Oh My Gods

by Alexandra Sheppard

  I arrived home from school to utter chaos. Boxes of Apollo’s music equipment littered the hallway, leading a trail to the kitchen where he was arguing with Maria.

  “I don’t care how much they’re worth,” she said. “That contraption is not taking up space on the table!” The contraption she was referring to? Apollo’s DJ decks.

  “They need to go somewhere! I can’t swing a cat in that pokey spare room, let alone find space for my decks.”

  “Aphrodite has loads of space in that attic of hers. Have you asked her?” Maria asked.

  Apollo lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. “Hell. No. I haven’t seen her in this bad a mood since her favourite lipstick got discontinued.”

  My after-school snack of buttered toast could wait. The last thing I wanted to do was deal with their bickering. I usually did my homework in the kitchen when Maria was home, so she could tell me about her day. She talked and I pretended to listen whilst really I daydreamed about Marco, making sure I nodded and gasped in the right places.

  But tonight I’d do my French homework in my bedroom, to be on the safe side. It was the only room in the house that my family hadn’t ruined for me. Yet.

  Just as I was about to write a paragraph on Pierre’s favourite meal, my phone rang, Marco’s name flashing on the screen. I answered the phone with all the casualness I could muster, praying that he couldn’t somehow hear my pounding heartbeat through the line.

  “Hey, Helen. How are things?” he asked.

  I couldn’t lie. And I didn’t want to lie, either.

  “Honestly? Not great. My family can’t seem to stop arguing at the moment.”

  I gave Marco the censored version of recent events: a family emergency that caused Apollo to be yanked from his superstar debut on primetime TV. I thought Marco was too cultured to bother with TV, but he knew all about House of Stars.

  “I’ve got to say, Helen,” Marco said, and my insides exploded with glitter when he said my name. “I’m more concerned about this family emergency you mentioned.”

  Oh gosh. I forgot to think up a lie for this “family emergency”. My mind whizzed through a carousel of untruths. A dead relative? No, too dramatic. Plus I’d have to fake going to a funeral, and that would be too far, even for me.

  “Look,” Marco said, interrupting my frantic search for a lie. “I don’t need to know what’s going on. But you know you can talk to me any time, right, Helen?”

  “I know. Thanks, Marco.”

  The weird thing was, unlike when Noor said it earlier that day, I really believed it with Marco. Like, I could actually tell him every crazy thing about my family. He’d simply nod, and ask how I was coping.

  He wouldn’t ask me what it was like to have beautiful, talented, immortal gods as siblings. He wouldn’t care about their powers. He’d want to know how they affected me.

  “It’s good to know I can talk to you,” I added. “Literally all everyone wants to talk about is Apollo right now.”

  “So everyone wants to talk about your half-brother. How does that feel?”

  “Lonely. I feel lonely.” It was the first time I’d said the words out loud. My cheeks felt hot. It felt good to get it off my chest, but also strangely embarrassing.

  The line was quiet for what felt like eternity, but was probably only a few seconds. “Helen,” he murmured. “That must suck. Right?”

  I snapped back to reality. I couldn’t stand the thought of Marco feeling sorry for me. “I’m just being dramatic,” I said. “It’s too loud to be lonely in this house, especially with everyone arguing all the time.”

  Marco laughed, thank goodness. “I think our families have plenty in common, Helen.”

  After we said goodnight and ended the call, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d said. Marco must think I’m pathetic.

  What teenager ever gets lonely? I’m surrounded by friends and family, for goodness’ sake. And I mean literally surrounded. With Apollo here, we had a full house.

  I checked my phone and saw dozens of messages from the gang in our group chat. It wasn’t anything important, just memes and GIFs and gossip. They wouldn’t mind if I caught up with them the next day. And after opening up to Marco, I wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

  I felt like I couldn’t actually talk to any of them about the stuff that weighed on my mind. The stuff that kept me awake at night. I couldn’t talk to Marco, either. Not really. But being able to say the words “I feel lonely” to him? That felt like a big deal.

