Oh. My. Gods. omg-1

by Tera Lynn Childs

“Wait a minute, Castro,” Coach Lenny calls out. “We have a meeting in the locker room to announce the team roster.”

  Yeah, right. Does he think I enjoy humiliation? I didn’t even finish the race-not that it was my fault or anything, but quitting is quitting. Oh well. Since I have to stop by school anyway to pick up my homework, I might as well sit in on the announcement. With Griffin coming in first, I’m sure there’s no way he’s not on the team, but maybe I’ll get the satisfaction of seeing Adara get cut.

  The locker room is deafening loud with everyone talking at once.

  The coaches are locked away in Coach Z’s office, making their decisions and everything.

  Even surrounded by sixty kids I feel completely alone.

  No one is talking to me, but plenty are talking about me. And staring at me. And pointing at me. And laughing at me.

  Rather than sit there and take it, I go get a drink from the water fountain. A nice, long drink. I don’t think I’ve ever drunk so much at once-except for the time I ran the Death Valley Marathon. Being waterlogged is definitely more appealing than sitting around being stared at like a talking dog.

  When I can’t drink any more, I glance around the hallway while wiping at my mouth. A little ways down I see a display case and wonder what this one holds. More Olympic medals? More artifacts from the first marathon?

  No, just a big collage of pictures of last year’s track team.

  A bunch of guys in blue running shorts dumping a cooler full of ice on Coach Lenny’s head. A group of girls posing around Coach Z. Adara and Griffin kissing on the starting line.

  Gag me.

  I’ve had enough. I’m not going to stand around and wait to hear how I suck and I should never run again and“She didn’t even finish the race,” a deep male voice says.

  Looking around I don’t see anyone in the hall.

  “Because Blake used his powers on her,” a voice that sounds like Coach Lenny says.

  The voices are coming from a slightly ajar door. It’s wrong and sneaky and all those things, but I tiptoe up to the door and listen.

  They are talking about me, after all. I think I have a right to hear.

  “If he did,” the first voice-I think it is Coach Z-says, “then we will have to ground his powers.”

  “I can’t prove it,” Coach Lenny responds, sounding exasperated.

  “She wouldn’t admit what he had done. She’s protecting him.”

  I knew he hadn’t believed me.

  “That doesn’t change the fact that she didn’t complete the race.

  How do we know what she can do on a course-”

  “She kept up with me during warm-up, damn it!”

  Wow, Coach Lenny sounds really upset. Maybe he doesn’t like the idea that a normal girl could run as fast as him. Man, these descendants sure are a bunch of egotistical freaks.

  “I was going to keep it at a slower pace,” Coach Lenny explains, “so I didn’t wear her out. But she kept up. So I pushed harder. And she kept up. By the end I was almost running full out and still she kept up. She was barely winded when we stopped. The girl has phenomenal talent, powers or not.”

  Wait a minute. He actually sounds impressed.

  “Really?”

  They both sound impressed.

  “Petrolas said she might surprise us, but I’m not sure, Lenny,”

  Coach Z says. “We still don’t know what she will do under the pressure of competition.”

  I almost reveal my presence by shouting, I live for competition!

  But I don’t think getting in the middle of this conversation is going to help my cause.

  “Z, if you’re not convinced then give her a trial slot on the team.

  Let her show us what she can really do in a race when no one zaps her laces together.”

  There is a long, painful silence. I can picture Coach Z sitting there thinking, rubbing his big potbelly while he decides whether or not I’m worth a shot.

  I am holding my breath. If he doesn’t answer soon I’ll probably pass out, and then they’ll find me in a heap outside their door.

  “All right,” he finally says and I suck in oxygen. “She can train with the team and she’ll run in our first meet. If she doesn’t place in the top three then she’s out. That fair?”

  Fair? Insanely! Because even though everyone else may have godly powers, I haven’t placed lower than second in… well, ever.

