“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” Griffin is leaning over me, his brows pinched together in concern.
“Yes,” I say, rolling onto my back. “Just peachy.”
“What happened?” He looks really anxious, like I’m going to accuse him of zapping me like last time.
No, I know better.
“I’m not sure. I just tr- aaaack!” I try to stand, but my right ankle buckles under me. Arms flailing, I collapse forward against Griffin’s chest.
Seems like Nicole didn’t just knock me down. My ankle doesn’t hurt or anything, but it won’t support my weight. As I clutch Griffin’s shoulders and claw my way upright, I throw a scowl in the direction of the bushes where I glimpsed her. She’s long gone, I’m sure.
“You must have really twisted that ankle,” Griffin says, placing his hands on my back for support. “Can you walk?”
“Of course I ca- aaaack!”
Another step forward-and another tumble immediately into Griffin’s arms. What did Nicole do, zap away my ankle muscles? “Here.” Griffin comes up behind me, scoops down, and lifts me into his arms. “I’ll carry you.”
“No, really, that’s not nec-”
“Yes,” he interrupts. “It is.”
While it is not totally unappealing to be in his arms, this is not how I’d always imagined it would be. Wait-I mean this is not how I’d fleetingly thought it would be when we came up with this plan.
I never wasted my time imagining Griffin and me doing anything. Promise.
Anyway, here I am, cradled in his arms as he makes his way back through the woods. I feel like some fairy-tale damsel in distress being rescued from a dark forest full of ogres and trolls.
But Griffin Blake only acts like a fairy-tale hero when it suits him.
“Why are you being so nice?” I ask.
His blue eyes glance down at me. “I’m not.”
I give him a look that says, “Um, hello!”
“All right,” he relents, then mumbles, “I hrmphoo.”
“What?” I know he’s weird, but I am sure he is capable of intelligible speech.
“I said…” He closes his eyes-I glance ahead on the trail to make sure he’s not going to trip over a tree root or anything-and clenches his jaw. “… I have to.”
“What do you mean you have to?”
I stomp down on the little part of me that wants him to say, I can’t help myself because I love you, Phoebe.Talk about delusional.
“It’s in my blood,” he explains. And leaves it at that.
Like that clears everything up.
“I don’t get it.”
He growls and I can feel it in his chest.
“Listen, if you’re going to do the silent thing the whole way then just-”
“Hercules is my ancestor.”
“Isn’t Hercules Roman?”
“The name is,” Griffin says. “But most people have never heard of Heracles. Even the gods stopped using that name centuries ago.”
“I thought you were descended from Ares.”
“I am,” he grumbles. “On my great-grandmother’s side. Hercules is on my father’s line.”
“And…”
“Descendants of Hercules are compelled to act heroic when someone is in need.”
I can’t help it-I burst out laughing. That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. He really is helping me because he can’t stop himself. This is priceless.
I can see this definitely working to my advantage.
“You can’t, however,” he says when I can’t stop laughing, “abuse the privilege. Only genuine situations of need qualify.”
“What?” I ask, suppressing my giggles. “Is there some kind of contract? Qualifications and exceptions to your heroics?”
His jaw clenches again and he doesn’t answer.
In fact, he stares straight forward and doesn’t even look down at me. I must have touched a nerve or something. Great, now I feel guilty for teasing him-the guy who tried to zap me off the cross-country team in the first place. I have no reason to feel bad for him.
But I do.
“I’m sorry,” I hear myself say. “I shouldn’t make fun of stuff I don’t understand. This hero thing is pretty serious, huh?”
He nods once.
“How many of you are there?”
Grim faced, he keeps staring off ahead-we’ve made it out of the woods and are now crossing the lawn below the school. Thinking he’s so mad he’s not going to answer, I drop my head back against his arm and relax. Might as well enjoy the ride.
“One.” His blue eyes glow as they meet my brown ones. “Just one.”
“You’re the only descendant of Hercules?” Wow. That must be a major burden. “How is that possible?”
“There is only one child born to the Herculean line each generation.”
“Then what about your parents?”
The glow in his eyes disappears. “They’re… not around.”
