by May Burnett
The newcomers of the term - Hell, I and two others - were made to introduce ourselves to the class. As I stood out in front and faced the students, I couldn't help gazing full-on at Jason. He looked bored and distracted, barely listening to my words.
“My name is Myra Dollinger… My last school was in Switzerland, not far from Geneva. I am interested in swimming, books, movies, and mythology.” As I spouted that boring list, I wanted to shout at Jason, Look at me! But I was without my powers, and the only one to understand my mental voice was Hell. I could have done without his look of compassion.
Christabel, who was seated to Jason’s left side, passed him a note that he seemed to find a lot more interesting than my lame introduction.
So far, not good.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about Christabel. According to Melinda’s little character sketch the night before, chances that we’d be friends were not good. Yet surely it would be ridiculous for a Goddess to feel jealous of a human girl. Even if she triumphed now, in another hundred years she’d be dead and gone and I’d still be young and beautiful (well, at least when I got to use my glamor.) My mother had often been jealous, with good reason, before father finally reformed sometime in the Victorian age. Though it was long before my birth, I knew all about it. I wasn’t at all keen to follow in her footsteps.
Somehow we got through history class. For a while, I distracted myself by watching Jason, but he sat at an awkward angle from me, and I just got a stiff neck from that effort. The rest of the class seemed endless. The prospect of sitting through many more like it was quite appalling. Hell and I at least had eternity to look forward to. How these humans with their short lives could stand to waste so much time just sitting around was a mystery to me.
The next class was French. The teacher, Monsieur Amande, was pleased when he discovered that Hell and I were both fluent.
“Of course, since you’re Swiss, it’s only to be expected,” he commented, “but it’s still excellent to have you both in my class. Maybe you could tutor a few of your less advanced classmates.”
I nodded eagerly, hoping that Jason might be in need of French tuition, but nothing more was said about it. Then we had Math, even more boring...
5
Somehow we made it to lunchtime. I was quite hungry, and hoped that this meal would be more edible than the last one, though it seemed unlikely. From the school brochure, which I’d finally got around to reading, I had learned the food at Rockview was nutritionally balanced and optimized according to the latest scientific theories. No wonder it tasted so dull.
Melinda, Hell and I ended up at the table next to Christabel’s this time. Her table had filled up very quickly; when Jason came by with his tray, there was no place left. She told the burly guy at her right - Paul - to leave, but before he could do so, Jason just said, "Never mind", shrugged and sat down next to Hell at our table.
“Hi, guys” he said to us all. “How's the fish?”
“Hello,” we chorused in return. Melinda added, “Just what you’d expect, tasteless as usual. I suppose you got much better food in L.A.”.
Jason began eating, though with little enthusiasm. “Yeah, the food was okay, but when you’re rushing around all the time you don’t really get to enjoy it. I’m not sure how long I can keep up this commuting between Colorado and California.”
After a minute or so, he finally looked at me – me! His eyes really were as deep blue as in the pictures I'd seen, and he had long, beautiful lashes. I could not help smiling.
“Myra – right? You’re from Switzerland? How come you were enrolled here, of all places? They have great schools in Europe.”
“Dad wants us to go to Harvard,” I explained, sticking to our cover story.
“And what do you want?” He smiled back at me. I'd seen that exact smile on the screen, magnified, and yet the effect was far stronger now. My pulse quickened.
“Oh, I just want to enjoy life for now. Though I’m not sure yet this school is the right place to do so. How do you like it?”
He shrugged. “It’s okay – except for the food. They really need to find a chef who knows what he’s doing.”
“Or she,” Melinda amended.
Jason shrugged again, as though to say, whatever.
“Have you been to Cannes?” he asked me.
“Yes, but not for the film festival. Cannes is a bit crowded for my taste, though the countryside further inland is very pretty.”
“I’m supposed to go for the next festival, in May,” Jason said, “with the director of Hurricane Riders.”
“I hear it has spectacular action sequences.” Hell perked up at this subject. “Did you work with a stunt double? That's a job I'd love to do.”
“There were three doubles, actually. Yeah, I got to meet them and had to show them exactly how I move, but they wouldn’t let me do any of the dangerous stuff myself." He speared a bit of broccoli on his fork, morosely. "There were some scenes I could easily have done, but my agent was totally against it. At least a third of the movie’s length you see one of them, instead of me.”
“It must be dull to come back to school after all that,” I suggested.
“The first couple of days it seems like a return to sanity. But then school gets to be boring again, and I start to read scripts and fan mail in my spare time.”
“What spare time?” Melinda asked. Everyone smiled. “If you have any, you can give it to me.” Jason shook his head.
He’d finished the fish and rose in a fluid motion. “I’m getting some dessert – anyone else wants any?”
None of us accepted his offer, as the rice pudding had not looked very tempting. Jason walked over to the buffet to help himself.
“He seems nice enough,” Hell grudgingly remarked when Jason was out of earshot. “Not as stuck up as you’d expect.”
“I didn’t expect anything of the kind.”
