Oh. My. Gods. omg-1

by Tera Lynn Childs

  Nicole must be mistaken.

  Griffin Blake is a really nice guy.

  “Welcome to the Academy track and cross-country team tryouts,”

  Coach Zakinthos says. “Some of you are familiar with the process, but for new students I will explain.”

  It may be my imagination, but I think he is talking only to me.

  Everyone else seems bored by his little welcome speech.

  We’re sitting on the soccer field at the center of a big stone stadium that’s on the far side of the campus from Damian’s house. It looks like a mini version of the Coliseum in Rome, complete with rows and rows of stone benches. We’ve already done group stretching and some stuff to get our blood flowing, like jumping jacks and push-ups-while Coach Z paces back and forth. His white and blue track pants whoosh with every step.

  The apparel aside, he looks like he’s never seen the athletic side of a sporting event. I guess being part-god is no guarantee of physical perfection. Approaching ancient, over fifty at least, he has a beer gut to rival diehard football fans. A light jog looks like a stretch, let alone actually making it on a run.

  Maybe he coaches discus.

  “Everyone will select up to five events and will compete in those events for a position on the team. The top three finishers in each will automatically earn a slot, but the final roster rests at the coaches’ discretion. In distance running, there’s just one race. Six boys and six girls qualify. Any questions so far?”

  He looks right at me. There are at least sixty kids sitting on the field, but his question is only for me. I throw a sideways glance at Griffin, sitting near the back of the group with Adara between his legs and surrounded by the rest of the Ares clique. His piercing blue eyes are trained on me.

  I start to smile, but as soon as he notices me looking, he scowls and looks away. Boys can be so strange.

  When I don’t answer, Coach Z glances at his clipboard. “There are twenty-five events to choose from. Throwers stay here with me.

  Jumpers go with Coach Andriakos. Hurdlers with Coach Karatzas.

  Sprinters meet Coach Vandoros at the starting line. And distance runners, Coach Leonidas is waiting for you at the entrance to the tunnel.”

  Around me, everyone gets up and heads off toward their coaches.

  I know I am going to the tunnel, but I hold back, waiting to see where Griffin goes.

  Adara, her arms wrapped around his neck, gives him a quick kiss before bouncing off with the rest of the sprinters. He turns and sets off at a jog.

  Toward the tunnel.

  Omigod.

  Heart thumping in my chest, I follow close behind. From the second I saw him on the beach I thought he looked like a distance runner, but now I know it’s true.

  That’s one thing we have in common.

  “Ah, Miss Castro,” Coach Leonidas says as I walk through the tunnel, “you are a distance runner.” He smiles and rubs his hands together. “Excellent. Tell me about your background.”

  Griffin is in front of me and he turns to hear my answer.

  “Well,” I say, trying to focus on running and not the gorgeous hunk watching me with the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen, “I ran cross-country and long-distance track for three years at my old high school.”

  “How’d you do?” Griffin asks.

  I can’t tell if he’s teasing or asking, so I answer, “I won the Western Regional Championship twice.”

  “What about the third year?”

  This time I can tell he’s making fun-only to impress his obnoxious friends, of course. Why else would he be such a jerk when he was so nice to me this morning?

  Well, while wanting him to smile at me someday might include a laugh or two, I don’t actually want him laughing at me. It’s a fine line. “Freshman year I came in second.”

  He looks like he’s about to say something, but Coach Leonidas interrupts. “Wonderful,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll bring a lot to the team.”

  “Thanks, Coach Leo…”

  Okay, so Coach Z said his name, but I can’t remember how to pronounce it. Everything in this country is a tongue twister.

  “Call me Lenny,” he says. “Everyone does.”

  “Thanks,” I say again, “Coach Lenny.”

  “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way,” he says, “let’s get to the running.”

  Everyone cheers-still full of the excitement of the first day of the season and not yet worn down by miles and miles and miles of running.

  I cheer, too. After all the embarrassment and inferiority I’ve faced today, I’m ready to show them all what I’m really good at.

