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AUTOPORTATION
SOURCE: ZEUS
The ability to move oneself to a different location through nonpbysical means. Maximum distance traveled depends on strength and skill of powers. Autoportation to a previously unvisited place is prohibited because of the inherent risk of arriving in an undesirable, perilous, or public location.
DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE * Stella Petrolas
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WHEN THE LAST RAY of sunlight disappears, I'm planted on the couch reading last month's Runner's World.Well, I'm pretendingto read last month's Runner's World. My eyes are skimming across the pages and everything, but my mind hasn't taken in a single word. It's too busy screaming, Griffin is back together wth Adara!
Through some major act of willpower-or hopelessness-my eyes aren't even full of tears.
I hear giggling seconds before the front door opens. "You are so right," Stella says, looking over her shoulder as she walks in. I'll have to add that to my resume."
I don't feel like facing Stella right now. Wishing I'd retreated to my room earlier, I bury my face in my magazine, hoping I can blendin with the unfortunately white couch. Why did the my SPORT IS YOUR SPORTS PUNISHMENT tee have to be cherry red?
"Phoebe," a rebel-boy voice says in greeting.
I peek over the top of an article about avoiding knee injuries. The recipient of Stella's giggling is none other than Xander. Great. All I need is him taunting me at home, too.
"I didn't know you were home," Stella says, looking like a kid caught sneaking an extra cookie. Yeah, a Xander-shapcd cookie. Her two-shades-darker-than-her-hair eyebrows draw into a frown. "I thought you were meeting-"
"I'm not," I interrupt. She knows exactly where I was supposed to be right now. I don't need the reminder. I don't even want to hear his name.
She looks surprised, but doesn't comment. Smart girl. In my present mood, I'm itching to test my current powers control. She would make the perfect guinea pig. In fact-
"Xander and I were just talking about you actually," she says, giving him a warm smile and distracting me before I actually try to turn her into a rodent. She is blissfully unaware of how close she came to becoming someone's pet. "Discussing that exercise I was telling you about earlier."
I glance at the object of her adoration. He's standing just inside the door, like he'd rather keep out of the line of fire, with his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans. Watching me with those unusual lavender eyes, he doesn't move a muscle. Like a statue. His face remains unreadable.
Typical guy. Keeps everything hidden so you have to guess whathe's thinking. So a girl's imagination can run rampant until confronted with incontrovertible proof of her suspicions.
"Good for you." I snap my magazine shut and get up from the couch. If they're going to be here, giggling and talking about me, I'm locking myself in my room. Figuratively, of course, since my door doesn't lock.
"Actually"-she glances at Xander-"we could try that exercise with the glass of water-"
"Not," I say, my pent-up emotion barely contained, "tonight."
I can practically hear her mouth drop.
She'll get over it. Or not. Either way, playing counselor and camper is not on my agenda for the night. The last thing I want is to be around people. Solitude and the comfort of my bed are calling. That, and a box of tissues.
I'm almost to my room when I feel a hand clamp over my shoulder.
"Running away isn't going to help," Xander says.
"I'm not running away from anything." I spin around, shrugging off his hand. "I'm going to my room for some privacy, thank you very much."
He crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his brows, like he dares me to lie again. "Denying your feelings can affect your powers."
"Oh yeah?" I snap brilliantly. "You don't know anything about my feelings. Or my situation."
"I know more than you think." He steps closer, his voice barely agrowl. "You mentioned my expulsion earlier. Do you know why I was expelled?"
I shake my head.
"Because three years ago," he whispers, "I had to take the test." His mouth is right next to my ear when he adds, "And I didn'tpass."
My heart thwacks against my chest. Xanderis the other student who had to take the test. Xanderfailed the test. Xandergot expelled for a year.
"What did you-" I shake my head and start over. "What happened when you failed?"
He leans back, his lavender eyes completely blank.
"I hope you never find out," he says. Then he turns and stalks through the kitchen and out the back door.
Stella stares at the door for several seconds, before turning on me. "What did you-"
"You couldn't have told me earlier?" I snap.
Her cheeks flush and I think, for the first time since we met, she's actually embarrassed about something. Good.
"You lied," I accuse. "About your student passing the test."
"I didn't," she insists. "I was Xander's tutor after he failed. I helped him pass on his second attempt."
"Whatever."
I spin and head for my room.