Returning from the buffet, Jason was neatly intercepted by Christabel, at whose table a free space was now available. She took him by the arm and he sat down next to her with his rice pudding.
“Well, they’re old friends,” Melinda murmured.
I took a sip of water, wondering if I should leave.
“Poor Jason,” we heard Christabel say in a honey-sweet but carrying voice. “You don’t have to sit with the new guys, when you have so many friends here.”
“I didn’t mind,” Jason said, spooning his dessert. “How’ve you been?”
A tinkling laugh. Christabel’s voice was an octave higher when she talked to Jason, compared to those times I had heard her speak in class.
“I spent most of the summer on our private island in the Pacific. You’ll love it when you finally come to visit, Jason.”
“I’m sure,” he replied vaguely, looking her over. “You don’t have a tan to show for it. That fair skin must be quite a handicap on a tropical island.”
Christabel dramatically tossed her red mane to the side. “Who cares, with dancing and parties every night?”
Jason said nothing and ate some more rice pudding. I was starting to wonder at the dull and inconsequential nature of human conversation. Was it always like this? Did it have something to do with the blandness of the food?
“That Swiss girl you were talking to seems a dead bore,” Christabel said. I jerked in my seat. She had to have known that I could overhear. My anger mounted, swift and terrible. She was lucky I didn't have my powers, or I might have smitten her with something painful right then. Melinda and Hell exchanged a look.
Jason looked pained. “Chris, -“
“Come on, Jason, you’re at school now and don’t have to be kind to your fans. Here you can be yourself.”
“But I'm-“
“We’re going to have fun this year, Jason,” Christabel cooed, putting her hand on his biceps with a possessive air. “Don’t waste your time on nonentities.”
This was it. War had been declared. I rose and said to Hell and Melinda, loudly enough for the other tab
le to hear,
“Let’s get out of here – there’s too much bitchiness in the air for my comfort.”
“All right,” Hell muttered, and Melinda also got up after a momentary hesitation. We left without acknowledging Jason again, but sat down together on a sofa in the deserted entertainment lounge just next to the cafeteria.
“Christabel seems to hate you,” Melinda told me. “She has at least eight supporters in the class and can make your life very difficult.”
“That’s over a third,” Hell calculated. “Why would she hate Myra, if they haven’t really spoken more than a few sentences to each other? Why the gratuitous insults?”
“To put Myra in her place, of course. I think it’s your body language,” Melinda told me, “the way you look and stand and hold your head, as though you considered yourself the equal or superior of anyone.”
“But aren’t I?” I felt baffled. Hell was starting to grin.
“Haven’t you ever been to a school before?” Melinda asked me impatiently. “It is normal for some students to be on top, and they will do everything to ensure the others act like it. They cannot allow any challenge to their position. “
“Sounds like our home life,” Hell commented. I knew what he meant: our Dad, Zeus, won't tolerate any challenge to his authority. But Christabel was not in authority over me by any stretch of the imagination.
“What’s Jason’s role in all this?” I asked. That was really a lot more important than the snits of the arrogant redhead.
“He’s easy-going, doesn’t like conflict of any kind. She’s casting him as her prince consort, and so far he’s been going along with it – not officially, because that would be in all the tabloids, just here in school. You just saw how he allows her to manipulate him.”
“Oh.” I felt let down somehow, as though the whole day were tarnished. I expelled the air in my lungs with a long sigh. But what was I expecting - that Jason would have kept himself ready and aloof in case we’d ever meet? He was human. Humans were imperfect.
Deal with it, Myra, I told myself.
6
We had some free time after lunch, followed by a physical exercise class. I was fit enough, but some of the moves we had to do were new to me, and on the whole, quite interesting. I liked our instructor, Mrs Horton. She patiently showed me the exercises I did not immediately grasp, such as headstands. On New Olympus these would have been considered undignified.
Sports class was for the girls only that day, while the boys had soccer practice. I kept a close eye on Christabel, observing which of the other girls deferred to her. From what I could see, only four out of the sixteen other girls, including Melinda, were outside her sphere of influence. I clearly had my work cut out for me.
Something far more important soon drove all such thoughts from my mind. Sliding down a little too quickly from a rope, I felt a burning sensation in my palms. Once on the ground, I saw with horror that my right hand was red and painful and had a little tear in it, from which a tiny red blob was oozing.
I was bleeding! I was not supposed to bleed, ever. The pain was not bad, but I just stood there, stupidly staring at that little drop of blood, and feeling close to fainting with shock.
If I could bleed here, I could also die.
How could this happen? I was supposed to be immortal, invulnerable. Did Father realize when he sent me down here just how risky it would be?
“Hey, Myra, are you all right?” I heard Melinda’s question as though coming from far away, and there, next to her, Mrs Horton was looking concerned.
“You’re not one of those girls who faint from the tiniest bit of blood, I hope? It’s only a small scratch. Come on, I’ll put something on it.”
I pulled myself together. “It’s okay, thanks.” I forced a smile.
Mrs Horton put some liquid in an ugly orange colour on the scratch and told me to be more careful with the rope next time. Christabel was looking on with a smirk.
