“My experience has nothing to do with yours,” he says, his voice sincere. “The gods play their games as they see fit, and what happened to me is completely removed from whatever will happen to you. It is intensely personal.”
“It could still be useful,” I insist, “if I had some hint of what to expect.”
I mean, seriously. The solstice is just days away. And even though I earned a handful of merit badges last week—mostly by accident—I feel completely unprepared. My minor success with Stella’s pen isn’t exactly a guarantee of success. After Xander’s cryptic I-hope-you-never-find-out-about-the-consequences comment, getting smoted for accidental powers usage is losing ground on the fear scale in the face of suffering some unknown punishment for failing the test.
“Fine,” he says with a sigh. “But it won’t help you.”
“We’ll see.”
“It was an unimportant Thursday in Level 10.” His eyes get a faraway look, and it’s like he’s not here anymore. “The girl I’d been dating for three years walked up to me in the cafeteria and, in front of the entire school, announced she was dumping me for some descendant of Zeus because he was better-looking.”
I blink at him a few times. When he doesn’t continue, I say, “And . . .”
“And thirty seconds later, she and the new guy were deep in the heart of King Minos’ labyrinth.”
That seems like a bit of an overreaction.
“As I said, the test is intensely personal.” He rubs a hand over his face, like he’s suddenly very tired. “For anyone else, that wouldn’t have been a big deal. For me . . . well, let’s just say my family history makes me kind of sensitive about superficial stuff.”
“Oh-kay . . .”
“My emotions got the better of me that day,” he says. “And I spent the next ten months paying for the lapse. Without Stella’s help, I’d probably still be there. If Blake is messing with your emotions, we need to take care of it.”
There is something ominous in his tone.
“I don’t need your—or anybody else’s—help when it comes to Griffin.”
“I’m not trying to provoke you, Phoebe,” he says, leveling his hypnotic lavender gaze on me. “Just keep in mind that sometimes when you tell yourself things are fine, you’re really just driving the tough stuff even deeper.”
“Good morning, Xander,” Stella’s extra-cheerful voice calls out, breaking the spell of his mesmerizing eyes. As she reaches our spot at the base of the column, she looks at me. “Phoebe.”
“Stella,” Xander says as he climbs to his feet. After a quick nod, he strides off through the Academy’s golden doors.
She watches him walk away with a sad, puppy-dog look in her eyes.
I must be feeling generous or something, because I say, “You should ask him out already.”
“What do you mean?” Startled, she looks at me. “What makes you think I’m interested in Xander?”
“Puh-lease,” I say, pushing up from the cold marble. “Don’t play innocent with me. I learned your tricks months ago.”
She purses out her lips, like she wants to refute my claim. Then her gray eyes flick to the door Xander just walked through and her whole face softens.
“Do you—” Stella has never looked this vulnerable before. “Do you really think he might . . .”
“You never know until you try.”
For several long seconds she watches me, evaluating me. Then she turns on her heel and hurries after him.
As soon as she’s gone, I’m thinking about what Xander said. And wondering if he’s right. Either way, I need to sort out my feelings.
What if I am just making assumptions about Griffin? What if I’m making a big huge deal out of what he’s doing with Adara, when there’s really a totally innocent explanation? But if there were, he would have told me. When he told me there was nothing romantic going on between him and Adara, he would have told me what was going on. Wouldn’t he?
An image of Cesca flashes in my mind. A memory of last year, when I had a secret of my own that I couldn’t tell my best friends.
What if it’s something like that?
My head is going to spin off my neck if I keep going in circles like this.
“Hi, Phoebe!” Tansy bounds up the steps.
“Hey, Tansy,” I reply, still a little distracted by my thoughts, but relieved to have someone nonconfusing to talk to. “What’s up?”
“Ready for camp,” she says. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a question.”
Shaking off my thoughts of secrets, I say, “Shoot.”
“How do you become a runner?”
I look at her and smile. “I don’t think a person becomes a runner,” I say. “You either run or you don’t.”
She bites her lower lip, like she’s worried about what to say next.
“Do you run?” I ask.
Green eyes wide, she looks up at me and nods. Even though she’s only twelve—not fully developed physically or anything—I can tell she’s got the body of a runner. Long proportions, a little gawky. If she’s got the drive, she could be an excellent runner.
I smile big. “Then you’re a runner.”
As soon as I say that, she positively beams. “I want to be just like you.”
“No you don’t,” I reply. No one wants to be like me. Not on this island, anyway. At first it was because I wasn’t one of them. Now it’s because I am, but I’m still different. Higher up on the family tree. Closer to Olympus. Life was so much easier when I was nothing more exciting than a distance runner. “I’m not that great.”
“I think you are.”
Her voice is quiet and serious, like she just said the most important thing ever.
I study her, looking at me with a little hero worship in her eyes. It’s been so long since someone—anyone—looked up to me that I almost don’t know how to react. Back at Pacific Park, I’d been kind of a mentor to a couple of the younger girls on the team. They looked to me for advice and encouragement. That feels like a lifetime ago.
As I look into Tansy’s serious eyes, my long-lost big sister instinct kicks in.