The roller coaster is finally getting to me. Thankfully, I make it to the safety of my room and collapse on my bed before the tears start. I think I'm going through what therapist Mom would call anemotional release. More like an emotional flood. Between the looming test and my dad's missing record and Griffin, it's amazing my emotions are holding together at all. I wouldn't be surprised if they just gave up on me altogether and-
Knock, knock.
Over the pounding beat of my heart, I wipe at my tears and say, "I'm not here."
Whoever it is doesn't wait for a response.
"Phoebe?" Griffin asks. "I thought we were meeting at seven."
His voice sounds perfectly normal.
Of course it does. He doesn't know what I know-what I saw, what I felt. Why should he even suspect that I know he's back with his ex-girl friend? He must think he's kept it a pretty tight secret.
I squeeze my eyes together for a second, willing-begging-my unshed tears to disappear. They are a weakness I can't afford.
"Yeah, well," I say, pushing up to my feet while keeping my back to him, buying myself a few more seconds. "You thought wrong."
"What's the matter?" He comes up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders, trying to turn me around. He has the nerve to sound concerned. "What happened?"
I stiffen against his touch. "Nothing."
"Are you crying?" When I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak again, he says. "You arecrying."
Despite my best efforts, he half turns me around and half slides around so we're facc-to-face. I close my eyes, I just can't look at him right now. Not when all I see is him talking to Adara, going into the bookstore with Adara, meeting Adara at her dorm. It's too much.
"Talk to me," he demands.
I feel his fingers on my checks, wiping my sad excuse for tears away. Which only makes them fall harder.
His forehead touches mine and he whispers, "Please."
I take several long, deep breaths.
"Where were you this afternoon?" I finally ask.
He hesitates for a split second. "I told you. I-"
My eyes fly open. "Do. Not.Lie to me."
I step back, needing space to think clearly.
I can see him thinking. Beneath his dark curls, his bright blue eyes don't budge from mine; he doesn't blink. Then, after several long seconds, he closes his eyes, sucks in a deep breath, and says, "Aunt Lili and I got back and done with the stocking early. I was visiting a friend in the dorms."
"Adara."
He hesitates, then says, "Yes."
"What?" I'm shocked he admitted the truth.
"Yes." He looks like he is afraid to say more. "Yes, I was visiting Dara."
"Why have you been lying to me?" I can hear the icy edge in my voice and I don't like it. I don't like how he's making me feel right now. Jealous. With a neon capital J."You've been spending all your time with her. Like yesterday. At the bookstore."
He doesn't show any signs of shock that I didn't buy his story about looking for a training book.
"You're right," he says, and my heart tries to pound out of my chest. "I met Adara at the bookstore yesterday."
And lied about it.
"But it's not what you think"
"Then tell me what it is,"I demand.
Gods, I hate how I sound like such a jealous girlfriend, but it's not like he's not giving me a reason to distrust. I close my eyes and suddenly I'm reliving the last time I felt like this. Junior prom. More than a year ago now, but I remember like it was yesterday.
I had known something was wrong when Justin didn't show to pick me up. A smarter girl might have taken that as a sign, but I believed in him. Trusted him. Something must have come up. Rather than curl up with a boxof tissues and a cup of self-pity, I called Cesca and got a ride with her and her date. When I climbed into the limo and saw the look of pure sympathy in her eyes, that's when I knew.
By the time we pulled up at the glamorous Sunset Tower Hotel, I was ready for the confrontation. I stormed into the dance, scanned the room until I found Justin at a table in the far corner, and marched right up to him.
"Where were you?" I demanded.
"Let's not do this here, Phoebe," Justin had said. "Why don't we go out to my car and-"
"No," I shouted, hands fisted on my hips, on the silver satin of the bustier dress that had taken me weeks to find. The perfect dress. "I deserve to know."
He'd hesitated, deciding whether to lie.
Just like Griffin did tonight.
Only tonight feels infinitely worse. Because I love Griffin infinitely more.
That realization clenches around my heart.
"I-" He jams his fingers through his curls. "Phoebe, I can't tell you."
Everything inside me stills.
At least Justin had the decency to confess dumping me for Mitzi Busch because her knees weren't Super Glued shut like mine. Griffin wasn't even pretending to admit the truth.
"Then I don't believe you." My heart splinters a little with every word.
"I can't make you believe me," he says, dropping his hands and taking a step back. "I thought we were past the distrusting stage. I thought you knew me better than this. Better than anyone."
