Oh. My. Gods. (14 page)

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: no, she doesn’t know it was about to happen

PrincessCesca: hello???

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 conse

quences, 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. “Grif

fin 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 and friendly 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 aged fifty 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. Even though 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.