One of them tears his shirt off in anger. He turns to the coach and starts to argue with him. His taut, muscular torso glistens in the sunlight. Something about this guy seems oddly familiar to me, as if I’ve seen him before, but of course that’s not possible.
Vani is staring too, not at all in a rush to move on yet. She lets out a sigh. “Um, yeah. So, the guys here are high on hotness. This school is known for that.”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “Not bad.”
The coach points in our direction, and six pairs of eyes – the entire volleyball team – shift their gaze onto us. Oh no. I feel my face flush as the coach jogs across the field to where we stand. He glares first at me, then at Vani. “Is there something you need here?”
“New student campus tour,” Vani explains.
The coach nods and jogs back to the team, where he turns to scowl again at the boy with the attitude. The boy’s arms are crossed, but when he looks up, his eyes lock onto mine. He’s defiant, not backing down, not for anything.
I’d know those sea-blue eyes anywhere. It’s Ever. From the airport. I can’t believe it.
His eyes hold mine steadily, as if deep in thought; but then, his face lights up in a warm, familiar, knowing smile. He remembers me. My heart thuds as I recall the pulse of heated electricity that I felt when he brushed my arm.
Vani grabs my elbow, quickly ushering me back into the main building. Nothing seems to faze her. Her forehead wrinkles in a concentrated grimace as she tells me about some awful girl named Samantha. “Be sure to steer clear of her.” I just nod and smile, but not understanding.
Back at the office, Bertha is waiting for me, but my mind is still stuck back on the field with Ever.
“It was so awesome to meet you, Helene,” Vani says. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, but if you need anything, just let me know.”
“How can I reach you?”
“Oh, duh. You’re on Instagram, right? I can follow you.”
I don’t know whether my Instagram account is still active. I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. I reach for my phone to check but remember that my phone is voice and text only. Darn you, Janus.
“Sure.” I nod and wave as Vani leaves.
Bertha goes over my class schedule, shows me a map of where my classes are, and gives me my locker combination. She mentions something called the siesta, a two-hour break in the middle of the day from 1:30 p.m. until 3:30 p.m. While the siesta isn’t practiced in a modern city such as Athens, it is still prevalent out in the smaller villages of mainland Greece and on some of the islands.
Bertha explains that the Academy decided to adopt this tradition to not only instill some of the old Greek culture amongst the international student body, but also because studies show that people are more productive after a short midday nap. Most students utilize the siesta for lunch and to study, enjoy hobbies, or play sports, but a nap is always strongly encouraged. School resumes at 3:30 p.m. and classes end at 6:00 p.m.
“Do I have to go home for the nap?” I think of all the time it will take for me to go all the way back to Janus’s on the train and bus, and then back here again.
“No, most kids have so much to do with their extracurricular activities that they stay here for the midday break.”
“If no one is using the yoga studio during that time, can I use it?”
“Ah, you like yoga?”
“No. I used to be really serious about ballet before I was injured.” I point to my ankle. “Achilles injury.” She seems concerned, so I continue, “Sometimes, I just need to crank up the sound and move, even though I can’t dance very well anymore.”
She looks bored. “Whatever. Just be sure to turn the light off in there when you leave and pick up after yourself.” At that, the bell rings, and I excuse myself.
The halls are crowded with chattering kids. I find my locker, punch in the code, and open it up. My backpack drops onto the floor with a loud thump.
Engraved on the bottom of the middle shelf is a bright yellow symbol. It’s a twelve-point star—the same star symbol etched on the face of the silver ring that I can’t get off my finger. Could this have something to do with Mom? During the holidays, she used to leave me clues around the house to help me find my gifts. Nothing was ever straightforward. Everything was a riddle.
My second-period class is called life sciences. What exactly is that? Physics, chemistry, geology, biology? Or maybe social studies? Possibly a combination of all of them? Whatever it is, this is my first real class here, so I’m going to give it my best.
As I look around for an empty seat, I hear a familiar voice and instantly know where I’ve heard it before. It’s Dimitris! The driver-who-is-also-a-teacher from the airport. What are the chances? Not only does Ever attend this school, but also, Dimitris is a teacher here. And he is not just any teacher…he’s my teacher!
Dimitris is scolding a nerdy-looking girl with spiky red hair whose eyes look huge due to some generous use of black eyeliner. His name is written out on the board: MR. PAXINOS. I guess I can’t call him by his first name. Also, who writes in chalk on a blackboard anymore?
He’s upset that the girl hasn’t done her homework on time. Dimitris points the girl to a seat in the back of the room. “This is your last chance. I’m not going to hear any more excuses from you.”
A couple of kids snicker. As I survey the room, I see an empty seat, which I am pleasantly surprised is right next to my new friend Vani. Her eyes light up as we nod to each other in greeting.
Dimitris spots me and grins. “Ah, I see our new student is here. Helene, right?”
I nod. I can’t believe this guy is my teacher. His being here can’t be a total coincidence. He lifts his hand to write something on the board and I glimpse a flash of the double helix tattoo on the inside of his wrist again. The same company that Nick works for, Sarantos Enterprises, must employ a lot of people in Athens.