“Not around? Are they traveling or something?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Okay. I have no idea what he’s saying-what I’m supposed to get from his cryptic responses-but I get the feeling he’s not going to elaborate.
“So, um…” I try to think of something to talk about, to break this tense silence. “… where are you-”
“You’re friends with Nicole.”
I’m not sure if I’m more shocked that he’s actually speaking or that he’s speaking about Nicole. Especially after what she told me about their past.
“Yes,” I answer carefully.
“She and I-” He shakes his head. “I don’t know if she told you, but-”
“She told me.”
I expect him to ask what exactly she said, to deny her accusations and defend himself. Instead, he surprises the crap out of me by asking, “How’s she doing?”
“Um, she’s… okay, I think.” Thinking back to her teary revelation this morning, maybe she’s not completely fine. At this point I don’t think I can lose any points by being completely honest. “She doesn’t like you very much.”
Griffin snickers in a way that makes it clear that he doesn’t think this is funny. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Going for broke, I say, “She thinks you got her parents banished.”
His jaw clamps shut.
“I don’t know why she thinks so, but she-”
“It’s true.”
My mouth drops open. “It’s what? Why would you do that?”
He sighs and rolls his eyes, but somehow I get the feeling he’s rolling them at himself and not me. “Not on purpose,” he says sadly.
“I promise you that.”
How do you get someone banished accidentally? “What happened?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer. “She said you testified at Mount Olympus and-”
“Drop it.”
“But it doesn’t make any sense,” I insist. “How can you not taking responsibility for something get her parents-”
“I said drop it!”
I jerk back at his outburst-though I can’t get far since I’m still cradled in his arms. Even though he sounds even angrier than whenI was taunting him in the qualifying race, his grip on me remains relaxed. From the way he’s clenching his jaw and staring straight ahead I’m pretty sure I’m not getting any more conversation out of him.
I can’t stand the tension-rich silence.
“Do you know where you’re going to college?” I ask, hoping he’ll go for the change of subject.
No response. Shocking.
“I’m going to USC next year,” I say, filling the silence with my own voice. “Hopefully, I’ll get a cross-country scholarship. I just have to make a B average and do well in our meets and the coach says he’ll give me a full ride, which I’ll really need since Mom’s not working anymore and I don’t expect Damian to pay for anything because-”
“Oxford,” Griffin blurts. “I’m going to Oxford.”
Apparently he’s no match for babbling girls. I’ll have to keep that in mind in the future.
Remembering that Stella has the same plan, I ask, “Does everyone at the Academy go to Oxford?”
“The school has an… arrangement with the university administration.”
“What are you going to study?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to add, “Mythology?” but I decide against the sarcasm. At the moment he’s being heroic, but tomorrow at school is fair game and I don’t want to end up zapped to the ceiling in my underwear or anything.
“Economics.”
That’s it. One word response.
Not that I expect more.
“I’m going to study sports medicine. I want to be an athletic trainer, maybe for a college or the Olympic team or something.”
He grunts, which I take to be his confirmation that he heard what I said but doesn’t plan on replying. Which is fine, because I can keep on talking.
“I know I can’t run forever-even though I know there are always old guys in the Boston Marathon and stuff like that-but I have to make a living somehow. And this way I still get to be involved in sports without worrying when my knees are going to give out and-”
“We’re here.”
Lost in my one-sided conversation, I didn’t even realize we’d crossed the lawn, passed the school, and made it to the front steps of Damian’s house.
I do notice, however, that Griffin does not immediately drop me on my behind and run away as fast as he can.
Maybe it’s the hero contract.
“Well, thanks,” I say, even though he didn’t help me purely out of the goodness of his heart.
Still, he doesn’t put me down.
He does look at me, though, his bright blue eyes intent on mine.
It is a frozen moment-I can’t move or speak or react at all.
Helpless in his arms, silence ringing in my ears, I notice for the first time all the sensations. The feel of his heart pounding in his chest. His radiating heat. His arms against the bare skin of my legs and shoulder-
Oh. My. God.
