Oh. My. Gods. (17 page)

“I could do a few heinous things to him without losing sleep.” Nicole clearly harbors serious feelings of resentment over whatever happened between her and Griffin in the past. I’m not about to let her thirst for revenge push me into action.

“No,” I say definitively. “I don’t want to do anything to any of them. No revenge. Got it?”

Humiliation is bad enough. I just want to forget about it and move on.

I look at each of them, waiting for verbal consent.

Reluctantly, Troy nods his head. “Fine.”

Nicole, on the other hand, is cagier. “No promises.” When I stare her down, she adds, “But I’ll leave you out of whatever I do. Okay?”

I say, “Okay.”

Still, I’m a little worried.

Nicole can be unpredictable—if she can zap away my ankle without a second thought, who knows what revenge she’s going to exact on Griffin. If he weren’t the scum of the earth—and I didn’t know she couldn’t actually kill him—I might feel inclined to warn him.

I manage to steer clear of Stella until dinner on Tuesday before the race. Since she finally decides to dine with the rest of us and I’m focused on properly fueling my body for the week, I guess there’s no way to avoid sharing the meal with her.

“Evening, Daddy.” She plants a big kiss on his cheek. “Valerie.” She nods to Mom. Then sits down, not acknowledging me.

Damian glances at each of us over a spoonful of bean soup.

“No greeting for your sister?” he asks before finishing his bite.

“Good evening, Phoebe.” She smiles falsely. “I’m not sure I can eat a bite—I had a big latte for lunch.”

That’s it. Pushing back from the table, I knock my chair over as I lunge across the table. “You little—”

“Phoebe!” Mom shouts, jumping up and clearly prepared to stop me.

I freeze, my knee poised over the table, ready to launch into Stella’s smirking lap. Knowing they’ll never let me actually get away with throttling her at the dinner table I lower back into my seat.

“What is this about?” Mom asks once I’ve calmed down.

“Why don’t you ask the ice queen over there?” I snap.

Stella schools her features into a look of pure innocence. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Listen, girls,” Mom begins. “Whatever’s bothering you, it will be better if you talk it out. We will all be living in the same house for the next year, and—”

“Nine months.” I think it’s important to be clear when it comes to details.

That earns me a mom look. “There is always a period of adjustment when families combine.”

“Her face could use an adjustment.”

“Phoebe,” Mom gasps.

Stella crosses her arms across her chest and raises one eyebrow. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Stella,” Damian warns, “do not make the situation worse.”

“Damian,” Mom says, moving behind him and placing her hands on his shoulders. “Why don’t we leave the girls alone for a few minutes,” she suggests. “I’m sure they would rather discuss their problem without an audience.”

Damian looks like he wants to argue, but lets Mom lead him to the kitchen anyway. Just before they disappear out the back door, he looks over his shoulder and gives Stella a stern look that clearly says, “Work this out. Now.”

Hey, I was willing to forgive and—well, not forgive, but forget anyway. But she has to keep throwing it in my face with the whole I’m-so-full-on-my-latte thing.

“I have no idea what your problem is,” she says, casually taking a sip of her water. “Your attitude is really quite awful.”

“My attitude?” I gasp. “You’re the one who—”

“Still crying the same old song, Phoebe? Let it go.”

“Let it go?” She is so full of—

I stand up slowly and calmly and say in as steady a voice as possible, “Listen. You made that awful bet with Adara. You tricked me into helping you win that awful bet. You let me believe—”

Oh no, I can feel the tears tightening up my throat. Not good. I take a calming breath. I’ve decided on brutal honesty at this point, there’s no stopping now.

“I actually started to believe that Griffin liked me—me, the lowly little nothos—when no one else in your high and mighty cliques would do more than look at me with scorn.” I blink against the tears now filling my eyes. “And the worst part is that I was actually starting to like him, the real him. Or at least what I thought was the real him. And come to find out he was only playing a part, too.”

That’s what hurts the most. Not the bet or the deal or any of that. It’s that they’re right about me. I really am so weak that I would fall for a guy who’d done nothing but treat me like scum since I got to this stupid school without even putting up much of a fight.