  It seemed like he truly cared about me. Not my chaotic, talented, beautiful family. But me.

  And the best thing about that whole conversation? He didn’t press for answers when I mentioned the family emergency. Why couldn’t everyone in my life be as sweet and understanding as Marco?

  The one thing he hadn’t mentioned was a second date. What if he misinterpreted me running to catch the bus? Did he think I was trying to worm my way out of a kiss? I really hoped that wasn’t the case, seeing as I fancied him so much it affected my breathing.

  My phone vibrated on my bed. I had a new message.

  M: Date number two is overdue. Free soon? x

  How could so few words cause my entire body to melt down? I hugged my phone to my chest and squealed.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Dear Mum,

  Things have taken a turn for the worse. We had a written warning from the Council thanks to Eros, Aphrodite and Apollo misusing their powers. If they cross the line again, they will all be called back for a trial at Mount Olympus. And if they’re found guilty? I can kiss goodbye my life on earth.

  To make matters even more complicated, one of the leading Council members hates our entire family. According to Eros, Cranus will be looking for any opportunity to banish us all to Mount Olympus. I’m not sure what happened for him to hate our family, but I’m not about to ask. I have a feeling that it’s better to not know.

  In any case, a trial won’t happen. Dad took the major precaution of putting them under house arrest for thirty days with everyone banned from contacting the outside world (except for me, thank the gods … or not, as the case may be). By that time, Aphrodite’s devotees will have moved on to the next big thing. And everyone will have forgotten about Apollo, too.

  If there’s one thing I’ve learned recently, it’s to be careful what you wish for. For weeks I hated that Dad was always out and the house seemed quiet and empty. Now, the house is full to the brim and I can’t get a moment of peace. If it isn’t Apollo writing new songs at all hours, it’s random crashes coming from Aphrodite’s attic. I guess she’s still angry about losing her internet privileges.

  The only one who is quiet is Eros. He’s taken his punishment quite badly. It’s like he’s taken on a vow of silence or something. Apollo seems more bothered about losing his new fans (#PrayForDJSunny trended on Twitter for about thirty seconds). And Aphrodite? I haven’t seen her since our family meeting at the weekend. Knowing her bad moods, I’d like to keep it that way.

  Dad’s always home straight after work too. I guess he and Lisa broke up, and I do actually feel terrible for him. Sure, I didn’t like that he always talked about her and whatever crap documentary they were watching. But she made him happy. Now he lives in his office, hardly making a sound. I haven’t even seen him in his shed. If Dad has lost his interest in rusty antiques, I know things must be bad.

  But at least everything in my life isn’t terrible. I had a date, Mum! I think he might even be my boyfriend. Like, I think we’re seeing each other exclusively. If I’m being honest, having Marco to distract me is the one thing getting me through this madness.

  Since Apollo made his TV debut, I can’t help but wonder if my friends care more about that than me. But Marco knew about Apollo being a celebrity and didn’t care. He just wants to know how I’m feeling.

  Mum, I think you’d love him. He’s clever, kind, charming and sophisticated. And so beautiful, like a cartoon prince or spring sunshine. He has the type of face that peopl
e write music about. He’s so perfect-looking it almost makes me mad. Like, what gives him the right to be so delicious?

  He’s a little older than me (don’t freak out) but I think that’s a good thing. He doesn’t play annoying games like so many of the boys my age. I don’t think he’s the type to ditch me for someone bigger than an A-cup. There’s something that feels solid and secure about Marco.

  I’m not sure what it is. But I do know that I’m into him. Like, really into him.

  And honestly? Amidst all of this madness, he’s exactly what I need.

  Love for ever,

  Helen xxx

  TWENTY-SIX

  “Hels, you haven’t forgotten about the sleepover tonight, have you?” Daphne asked as we rushed out of our last lesson of the week. She did text me the night before, but I was on the phone to Marco and forgot to reply.

  “Yeah, I’m there!” I said. It sounded FAR better than staying at home. Eros still wasn’t talking to anyone, Aphrodite’s foul mood put me on edge, and Apollo’s speakers thumped non-stop. I leapt at the chance to have a break from my family.