I totally forgot the skimpy little running outfit Nicole made me wear. This whole time I’ve been half-naked in his arms-all right, I know all the important parts are covered and by MTV standards my clothes are practically dowdy, but for me this is exposed.
I’m not sure what to do. Should I kick and scream, demanding he put me down right now? Leap out of his arms-and likely fall flat on my face again thanks to Nicole’s amazing disappearing ankle trick? Enjoy the sensation of being held while his head dips down, inching closer and closer to mine-
“Ah-hem.”
Startled, I look up to see Stella standing in our open doorway.
She has her hands on her hips and looks like she caught us making out on the front steps.
Griffin’s ears are red with embarrassment.
Without saying a word he drops me on the steps, nods to Stella, and jogs off across the yard.
“Just keep in mind,” Stella snaps, “that you are supposed to be stealing Griffin away for me, not from me.”
I nod absently, not focused on her but on the spot where Griffin had just disappeared over the hill. Holding onto the doorjamb so I don’t fall over, I can’t waste energy worrying about her being mad at me.
Griffin Blake had been about to kiss me!
And stupid Stella had to interrupt.
PrincessCesca: did he wet his lips?
LostPhoebe: no
PrincessCesca: did he close his eyes?
LostPhoebe: no
PrincessCesca: did he lay his palm on your cheek?
LostPhoebe: no
LostPhoebe: he was kinda busy holding me
PrincessCesca: are you sure he was going to kiss you?
LostPhoebe: for the millionth time… yes!
PrincessCesca: you’re in trouble
LostPhoebe: tell me about it
PrincessCesca: ES will kill you if you catch him before she can ES is our shorthand for Evil Stepsister. AKA Stella.
After Griffin dropped me-and I found out that Nicole’s ankle zap had worn off and I could walk just fine-I had endured Stella’s inquisition about the whole thing.
As soon as she was satisfied, I ran to my room-to the new laptop and Internet connection that will be my salvation for these next few months-and called up Cesca on IM.
LostPhoebe: she won’t find out
PrincessCesca: it’s a small island
LostPhoebe: Justinian never found out they’d moved the school
PrincessCesca: what?
Oops. Not supposed to let that cat out of the bag. Well, at least I didn’t say who had moved the school. That would be worse.
LostPhoebe: just some junk about school history
LostPhoebe: we had a pep assembly on Friday
LostPhoebe: they’re big on tradition here
The cursor blinks at me for a long time. I can practically hear Cesca thinking from thousands of miles away. Great. If anyone can uncover the big secret, Cesca can. She’s the one who knew Justin was cheating on me weeks before the rest of the school found out.
PrincessCesca: yeah, Europeans are all serious about history
LostPhoebe: you’re not kidding
LostPhoebe: one of my teachers wears a toga to class
PrincessCesca: talk about your fashion faux pas
Another IM conversation pops up.
NaughtyNic: how’s your ankle
LostPhoebe: fine, no thanks to you
NaughtyNic: you were going to back out
LostPhoebe: that didn’t mean you had to
PrincessCesca: you still there?
LostPhoebe: yes
LostPhoebe: zap my ankle
NaughtyNic: what’s the harm?
NaughtyNic: it didn’t hurt
LostPhoebe: no, but
PrincessCesca: you’re talking to someone else, aren’t you?
LostPhoebe: of course not
LostPhoebe: you’re not talking either
LostPhoebe: I could have hurt myself falling
NaughtyNic: but you didn’t
NaughtyNic: it all worked out in the end
LostPhoebe: how would you know?
NaughtyNic: I saw him carry you home
PrincessCesca: if you’re going to ignore me I’m leaving
LostPhoebe: don’t go
PrincessCesca: then tell me who you’re talking to
LostPhoebe: a friend from school
LostPhoebe: she has a question about homework
I feel horrible lying to Cesca, but it’s easier than answering questions. Most of them aren’t even questions I’m allowed to answer.
LostPhoebe: him carrying me home doesn’t mean anything
NaughtyNic: what happened?
LostPhoebe: he almost kissed me
NaughtyNic: oh my gods!
NaughtyNic: why didn’t he?
LostPhoebe: Stella interrupted
PrincessCesca: Phoebe?
