Oh. My. Gods. (18 page)

“Fine,” I relent. “But if you try to pull anything I’m telling Coach Lenny about the shoelaces.”

He just rolls his eyes at me and says, “Come on.”

Griffin heads out of the stadium and circles around to the right. Not wanting to follow behind him like a second-place dog I settle in at his side, matching him step for step. He must be pulling his stride because his legs are like twice as long as mine.

Neither of us speaks or looks at the other while he leads us down a steep path behind the far stadium wall. It looks like just another wooded cross-country course until we break through the trees. We’re on the beach.

“I figured that with all your extra training,” he says, “you haven’t had time for many beach runs. Which I think you love as much as I do.”

I shrug, secretly loving the way the sand squishes beneath my feet. With every stride I have to work harder to push myself forward. This is my personal heaven.

Now, I love the L.A. beaches—especially when I get permission to drive up to Malibu and watch the surfers while I run—but nothing compares to the beach on Serfopoula. The sand is pristine. Gleaming white.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see the footprints we made disappearing as the sand pours back in on itself.

The sand in California is so full of gunk it keeps your footprint until the tides wash in.

“Was I right?” Griffin asks.

I scowl at him for interrupting my daydream. I’m still mad at him, after all. “About what?”

“The beach.”

“It’s okay,” I lie.

He grins with that cocky smile. “Considering how pissed you are at me, I’ll take that as a hell yes.”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes.

But he’s right.

We run half a mile in silence. My eyes trained on the horizon, my mind trained on the rhythm. Step, step, step, breathe. Our footfalls are perfectly timed. Step, step, step, breathe. From the corner of my eye I see his chest rise and fall in time with my every breath. Step, step, step-

“You’ll get over being mad at me.”

“Not likely.”

Step, step, step—

“I promise not to gloat about it when you do.”

“I won’t.”

Step, step, step—

“Because I want to be with you so badly I don’t care if you’re screaming at me the whole time as long as I’m with you.”

I stop dead in my tracks.

Two steps later, Griffin notices I’ve stopped and jogs back to me.

“We have another mile to go,” he says, as if I’ve stopped because I think we’re done. Then his face wrinkles up in concern. “Did you hurt your ankle again? I thought you said it was completely . . .”

“Did you mean that?”

“. . . healed. What?”

“Did you mean what you just said?”

“Of course I did.” He kneels down and inspects my ankle. “Now tell me—”

I grab him by the arm and pull him back up. “My ankle is fine.”

He looks at me funny for a second before that cocky smile comes back. “Oh. Good.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Good.”

“I am sorrier than you can imagine,” he says.

“Yeah—” I take a deep breath. “I know.”

“Does that mean I’m—”

“Forgiven? No.” I smile when his face falls. “Not yet.”

His smile returns.

“But you will be.”

With one small step he closes the distance between us. My heart starts racing as he lifts his hand to my cheek. His fingertips hover over my temple. I can feel his heat even though he isn’t actually touching me.

Then he leans forward—like in slow motion—until his face is micrometers from mine.

The smile in his bright blue eyes vanishes. My eyes flutter closed—the anticipation is killing me. I haven’t kissed anyone since that jerk I used to date—what was his name?—and I feel like I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone more than I want to kiss Griffin Blake right now.

His lips brush mine. Barely. Just a tickle, really.

But it’s more than enough.

My entire body sparks like the fireworks from bonfire night.

It takes me a few seconds to realize he’s not kissing me anymore. I reluctantly open my eyes to find him inches away. His smile is back.

“Come on,” he says, taking me by the hand. “I promised Coach I’d give you a good workout.” He tugs and I stumble after him.

“We’ve got another mile left on our warm-up. Then the real work begins.”

Hand in hand—okay, so it’s not the best training technique—we finish our run. And the rest of the workout.

All I can think the whole time is, “When did my life get so good?”

Chapter 10

“MORNING,” GRIFFIN SAYS when he appears at my locker.

“Want an escort to Tyrant’s class?”

He leans in and kisses me, really briefly, on the lips.

“I thought you’d never ask,” I say, still marveling at how much my life has changed since yesterday. “Do you want to go into the village after school?”

I grab my copy of Ulysses and throw it in my bag.

When Griffin doesn’t answer, I add, “Maybe we could go for ice cream.”

