Of course, with the second option there is a potential added bonus. In wrenching Griffin away from Adara, I could conceivably end up keeping him for myself-which means I would get to see Stella lose out on something she really wants. A rare occurrence, I think.
Win-win.
“All right,” I finally say. “You help me, I’ll help you.”
She actually smiles, a genuine, nonthreatening smile.
That won’t last.
“But I can’t make any guarantees,” I add. “How am I supposed to break up the golden couple? What if I can’t split them up?”
“You’ll find a way.” She turns to walk away. “I hear cross-country teammates grow very close. Steal him, dump him, and I’ll clean up the pieces.”
She opens the door and starts to leave.
“Hey,” I cry. “What about my homework?”
She looks back over her shoulder. Her smile is sinister. “As soon as you meet your end of the bargain, I’ll fulfill mine.”
Then she walks out of the room, slamming the door.
I send my Modern Greek textbook flying after her.
“Phoebe?” a muffled voice calls to me. Then louder, clearer, “Phoebe?”
“Mmnff,” I grumble and settle back into my dreamland.
“Phoebe!”
I shoot up in my chair. “Wha-what’s going on?”
“Phoebe, honey,” Mom says, laying a hand on my shoulder, “you fell asleep over your homework.”
A quick glance at my desk reveals some sleep-crumpled papers and, thankfully, no drool puddle. Peeling a sheet of notebook paper off my cheek, I check and see that I had finished my Art History questionnaire before dozing off.
“Thanks,” I say, smoothing out the paper and slipping it into my binder. “I guess practice wore me out.”
“Did you want to check e-mail before Damian and I go to bed?”
Ew. I shudder at the thought of Mom and Damian going to bed together. I mean, I know this isn’t our first night here, but I don’t need the reminder of where my mother sleeps.
“Sure,” I say before she can elaborate. “I’ll go do that right now.”
She stops me before I hurry out of the room. “Is everything all right, Phoebola?”
“Sure,” I say again. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You seem a little…” She gives me a sad look. “… withdrawn.”
“There’s a lot going on,” I explain.
“Are you having trouble with your classes?”
“No,” I assure her. “I mean, sure it’s loads more work than we ever had at Pacific Park, but I’m making it through.”
“Then it’s your classmates.” She frowns like she’s thinking hard about something. “I thought you said you’d made new friends?”
“Yeah.” And a few enemies. Not that I’d tell her that-it would be like tattling to the principal. “Nicole and Troy are great.”
“What about your track teammates?”
I can’t help rolling my eyes. “I don’t have to like them to run with them.”
“Want to talk about it?”
I’m tempted. I mean, I haven’t spoken to anyone but descendants since we got here. And she’s the only non-descendant I’m allowed to talk to about everything that’s going on. Besides, before the stepdad entered the picture we were like best friends. We talked about everything. I could talk to her about things I couldn’t even talk about with Nola and Cesca. I cried on her shoulder when jerky Justin dumped me and she didn’t even try to shrink me.
But I can’t forget what Stella said about Mom agreeing that I should stay here-or the fact that it’s Mom’s fault I’m in this mess in the first place.
“No, I’m exhausted,” I say. “I’m just going to check e-mail and go to bed.”
“You would feel better if you got things off your chest.”
“Really,” I insist. “I’m fine.”
I can tell she isn’t satisfied. Maybe if she were just in parent mode I would talk to her, work through things rationally. But I’m in no mood to unload my issues-especially not on Super-Therapist Mom.
“You know, I’ve been thinking.” She smiles big, in a way that means she thinks she has a fabulous idea. “Why don’t we have a mother-daughter day? We could go to the village and browse the little shops and have sundaes at the ice cream parlor.”
“I don’t know, Mom. I’ve go so much going on-”
“You can’t run and do schoolwork all the time.” She brushes a loose lock of hair off my face. “How about Saturday? It might be tough, but I’ll clear my hectic schedule.”