I can't look away from his blue eyes, a little less bright thanks to the betrayal I see there. But the truth is, he lied to me. More than once. And now, even though he's admitted to lying to me, he won't tell me the whole truth. He's not the only one who feels betrayed.
"So did I," I say, turning away and walking to my desk.
"Phoebe, I didn't mean to-"
"I'd like you to leave." My voice cracks as I add, "Now."
I stand in front of my desk, afraid to move until he does-afraid that my heart will shatter completely. For a long time there's just silence, stillness in the air, as I can feel him watching me.
"I'm not Justin," he whispers.
Then, all of a sudden, it's like a vacuum sucks all the air out of my room. The next thing I hear is the click of my door closing behind him as he leaves.
I collapse into my desk chair, folding my arms over my laptop and laying my check on the smooth, plastic surface. My heart feels like it's been ripped out of my chest. The oracle was wrong. Griffin and I aren't fated for anything more than heartache.
It's not until I feel the wetness on my arm that I realize I'm crying on my laptop. The last thing I need is to fry my connection to the outside world. I sit up, wipe away my tears, and lift the top on my laptop. I've never needed Nola and Cesca more in my life, and if one of them isn't online, I don't know what I'll do.
But when I log in to chat, I see blank little faces next to their screen names.
Right. Cesca's probably in Paris by now. Nola's probably at the library doing research for her study. How can they both have so much great stuff going on when my life is a mess?
Yeah, I know that's totally self-centered. It's not fair for me to begrudge them good stuff. Especially since we're best friends.
Not one person on my friends list is online. Not Cesca or Nola, not Nicole, not Troy. Not even the gorgon cheerleader queen-trust me, if I could get Adara off my friends list I would, but the Academy IM system seems to have a twisted sense of humor about this. How can everyone be unavailable when I need them?
While I'm staring at the screen through tear-fogged eyes, a yellow smiley face shows up next to Nola's screen name.
Thank the gods!
I open up anew chat window.
LostPhoebe: Nola!
GranolaGrrl: hey Phoebes
GranolaGrrl: what's up?
LostPhoebe: I think Griffin and I just broke up
GranolaGrrl: omigods, what happened??
I bite my lip to keep from crying. More.
LostPhoebe: he's cheating on me
GranolaGrrl: of course he's not!
LostPhoebe: he is
LostPhoebe: with Adara
GranolaGrrl: his ex? that's nuts
GranolaGrrl: he's crazy about you
LostPhoebe: he's been spending lots of time with her
GranolaGrrl: maybe there's a reasonable explanation
Nola always sees the good in people. While this is a great trait in a best friend-she always looks past my bad attitude when I'm in a crappy mood-she's not the most discerning when it comes to character. She blindly believes the best until presented with incontrovertible proof. Sometimes not even then.
LostPhoebe: there's more
LostPhoebe: he was in her dorm room this afternoon
LostPhoebe: when he told me he was helping his aunt
GranolaGrrl: are you sure?
GranolaGrrl: did you ask him about it?
LostPhoebe: he admitted it
LostPhoebe: he says it's not what I think
LostPhoebe: but he won't tell me what it *is*
GranolaGrrl" I'm so sorry sweetie
New tears rush to my eyes. If even Nola is willing to accept that I'm right, then all my niggling doubts are gone. How could I have been so stupid over a guy… again?
GranolaGrrl: I know how much he means to you
LostPhoebe: guess it wasn't mutual
GranolaGrrl: you never know
GranolaGrrl: he might still surprise you
LostPhoebe: doubt it
GranolaGrrl: promise me you'll give him a chance to explain
LostPhoebe: I did
LostPhoebe: he wouldn't
GranolaGrrl: give him one more chance
GranolaGrrl: for me
I almost say I won't. I don't want to. But for Nola, only for Nola.
I will.
LostPhoebe: okay
LostPhoebe: for you
GranolaGrrl: I need to go
GranolaGrrl: you okay?
LostPhoebe: I'II be fine
GranolaGrrl: I'll be online again later
GranolaGrrl: love you
LostPhoebe: love you too
LostPhoebe: thanks
I stare at the chat screen until her smiley face disappears.
Instead of feeling better, reassured, I feel a little more empty after chatting with Nola. She didn't exactly say what I wanted to hear. That's Nola, though. She always says and does what's right, not what's convenient or comforting.