NaughtyNic: did she freak out?
LostPhoebe: hold on a sec
PrincessCesca: fine
NaughtyNic: see!!! it all worked out in the end
NaughtyNic: I zapped you for a good cause
LostPhoebe: I don’t care if he wound up groveling at my feet
LostPhoebe: that’s no excuse to use your supernatural powers on me!
Blink, blink, blink.
NaughtyNic: are you there?
Blink, blink, blink.
NaughtyNic: Phoebe?
I glance back and forth at the two IM windows. Back and forth.
Cesca and Nicole. L.A. and Serfopoula.
My heart starts racing.
PrincessCesca: supernatural powers?
Crap!
LostPhoebe: have to go
NaughtyNic: something wrong
LostPhoebe: no, of course not
LostPhoebe: just have to go
LostPhoebe: now
LostPhoebe: bye
I quickly close the conversation with Nicole without waiting for her to reply. I am in so much crap it’s not even funny.
PrincessCesca: Phoebe, what’s going on?
Quick, think of a plausible explanation.
LostPhoebe: we’re doing this fantasy role-playing game
LostPhoebe: every character has special powers
LostPhoebe: they can use them against other characters
LostPhoebe: she used hers against me
LostPhoebe: in the game
Great, now I’m babbling in IM.
Cesca’s going to know something’s up. In her wildest dreams she wouldn’t guess exactly what, but Cesca’s like a bulldog-she doesn’t let go of something until she’s ready.
PrincessCesca: you hate computer games
LostPhoebe: um, not anymore
PrincessCesca: stop lying to me
LostPhoebe: I’m not
PrincessCesca: what’s really going on
PrincessCesca: what aren’t you telling me?
LostPhoebe: Cesca, I
Tears fill my eyes as I tell my best friend since kindergarten-the girl I’ve shared every deep, dark secret I’ve ever had with-that I can’t tell her this.
LostPhoebe: I can’t
LostPhoebe: I’m sorry
PrincessCesca: fine
I wait for her to say something more, to ask why or to make me tell her. But the stupid cursor just blinks at me. After staring at the unmoving conversation for fifteen minutes I accept the fact that she’s gone.
Add one more thing to the list of stuff moving to this stupid island has ruined for me.
“To build a stronger team dynamic,” Coach Z says to everyone gathered in the weight room, “we are going to partner you across events for strength training today.”
Oh no. This can only end in pain.
Christopher, the big blond who volunteered to be my training partner, is the only person on the team who seems even inclined to be nice-Griffin hasn’t so much as spoken to me since Sunday-so pairing me with anyone else is going to be a nightmare.
Coach Z starts going through the roster, pairing up throwers with hurdlers, jumpers with sprinters, mixing everything up.
“Phoebe Castro,” he says, tracing his finger across the page on his clipboard, “and Adara Spencer.”
My shoulders slump. Of all the people I could be paired with, this is the worst. Even spending the hour-long session in silence with Griffin-who got paired with Vesna Gorgopoulo, a discus thrower who makes the Rock look like a weakling-would be infinitely better.
I glance at Adara, standing in the center of her group of blondes.
She is positively fuming. While she stalks over to Coach Z-presumably to demand a different partner-her blondes glare at me.
The only one I know by name is Zoe. She’s in my World History class and spends all her time flirting with Mr. Sakola. I used to think she was harmless, but the look she’s giving me right now could sear a steak.
Adara stomps back to her group, the angry look on her face a clear indication that Coach Z refused to bow down to her wishes.
If they weren’t my wishes, too, at the moment, then I’d enjoy her defeat.
“Everyone select a machine to start on,” Coach Z explains. “When you hear one whistle switch with your partner, when you hear two rotate stations.”
While everyone moves to a machine, Adara and I stand glaring at each other.
“Get moving, girls,” Coach Z shouts. “You start on the bench.”
He points to the bench press in the far corner of the weight room, the only station not taken. Deciding that my training is more important than my animosity, I turn and head for the machine.
I’m just settling in on the bench when Adara joins me.
The first whistle blows and I reach up to take the bar.