I’m pathetic, and that’s what really hurts.

“Phoebe,” Stella says, an unnatural softness to her usually icy voice.

I’m prepared for a scathing comment.

Instead, she walks around the table to stand right in front of me, and says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much—” She shakes her head and starts again. “I know how much unrequited love can hurt. If I had known you had any real feeling for him . . .”

I am floored beyond belief. Stella is exhibiting real honest-togoodness sympathy, an emotion I believed her incapable of.

That, and she’s apologized.

I almost feel like checking out the windows for flying pigs.

“If it helps any,” she says quietly, “it wasn’t my idea.”

“It doesn’t,” I say, mostly because I’m not surprised. Sure Stella’s right up there with the evil bi’atches in history, but she doesn’t hold a candle to Adara.

“And I don’t think Griffin—”

“No,” I interrupt, not wanting to even hear his name. I’d rather forgive Stella. I still have to live with her. “Look, I—I accept your apology. Just don’t mention him again, okay?”

Then, to my total shock and amazement, Stella pulls me into a big hug. At first I’m kinda startled and I just stand there, awkward. Eventually I realize she’s waiting for me to participate, so I lift up my arms and pat her gently on the back.

Apparently that’s enough because she releases me and steps back.

“Just don’t think this is going to change our relationship. I still don’t like you.” Her eyes are shining a little brighter than usual.

“Right back at ya.”

I’m blinking in astonishment at the fact that she’s wiping away tears when Damian and Mom walk back in.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” Stella says, moving back to her chair.

Mom looks at me, her eyes questioning. I shrug and take my seat. I don’t have any more of a clue about what happened than she does. I have a feeling, though, there won’t be any more bets made on my anticipated behavior in the near future. And I guess that’s all any girl can ask for.

“This is our last practice before the big meet. No practice tomorrow, so I expect you all to rest up and eat complex carbs. On Friday

we compete for the Cycladian Cup. The victors get to display the

coveted trophy at their school for the next year.” Coach Z gives us

all a stern scowl. “The losers get nothing but dust in their teeth.”

This is apparently the big pep speech for the meet.

I’ve heard so many of these in my lifetime I just tune out.

Instead, I glance over the crowd of teammates listening avidly to Coach Z’s threats and promises. Adara and her blondes, Zoe included, are right up front, watching Coach Z with rapt attention. There must be some sort of gender war going on because there’s not a single guy sitting with them. My gaze flicks briefly to Griffin, surrounded by Christopher, Costas, and the rest of the Ares jock-heads. He looks up, like he feels my eyes on him, and I immediately look the other way.

Eye contact is too much contact as far as I’m concerned.

He doesn’t take the hint.

No, he stands up, weaves his way through the crowd while Coach Z is still speaking, and sits down next to me on the grass.

“Phoebe, I—”

I get up and move away.

He follows me.

“We haven’t seen the trophy at this school in five years,” Coach Z says, scowling at Griffin’s disregard. “I want that trophy back in our front hall this year.”

Everyone cheers.

I keep evading Griffin, who is shadowing my every step.

“Now break up into your events and get in a good practice,” Coach Z says, dismissing the group to our individual coaches.

I head for Coach Lenny, hoping our workouts will separate us.

“Today we’ll be working out in pairs,” Coach Lenny explains. “I want you to push each other to perform at your highest level. The pairs are as follows—”

He starts reading names from his clipboard. As he works through the roster, I’m starting to get worried—he hasn’t read my name or Griffin’s yet.

No, I tell myself. Coach Lenny wouldn’t do this to me.

Then he does. “Phoebe Castro and Griffin Blake.”

He gives us a brief rundown of our workouts then turns to walk out of the stadium. I jog up and tap him on the shoulder. Griffin, of course, is right behind me.

“Something wrong?” Coach Lenny asks when he sees the sour look on my face.

“No, sir,” Griffin answers.

I glare at him. “Pair me with someone else, Coach.”

“He’s the only one capable of pushing you, Phoebe.” Coach Lenny gives me an apologetic look. “Work with him.”