Almost automatically, needing something to keep my mind busy, I click on the icon to check my e-mail. Three new messages. One from Adara-no thank you. I click on the message and am about to drag it to the trash when I see the folder I made when I was mad at Griffin last year. "Liars." I drop here-mail in there. Even if she hasn't lied to me, I bet she would if I gave her the chance.
The second e-mail is from Mrs. Philipoulos.
To: Library Employees
Bcc: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Secret Archives Access
Former Academy library employees,
Upon a recent inspection of the library secret archives, I have discovered two missing volumes in the Mount Olympus records. If you have any knowledge of the theft or whereabouts for these volumes, please contact me immediately. No punitive action will be taken if the volumes are returned within the week.
Also, please remember that your right to access the secret archives depends on your status as a library employee. If you are no longer working in the library, you should not access the secret archives for ANY reason.
Yours,
Philippa Philipoulos
At least she only blind-copied me. Damian won't know I'm involved. I wouldn't want him to get suspicious and rush home from his honeymoon. The last thing I need is Mom and Damian nosing around in the middle of my trying to find out what happened to Dad.
Mrs. Philipoulos said two volumes are missing. Clearly, one of them is Dad's trial record. I wonder what else was taken. The last e-mail is yet another blocked message.
From: [Blocked]
Subject: [No Subject]
Urian Nacus will not be able to decrypt my identity before our meeting.
Do not be late.
Just for ducks, I click print. When the blank page spits out, I slide it back into the paper tray. I'm so not surprised. If e-mails one and two wouldn't print, it would be some kind uf divine intervention if the third did.
Closing down my computer, I decide I need to get out of my room, out of this house. I need the clarity of thought that only running can bring. I grab the zip-up sweatshirt off the back of my chair. As I hurry through the living room, I try not to make eye contact. Xander is back and I'm not up for conversation. I can see him and Stella sitting on the couch-Stella flirtatiously turned to face him with one foot tucked up underneath her and Xander nonflirtatiously focused on whatever he's writing in a spiral notebook.
Maybe I can get to the front door-
"Phoebe," Stella calls out before I can escape, "are you okay'?"
"Fine," I say, hoping she'll take the hint.
Of course subtlety is not her strong suit.
"Griffin looked pretty upset when he left." She climbs off the couch and approaches me. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she asks. "Is everything all right?"
"Just peachy," I say, and I can't quite keep the emotion out of my voice.
But instead of pouncing on my trauma-I can just see her gloating to Adara over my continued torment-she puts her hand on my shoulder and says, "I'm sorry." And then shocks the Hades out of me by adding, "If you ever need someone to talk to…"
"Sure." I try to smile-and hide my shock at her apparently sincere offer. "Thanks."
She smiles sympathetically.
"I'm going for a run," I say, uncomfortable with this friendly Stella. I jerk my hand back over my shoulder. "I need some fresh air."
Xander looks up at me, his lavender eyes wide and intent. He looks like he might say something, but I turn and head outside before he gets the chance.
I take the front steps two at a time. Those same steps where Griffin almost first kissed me. Right after I found out he was a duty-bound descendant of Hercules. Right before I found out I was part of some elaborate bet between him and Stella and Adara. I should have listened to my gut the first time. Then my heart wouldn't be shattering right now.
Maybe I shouldn't be surprised at our rocky end. We had a pretty rocky beginning, even if the time between was smooth and wonderful.
"Phoebe," Xander calls out. Then, when I don't stop, he shouts. "Castro!"
I. Have. Had. Enough.
Whipping around and jogging back to the porch, I snap, "What?"
"I'm sorry," he says-like he knows an apology is the only thing that can undermine my fury. "I shouldn't have stormed out like that earlier. You're going through a tough enough time without my making things worse."
"Fine," I say. "Apology accepted. Can I go now?"
Before he can answer, I turn and jog down the path leading to the dock-to the beach. To my left, the front lawn of the Academystretches out into a rolling green hill that leads down to the cove. Ahead, I can see the Aegean, inky black and rippling in reflected moonlight from the starry sky. It's so peaceful and calming and completely at odds with the emotions running through me.
How can Griffin make me feel so good and so rotten at the same time? Why did he go back to Adara? Does she have something I don't-other than bleached blonde hair and a cheerleader uniform?
Does she, like Mitzi Bosch, offersomething I haven't?