For a second, it’s like the old Mom and Phoebe are back. She’s joking with me and I’m rolling my eyes at her corny humor. Maybe it would be good to spend some time together. Besides, I haven’t seen the village yet, except for from the dock. Who knows, it could actually have a cool shop or two. I could get souvenirs for Nola and Cesca.
“Sure,” I say. “Saturday.”
With a quick wave, I leave her alone in my room and retreat to Damian’s study and my electronic connection to the civilized world.
I click open my e-mail. The little smiley faces next to Cesca and Nola’s e-mail addys are bright yellow. They’re online!
Two mouse clicks later I have my IM open.
LostPhoebe: hi!!!
GranolaGrrl: Phoebe
PrincessCesca: finally! been waiting online all day
GranolaGrrl: no we haven’t
LostPhoebe: glad ur here
LostPhoebe: did you get my e-mail?
PrincessCesca: of course
GranolaGrrl: things can’t be bad as you think
GranolaGrrl: nothing ever is
PrincessCesca: have you been to the beach yet?
LostPhoebe: just for a quick run
GranolaGrrl: I bet they’re polluted anyway
GranolaGrrl: all those years of combustion powerboats cruising the Mediterranean
PrincessCesca: ignore enviro-freak
PrincessCesca: dish on the guy scene
GranolaGrrl: insulted
LostPhoebe: well there are a couple of really cute guys
GranolaGrrl: I resent being labeled an enviro-freak
PrincessCesca: which one is taking you to homecoming?
GranolaGrrl: I prefer to be called environmentally active
LostPhoebe: I don’t think they have a homecoming
LostPhoebe: besides, one of them already hates me
GranolaGrrl: hate is the mirror of love
PrincessCesca: what about the other guy?
I pause, thinking about Troy. He’s cute. And nice. And a good friend. And nice. And thoughtful. And nice.
Sigh. Nice is not necessarily boyfriend material.
Not even crush material.
At least not for me.
LostPhoebe: Troy is just a friend
GranolaGrrl: boy friends make the best boyfriends
PrincessCesca: rolls eyes what about the other?
LostPhoebe: the one that hates me?
GranolaGrrl: he doesn’t hate you
PrincessCesca: yes, him
What can I say about Griffin Blake?
That he zapped my shoelaces together? Oops, can’t reveal the whole secret-island-of-the-Greek-gods thing.
That he makes Orlando look like a Troll? Nope, that would give away too much of my unwanted interest in him-why do I always crush on jerks?
That I’ve been commissioned by my evil stepsister to break up him and his girlfriend? Stella is the last thing I want to chat about.
Besides, that leads me down the path of thoughts about my real reason for accepting her deal-something to do with how my heart pounds like a bongo every time I see him-and those are thoughts best left unexplored.
Somehow, none of these seem appropriate.
LostPhoebe: nothing to tell
LostPhoebe: promise
PrincessCesca: you only promise when ur keeping a secret
GranolaGrrl: we should respect h
er privacy
PrincessCesca: for crying out loud
PrincessCesca: don’t you want to know about the guy our best friend is crushing on?
GranolaGrrl: of course, but that doesn’t mean we have to pry
LostPhoebe: I’m not crushing on him
PrincessCesca: yes it does
PrincessCesca: that’s exactly what it means
GranolaGrrl: she has a right to her privacy
PrincessCesca: she has to tell us, we’re her best friends
LostPhoebe: stop!!!
The rapid-fire IMs stop. I stare at the blinking cursor, thinking how much I miss hearing them argue in person. It’s just not the same on the computer. The scrolling IM chat is making me dizzy.
GranolaGrrl: are you all right?
LostPhoebe: why does everyone keep asking me that?
PrincessCesca: well are you?
LostPhoebe: I’m fine
LostPhoebe: it’s late and I’m tired
GranolaGrrl: you should get your rest
PrincessCesca: what time is it there?