“No. He’s an a—”

“For the sake of your running,” Coach Lenny says. “It’s just for one day.” Then he gives Griffin a threatening look. “Follow the workout, push her to do her best, or you’ll answer to me on race day.”

“Yes, sir,” Griffin replies, the picture of a perfect gentleman.

Ha. What a put on.

The second Coach Lenny walks away he starts in. “Phoebe, I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be—”

“Thanks for the permission,” I say.

I stalk across the inner lawn, find an empty spot with lots of room, and settle in to do my stretches. Griffin, right on my tail, sits down next to me, mimicking my actions.

“Hey, how is my being part of that bet,” he asks, “any worse than you making that deal with Stella?”

I clamp my jaw and don’t say a word.

“I’m sorry, Phoebe, that wasn’t how I wanted to start.”

I reach for my other foot, leaning away from him.

“I’m not going to let you shut me out,” he says, reaching for his toes. “You have the right to be mad, but I have the right to explain myself.”

I exhale deeply into my stretch. “I don’t have to listen.”

“No, you don’t have to.” He leans out over his left leg, stretching his quads. “But you will.”

He’s right. Purely driven by curiosity I at least want to hear whatever lame excuse he’s come up with. Then I can file it away under too-stupid-to-believe and move on with my life.

My time is too precious to waste on the likes of Griffin Blake.

“It started out as a bet,” he has the nerve to admit. “Not my bet, but a bet nonetheless.”

I give him a look that says I know this much already.

“That’s why I agreed to meet you that Sunday.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Glad to know I’m such a prize you need extra motivation just to go for a run—”

“I’m sorry, all right.” He reaches so abruptly for his right foot I’m surprised he doesn’t tear a tendon. “How many times do I have to say it?”

“About a million more times would be a good start.”

He sits back, giving up all pretense of stretching. “It started out as a bet,” he bites out, “but it didn’t end up that way.”

What a load of hooey.

“If I had been honest with myself—” He starts tugging up little clumps of grass. “I would have realized that the bet was just an excuse. A reason for me to spend time with you. One I didn’t have to explain to anyone.”

I continue with my stretches, working through all my leg muscles and ignoring his little heartfelt speech. Ignoring the fact that my deal with Stella served pretty much the same purpose—a reason to go after Griffin without guilt over how Nicole felt about him.

“Even though I was a total jerk, you still gave me a chance.”

“Stupid me.”

“Second chances are a rare thing around here.” He inches closer on the grass. “When I was seven my parents got on Hera’s bad side. No one has seen them since.”

That makes me pause. That would have been about the same time Nicole’s parents got banished.

He’d said his folks weren’t around—and I remember thinking how vague he was. I hadn’t even considered they might be dead. I’d just thought they left him with his aunt while they traveled the world or something.

I never thought his parents being gone had anything to do with Nicole’s.

My heart melts. Just a little.

“Here I was, carrying you in my arms because I had to, and you were trying to get me to open up. You wanted to know me. Despite how horrible I had been to you.” He leans in and whispers, “That’s when the bet ended for me.”

Another few drops of ice melt away.

Not ready to get burned twice in one week, I tell myself not to fall for his lies. He could be making every last word of this up, too.

And even if my initial motives for meeting him that Sunday were barely better than his—though I think a deal is way less offensive than a bet—at least I admitted to myself early on that I was really going after Griffin for myself.

Rising, I start twisting at the waist to warm up my upper body.

Griffin scrambles to his feet.

“Last Saturday after your practice,” he says, pleading. “That was real. The rest doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

I stop moving long enough to meet his sad stare.

Clearly, he’s not sure what to say. Which is fine with me because I’ve heard enough lies to last a lifetime.

“Let’s just get this workout over with,” I snap, fed up and thinking of all the homework I have waiting for me.

Our first segment is a two mile run at moderate pace.

I walk toward the regular starting line, but Griffin has other ideas.

“Why don’t we run a different course today?”

I eye him suspiciously. Certain he has something underhanded up his sleeve—even if he’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt—I want to argue, but honestly it will be a relief to see anything other than that shrubby course.