When he said he didn't know why he'd stayed with her so long, I'd believed him. When he told me about his mom's oracle reading, I'd really thought we'd be together forever. I'd thought he was my one.
Had I really been such a fool?
With only a hint of a moon out tonight, I can barely see the path down to the dock. It's only because I've climbed this path dozens of times that I make it to the bottom without stumbling. Usually I take a right, to the long stretch of perfect white beach that just screams for a run. But tonight the tide is really low and there's a thin sliver of shore leading off to the left.
Without another thought, I head left. The strip of sand-still wet from a higher tide and solid beneath my Nikes-winds beneath the cliffs and the village perched overhead. It's quiet and secluded-the beach isn't usually bustling with activity after dark unless it's bonfire night-and it's a relief to know I won't be running into anyone. Company is the last thing I'm looking for. As I hurdle a low rock outcropping, I think about my promise to Nola. She always gives people second chances. And third and fourth and fifth chances. Soit's not exactly a surprise that she wants me to give Griff a second opportunity to explain. I don't want to-I feel like I've already given him tons of opportunities-but I can't break a promise. Not to Nola.
I'm just wondering how to go about giving Griffin another chance to explain-do I go after him, or do I wait until he comes to me?-when I feel water slosh over my Nikes.
"What the-?"
I look down. The sliver of beach is two feet thinner than when I started out. I hope it just naturally narrows down as it goes. But a quick glance behind me reveals that the entire strip of beach is disappearing. About a hundred yards back, it's completely gone. Which can only mean one thing.
"Rising tides," I exclaim.
How could I have been so stupid? If the tide is low and I'm suddenly seeing a beach that's never been there before, it's probably because it's not there during high tide. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."
I have to decide quickly what to do, because it's not like I can scale the cliffs if the tide comes in. Behind me, the beach is already underwater. My only choice is to press on and hope the beach opens up around the curve up ahead.
Kicking into a sprint, I try to calm my racing heart. Fear sends adrenaline pumping through my blood, and that's only going to cloud my judgment.
I've never been a short-distance dasher, but I make the two hundred yards to the curve in the beach in record time.
My calves are on fire and my heart is racing out of control. I've never felt so keyed up.
As I speed around the rocks, I heave a huge gasp of relief. There's a nice wide beach, deep enough to stick around for high tide. Some of it even looks familiar.
There's a cluster of bushes along the cliff wall that I know I've seen before. I remember-it's the beach where Griffin took me when we made up last fall. The last training session before the Cycladian Cup.
That's when I know that one day I'll thank Nola for making me give Griffin a second chance. The memory of how great it felt to know he cared about me, how great it felt to take his hand and know that nothing stood between us anymore. I want that again.
"What do you mean you didn't tell her?" a muffled female voice demands.
I'm not sure what makes me do it-instinct, fear, or knowledge beyond my years-but I dive behind a big boulder. I hear the sound of footsteps on gravel and then silence. Whoever was talking must have just reached the beach.
"How could I?" an intimately familiar male voice replies.
Griffin.
"She still doesn't trust me," he says. "She thinks I'm cheating on her."
"Oh, and nottelling her what's going on is definitely going to make that better."
Is that Adara? I can't see for sure. I dare a peck around the edge of the boulder and catch a glimpse of blonde. Her back is to me, so I can't tell. But it has to be… right?
"I know that, Nicole," he says.
Nicole?
Everything crashes to a stop. There's no wind whistling through the trees. No waves crashing on the beach. No breath leaving my body.
"You can't tell Phoebe," he says. "If she knew what was going on, then she might…"
The rest of his sentence gets lost as the world rushes back to life around me. There's a roaring in my ears that I can't shake away. Then my hearing finally clears as he says, "I don't want her to get hurt."
Why does Nicole know the secret I'm not allowed to know? And why would whatever they're doing wind up hurting me? It's bad enough knowing Griffin has betrayed me with Adara. I expect that from her and should have known better about him. But Nicole? She is the closest thing I have to a best friend on this island.
How could they do this to me?
In that instant, my mind focuses entirely on one thing; getting away from this beach. Away from where I learned about this latest betrayal. Away, away, away.
Eyes closed, I feel a tingling spread over my skin.
When I blink open, I'm in my room.
Great, I finally do something useful with my powers, and I can't even enjoy it. I'm too busy worrying about my world crumbling around me.
"I didn't hear you come home," Stella says when I stumble out of my room two tear -filled hours later.