I hated her. Why, again, had I wanted to come here anyway?
7
As soon as the class was over I pulled Hell aside into a corner of the entertainment lounge. There were some students close by, watching a programme on dolphins, so I spoke in Greek to make sure no one could overhear.
Hell looked at my unsightly scratch and shook his head. “What a mess. Exactly what did father do to your powers, Myra? I can’t imagine that he wanted you this vulnerable.”
I tried to remember; I'd been too excited about the trip to earth to pay close attention. “He did something with his staff, and some complicated invocation. The glow poured out of me like a cloud of sparkling mist, but I didn't feel any different. Dad put the mist into an urn in his study, with a stopper on top.”
“Maybe we should call the whole thing off. Get Pallas to take you back to New Olympus before something really bad happens to you.”
“No.” Anger fuelled my stubbornness.
“Jason isn’t worth risking your immortality over, Myra. Though I’m not sure it is really that bad. Your powers are kept safe; could they revive you, if necessary?”
“I've no idea. Anyway, these humans around us are in danger of death all the time and they seem to cope with it surprisingly well.” I had thought of little else since the small accident. “To go back now just because I’m in the same boat for a few weeks would be chicken. Would you give up so easily?”
“I guess not…just be careful, sis.”
I shrugged.
“What are you planning to do about Christabel?”
“Without my powers, I’ll have to rely on character and smarts. It won’t be easy. She has a lot more experience with manipulation and group politics, and she’s in an entrenched position here.”
Hell nodded. “She insulted me too, you know. Maybe I’ll just give her a terrible rash for the next week or so.”
I pictured my opponent covered in red dots and derived some enjoyment from the thought, but finally shook my head. “That would be petty, Hell. We shouldn’t descend to her level.”
“I doubt if you can win otherwise, against her type.”
“Let’s wait a few days before we do anything drastic. I want to observe Jason’s reaction to her behaviour.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
Everything, I thought. If I found I could not respect Jason, the whole enterprise was pointless, and I might as well go back home.
“Call it a test to see if he’s worth sticking around for.”
“Fine, it’s your show. But if Christabel or anyone else directly insults us again, I’m reserving the right to retaliate.”
“So be it.” I knew my brother – and wouldn’t want to be in Christabel’s shoes when he got around to his revenge. Our family is not known for forbearance.
8
Several days passed. I found it a bit disconcerting how quickly I adapted to the school routine. Pallas had once told me that any habit, good or bad, deforms the brain in short order. If I could get accustomed to the deadly boredom of classes in a week, how much stronger must the effect on the other students be after years and years?
Unlike the rest of us, Jason had his escape at hand. A mere four days later he was off again, for a promotional tour of Hurricane Riders, the blockbuster about to open. He played a superhero, his highest-paying leading role so far according to the press, and he was talking all the time about this movie. Michael Douglas played the hero’s unwitting father in it. Jason also told us all about some upcoming recording sessions for his next album.
Everyone else found this fascinating, only I was not as enthralled as I had expected. Sure, at first I listened avidly, but after a while I tired of Jason's unrelenting focus on his career. He talked about “my agent this” and “my agent that”, as though citing a prophet. For Zeus’ sake, it was just commercial entertainment, not some heroic quest or world-saving adventure.
But then I'd catch his blinding smile, my gaze would be drawn to his tangled hair or graceful neck, and I'd feel a shiver.
The attraction was still there, inside me, no matter how impatient I might feel with his priorities.
Another thing annoyed me: Jason seemed to take only a very superficial interest in our classes, and the teachers, so strict with the rest of us, let him get away with it. How fair was that?
Well. I walked in the garden, trying to figure out what to do. If I’d been an ordinary human girl, Jason’s lack of romantic interest would have been easier to accept. But I had been accustomed since my earliest memories to a starring role myself – not all that different from Jason, really. It was strange to find myself suddenly relegated to the background for someone else.
Was this what existence was like for human girls, all the time?
If so, it sucked.
Should I call Pallas to take me home and restore my divine status and invulnerability? No, not yet. Despite my confused feelings about Jason, I still wanted to stick around and follow this experience, wherever it led, to its conclusion.
Standing there, absently looking at a rosebush as I tried to sort out my options, I suddenly noticed a glimmer on my right, and turned to find my punk cousin Eros lounging on a park bench. He had brought his quiver and bow. Eros is older than time but today he looked around fifteen, with pierced lips and earrings. A red tattoo of linked hearts decorated his biceps. He often lurked around humans, though he rarely allowed anyone to see him. How long had he been watching me?
“Hello, Myra, how are you doing?”
I sighed.
“Life down here’s not as I expected, but still interesting.”
Eros smirked.
“I heard that you’re having trouble attracting that boy, Jason. We have some bets on the matter up in New Olympus.”
“It’s none of your business,” I said heatedly. “I’m not sure I want him, anyway.”
“That sounds like sour grapes to me.”
Was it?
“Anyway, I can settle the matter for you, if you need any assistance. One shot from my bow, and he’ll be stuck on you forever.”