  “Great,” Coach Lenny says, sounding very happy. “Let’s go announce the team.”

  I turn and take off at a dead run for the locker room. I am just taking my place in the back corner of the room when the coaches walk in. It is a major struggle not to break into a massive grin. Adara glares at me from across the room, but I can’t even muster a scowl.

  “Everyone, may I have your attention, please.” Coach Z thumps his clipboard against his leg until everybody quiets down and looks at him. “The team roster will be as follows…”

  As he starts to read off names by event, I glance at Coach Lenny.

  He is looking at me with a proud smile on his face. I give him a beaming smile. I can’t help it, even if it gives away my eavesdropping.

  He smiles back. Then he cups a hand over his ear like someone listening at a door and winks at me.

  I laugh out loud. Man, you can’t get away with anything at this school.

  “How was your first day?” Mom asks as I fly into the house and let my backpack drop on the floor with a thud.

  She is sitting at the dining table with magazines spread out in front of her. They are all wedding magazines. She has months to plan, so I don’t know why she’s obsessing.

  “Long,” I answer before heading to the kitchen for my traditional after workout snack: Gatorade and a PowerBar.

  Only we don’t have either.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Mom says. “Hesper goes to the market on Serifos once a week. She’ll get what you need on Friday.”

  Closing my eyes, I wonder what she’ll forget to tell me next? First, the whole immortal thing. Now, the once-a-week grocery shopping thing. Maybe next I’ll find out Alexander the Great is coming back to life and bringing his army to dinner.

  “Whatever.”

  I slam the refrigerator door shut and head back to the living room to grab my backpack. What I need right now is a refuge from life. I really wish there was a lock on my bedroom door.

  “What were your classes like?” she asks. “Do you like your teachers?”

  “They’re okay.”

  “What about the students? Did you make any friends?”

  “A couple.”

  “What god do they belong to?” Her voice takes on that professional analyst tone. “Damian tried to describe the social dynamics of the school, but I’d like to hear your-”

  “Just drop it, okay? I’ve got a ton of work to do.” I want to stomp off to my room, but my thirst gets the better of me. I drop my backpack and go get a glass of water-from the tap. Is bottled water too much to ask for? “Honey, I know this is a lot to face all at once.”

  “I’m fine. So there’s no Gatorade. I’ll dehydrate like a normal person, all right.”

  She looks a little hurt, but that was pretty much what I was going for. Everything about this situation is great for her and crappy for me.

  “Do you think-” she starts to say, but then stops.

  I fling my backpack over my shoulder and head for my room. I can sense Mom trailing behind me, but I’m happy to ignore her.

  Unzipping my bag, I start setting the massive textbooks out on my bed. I think I have more homework tonight than I had in my entire three years at Pacific Park.

  “Damian told me the cross-country tryouts were today,” Mom says from the doorway. “How’d they go?”

  I shrug. “I made the team.”

  “That’s wonderful. I never doubted you would.” She falls silent.

  “Look, Mom.” I carry my Algebra II textbook to my desk and drop it on the smooth wood surface. “I have
a ton of homework to do, so…”

  “Oh.” She looks around and sees all my books on the bed. “Of course, I’ll just leave you alone to get to work. I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready.”

  “Fine,” I say. And then, because I feel a little guilty for being so mean, I add, “Thanks.”

  One hour and thirty quadratic equations later, my eyes are blurry from staring at so many numbers. I think I can solve for x in my sleep now. The house is oddly silent-the Stella monster must be out somewhere and I haven’t heard Damian come home. I haven’t even heard Mom moving around.

  Emerging from my room for a glass of water, I see Mom still hunched over the magazines on the dining table.

  “Hi, Phoebola.” She smiles as I approach.

  “Hi.” I smile back.

  Somehow, this feels more like the old us. Maybe because no one else is home, but I feel like we’re back in L.A. and giggling over fashion magazines again.