“I’m kinda looking for a training partner,” I say as we head into the building. “You interested?”
“Really?” she says, her voice full of awe.
Since the position of my current training partner seems to be in question, then yeah, I wouldn’t mind having someone else to run with. She might keep my mind off all the times Griffin and I ran together.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to play it cool so she doesn’t think I’m desperate. “I’m training for the Pythian Games trials and could use a buddy.”
We head through the halls of the Academy, toward the courtyard, with her staring wide-eyed and mouth gaping. It’s a miracle she doesn’t walk into a trash can.
“Is that a yes?”
“Omigods, yes!” she squeals. “When do we start?”
“I’ve been training in the morning.” I push through the door leading to the courtyard. “Why don’t you meet me at eight tomorrow on the cross-country course.”
Tansy gasps. “Great!”
“Welcome, campers,” Adara calls across the courtyard. She spears me with a vicious glance. “We’ll be partnering for today’s first exercise. Phoebe, you’ll be pairing up with me.”
Yeah, great.
“You’re not even trying.”
I glare at Adara. “Of course I’m trying.”
I’m just not succeeding.
“I know how hard it is for you to accept that other people might know something more than you,” she snaps, and if I could see her face I know she’d be sneering. “But believe me when I tell you, you’re not trying.”
We’ve been standing back-to-back for the last half hour, with me trying to materialize a hazelnut latte into her hands. So far I’ve come up with a coconut, a jar of peanut butter, and—on my most successful attempt—a glass of milk.
I’ve trained my whole life. Physical training—running, weight l
ifting, nutritional planning—that’s all second nature to me. But this mental training is totally different. I’m not used to consciously exercising my mind and my emotions. Is it any wonder this isn’t going well?
“Maybe if you weren’t badgering me the whole time,” I snap back, pushing away from her and turning around, “I would be able to concentrate.”
She spins around, her vapid blue eyes narrowing.
“I don’t think this has anything to do with your concentration.”
“Oh yeah,” I say brilliantly. “What does it have to do with, then, your genuisness?”
Instead of answering, she crooks her finger at me before turning and stalking out of the courtyard. Like I’m going to follow her anywhere.
I cross my arms over my chest and stand my ground.
Suddenly, she shimmers—autoports—into place right in front of my nose.
“I have never been more mad at anyone in my life than I am at you right now,” she grinds out through clenched teeth. “Unless you want to spend the next three days on holiday in the underworld, I suggest you join me in the hall. Now.”
Then, just as quickly as she appeared, she disappears again.
I look helplessly around the courtyard, but all the ten-year-olds are focusing on the exercise, with Stella, Xander, and Miss Orivas closely supervising.
Okay, if Adara wants to have it out, I’ll have it out.
Stomping after her, I’m about ready to unleash my tirade when I catch sight of her eyes. They’re all red. And full of tears.
That stops me in my tracks.
If she’s so mad at me, why is she crying?
“No,” she interrupts before I can say anything. “You listen to me, Phoebe Castro. We both know you’re not my favorite person on this island, but I’m going to put that aside for the sake of someone I care about very much.” She takes a deep breath, like she’s composing herself, before saying, “What you are doing to Griffin is awful.”
“What I’m doing to him?” I shake my head. “I’m not doing anything—”
“You’re breaking his heart.”
I freeze, midsentence. My mouth drops open. It’s not just what she said, but how her voice cracks as she says it. Had anyone asked me fifteen seconds ago, I would have sworn up and down on a stack of gold medals that Adara Spencer was incapable of actual human emotion.
“You’ve ignored his e-mails and dodged his phone calls. He tried to catch you at home half a dozen times this weekend. He’s been running every beach on this island hoping to find you.”
I actually back up a step, shocked by the emotion in her outburst and by what she’s telling me.
“I’m only going to say this once,” she says quietly. “So listen up. Griffin Blake is head over heels about you. He would never treat you the way you’ve been treating him.” Her voice drops another notch, so low I have to lean in to hear. “He would never doubt you.”
“I don’t—” I almost say that I don’t doubt him, but that’s not true. Over the past few days I’ve proven over and over that I do. Not that my doubts are unfounded. “You’re right. I—I don’t trust him.”
“He doesn’t deserve that.”
What about me? What do I deserve? Lies and deception?
“Then why won’t he tell me what you two have been doing together?”
Adara’s gaze is unwavering. “Because I asked him not to.”
Doesn’t that confirm my doubts?
“Not because there’s anything to conceal from you in particular.” She tucks her blonde hair behind her ears. “Because I don’t want anyone to know what I’m going through.”
“What you’re—”
“But,” she says, glaring at me for interrupting again, “because I care about him so much, I will tell you.”
I try not to get hung up on the whole because-I-care-about-him-so-much bit and listen to her explanation. In the few months I’ve known her, she has never been this serious over anything that doesn’t involve nail polish, designer shoes, or a halftime cheer at a wrestling match. An uneasy, my-life-is-about-to-turn-upside-down feeling settles in my stomach.
“My mother is becoming a handmaiden of Apollo.”
Er, what?
I know I look totally confused.
