by Clea Hantman
“He’s not reasonable! He’s cruel. A machine!” cried Polly. “He’s a bully, and he has no respect for nature or the outdoors. He’s short-tempered and ill-natured and he wants us to scale walls in dresses!”
“No, he’s not—how can you say that, Polly? Didn’t you notice how kind and beautiful he is? I’m sure he’ll allow us to sit out the obstacle course. Or he’ll at least help us out. Don’t say such horrible things about him, Polly, please—you’re really upsetting me!”
And they went on like this back and forth, Polly trashing the teacher, Era defending his character. There wasn’t anything I could do but tune them out. They were giving me a headache. I sat back down on the grass in protest.
And then I spotted the number fifteen through a bush. My film partner, Dylan from Denver, in full football regalia, wasn’t on the football field with all the other jockos. He was filming something behind the bushes.
Wait a minute, he was filming us! I was livid!
I was all ready to start screaming, “Stalker!” at the top of my lungs, but I stopped myself. (Hey, I watch a lot of Cops.) I took a few deep breaths. I looked around nonchalantly, like I hadn’t spotted him. And I grabbed my notebook. I ripped a few pieces of paper out of my binder. I grabbed a pen. A fat pen. And I wrote. I held it up for him to see. It read:
I see you
I saw the bush move, but I could tell he was still there. The bush rustled some more. And then a sheet of paper, attached to a fist, came punching through the bush. In big, fat pen it read:
I see you, too
I had to laugh. But inside, so he couldn’t see my amusement. I grabbed another sheet and wrote. I flashed him my sign:
Stop STALKING me!
The bush rustled and then another fist, another piece of paper, and his read:
Stop STALKING ME!
Funny. Very funny. I grabbed a piece of paper and the pen. I scribbled, then held up my sign:
Bush + camera = STALKING
The bush moved some more. And then it revealed another sign:
Dylan + Thalia = A+
Cute, I thought. I mean, I could’ve been paired with that Neanderthal Greg Gatsby. He would’ve wanted to shoot girls’ butts and wouldn’t have given a hoot what kind of grade we got.
Then another note came out of the bush:
Dylan + Thalia = dinner tonight
Figures! I don’t think so. I held up my last note again, sans any sort of smile…
Stop STALKING me!
…then I grabbed my bag and my sisters, who were still arguing, and started to walk home.
EIGHT
I have to say, I don’t miss the pomp and circumstance of life back home. You know, the stuffy dinners in the great hall, the stilted conversation with all the boring old bigwigs like Poseidon and Dionysus.* But that’s not to say life here on earth can’t be just as lame. That night the arguing didn’t stop on our walk home. No, Era and Polly continuously went at it once we were home, through dinner and on into the night. And the next day, after yet another round of boring biology and way too much math, not to mention the very wrong version of ancient history these people are teaching (including the foul notion that Greek gods are merely myths!), I was ready for something new—an adventure or a great battle of wits. I was thinking of trying my hand at these things called video games. I’d seen a bunch of kids outside the Grit going crazy over them.
But first I had to get the sixteen-millimeter camera back from Dylan from Denver. It was my turn to shoot, and you can bet your sweet turtle I wasn’t going to waste my hours stalking the football player from another planet.
I grabbed my stuff from my locker and headed to the quad, where we were to meet. Dylan wasn’t there yet. I sat on a bench and waited impatiently. I wanted to get home. Of course, Era and Polly weren’t anywhere nearby, either. I noticed a little crowd gathering on the other side of the quad. Everyone was looking up. I figured I could be just as annoyed and impatient over there as I could over here, right? So I went to have a look.
As soon as I got a little closer, I noticed someone on the roof of the school trailer. Not just someone, Dylan. And he had our camera. I screamed, “No!” but it was no use. There was so much chatter and commotion, I couldn’t even hear my own voice. I pushed my way into the crowd and found this: ten football players, all in their uniforms (huh, Dylan didn’t look quite as out of place around these guys), lying on the ground, heads all together, producing a sizable man-made star burst. They were chanting, or rather grunting, and kicking alternate legs into the air chorus-line style. Dylan was on the roof, all right, directing them, leading them, filming them.
Claire grabbed me and said, “I don’t know what kind of statement he’s making, but I’m sure Mrs. Tracy will find some deep-seated political reason behind it and love it.”
“You people have some weird customs,” I said, wishing I hadn’t. I was always so careful around Claire not to say anything that made me seem too out of touch. Too much like a Greek goddess from another place and time. But of course, she thought I was an exchange student from Europe, so there was a little room for some confusion on my part. At least I hoped so.
“This isn’t any American custom, Thalia—this is just plain weird.”
“Right, weird.”
“Thanks, guys, that was awesome—that’s all I need.” It was Dylan, calling down from the roof. Just then three teachers came running out of the building, yelling and demanding Dylan come down. Dylan spotted me and screamed my name. Then he actually threw the camera down, yelling at me, “Catch!”