After zipping up my backpack, I slam my locker shut and turn to take my place at Griffin’s side. That’s when I see why he stopped talking.

Nicole and Troy are standing a few feet away, looking like they’re contemplating murder. Great, I wanted the chance to tell them about this before they saw us together. To explain before they jump to conclusions.

Then Griffin shows up at my locker and I forget all my good intentions.

“Hey guys,” I say, trying to sound like everything’s perfectly normal. “What’s up?”

“What are you doing with him?” Nicole demands.

Troy doesn’t say anything, just crosses his arms over his blink182 tee and glares.

“I should go,” Griffin says as he starts to back away.

“No,” I say, grabbing his arm. “Don’t go.” If he and I are going to be together, then Nicole and Troy come with the package. It’ll be better for everyone if we air things out now.

He moves to my side and I slip my arm around his. Nicole’s scowl deepens.

“As of yesterday,” she says, sneering, “you hated his guts.”

“I know.” I squeeze his arm tighter so he knows that’s all changed. “But we talked things through.”

“You were nothing but a bet to him,” Troy finally says.

“No!” Griffin shouts. “That’s not true. It was never just about the bet.”

Nicole snorts. “Right, as if we’d ever trust anything you say.”

There’s a sudden tension in the air, an electricity that’s about something much more deep-rooted than my fight with Griffin. Nicole looks ready to unleash her powers on him, regardless of the consequences.

They’ve kept their feelings about the past—about whatever ended their friendship and disrupted their parents’ lives—long enough. I know that Troy is mainly upset out of loyalty to me, for the heartache Griffin had caused, and to Nicole, for whatever she believes Griffin did to her. If we work through the problem with Nicole . . . well, at least it will be a start.

“I think it’s time to confront the past.” Boy, do I sound like therapist Mom, or what? “Both of you have been avoiding this for too long.”

“I’m not avoiding anything,” Nicole snaps, “except a lying, two-faced traitor.” She spits on the ground before turning and stalking away.

I nudge Griffin in the ribs and he steps forward.

“Nicole, wait,” he says. “Phoebe is right.”

She doesn’t turn around or say anything, but she stops walking away.

“We were friends once,” Griffin continues. “Can’t we put the past behind us? I know that things ended badly with us—”

“Badly?” She spins around. “Badly!? Considering everything that happened, I think ‘badly’ is an understatement.”

Griffin steps back from her outrage. I grab his hand and lace our fingers together—for support . . . and to keep him from running. He squeezes tight and I can feel his pulse racing. He is just as skilled at hiding his emotions as Nicole, and they are not going to work through this without help.

“He wasn’t trying to diminish the past,” I say. “He just wants to talk about—”

“Forget it, she doesn’t want to talk,” Griffin interrupts. “I’m sorry for whatever you think I did back then and for whatever harm you think I caused, but I think you’re exaggerating the situation.”

Nicole looks like she’s trying to burn a hole right through his skull. “My father lost his job and my parents got exiled from the island.”

“And mine got banished from the face of the Earth.”

“It’s nothing more than they deserved,” she says, her entire body shaking with rage.

Griffin jerks back like he’s been slapped in the face. So that’s what happened to his parents. Wrapping my free hand around our laced fingers, I concentrate on sending every ounce of compassion and sympathy I can to him. His hand relaxes and I can tell that he’s calming down.

Nicole keeps going. “If you hadn’t been so self-centered, if you had only told the council where we were—”

“I did,” he whispers, his words echoing through the ancient halls.

Nicole stares at him, blinking. “You—what?”

“I did tell them,” he says, his voice steady. “I told the high council that we were the ones that stole the nectar of the gods and fed it to Hera’s son.”

“Oh my gods,” Troy gasps. He’d been silent and huddled against the lockers up to this point, so what Griffin just said must have been really bad.

“What?” I ask.

“If a god consumes ambrosia before the age of two, it steals his immortality,” Griffin, not taking his eyes off Nicole, explains. “I told them that we didn’t know. We were only seven, for Zeus’s sake.”

“Y-you did?” Nicole stammers, as if she can’t believe what Griffin said. “You told them?”

“I did.”

“Then why—”

“My parents insisted I was lying to protect them.” The muscles of his jaw clench and I can tell he’s boiling with emotion—he has been holding on to this since his parents disappeared more than ten years ago.

I lift our joined hands and kiss his palm.