“Becoming a handmaiden is an honor and a sacrifice. The chosen must pledge to serve the deity unwaveringly for the duration of her term. That means she is leaving me and my father.” Her eyes well up again, and her voice catches. “She will serve on Mount Olympus for the next twenty-five years.”
“Wow, that’s a long time to work for someone.”
“The worst is”—Adara gives me a weak smile—“she can’t leave Mount Olympus during her service.”
Holy Hades. I shake my head, trying to wrap my brain around that idea. Nic told me that no one—not even hematheos—can visit Mount Olympus unless they are in service or on trial. Only an edict from the gods can grant a day pass, and that almost never happens. That means Adara won’t see her mom for the next quarter century.
I try to imagine what it would be like not to have Mom to talk to for that long. She’d miss out on my birthdays and my graduations and my—sometime in the distant future—wedding. There would be races, maybe even the Olympics. Every day there are little things that I talk to her about, ask her about. If she weren’t around . . . It’s unfathomable.
I should e-mail Mom when I get home.
“Adara, I’m so—”
“Sorry?” she asks with a sad laugh. “That’s exactly why I didn’t want Griffin to tell anyone. I’m not interested in a pity party. Besides, this is supposed to be a prestigious honor for the family. I’m supposed to celebrate”—one hand wipes at a tear streaking down her cheek—“not grieve.”
“So, Griffin has been helping you, uh . . .”
“Prepare to lose my mother?” She gives a little snort. “Yeah, pretty much.”
I try to wrap my brain around this news. Griffin hasn’t been romantically involved with his ex, he’s been helping her through a tough time. I can’t fault him for that, of course. Besides the whole descendant-of-Hercules obligation thing, deep down he’s a sensitive and loyal guy.
I’ve been so wrapped up in my own issues that I never thought that someone else might be having problems. Adara’s life always seemed so perfect. I never once thought she might be going through a tough time.
But why did he lie to me? We’re supposed to be partners. Equal. He should have known he could tell me the truth in complete confidence. But he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—confide in me, which means he doesn’t trust me. Not completely. That means that, while he’s not completely in the right, he does deserve another chance. We deserve another chance.
“You gave Griffin a raw deal,” she says.
I never thought I’d say this, but she’s right. “I did.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I’ll fix it,” I vow. As soon as camp is out for the day, I’ll be knocking on his door, prepared to work out this whole trust thing.
“You’d better.”
When she starts to turn back to the courtyard, I reach out and touch her elbow. “Thank you.”
She stiffens. “Whatever,” she says, back in old Adara form. “If you’re over being pissed at me, maybe we can get on with the neofaction exercise.”
Less than a minute later, she’s standing there with a steaming-hot latte in her hand.
I spin around, ready for my accolades.
She takes a sip and then snorts. “Nice try.” The cup glows for a second and then disappears. “That was decaf.”
For a second I think about strangling her. But then my common sense kicks in. First of all, I need to focus on controlling my powers if I’m going to pass the test. And second, I don’t fancy spending time in Hades.
Sympathy for Adara has nothing to do with my decision to quietly turn around and try again.
Promise.
“He didn’t mention where he was going,” Aunt L
ili says when I ask her if Griffin’s home.
“Oh,” I say, deflated. I want to talk to him as soon as possible. For the first time in a while, I do not think the worst. Despite my better judgment—maybe it was her tears or the phase of the moon or a curse of understanding—I believe Adara. “Can you tell him I stopped by. And—” I almost ask her to tell him I’m sorry, but that’s definitely the sort of thing a girl needs to say in person. “And that I’ll try again tomorrow.”
And the day after that. And the day after that. And every day until we’re good again. Because what we have is definitely worth the effort—and definitely worth my eating some humble pie.
“My nephew isn’t perfect,” Aunt Lili says as I reach the door. “But he has a good heart.”
“Yeah,” I say giving her a confident smile, “I know that.” Now.
If my trust issues have driven him away, I have no one to blame but myself.
As the door closes behind me, I think about how unfair I was to Griffin—and to myself—for thinking the worst. After nine months, I should trust him—and my instincts—more than that.
Without thinking, I kick into a jog as I hit the edge of the village. My Nikes pound the smooth stone path with a soft thud. Every step I take sends more blood, more oxygen, pumping through me. My worries start to ooze away. Griffin and I will be fine. If he can’t forgive me right away, then I’ll work to win him back. We’re fated. That’s not the kind of thing a girl can let slip away.
I’ll pass my test. My control over my powers is getting better every day. Last week I autoported and today I materialized—neofactured—a dozen lattes for Adara. Even if none of them was to her exacting specifications, she still gave me the merit badge. (This one has an orange ring of color, a yellow background, and a gray factory-building design. I’ll line it up on my dresser, next to the other six, when I get home.)
Tomorrow night, I’ll meet my mystery e-mailer and find out what happened to Dad. And maybe learn how to keep whatever happened to him from accidentally happening to me.
Running always makes everything so clear.
Maybe this is why I’ve been so stressed. Most of the running I’ve done lately is training runs. All business and focus. No time for daydreaming and working through things while physically exhausting myself. Running is definitely my therapy. Starting tomorrow, I’m going to schedule regular fun runs—training-free time.
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