I did. But not effortlessly. I mean, I broke a small sweat, diving for that camera. Another five inches to the right and it would have been kaput. And then Dylan from Denver took a small hop and flipped off the roof, spinning in midair like some wild gymnast in the first Olympic games, and landed, feet firmly planted on the ground. A perfect ten.
Not that I was going to tell him so. I was ticked off. How did he know I could catch that camera? And where did he learn to do something like that? That jump was…was…was godlike. No mortal boy I’d seen could move like that.
Meanwhile the small crowd from before had turned into a massive-size crowd now, and they were all cheering and hooting Dylan’s high dive. I took the camera, grabbed my bag, and headed out of school.
“Wait! Thalia, wait!” yelled Dylan.
I didn’t.
But before I even made it to the steps of the school, he was there, in front of me, stopping me. “Hey, so did you like the human-star-burst thing I did? It looked really cool from up there—I think it will be grand, really showy, awesome, an A-plus!”
“Sure, whatever. You shouldn’t have thrown the camera—you know that was seriously irresponsible,” I said, very responsibly, I might add.
“I knew you could catch it.”
“How? How, Dylan, did you know I could catch it?”
“I just did. Don’t get so bent out of shape—the camera’s fine. Listen, why don’t I come over to your house tomorrow night and we can shoot this other idea I had? I was thinking, you and your sisters all dressed up in your favorite clothes, sitting on a hill, with the Nova High band playing behind you, talking about your worst fears and your finest accomplishments. Like a secret peek into the sisterhood. What do you think?”
“No, I think no, Dylan. I’m going to take the camera now and I’m going to shoot things I want to shoot and then I will return the camera to you after the weekend and you can have another day with it and then we’re done. We’re done with the movie and we’re done being partners.”
Before I had even finished the sentence, I felt I had gone too far. He wasn’t so bad—I didn’t have to be so mean. There was just something about him that got my inner goat girl all riled up. He looked truly insulted and sincerely hurt.
“Why do you hate me, Thalia?” he asked sadly. He pushed his hair out of his eyes.
“I don’t hate you. I don’t even know you.”
“Then let’s get togeth
er tomorrow night. We’ll have dinner, you’ll get to know me, we’ll discuss the movie, maybe concept a few scenes….”
“Look, you’re fine, I don’t hate you, but see, I’ve got a boyfriend back home and, well…” I said it without really thinking.
“A boyfriend? Really—okay, I can respect that,” he said, and his smile got a little bigger.
“So where did you learn to flip like that?” I asked.
“Well, you see, I was born in this wild part of Mesopotamia and my parents, they abandoned me when I was a wee boy and I was left to the jungle, to the animals. A kindly female gorilla found me and took care of me like I was one of her own. I played with the little gorillas like they were brothers and sisters, and it just became natural to swing from branches and jump and flip from treetops. It was a lonely life for a little boy but exciting for a baby gorilla….”
I was stunned. “Really? Wow!” I cried. How I longed for real adventure! And I hadn’t heard about Mesopotamia since I left home…
“No, not really, I made that up. I’m just good at sports. It’s in my genes.”
“Ohhh,” I moaned. “Very funny. I bet I’m the first girl to fall for that story, huh?”
“You are,” he said, and then he bent down to my ear and whispered, “and you are also the only girl I’ve ever told it to.”
His breath felt soft on my cheek. No. I shook my head. I had fallen hook, line, and sinker for the first adventure story that had come my way. I was starved for real-time action. And a little embarrassed by my extreme gullibleness.
“So what’s your story?” he asked.
“Oh, haven’t you heard? I was born to circus freaks.”
“Right, I have heard that one,” he said. Great. He’d been in school a week and already he’d heard the gossip. Good thing I didn’t like him, you know, that way.
Suddenly I felt a chill down my spine. Like an evil eye was upon me. Sure enough, I looked over my shoulder to find the Backroom Betties, aka the Furies, and they were walking circles around us. Nonchalantly, casually, but evilly. I hoped Dylan wouldn’t notice, but he did. Oh, he did. He turned along with them, following their evil eye with his own arched eye. No words were spoken. I was confused. I’d never seen him talk to them before. Did they know each other?
Dylan grabbed my arm, gently, though, and walked me down the steps and away from evil. Still no words were spoken. I thought of crying out, “Hey,” but the fact was, his grip on my arm wasn’t painful; it felt strong and smooth and easy. It made me think of Apollo. And the night of the engagement party when he grabbed me and pulled me behind the curtain to give me a…a kiss.
“Those girls really are unnecessary, aren’t they?” said Dylan, interrupting my beautiful moment and bringing me back to reality.
“I thought all the football players were crazy about those girls.”
“Not this one. Unnecessary.”
“Yeah, that’s a good way to put it—unnecessary. I like that.”
“Like an old stinky pair of shoes,” he said.
“Or a lingering infected toenail,” I said.
“Or a big vat of snake heads,” he said, laughing. We both shivered, although probably for really different reasons.
Now, who is this guy who finds Thalia divine?
To think her appealing he must be a swine.