I check the clock on the computer. It’s after eleven. Crap, I have to meet Coach Lenny at six.
LostPhoebe: almost 11:15 and I have to get up early
GranolaGrrl: we’ll let you get some sleep
PrincessCesca: but don’t think we’re letting this crush thing go
LostPhoebe: thanks
LostPhoebe: I miss you guys
GranolaGrrl: we miss you, too
PrincessCesca: Pacific Park is the pits without you
PrincessCesca: Justin acts like king of the school
PrincessCesca: he’s an a$$
LostPhoebe: not sorry to miss that!
GranolaGrrl: ’night
PrincessCesca: good night
LostPhoebe: bye
I sign off, sad to be so far away from my friends when I need them the most.
I am lying in my bed, almost ready to drift into blissful sleep when I remember Coach Lenny’s exercises. He’ll kill me if I don’t do them. Jumping out of bed, I dig the note card out of my backpack and start counting sit-ups.
“One, two, three…”
Who knew it could take an hour to do one hundred sit-ups, sixty push-ups, and two hundred jumping jacks. By the time I collapse back in bed I’m exhausted. I fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.
When my alarm goes off I feel like I’ve slept all of five minutes.
It’s going to be a rough day.
“You look like Hades,” Troy says as he sets his lunch tray next to mine.
Through some great miracle of adrenaline or alpha waves, I am still awake despite a pop quiz in Algebra and a documentary on the Ancient Egyptian practice of mummification. But it’s a near thing.
“Thanks,” I mumble, struggling to keep my head from dropping onto my plate of hummus-smothered meat loaf. And I thought there was no way to make meat loaf worse.
Food is the last thing on my mind, though. We are doing pendulums in Physics today and I just know the swinging and circling is going to trigger my motion sickness. I’m trying not to consume anything I don’t want to see again.
“I had a late night,” I explain. “And early morning practice.”
“I thought practices were after school?” he asks.
“They are,” I say. “But I have to practice extra.”
“Why?” Nicole prods her meat loaf like she’s afraid it might get up and walk off the plate. “You made the team.”
“Only if I finish top three in the first meet.”
Nicole lets out a low whistle. I’ve always wanted to be able to do that. I can’t whistle at all, despite years of secret training and even a hands-on lesson from Justin that I’d rather forget.
“I have faith in you,” Troy says. “I’ll help any way I can.”
I smile at him. He’s so sweet and looks really cute with that goofy grin on his face. And that golden blond hair spiking off in every direction doesn’t hurt his star quality good looks. And he seems to like me. Maybe Troy could be more than a friend, after all.
“Thanks.” I blush even though I know he can’t read my thoughts.
His grin deepens.
Oh yeah, he’s part god… maybe he can. Which leads me to wondering…
“I have a question,” I say to both of them.
“Shoot,” Nicole says.
I think about it for a few seconds, trying to get the words right.
Trying to figure out how to ask what I really want to know.
“Are your powers unlimited?” I finally ask. “I mean, can you do pretty much anything you want?”
“Yes and no,” Nicole says.
“Great.” I venture a tiny bite of blue Jell-O. “That clears it up.”
Troy swallows a giant forkful of meat loaf before saying, “It’s not a simple question. In one sense, there are no limitations on what wecan do. But-and this is a big but-just because we have the potential to do something doesn’t mean we have the ability.”
“I’m working on no sleep,” I plead. “Can you please elaborate?”
“Our powers don’t come easy,” Nicole explains. “When we’re born we can’t really tap into them. They’re there, but it takes years-a lifetime, really-of training to learn how to use them.”
“There are exceptions, of course.” Troy sets down his fork to chug a pint of milk. “The closer you are to the god on your family tree, the stronger your powers are from the start. Most of us are pretty far down the branch.”
“How do you train?” I ask. It’s not like I’ve seen classes out in the courtyard working on moving things with their minds.