I barely glance at her before continuing to the kitchen. All my crying has left me severely dehydrated and I need liquid like nobody's business. Taking a dirty glass from the sink, I fill it with tap water and chug. I don't even have the energy to twist the cap off a Gatorade.
"What happened to you?"
I flick Stella a glance over my glass. Her generally superior look gradually fades as I just stare at her.
When I finish the last drop in my glass, I set it in the sink and start to leave the kitchen. Stella steps in front of me. She grabs my shoulders with both hands, dips down to look in my eyes, and announces. "You autoported."
"What?"
"Autoported,"she repeats. "You shimmered yourself home, didn't you?"
"How can you tell?" Then I remember she can read minds. "Never mind."
"No," she says, shaking her head. "Your mind's too much of a mess for me to read right now. You have a residual glow in your eyes. That only happens when someone has recently autoported."
I shrug. I'm in no mood to be analyzed or critiqued or judged or whatever she's trying to do right now.
"I know you're hurting," she says, her voice soft with understanding. "but autoportation is the most advanced of all dynamotheos powers. We need to figure out how this happened."
"Stella, I-"
She squeezes my shoulders. "I wouldn't ask you to do this right now unless I thought it was really important."
Her pale gray eyes are steely with resolve. Clearly, I'm not escaping this session. "Just let me splash some water on my face."
Stella nods and lets me go freshen up.
When I get back, she's in the dining room with a bunch of papers spread out over the table. She glances up when I walk in.
"Feeling better?"
"A little," I answer honestly.
"Good," she says, "because I need you to tell me everything about the situation that led to your autoportation."
As I sink into the chair opposite hers, I meet her eyes straight on. I don't really want to tell her what just happened-we may be friendly at the moment, but that doesn't mean I'm about to share personal details of my love life. But, the truth is, I'm a little freaked out by the whole autoportationthing. It's not like I controlled it. I didn't even see it coming.
What if I accidentally autoportmyself to the Gobi Desert? Or the bottom of the ocean? Or the middle of a Mary-Kay convention? I shudder at the thought of all the makeup and pep.
Considering the risks of notunderstanding what happened, it's far less frightening to tell Stella the truth.
"Well, I went for a run," I begin. "To clear my head…"
For the next thirty minutes, I spill every last detail of the last few days, everything from the instant I turned Damian into a surfer dude up until I autoportedback to my room. I even trash on Adara and her boyfriend-stealing games, despite the fact that she and Stella are friends.
Stella doesn't say a word. Just scribbles notes in a pink spiral-bound while I babble on. And on. And on.
"All I could think of was being away from there and then…" I gesture toward my room. "I was."
Finished, I take a deep breath and slump back against my chair.
Wow. I feel a lot better just getting that off my chest.
"I'd like to try an experiment," Stella finally says. She places her pen in the center of the table. "Simple telekinesis.Pick this up."
When I start to reach for it, she says. "No. Not with your hands."
Okay. Concentrating all my energy on the pen, I try to move it toward me. Instead of sliding in my direction, though, it spins in circles for several seconds before flying off the table and heading point first into the nearest wall.
"I know what your problem is." she announces.
"Great," I'm glad someone does. Tell me."
"You were trying to movethe pen."
"Well, duh." I hold her gaze to keep from rolling my eyes-she is trying to help me, after all. That's what you told me to do."
"The approach is all wrong." She pushes back from the table and retrieves the pen from the wall. "You were thinking about moving the pen-which you did-when you need to think about having the pen in your hand."
I shake my head. "I don't get it."
Stella replaces the pen on the table. Focus your thoughts on the pen being in your hand already. Imagine it there. Believe it is already in your-"
While she is talking, I try what she suggests. I picture the pen in my hand, like I can already feel the cool plastic in my palm. And then, while Stella is still talking and I'm still skeptically expecting the pen to zip into the living room. I feel a gentle weight in my hand.
When I glance down, Stella's pen is lying across my palm.
"I did it," I say, stunned. Looking up at her, I repeat, "Omigods. I did it!"
She takes her pen back and starts scribbling more notes.
"Does that mean I'm cured?"
Glancing up, gray eyes sparkling, she says, "Not yet." Before I can slump in defeat, she adds. "But it's a start."
We share a smile of success. For the first time in my life, a success off the cross-country course feels almost as good as winning a race. Almost. But, like Stella said, it's a start.