  “We’re going to start out with a nice, easy warm-up before we run the qualifying race.” Coach Lenny looks happy, like he loves running and thinks it’s great luck he gets to make a living doing it.

  “Follow me.”

  He turns and heads out of the tunnel, into the afternoon sun.

  Now Coach Lenny looks like an athlete. There’s no trace of belly, beer or otherwise, on his wiry frame-he’s not hiding one, either, because his white tank and blue running shorts leave little to the imagination. He sets the pace-the twenty kids who’d assembled in the tunnel fall in behind him-a gentle run that’s not about to get anyone sweaty. I focus on the footfalls of his sneakers, counting out the rhythm in my mind and letting it sink into me.

  The steady rhythm matches my heart rate.

  I am vaguely aware that our pace is increasing. As we build up speed I stay focused on Coach Lenny’s sneakers, never letting him get more than a few feet ahead of me.

  I get lost in the run.

  Barely noticing my surroundings, I’m surprised when he looks over his shoulder and announces, “We’ll make two more laps around the stadium before heading to the course.”

  I’m in the middle of the lead group, content for the warm-up to hold back my pace. Don’t want to wear myself out before the qualifier.

  I love everything about running: the steady rhythm of my sneakers hitting the ground, the adrenaline and endorphins pulsing through my bloodstream, the cotton of myPAIN IS WEAKNESS LEAVINGTHE BODYtee rubbing against my skin with every step. If I could do it without winding up in a tree or a ditch, I’d close my eyes and just… feel.

  Running is when I know I’m alive.

  Everything else is downtime.

  Step, step, step, breathe. Step, step, step, breathe.

  That pattern is my comfort.

  Nothing else that happened today matters anymore. The crazi ness of my life melts away. In my mind, I’m back home-running on the beach with Dad shouting encouragements and urging me to push myself. No gods, evil stepsisters, or mind-muddling boys allowed. All I know is I’m running and I feel perfect.

  “Hold up here,” Coach Lenny announces, stopping us at a clearing with a smooth dirt path that leads into a pine forest.

  “Everyone walk it out, bring your heart rate back down. Get a drink of water.”

  He points to a drinking fountain near the head of the trail. I wait until everyone else has taken a drink before getting my own.

  Someone taps on my shoulder, just as I suck down a big gulp.

  Coughing, I turn to find Troy standing behind me, a big grin on his face.

  “Hey,” I say, wiping at the water dripping down my chin. “What are you doing here?”

  “Thought you might need a good luck charm.”

  He holds out his hand, keeping it fisted so I can’t see whatever’s inside. I hold out mine beneath his. With a twist of his wrist, he opens his fist and I feel something fall onto my palm.

  “A feather?”

  “Yeah,” he says, blushing a little. Pink looks good on his cheeks.

  “To help you fly faster.”

  “Thanks,” I say, blushing myself. “That’s sweet.”

  “You running today, Travatas?” Coach Lenny asks.

  “No way.” Troy backs away. “Just saying hello.”

  “If you stay, you run.”


  Troy turns to me, looking a little panicked. “I’ve gotta run. I mean go.” He glances nervously at Coach Lenny. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He’s gone before I can say, “See ya.”

  I don’t have time to laugh at his hasty escape, Coach Lenny blows his whistle and calls us all to the starting line.

  “I’m going to lead the course,” he says. “And I’ll be waiting back here when you finish the circuit. Follow the path marked with white flags.”

  Holding up his stopwatch, he turns to the course, blows his whistle, and starts the race. My heart rate kicks up at the shrill whistle, knowing this is the moment I have to prove myself.

  Monitoring my pace, I stay in the middle of the pack. I’ve always been a strong finisher and it’s better if I conserve some energy for the last kilometer than burn it all off at the start. A couple kids bolted out of the gate and I know they will be running out of steam halfway through.

  I maintain my pace, just like Dad taught me.