  Spurred by sentimentality, I slide into the chair next to her.

  “Whatcha looking at?”

  She groans. “Bridesmaid dresses. There are so many styles and colors to choose from I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Well,” I say, studying the pictures laid out in front of her of skinny models in brightly colored shiny gowns, “maybe you should pick your wedding colors first. Then you can just pick a style you like.”

  “What an inspired idea.” She pulls out some papers with scraps of color stapled to them. “Here are some of my color choices. What do you think?”

  She looks at me all serious. I know that in the great big scheme of things choosing wedding colors is not an awe-inspiring responsibility, but the fact that Mom is seriously asking my opinion makes me feel really important.

  I think she has almost every color in the world on these sheets, but they are grouped into a few coordinating palettes. One has a horrid pea green that wouldn’t look good on anyone-not even Adara. I shove that one aside. Some have different shades of orange and yellow that seem more Halloween-y than wedding-y. I put those aside with the pea green. That leaves two choices: one with three shades of pink that my mom would never be caught within spitting distance of and one with three shades of blue and a teal green.

  “This one,” I say, pointing to the blue and green palette. “Everyone looks good in light blue. And it goes with the whole Mediterranean setting.”

  Mom studies the colors, like she’s picturing the whole wedding and adding touches of blue and teal everywhere.

  “I like it,” Mom says, smiling and warming up to the choice. “And blue and white are the colors of Greece. It seems only fitting since I will soon become a Greek citizen.”

  “What!” My jaw drops and I stare at her. “You’re becoming a Greek?”

  “Of course,” she says with that happy-mushy smile on her face.

  “Damian cannot leave the Academy. His job and his life are here.

  And here he is protected. In America, he would always be vulnerable to discovery.”

  “But you can’t just un-become American,” I insist.

  Okay, so my problem isn’t really that she wants to renounce her American citizenship. If she becomes a citizen of Greece then that makes this whole thing so much more real. Like she can’t ever turn back. Like I can’t turn back.

  “What about me?” I ask.

  “Damian and I love each other. We are going to make a life together and that can only happen here.” She takes the discarded color schemes and drops them in the wastebasket in the kitchen.

  “That doesn’t mean that you’re not a major part of that life, even when you choose to return to the States. You are my daughter. My love. My everything. That will never change. But don’t you think I deserve a little happiness after all these years?”

  We were happy. In California.

  Mom had her practice and Aunt Megan and Yia Yia Minta.

  I had Nola and Cesca and a track team full of friends.

  Everything was great. So why did we have to move all the way around the world just for a guy? “Besides,” she says, her voice all wistful. “I like Greece. It makes me feel closer to your father to be in his homeland.”

  “Homeland?” I ask, shocked. “Dad was from Detroit. Motown is his homeland.”

  “His family is Greek. In his heart he was always Greek.”

  “That’s creepy.” I stand up and start pacing. “You marry this new guy and move to Greece to be closer to your dead husband?”

  She gasps as I say it. I know that was pretty harsh, but it’s the truth.

  “Phoebe,” she begins, and I know she’s serious because she uses my real name, “what your father and I had was very special.

  Nothing-not his death, not my remarriage-will ever change that.

  Damian understands.”

  Well, I don’t understand. Mom may think it’s fine to snag a new husband, but I don’t need a new father. And being in Greece will never make me feel closer to the one I had.

  Sure, I’ve been thinking more about Dad since we got to Serfopoula than I have in ages, but that’s because of the stepdad thing.

  Mom is probably going through the new husband thing. It’s displaced guilt or something because she feels bad for remarrying.

  That’s her baggage.

  Dad was perfect and now he’s gone. I can’t get him back and don’t want to replace him.

  “Fine.” I stalk into the kitchen, wiping at the tears I don’t want Mom to see, and refill my glass of water. “You stay here and become Greek. I’ll send you a postcard from USC when I graduate.”