“That’s complicated.” Nicole pushes her untouched meat loaf to the side. “Part of it is learning how to focus your energies-how to channel the powers into what you are trying to do. But a big part of it has to do with self-knowledge. You have to know yourself, understand yourself so you can sense the extent of your powers. The better you know yourself the more focused your powers get.”
“Wow,” I say. “That sounds so…”
“Vague?” Nicole suggests. “It is.”
“I was going to say dangerous. What if someone suddenly reaches a new level of self-knowledge and, like, accidentally blows someone to pieces.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Troy says cheerfully, “there are controls.”
“Controls?”
“Yeah,” Nicole adds. “Since we’re not fully gods, the Mt. Olympus twelve placed a protective order over our powers.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we can’t kill anyone-either accidentally or on purpose-using our powers.” Nicole stares at the table, like she’s lost in thought. Her voice sounds far away. “Only the gods can act irreversibly.”
Silence falls on our table. Nicole sits lost in thought. I feel like I’m missing something important. Gesturing with my eyebrows, I try to silently ask Troy what’s going on. He just shakes his head and goes back to shoveling down his tray of food.
I definitely get the hint that Nicole has a lot of buried secrets.
This is just how they both reacted when we were talking about Griffin the other day. I totally don’t expect them to dish on all the buried past in the first week of our friendship, but I wonder if those two secrets are related?
Still, it’s clear that this is a subject best avoided for the moment.
“I’ve been wondering about the gods,” I say, trying to fill the awkward silence. “Do they come cheer at football games? Or speak at graduation or anything?”
Troy snorts, quickly wipes a napkin across his mouth, and says, “Not likely. They’ve been under the radar ever since man stopped worshipping them.”
“Why?”
“No one knows for sure,” he says.
“They’re pouting,” Nicole says, back to her old snarky self just as quickly as she left.
“They are not pouting,” he argues. “They’re gods. They don’t need to pout.”
“I
don’t care if they need to.” Nicole grabs an apple slice off Troy’s tray. “They are.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Troy says, offering me an apple slice and then setting the bowl in the middle of the table.
“Makes sense to me,” I say. “For what I know, anyway. If someone suddenly loses stuff they thought they deserved then they might pout.” Not that I know this from personal experience or anything.
“They aren’t,” Troy insists, though I sense he knows he’s losing the argument.
Nicole leans forward over the table, staring Troy square in the eyes, and asks, “Who do you think is in a better position to know?”
He scowls, like he’s confused. “Why would you know-”
“Have you ever been to Mount Olympus?”
He starts to shake his head. Then, all of a sudden, his eyes get real wide and his mouth drops open. “Oh gods,” he says. “I totally forgot.”
“Yeah, well,” Nicole says, returning to her seat, “I haven’t.”
“Forgot what?” I ask.
“Nothing.” Nicole waves off my question. “It’s not important.”
Yeah, and running is just my hobby. I don’t need Mom’s therapy degree to know that whatever they’re talking about-Nicole visiting Mount Olympus?-is a majorly big deal. I also don’t need to read minds to know that this is an I’m-not-going-to-find-out-about-itanytime-soon kind of secret.
“Are you going to the bonfire tonight?” Troy asks out of nowhere.
“Bonfire?”
“Every year,” Nicole looks up, sounding unimpressed by the whole thing. “On the first Friday of school, all the groups come together for a big, raging bonfire on the beach. It’s the only time all the gods get along.”
From what I’ve seen, the god cliques don’t mix. “Why do they get along at the bonfire?”
“It’s a night to honor Prometheus,” Troy explains.
“The guy who stole fire and gave it to people?” I ask. See, I did pay attention in English class.
“Yeah,” Troy continues. “When he did that it created a kind of bridge between man and the gods. Without that link,” he says, smiling, “none of us would be here.”
“So we honor him by throwing a huge party, lighting up the beach, and pretending like we don’t hate each other the rest of the time.”
Oh. My. Gods. omg-1 Page 10