  Step, step, step, breathe. Step, step, step“Why bother trying out?”

  Griffin’s question-from right next to me-startles me and I trip over my own feet, but manage to stay upright and moving forward.

  It takes several steps before I get my rhythm back.

  “What do you mean?”

  I risk a glance.

  His blue eyes are focused on the course and his mouth is twisted in a smirk. “You’ll never qualify,” he says. “You’re a nothos. You can’t keep up.”

  Who is he to tell me what I can and can’t do? He doesn’t know me. Cute boy or not, I can beat his tail.

  “I’m keeping up with you,” I snap.

  “Only because I’m letting you.”

  His expression doesn’t change and he doesn’t look away from the course, but I can tell he’s laughing at me. I really can’t stand it when people laugh at me.

  I feel a little surge of extra energy-adrenaline-and pick up my pace.

  “When the race is over,” I say, letting his taunts get the better of me, “you can let me know how it feels to be beat by a nothos.”

  That hits home. His anger doesn’t show on his face, but his hands ball into fists and his movement becomes a little tighter.

  “That,” he says through clearly clenched teeth, “will never happen.”

  What happened to the super sweet guy I met on the beach? This is more like the guy Nicole warned me about. “Were you possessed by the Furies after we met this morning? Or did I just catch you off guard before you’d had your jerk juice?”

  “This morning,” he snaps, “I didn’t know who you were.”

  “Oh,” I say, “you’re only nice to strangers. Now that we’re acquainted you have to be rude. Got it.”

  “If I were being rude,” he said, his voice cold and hard, “youwould know it. I’m only amusing myself to pass the time. In about half a kilometer you’ll be in my dust.”

  Well, I didn’t get to be Western Regional Champion-twicewithout learning how to ignore head games. Cross-country is full of trash talk, but it’s only effective if you let it get to you.

  “Whatever.” I shrug, “We’ll see at the finish line.”

  Looking ahead, I realize we have dropped back a little from the main group. I can’t let him get me off my race. I count to three before kicking up my pace another notch. Already I can feel myself closing the gap.

  “Never,” Griffin says as he speeds up, “mess with a descendant of Ares, nothos.”

  Then, before I can reply, a flash of light glows at my feet and the next thing I know I’m tumbling headfirst into the packed dirt path.

  Griffin and the other runners disappear around a bend in the course and all I’m left with is a thin cloud of dust. Jumping to my feet, I look down to find my shoelaces untied, or, more accurately, untied and retied together.

  Stepping out of my shoes rather than bother untying the supernatural knot-which is probably impossible to undo, anyway-I turn and start the long trudge back to the starting line.

  Chapter Four

  WHEN COACH LENNY crosses the finish line, I am sitting in the dirt, trying to unknot my sneakers without success. After trying to unravel the knot for nearly half an hour, it hasn’t budged a millimeter. Either I’m going to have to cut the laces or buy new Nikes.

  “What happened?” he asks, slowing to a stop at my shoeless feet.

  I shrug. “I tripped.”

  “Tripped?” he asks between panting breaths. He starts pacing around me in little circles. “So you just give up?”

  “What do you want me to do?” I shout, flinging my hopelessly joined sneakers into the woods. “I’m just a plain old, non-godrelated person. I can’t keep up.”

  Even if I could, no one would let me. Except for my mom-and maybe Damian-nobody wants me on this stupid island. I wish I could go home. Only I don’t have a home to go home to. At this point, a year with Yia Yia Minta-with her stinky goat cheese, chain smoking, and spitting on everything for good luck-would be a blessing.

  Coach Lenny squats in front of me. He stares into my eyes, like he’s trying to see all the way into my brain. Heck, he’s part-god.

  Maybe he can.

  The sounds of footsteps and heavy breathing coming from the course indicate the first group of racers. Griffin, of course, is in the lead. I wonder if he cheated against everybody else, too.

  Coach Lenny looks from me to Griffin and back again. His lips firm into a tight line. I can see the muscles in his jaw clenching.