“Well, well,” Adara says, making no move to spot me. “If it isn’t the happy home-wrecker.”
Ignoring her, I lift the bar off the brackets and start counting.
One. Two.
“Don’t think you can just steal my boyfriend without consequences, kako.”
“I didn’t-” Six. “Steal-” Seven. “Anything.”
“What?” She peers down at me. “Did you think I wouldn’t hear about what happened on Saturday?”
“I don’t-” Twelve. “Really-” Thirteen. “Care.”
“It was quite funny, actually,” she says, her voice mocking. “Griffin could hardly stop laughing long enough to tell me.”
“What?” I let the bar clatter back into place on the brackets.
Sitting up, I look around the room, finding Griffin and Vesna at the lateral pull station. He is watching Vesna pull like three hundred pounds. For a second he turns and glances at me, but then quickly looks away.
Then again, he might have been looking at Adara.
“Castro,” Coach Z shouts, “you’re still on the-”
Coach Lenny blows the whistle, then winks at me, ignoring the scowl Coach Z throws his way.
I climb off the bench and move behind the bar.
“What exactly did he tell you?” I ask, furious.
“Everything, of course.”
We continue in silence, Adara doing bench presses and me thinking of how many ways I could destroy Griffin without getting caught, until Coach Lenny blows the whistle twice and we change stations. Up next on our circuit is the butterfly press. This allows Adara to stand facing me-and blocking my view-the whole time.
“Back off from my boyfriend,” she snarls as I start my presses.
“Don’t worry,” I reply, concentrating on the burn in my pecs so I don’t think about Griffin. The betrayer. “I want nothing to do with your boyfriend.”
“Oh, I’m not worried.” She glances over her shoulder to where Griffin and Vesna are working on triceps curls. “I just want to save you the embarrassment of being the laughingstock of the school.”
“Gee,” I say, just as the whistle blows. I release the weights with a thud. “Thanks for your concern.”
Adara smoothly begins her presses as she talks. “If you don’t believe me, ask your friend Nutty Nic. She knows all about being the laughingstock.”
“Watch what you say about my friends,” I warn. She is dangerously close to crossing a line.
“And if I recall,” Adara snickers, “that was Griffin’s doing, as well.”
My fury should be directed at Griffin, but Adara is right in front of me and all my rage focuses on her.
I’m just about to tell her what she can do with her concern andfriendly advice when suddenly her arms snap back, the weights slamming down with an echoing crash. Adara looks stunned, her eyes wide open like they’re stuck that way.
Everything in the weight room stops.
“Castro!”
Why is Coach Z yelling at me? “I didn’t do anything.”
“Precisely,” he says. “As the spotter, when your partner is in trouble it is your job to assist her.”
“But she wasn’t-”
“I begged for help,” Adara coos, apparently recovering from her shock. “My arms were all quivery and shaky, like they were going to give out. But she refused. She said she wouldn’t lift a finger to help anyone on this team.”
“That’s a lie,” I shout. “I never-”
“In my office,” Coach Z says, his voice low and serious. “Now.”
Great, there goes cross-country. I’m about to get kicked off the team, and lose any chance at getting that scholarship.
“I saw it happen, Coach.”
Everyone turns to look at Griffin. He’s looking right at Coach Z-not at me, not at Adara.
“Adara didn’t ask for help,” he continues. “She just let the weight drop.”
I dare a glance at Adara, who is turning an unflattering shade of red.
“Right then,” Coach Z stammers. “Everyone back to work.”
The weight room returns to the bustle of the workout. Except for Adara, who is glaring at me, me, staring at Griffin, and Griffin, staring at the floor.
“Oh, and Blake,” Coach Z says. “Switch places with Spencer.”
Stomping across the weight room, Adara takes her place with Vesna-who is now bench-pressing a small car. I walk slowly to the biceps curls station and pick up a pair of dumbbells. Without saying a word, Griffin takes his place at my side, holding his hand beneath mine to spot my movement.
He doesn’t say a single word to me the entire workout, and by the time practice is over I’m more confused than ever.
“This Plato is kicking my ass,” I grumble, staring blankly at the pages full of philosophical words.
