoiding anything,” Nicole snaps, “except a lying, two-faced traitor.” She spits on the ground before turning and stalking away.

  I nudge Griffin in the ribs and he steps forward.

  “Nicole, wait,” he says. “Phoebe is right.”

  She doesn’t turn around or say anything, but she stops walking away.

  “We were friends once,” Griffin continues. “Can’t we put the past behind us? I know that things ended badly with us—”

  “Badly?” She spins around. “Badly!? Considering everything that happened, I think ‘badly’ is an understatement.”

  Griffin steps back from her outrage. I grab his hand and lace our fingers together—for support . . . and to keep him from running. He squeezes tight and I can feel his pulse racing. He is just as skilled at hiding his emotions as Nicole, and they are not going to work through this without help.

  “He wasn’t trying to diminish the past,” I say. “He just wants to talk about—”

  “Forget it, she doesn’t want to talk,” Griffin interrupts. “I’m sorry for whatever you think I did back then and for whatever harm you think I caused, but I think you’re exaggerating the situation.”

  Nicole looks like she’s trying to burn a hole right through his skull. “My father lost his job and my parents got exiled from the island.”

  “And mine got banished from the face of the Earth.”

  “It’s nothing more than they deserved,” she says, her entire body shaking with rage.

  Griffin jerks back like he’s been slapped in the face. So that’s what happened to his parents. Wrapping my free hand around our laced fingers, I concentrate on sending every ounce of compassion and sympathy I can to him. His hand relaxes and I can tell that he’s calming down.

  Nicole keeps going. “If you hadn’t been so self-centered, if you had only told the council where we were—”

  “I did,” he whispers, his words echoing through the ancient halls.

  Nicole stares at him, blinking. “You—what?”

  “I did tell them,” he says, his voice steady. “I told the high council that we were the ones that stole the nectar of the gods and fed it to Hera’s son.”

  “Oh my gods,” Troy gasps. He’d been silent and huddled against the lockers up to this point, so what Griffin just said must have been really bad.

  “What?” I ask.

  “If a god consumes ambrosia before the age of two, it steals his immortality,” Griffin, not taking his eyes off Nicole, explains. “I told them that we didn’t know. We were only seven, for Zeus’s sake.”

  “Y-you did?” Nicole stammers, as if she can’t believe what Griffin said. “You told them?”

  “I did.”

  “Then why—”

  “My parents insisted I was lying to protect them.” The muscles of his jaw clench and I can tell he’s boiling with emotion—he has been holding on to this since his parents disappeared more than ten years ago.

  I lift our joined hands and kiss his palm.

  He adds, “They took the punishment that should have been mine.”

  For the longest time, Nicole just stares at him. My heart breaks for her. She has been holding on to this resentment for such a long time, too. It must be hard to realize that all those years of resentment were misplaced.

  Finally, eyes glistening, she says, “And mine.” She wipes roughly at the tears. “It was my idea.”

  Then she does the most surprising thing. She rushes forward and pulls Griffin into a hug. Now, I haven’t known Nicole for all that long, but I think it’s safe to say that public displays of affection—or any display of affection—is not really her thing.

  “All these years,” she says, her voice tight. “You were my best friend and I blamed you—”

  “Shhh,” Griffin says, squeezing my hand tighter and using his other to stroke Nicole’s ba
ck. “I came to grips with my guilt a long time ago. Don’t you pick up where I left off.”

  It could be his hero instinct compelling him to make her feel better, but something tells me that this is as much about Griffin healing as it is about Nicole. That’s a lot of anguish for them to carry. Hercules has nothing to do with this.