  “Did he use his powers against you?” Coach Lenny pronounces every word very carefully. He sounds really angry.

  Griffin, walking around the starting area with his hands on his waist, looks at me like a puppy caught peeing on the rug. Nicole and Troy said the whole powers thing is strictly controlled and that using them against someone else is a big no-no. Like when Stella zapped my backpack.

  I bet sabotaging my race is worth more than a week of grounded powers.

  His fate is in my hands.

  I smile at Griffin, majorly satisfied to see his ears turn red. I don’t know if he’s embarrassed for being such a jerk or afraid that I’m going to rat on him, but I like both options equally.

  Either I turn him in and get revenge for his jerkiness this afternoon, or I cover for him and then he owes me one. Big time.

  “Oh no,” I say with a wide, innocent grin, batting my eyelashes for effect, “Griffin would never do something so underhanded, would he?”

  I’m not fully sure why I don’t squeal. Maybe I like the idea of being one up on him. Or maybe I think the whole thing isn’t worth the trouble. Or maybe-and this is a terrifying possibility after what he’s done to me-I still want him to like me.

  Or at least the him that I met that morning on the beach.

  The him he’s showing this afternoon can go take a leap.

  Griffin exhales loud enough for me to hear, like he’s beyond relieved that I didn’t rat on him.

  A few more runners cross the finish line. Griffin congratulates them as they arrive, and then they pat him on the back for coming in first. They might dismiss his red cheeks and ears as a result of running, but I know he’s embarrassed. He knows he won unfairly.

  Coach Lenny eyes me suspiciously. I’m a horrible liar and he can probably tell I am covering for Griffin. But he apparently decides to let this one slide and walks away.

  Now it sinks in that I am going to have to walk all the way back to Damian’s house-across the whole campus and a very rocky hillside-in my socks.

  I glare at Griffin, bent over the water fountain and showing off his cute butt-I mean his rotten backside. Well, I am not going into the woods sock-footed after a pair of shoes when it’s his fault I threw them in there.

  Jumping to my feet, I stomp across the starting area as best as I can without shoes and tap him on the shoulder.

  “Get my shoes back,” I demand.

  He jerks up and spins around, like he’s shocked that I have the nerve to talk to him. �
�Excuse me?” he asks, like I’m the one being rude.

  Only I can’t really remember what I was asking him because his lips are all glossy and wet from the drinking fountain.

  “I, um…” I swallow hard, hoping that will clear my brain. “Shoes.

  They’re… in the woods.”

  I wave my hand back over my shoulder in the general direction that my shoes had gone. Then, while my eyes are locked on his lips, his tongue darts out to catch an extra drop of water at the corner of his mouth. I sort of shudder all over and I think it’s with only the biggest display of willpower that I don’t whimper.

  His mouth kicks up at one side in that cocky grin.

  Like he knows just what kind of thoughts I’m having.

  That shakes me out of it.

  I drag my eyes away from his lips and focus on his eyes-his bright blue, hypnotic…

  “My shoes,” I say as forcefully as possible. “I tossed them in the woods. Get them back.”

  “Why would you throw your-”

  “Because I couldn’t get them unknotted, thank you very much.”

  “Oh,” he mouths, scowling. As if he hadn’t realized I couldn’t untie his supernatural knot.

  Then, before I can blink, he holds out his hand to the woods and then my shoes are there-laces unknotted and tied into neat little bows. He holds them out to me and, as soon as I take them, turns and walks away.

  I stare after him, confused.

  I feel like I’ve missed something again, like I should thank him for undoing the rotten thing he did in the first place. Like he’s pushing me away and pulling me in at the same time.

  And I thought girls were supposed to be the complicated ones.

  Forcing myself to forget Griffin and his contradictions, I slip back into my shoes and start for Damian’s house. No point hanging around to hear I didn’t make the team. Great! There goes USC.

  There goes the one thing I could count on to keep me going on this stupid island. There goes my life for the next year-and beyond.