Mr. Dorcas wants us to read The Republic and write a ten-page response paper when I don’t even understand what the book is about. Like I don’t have enough going on in my life.
“You’ll get through it,” Nicole promises.
“I’m not so sure.” I flip the book over to the back cover-something I can actually understand-and read the two sentence bio on Plato. “Too bad he died twenty-three hundred years ago.”
She laughs, then goes back to reading.
“You’ve got powers, Nic.” I sigh, slamming the book down on our table. “Can’t you summon him back to life so I can ask him to clarify?”
“We can’t bring people back from the dead,” she says. “Big no-no.
In the sixties someone tried to bring back Clytemnestra to star in the school’s production of Agamemnon. Everyone in the cast agedfifty years in a day.” Then, pursing her lips and looking thoughtful, adds, “But hey, Hades is my great-uncle. We could take a field trip to the underworld to find Plato.”
“Really?” I ask, brightening.
Maybe there are benefits to going to school with the relatives of Greek gods. Something to offset all the unfortunate zapping.
“Sure.” She frowns. “Of course, there’s always the chance we won’t come back. People get lost down there all the time. And it smells like rotten eggs.”
“Great.” I flop back in my chair. “My options are: fail the class or spend eternity in the stinky underworld. I’m not sure which one is worse.”
Nicole leans across the table and places a hand on my arm. “Don’t worry,” she says. “You won’t fail.”
I am just about to let her know what I think of her reassurance by snorting when Mr. Dorcas walks up to our table.
“Miss Castro,” he says. “Headmaster Petrolas wants to see you in his office.”
Everyone in the class starts oohing like I’m in big trouble.
Considering recent history, maybe I am.
“He asked you to bring your things.”
Maybe I’ve been expelled?
Hey, a girl can dream.
I quickly gather my stuff and head for the big dog’s office.
Damian is pacing behind his massive desk when I get there.
“What’s u-”
“Who have you told?” he roars.
I jerk back a little at his harsh tone. “Told about what?”
“The school. Who have you told about the school?”
He’s speaking quickly, with an urgency he hasn’t shown before.
“If you mean the Big Secret, I haven’t told anybody.”
I may have let half a detail slip to Cesca the other night, but that in no way constitutes telling the secret.
Damian runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair as he sinks into his chair. “Phoebe, please. This is no time for playing games.
The safety of the school and everyone on the island is at stake.”
If he sounded even a little melodramatic I might have dismissed this line of questioning as paranoid. But he doesn’t. So I don’t.
“All right.” I take a seat across from him. “In an IM chat on Sunday night I accidentally sent my best friend a line about using supernatural powers. I meant to send it to Nicole-I got the windows confused is all. But Cesca won’t tell anyone. I’m one hundred percent certain.”
Except for maybe Nola-but she wouldn’t tell anyone, either.
Only, if Cesca didn’t tell anyone, how did Damian find out? “What happened?” I ask, afraid of the answer.
Rubbing his eyes with one hand, Damian sighs. Loudly.
“The island itself is safe, protected by the gods. The shield, however, only prevents nothos from accidentally witnessing something supernatural. If they know what they’re looking for the gods cannot stop them.” He runs his hand through his hair, messing it up. “If even one untrustworthy nothos knows the truth, we are vulnerable to discovery.”
Suddenly I feel awful for even the accidental slip-up. Eventhough I didn’t mean to do it, it still had the same result. From the way Damian looks things must be really bad, too.
“Our web scanners flagged a search from a southern California IP address.” He pushes a piece of paper across his desk.
Search string: supernatural powers Serfopoula Greece
Results: suppress
Location: Los Angeles County
“Oh.” It has to be Cesca. No one else would even have a clue.
But I know she did it with the best intentions. “She must have been worried after I told her I couldn’t tell her anything. We haven’t kept secrets. Ever. It probably freaked her out.”
That makes me feel better about her not responding to the millions of e-mails and IMs I’ve been sending. Even though she’s hurt that I can’t confide she’s still trying to find out what’s going on with me.
She’s a true friend.
“We cannot undo your accident,” Damian says. He sounds resigned, which makes me feel worse. “There might not be anything to worry about. We shall wait and see if there are any more incidents.”