  I went to my locker and checked my phone for new messages (well, a message from Marco).

  M: Hey :) Free for coffee this afternoon? X

  I was about to text him back and say I wasn’t free. But why couldn’t I fit in coffee and the sleepover? I was going to spend all night with my friends, after all. I could spare a bit of time for Marco.

  H: Deffo! Do you know Sprinkles? See you there in an hour x

  I met the girls by the school gates and told them I’d forgotten my overnight clothes. I said I’d go home, get changed and see them at Daphne’s in a couple of hours.

  “But you’re definitely going to come, right?” Yasmin said. “Feels like it’s been ages since our last sleepover.”

  I nodded. “Course!”

  Noor looked like she was about to say something, but didn’t. “See you later, then,” she said.

  I got home and checked the time. Fifteen minutes left to get ready before I had to leave for Sprinkles, the dessert parlour near my house. I wasn’t going to stress about clothes or make-up today. Especially not for a coffee date. I pulled my hair back into a topknot and smoothed back my edges with hair gel. I was ready in five minutes, and out the door not long after that.

  I took a slow walk to Holloway Road, glad that I’d sacrificed a cute dress for jeans with flat-heeled boots and my hooded parka. It was way too cold for fashion. Besides, if I can get away with looking like an Arctic explorer anywhere, it’s North London on a freezing January night.

  On the way, I took off one glove and checked my phone. I had half a dozen chat messages from the girls, telling me to hurry up, and that I was missing out on the pizza. I dismissed the notifications and stuck my phone back in my pocket.

  Ten minutes later, I arrived at Sprinkles. The dessert parlour’s purple imitation-leather booths and the shiny black floor were worlds away from the central London restaurant Marco took me to on our first date. But it was the only local place open until late that wasn’t a bar or pub.

  I walked in and eyed up the ice cream flavours. The flat-screen TV mounted on the wall displayed ads for waffles, pancakes and milkshakes in dozens of potential flavour combinations. That, and the warm smell of cookies baking, reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. I queued up behind an older couple ordering strawberry milkshakes to go (boring) and settled on the chocolate waffles with mint chocolate-chip ice cream. Yum. When I ordered, I remembered to ask for two forks and spoons so that Marco could share. It looked polite, that way.

  I paid, then turned around to find a booth. And there he was.

  Were the butterflies ever going to stop? Marco was sitting in a corner booth, deep in his book. That was enough to set off the fluttering feeling in my stomach. At this rate, he was going to ruin my appetite. I walked over. He didn’t look up from his book until I plonked myself down into the seat opposite him. The cushy seat made a “pfft” sound, and I thanked my lucky stars that it didn’t sound like something else. I would have died.

  He looked up, put his book down and smiled. “Sorry, Helen, I didn’t notice you. I was lost in my book,” Marco said.

  He reached over to take my hand. My skin fizzled and snapped like popping candy in the mouth. How was it possible to fancy someone this much?

  “Hope I wasn’t interrupting?” I said, lying.

  “The book’s great, but I’d much rather be looking at you,” he said. Swoon central.

  I looked down at his book. It was called The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus, which sounded familiar. Maybe I’d seen it on Dad’s shelf?

  “Ah, Camus. I haven’t read that one yet,” I said.

  Why was he smirking? “You mean Al-bear Camue?” he said.

  Oops. So I’d completely mispronounced his name. I hoped that the dim lighting in our corner booth hid my blushes.

  “‘Seeking what is true is not seeking what is desirable.’ Philosophy has a special place in my heart,” he said.

  “Let’s not talk about the truth right now,” I said. The guilt of lying to my friends weighed on my mind.

  “Coffee?” A waiter in a purple baseball cap set down a steaming glass mug in front of Marco.

  “I ordered before you got here. I hope you don’t mind.” Marco tore a sachet of brown sugar open and tumbled the crystals into his mug.