What if they hired Dimitris to spy on me…or worse, to kill me? But he knows where I live. Why not just take me out there? It’s possible that him being my teacher is a coincidence and they don’t know I’m here. Maybe the people who work for the company in tourism don’t talk to the hit men? Whatever the deal, if I get to know him better, maybe I can find out more about this Sarantos company and where my mom could be.
Today’s topic promises to be boring: geology. Dimitris writes a lot of terms I’ve never heard on the board, interspersing Greek words into his lecture, which throws me off. His piece of chalk makes me squirm as it squeaks roughly against the chalkboard. But my ears perk up when I hear him say “cat’s-eye stone.”
Dimitris’s eyes sparkle as if alive with fire. “Of all the gemstones that exhibit cat’s-eye, chrysoberyl is the best known. Chrysoberyl has the strongest and most distinct cat’s-eye effect of all gemstones. Throughout history, many cultures celebrated this stone – some even used it as a currency – as they believed it to protect its wearer from evil spirits and that it held magical powers through its ability to transform energy into its best possible state, a process they called protogenesis.”
The bell rings. Vani turns to me. “It’s so cool that you are in this class.”
We pause for a minute, which allows me time to muster the nerve to ask the question that’s been burning inside of me this whole time. I ask, trying to be nonchalant, “So, what about Ever? What’s his story?”
Vani pauses. Finally, she says, “Ever is pretty much every girl’s dream, and believe me, he knows it. His father, Georgios Sarantos, owns most of Athens. You may have heard of Sarantos Enterprises?”
“No…” I feign ignorance, but inside I’m reeling. First Dimitris works for him, then Nick; and now, Ever is his so
n! Just how far is Sarantos’ reach?
She continues. “Well, it’s an international company here in Athens that’s involved in everything like steel, shipping, real estate, banking, tourism, and probably much more. Many of us here at the Academy have rich parents, but we speak of money in terms of millions. Ever’s family speaks in billions. He’s the school’s top player in volleyball and basketball as well as the lead singer for his own band. His mother, Elizabeth, was once Miss Australia.”
“He seems really nice,” I offer. “Not stuck up.”
“Yeah, well, he used to date one of my friends, and let’s just say that it ended in a very bad way.” She lowers her voice. “And there’s more. This is a rumor, but I think it’s true because I heard it from my dad. Georgios Sarantos is said to be the leader of a massive underground organization known as the Syndicate.”
“Like the mafia?” I whisper in a hushed voice.
“No.” She smiles. “This is so much bigger than any mafia could be. In fact, the organized crime in Greece is afraid of Sarantos, almost like he’s some sort of god.”
Whoa. As much as I liked Ever and his mother when I met them in the airport, the fact that his dad is the leader of this mysterious organization is music to my ears. He will know where my mom is. I want to run down the hall, pull Ever out of class, and demand he take me to his dad now.
But I can’t. These are the people that want me dead. Alerting Ever now tells them loud and clear that I’m here. Not smart. I need to take my time and get to know Ever better. Of course, I don’t have time. I need to find Mom now.
The rest of the morning seems slips by. I’m pleasantly surprised to have such interesting teachers in my next two classes: Language Arts with Ms. Suni from Cairo and Ancient Greek Mythology with Ms. Petraki from Athens. Then, just before lunch, I pull out the crumpled class schedule tightly wedged in my pocket and outwardly groan with dread when I see what class is staring back at me: PE.
I hate Physical Education. To start with, ball sports are usually a complete disaster for me. For some reason, it always seems that every ball is drawn like a magnet directly to the most sensitive part of my body: my chest. When I used to dance, I was flat as a pancake, so it never mattered. In fact, kids in junior high used to call me “Helene Lowlands.” That’s how dismally underdeveloped I was. But now, just two years since my dance injury, I’ve somehow morphed into a “woman,” so to get hit there means horrific pain.
Today, thankfully, it appears that we aren’t engaging in any sport that involves a ball. Mr. Mburu, is from Tanzania. A few of the girls in the locker room told me that he was once a lead guide for climbers to the top of Kilimanjaro, one of the seven summits of the world and the highest mountain in Africa. He’s also a master in modern pankration, a Greek style of fighting. It’s a combination of wrestling, kicking, and boxing. Introduced during ancient times in the Olympic games, pankration is allegedly the most original of all martial arts. I’m sure he has many talents, but what I notice the most about Mr. Mburu are his striking sky-blue eyes. His dark skin glistens as he explains that today we are practicing the art of fencing, which is another name for modern-day sword fighting.
A blond cheerleader with a fake tan, and a whole contingent of groupies following her saunters over to join the class. This girl is flawless, like there’s some guy following her around with full makeup on a movie set, constantly tweaking her look with the airbrush tool in Photoshop. She’s tall with long, straight, shiny golden hair, and her waist is the tiniest I have ever seen. I’m looking for a corset because she can’t possibly be human at that size. All this glamour, though, is completely overshadowed by her inhospitable scowl.
This girl – I’ll call her Barbie – utters an obnoxious, annoyingly fake sound, which must be how she laughs. Then someone calls her name: “Samantha.”