Of course, it makes sense, this is rancid baloney,
We have a special evil skill to alert us to a phony.
But why didn’t Hera tell us of this bitter surprise?
That Dylan is Apollo in mortal disguise?
Clearly he plans to help Thalia succeed,
So he must be stopped by a few evil deeds:
While Polly and Era bring their own fate to pass
By failing to pass that impossible class,
We will make sure that Dylan is sunk,
Their partnership ruined, and Thalia will flunk.
How will we do this? you ask of us three.
Keep turning the pages, and we will soon see….
NINE
“I think we should come up with our own diabolical plan,” said Era. “That way we can head them off at the evil pass. I mean, you just know they’ve got something planned for us. We’re like sitting swans here.”
“The expression, I believe, is sitting ducks,” said Polly. “I overheard Sergeant Scary use it yesterday in survival. Of course, he could be so very wrong.”
Era threw Polly a biting glance. Then she said haughtily, “I don’t want to be a duck. Swans are prettier.”
We three sat at our bright yellow kitchen table, doing homework and nibbling on “dinner,” which consisted of orange Cheez Doodles, peanut brittle, and our last bean burger, cut in thirds and drenched in ketchup. We still hadn’t gotten used to this cook-for-yourself thing and preferred to go out to the local diners. But every night?
I thought I would change the subject. “Have you guys seen my new shoes?” I lifted up my feet to show them the sneakers I’d found under a pile in Era’s closet. We’d been supplied with tons of clothes when we’d gotten here, and Era and I never ceased to delight in the rich colors, the cool fabrics, the different styles. It was one of the first things we took solace in when we arrived here, and it still always seemed to cheer us up to have cool stuff to wear.
Right now, though, neither of my sisters looked impressed. So I decided to try again.
“I shot some great footage for my media class today. I shot these incredible flowers that I’d never seen before. I even captured a bee drinking from the stem! It was magical.”
“Did you ever think that maybe that flower is so commonplace here that perhaps no one else will find that ‘special’?” asked Polly. “Maybe bees, too.”
“Huh, I hadn’t thought about that,” I said. We didn’t have bees in Olympus. The goat boys gathered our nectar for parties and stuff from far-off lands, but they never brought the bees back with them. Believe me, I’d begged them to many a time. They’d be a great thing to stick in the Furies’ underpants.
“What is the point of the assignment, anyway?” asked Era as she licked her vibrant orange fingers clean.
“To show the average teenage life…I think.”
“So what does that have to do with flowers and bees?” asked Polly.
They were starting to annoy me. Yet she had a point. I thought I’d change the subject, deflect the questioning off me and back on school and homework, where it squarely belonged.
“Hey, have you all noticed how much is just wrong in school?” I asked.
Homework was indeed work. Remembering false facts like, oh, that Ben Franklin invented electricity (hello, we had spotlights in the sky long before Franklin took kite in hand—it was called lightning), computing numbers that seemed to have no bearing on our past, present, and future lives, reading boring, endless works of pointless meandering. Earth was definitely cool, but school kind of stunk.
Polly concurred. Not about the stinking part, of course, because Polly loves school almost as much as she loves nature and poetry, but about the little untruths. “Yes, like the other day in history, my teacher was calling our own history “mythology,” like it’s just some sort of crazy story that didn’t actually exist! I was livid. But what can I say? ‘Excuse me, miss, but you have it all wrong. Zeus is my daddy, and he is as real as you are.’”
“I could think of a few ways to let her know—like turning her into a winged piglet. That would show her who’s real!” I said.
Era sat there, giggling.
“She didn’t even mention us,” complained Polly. “Like we were some inconsequential goddesses or something. She ran through what she termed the “major gods,” totally skipping over us.”
“No!” cried Era. Only now was Era taking the conversation to heart.
“I know,” said Polly. “And they have it all wrong. I mean, she talked a bit about how Daddy is, like, head god and all, but they didn’t even mention the Fates.*
“How can you talk abou
t our lives and not talk about the Fates?” I cried.
“So she didn’t even mention me at all?” asked Era.
“Not at all, sweet sister.”
“Rats! Let’s complain! There must be someone we can contact, like that vice principal woman. Can’t we tell her?” begged Era.
“Yeah, right,” I said. “They’d never believe us. But it does make you wonder…just what else are they teaching us that isn’t true?”
“Right!” Era was behind the cause now. “Like how do we know the square root of twenty-eight is what they say it is or that Athens, Georgia, is even in this so-called United States? I mean, had you ever even heard of the United States? How do we know?”
Polly interjected, “We just have to hope they’re better with information from their own century.”
“They have figured out a lot since our day. I mean, who came up with this television thing? It’s brilliant, really, you must admit!” I said.
“And the chariot, er, I mean, car, that’s simply divine!” said Polly.
“Yeah, yeah, but what about our own accomplishments? Why isn’t anyone reading about how we invented the harp? I mean, that is an incredibly worthwhile and beneficial contribution to history.” Era was whining.