  “I couldn’t imagine you telling a lie, Helen,” he said, smiling sweetly.

  I gulped. If only he knew the half of it.

  “How was your day?” I asked.

  “Far from over, hence the strong coffee. I have an assignment keeping me up all night.”

  “Oh, philosophy?”

  “I wish. This is just for pleasure,” he said, nodding towards the book. “Anyway, seeing you is a much-needed break from my work.”

  “Chocolate waffles with mint choc-chip ice cream?” asked the waiter, placing a huge plate of waffles and two sets of cutlery on the table. I got stuck in, nibbling a corner of waffle drenched in thick melted chocolate. It smelled incredible.

  “I assume your father doesn’t know you’re with me?” he asked.

  That was unexpected. Was I talking about Dad too much to Marco? “He would freak if he knew I was here with you. Why, should he be worried?” I asked in my most flirtatious tone.

  “I mean, I am two whole years older than you, Helen.”

  “But all we’re doing is talking and eating!” I said, chewing my waffles. “It’s not like I’m drinking, smoking or hot-wiring cars. I don’t get why he doesn’t trust me more.”

  “Perhaps it’s because you’d give yourself diabetes if left to your own devices.” Marco grinned, looking pointedly at my plate.

  “Now I’m definitely not going to share,” I said. “‘Diabetes.’ That’s a Greek word, right?” I hoped my pathetic attempt to show Marco that I did have half a brain wasn’t obvious.

  He gave a small nod. “Many words in the English language have a Greek root. It made learning English a little easier for me.”

  Sometimes, I forgot that English wasn’t Marco’s first language. “How old were you when you started learning?”

  “Young. About five years old. My father wanted me to have a head start on the other kids at school.”

  I got halfway through eating my waffle with ice cream before feeling queasy. I wasn’t about to give up and prove to Marco that this dessert was a bad idea. I was just taking a small break, that’s all.

  “Dad’s been trying to teach me Greek for years, with no luck. Still had to put up with his museum tours, though.”

  “I would have killed for a museum trip with my father,” Marco said. “Between my boarding school and his demanding job, we didn’t get to spend much time together.”

  Now seemed like the perfect chance to ask about his mum. I’d been curious since he mentioned her on our first date.

  “So your mother left when you were young, and you don’t have any siblings. Right?�
�

  Marco nodded. “I’m sure you can relate.”

  Actually, I couldn’t. There’s no way Mum would have sent me to boarding school. And even though I only saw Dad once a month when I was little, he always gave me his undivided attention (even if he did drag me round museums I didn’t care about). I thought that living with Dad would be more like that, but we haven’t had a single day out together.

  “That sounds like a lonely way to grow up,” I said.

  “Not at all. I had plenty of tutors to keep me busy: English, geography, and history. That sort of thing. One of them introduced me to philosophy, and I’ve loved it ever since.”

  I realized this was the most Marco had said about himself since we met. I wanted him to keep going, so I kept quiet. This was a tactic Mum used when she wanted to get something out of me. Most people will rush to fill silent gaps.

  Except for Marco. He continued to sip his coffee, looking at me with that intense stare of his. I was forced to say something before my blushes took over.

  “So are you going to study philosophy? When you start at college?” I asked. It was an innocent question, but it had an interesting effect on Marco. He broke my gaze, looking down at his coffee. Had I touched a nerve?

  “No. Law,” he said, with a weird false smile.

  “Why, when you love philosophy?” I asked.

  “Do you want the long answer or the short answer?”

  I poked my spoon in the warm chocolate sauce puddling on my plate. “Both,” I said.

  “My father has an excellent legal mind.” Marco stirred the dregs of his coffee with a long-handled spoon. “I thought that, maybe, we would spend more time together if I decide to take law as one of my A-level subjects. We’d at least have that in common.”

  “And have you?”

  “Have I what, Helen?”

  “Have you spent more time together now that you’re planning to study a boring subject?” I asked. It was meant to be a joke, but Marco’s face fell. There was no doubt about it now. I’d definitely hit a nerve.