So, this is the infamous Samantha, whom I was supposed to avoid at all costs. I’m disappointed to learn her real name. I really enjoyed calling her Barbie. Just my luck to have her here in my least favorite class.
We change into fencing attire, which includes mesh-covered protection masks, and then form a circle around Mr. Mburu. I try not to make eye contact with him, but of course, I’m called on first. As I step into the circle, Mr. Mburu asks for a volunteer to be my opponent. Samantha raises her hand. A look of glee crosses her face as she steps opposite me into the circle and assumes the proper stance.
I jab my faux sword out in front of me but am so nervous that within about ten seconds, I trip over my own feet and fall flat on my face. Samantha had nothing to do with this, of course, but she puts on quite a show after I hit the ground by overzealously stabbing me in the back several times. I feel a nasty bruise forming as I tear off my facemask.
I lie there stunned, unable to get up. I hear several snickers as others witness my hopeless humiliation and then the mocking voice of the devil herself as Samantha derides me. “So, wow!” She looks me up and down. “How can you see out of those Granny glasses? Seriously!” Her friends giggle in that obnoxiously snarky way that makes me want to cringe. It brings back those sore memories from when the cheerleaders laughed at me during tryouts.
My eyes start to water, but I hold it in, refusing to let anyone see me cry. As I excuse myself to the bathroom, I tear off my fencing uniform and run swiftly out of class. No tears have fallen yet. Thank God.
A terrible sob escapes me as the floodgates open and I cry hard, now rushing down the hall as fast as I can. Just as I reach the bathroom, something gives me pause, and I look up. It’s Ever. He’s casually leaning against the doorframe of the classroom next door as if waiting for someone. Our eyes lock. He looks concerned but doesn’t seem to know what to do.
Just then, Samantha saunters into the hallway, sidles over to Ever’s right side, and whispers something in his ear, glaring at me out of the corner of her eye. Could it be any more obvious that she is talking to him about me? She giggles.
Hello! I’m right here.
Ever smiles at Samantha and grabs her hand. The red and gold from her cheerleading outfit matches his volleyball uniform perfectly. If Vani is the fun black sheep of the cheerleading squad, Samantha is the devil incarnate. Horror fills my mind as the truth quickly becomes obvious. These two are going out. Ever and Samantha, boyfriend and girlfriend.
There’s no way I can handle this right now – or let’s be honest, anytime – so I look away and rush into the safety of the restroom. The door slams behind me as I slump weakly into the close confines of a narrow stall. I’m so numb and my body so fiercely trembles that all I can do is stare blankly at the wall as anger and sadness consume me.
A few minutes pass, and I hear a door slam. A familiar voice, thick with a soft British accent, calls out to me. “Helene? Are you in here?”
It’s Vani. She sounds so far away, but her voice is sweet and soothing to my ears. “I just bumped into Samantha in the hallway and heard about what happened in PE.” I must utter some sort of response because she unlocks my stall from the outside and forces my chin up to look at her. “Look, it seems like she’s got it out for you.” Concern etches her kind features. “When I first started here, she gave me no end of trouble too. She acts so perfect around the teachers and administrators and her parents are such huge contributors to the school that no one believes how awful she can be. If they knew, I’m sure it wouldn’t be tolerated. Don’t let her get under your skin.”
I can’t be her next victim. No way. I recall a story from Greek mythology that Mom once told me. It was about a snobbish girl named Meropi and her holier-than-thou family, who showed no respect to anyone, much less to the gods. Meropi particularly abhorred the goddess Athena because she was terribly jealous of the exotic and unusual beauty of Athena’s stunning blue eyes.
Of course, in her obnoxious and
naive hubris, Meropi had no idea that Athena was a real threat until one day, Athena posed as a common girl and invited Meropi to be her guest to a festival in honor of the gods. Meropi was insulted by this invitation, so much so that she cursed Athena right to her face. Bad idea. At that moment, the goddess revealed herself and turned Meropi into an owl.
Mom’s point in recounting this myth was that all things are somehow related, what goes around comes around, and if you’re awful to someone else, you never know how that person might one day come back into your life. In short, always be kind to others.
Vani’s face appears almost angelic to me right now, and I’m filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards her. I think of all the interesting teachers and kids from so many countries here. This is a great school. Screw Samantha. I can do this. She will not ruin me. I will not only survive this…I will thrive.
But the question remains: how can a guy like Ever be with a girl like her?
9 – Injury
I finally muster the courage to leave the safety of the restroom, hoping that I am alone. I scan the long, empty hallways and the rows and rows of gray lockers. The eerie absence of any sound unnerves me as the air lacks the normal bustle of the day. I’m thankful that there is absolutely no sign of anyone anywhere. It is time for siesta.
I hate that Ever witnessed me in such a sorry state. I will never again let this happen. Usually I couldn’t care less what anyone thinks of me, especially a guy like that, the type who has every girl in the school after him, but I can’t deny the earlier connection that I felt with him. Also, he may be the key for me to find my mother. I have to get closer to him. I have no choice. But I won’t sell my soul to the devil in the process. There must be another way.
Protogenesis: Before the Beginning Page 8