  With a satisfying slam, I shut myself in my bedroom and fling myself on the bed. I can picture Mom watching me storm away, shrugging at my infantile behavior, and going back to planning her wedding.

  It’s like I don’t even matter anymore.

  Rolling to the edge of the bed, I reach over to the desk to grab my Physics II book. If it’s like everything else at this school myeight homework problems are going to turn into a major scientific treatise.

  When Mom knocks on my door to call me to dinner I ignore her.

  The last thing I want is to face another meal of goo-goo eyes and green sea slugs-even though Stella’s powers are grounded, I don’t put it past her to bring real ones this time. Besides, I still have half a book to read for Ms. T.

  My door swings open. “Phoebe, dinner is-”

  “Mom!” I shout, jumping off my bed. “You can’t just barge into my room. Don’t I get any privacy?”

  “I’m sorry. When you didn’t answer I-”

  “Look, I don’t want dinner. I’m not hungry.” Actually, I’m starving, but I would rather go hungry until lunch tomorrow than have a family dinner. “I have a lot of work to do, so just leave me alone.”

  The hurt in her green eyes makes my heart ache. Not enough to take back what I said, though.

  I’m surprised she’s not shouting right back at me.

  “All right,” she says softly. “I understand your need for distance.

  I’ll ask Hesper to leave a plate of leftovers in the fridge.”

  I shrug, like I’m not interested. Like I’m not already plotting to sneak out and consume that plate after everyone’s in bed. “Whatever.”

  Her sad smile says she already knows what I’ll do.

  Without another word, she turns and walks away.

  Animal Farm in hand, I collapse on the bed.

  All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

  Sounds like my life.

  Maybe this book won’t be so bad, after all.

  Two hours and forty-seven pages later I’m still twenty pages from being done with my reading assignment.

  I can’t face another page of Animal Farm without a break, so I head to Damian’s office to check e-mail. He’s there, bent over a stack of papers. It’s a really big stack and I wonder if he has to get through the whole thing tonight.

  He sure seems to be busy all the time.

&nbs
p; I’m not sure if I should interrupt, so I hover in the doorway. He looks up and smiles.

  “Good evening, Phoebe.” He pushes his papers aside and smiles at me. “How is the homework coming?”

  “All done,” I say cheerfully.

  Okay, so I still need to read another twenty pages of Animal Farm and choose a painting from the Art History book to study for the semester, but everything else is finished.

  “Please,” he says, gesturing to the computer, “feel free to check your e-mail. But be sure and leave enough time to finish your reading.”

  How did he know? Either I’m that transparent or he can read minds.

  “I don’t read minds so much as I read emotion,” he says. “I sensed your guilt over lying to me.”

  “I wasn’t ly-”

  “You were stretching the truth.” He gave me a disapproving principal look.

  “Fine,” I relent. “I’m almost done.”

  He points to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

  Nervous about his “discussion” tone of voice, I sink into the chair with a sense of despair. I’m about to be lectured, I just know it.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, again reading my mind-or emotions, or whatever. “I know this is a difficult transition for you. There are many changes occurring simultaneously. Whatever your opinion of me and my relationship with your mother, I would like you to trust me. No matter what problem you are having you can discuss it with me and I will advise you as best I can. In the strictest confidence.”

  I nod, knowing this is a really kind offer. There is still some part of me that won’t just open up and accept his help. Not out loud anyway. But it’s good to know it’s there. If I need it.

  “You should know,” he adds, pulling his pile of papers back over and starting to look through them again. “Ms. Tyrovolas frequently gives a detailed quiz over reading assignments.”

  “Oh.” Cool. Insider information. I’m beginning to see how having Damian as an ally could be really useful. “I’ll just check my e-mail real quick, then.”

  He nods and keeps reading his papers.

  Anxious to see if Cesca and Nola e-mailed me and get back to finishing the Animal Farm pages, I jump into the chair in front of the computer and log on to my account.