“And if there are?”
“We will have to take countermeasures.”
“Countermeasures?” I picture Cesca, her feet encased in concrete blocks, sinking slowly to the floor of the Pacific. Maybe the Greek gods operate like the mafia.
“Nothing so dramatic,” Damian says, smiling and proving once again that he can read emotions fluently, “I assure you.”
I’m not fully appeased, but I guess I have to take his word for it at the moment. If the time comes to enact “countermeasures” I’ll warn Cesca ahead of time so she can flee the country or whatever.
For now, I just smile and nod as I gather up my backpack to leave.
“Oh, Phoebe,” Damian calls as I walk to the door. When I turn around, he adds, “Try not to accidentally reveal any more of our secrets. If you do, I just might have to try the concrete blocks method.”
My jaw drops. “Hey, you said you could only read emotions!”
Damian, cryptic as ever, just smiles and returns his attention to work. How like him.
I’m lucky I don’t keep a diary for him to read.
As I close the door behind me I hear, “Everything I need to know is stored in your hippocampus anyway.”
Because I can’t think of any better response I slam his door.
Believe it or not, I’m starting to feel sympathy for Stella. She’s had to live with him her whole life.
I only have to endure him for nine months.
“Damian and I have been talking, Phoebola,” Mom says. She’s sitting in my room, watching me try to do homework.
“Yeah,” I answer absently, wondering what Plato meant whenhe said, We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light. “I would think you two do that a lot.”
Sure, I used to be afraid of the dark, but who ever heard of someone being afraid of the light? Maybe he’s being metaphorical. Light must be a symbol for something else. How about success? That would be like being afraid to win a race. It would be beyond sad if someone was afraid of winning. I start scribbling down my answer.
I can practically feel her giving me the Mom look.
“You know what I mean.” Mom clears her throat before continuing. Uh-oh. “This is all such a big change-for both of us. All of us.
It’s going to get even harder when you go away to college.”
I sit up straight in my chair, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.
“We think it might be better for you to stay on at the Academy for another year. Maybe even attend college in the U.K. after graduation. That will give you another year to adjust and-”
“What!”
I think my scream can be heard in Athens.
“Now calm down, after everything that’s-”
“Calm down? Are you crazy?” I jump up from my desk and start pacing. “You’re trying to ruin my entire future and you want me to calm down?”
“We are not trying to ruin your future.” She sits on my bed, the picture of calm and collected. “You could really benefit from another year of challenging academics.”
My pacing speeds up-if I had a rug I would probably burn ahole in it. I already know Damian wants this-Stella told me, after all-but my own mother? “Nola, Cesca, and I have been planning on going to USC together since junior high.” I stop pacing long enough to throw my hands in the air. “How can you ask me to just throw all those years of planning-not to mention my friendships-away?”
I resume pacing, my mind racing just as fast.
“I’m not asking you to do anything more than think about it,” she says calmly.
I hate it when she does the whole calm-Mom-therapy thing on me.
It makes me so mad I do things I might regret.
“It’s bad enough you marry a complete stranger,” I shout, “and you make me move halfway around the world without telling me I’ll be going to school with a bunch of kids with superpowers who can zap me whenever they want. But now, now after all this, you want me to stay even longer than absolutely necessary? This is all his idea, isn’t it?”
“Of course not,” she says, sounding all defensive. “He may be my husband, but I am still your mother.”
“Then why?” I demand. “Why this? Why now?”
“Because if you are-” She stops mid-sentence. Standing up slowly, she says, “All I ask is that you think about it.”
Aargh! She can’t even come up with a bogus excuse.
“Fine,” I spit out as she walks to my door. “I’ll think about it-and every time I do I’ll think about how much I hate you.”
Without another word she walks out, closing the door quietly behind her. Not satisfied, I march over to the door, pull it open wide, and sling it shut with a powerful slam.
Somehow that’s more appropriate for the end of my relationship with my mother.
Before the echo dies down I burst into tears.
I don’t even have Cesca and Nola’s shoulders to cry on.
How could my life possibly get any worse?