He adds, “They took the punishment that should have been mine.”

For the longest time, Nicole just stares at him. My heart breaks for her. She has been holding on to this resentment for such a long time, too. It must be hard to realize that all those years of resentment were misplaced.

Finally, eyes glistening, she says, “And mine.” She wipes roughly at the tears. “It was my idea.”

Then she does the most surprising thing. She rushes forward and pulls Griffin into a hug. Now, I haven’t known Nicole for all that long, but I think it’s safe to say that public displays of affection—or any display of affection—is not really her thing.

“All these years,” she says, her voice tight. “You were my best friend and I blamed you—”

“Shhh,” Griffin says, squeezing my hand tighter and using his other to stroke Nicole’s back. “I came to grips with my guilt a long time ago. Don’t you pick up where I left off.”

It could be his hero instinct compelling him to make her feel better, but something tells me that this is as much about Griffin healing as it is about Nicole. That’s a lot of anguish for them to carry. Hercules has nothing to do with this.

In that moment, I feel a connection to him like I’ve never felt with anyone before. Like I can feel what he’s feeling. Little tingles—like a whole bunch of static shocks—prick at my palm where it meets Griffin’s. He lays his cheek against Nicole’s head and our eyes meet over her spiky blonde hair. A spark flashes in his eyes. He can feel the connection, too.

I glance at Troy, who looks totally stunned.

He’s such a good friend I know he resented Griffin on Nicole’s behalf. I bet he’s just as shocked as she is to hear Griffin’s side of the story. When I give him a look that says, “What do you think?” he just shakes his head in disbelief.

When Nicole finally steps back, her eyes are red but dry.

“Well,” she says, pulling on her tough girl attitude, “we’d better get to class. One more tardy and Tyrant’s making me clean the blackboards with my tongue.”

Without another word, she turns and heads off down the hall. Troy stares for a second, then shrugs and trails after her.

Griffin slips his arm around my waist as we follow, hugging me close to his side. “Thanks,” he whispers in my ear. “That would never have happened without you.”

“But I didn’t—”

“I know,” he says. “You didn’t do anything. It just seems like good things have been happening for me since you got here.”

Wow. I’m trying to think up a suitable response when Nicole glances back over her shoulder and shouts, “Hurry up, Blake. I may have forgiven you, but I’m not licking chalk dust for anyone.”

We all laugh, and I feel like things are finally starting to come together.

My life in Serfopoula may not be perfect, but it seems to be getting better every day.

The next morning I nearly throw up.

This isn’t out of the ordinary. I nearly throw up before every race.

But this morning is so bad I can’t even eat my customary oatmeal

with brown sugar and raisins pre-race breakfast.

I try not to take this as a bad omen.

Then again, at a school full of descendants it’s highly possible someone—Adara—has bribed the Fates to ruin my life today. Stella has been so . . . well, not nice exactly, but not horrid, lately that when Damian threatened to ground her powers for a year if she interfered with the race she actually laughed at him. It’s not like we’re friends, but I think we have an understanding.

Somehow I make it through the school day. Not without a lot of help from Nicole in Algebra and Physics and meeting Griffin between every class. He’s a wonder at calming my nerves, but every time he leaves they come back.

At least my nerves keep me from paying attention to all the whispers. I hear the occasional “Blake,” “kako,” and “outsider,” but mostly my nerves block it all out. I know the entire school must be humming with gossip about us and if not for the race I would probably be embarrassed that everyone from the Hades harem to the Zeus set is hungrily gossiping about us. Right now, the race consumes all my attention.

And when I’m with Griffin, everything else fades away.

Too bad we can’t race together.

By the time I walk to the locker room to change and get the pep talk from the coaches I’m all nerves. I’ve never been this nervous before a race. Nothing I’ve tried seems to help—not even the aromatherapy sachet Nicole gave me during lunch. I’m pretty sure it’s full of dead flowers that can’t help me from the grave.

I’m on my way through the door when I hear Troy.

“Phoebe!”

He runs down the hall—pretty fast for a guy who claims to hate running more than Brussels sprouts—and slides to a stop in front of me.

“Hey.” I wave. “What’s up?”

“I just . . .” He smiles wryly. “. . . wanted to wish you luck.”

“Thanks,” I say. “That means a lot.”

“I have something for you,” he says, stepping back. After fishing around in his pocket, he produces a long braided string. “It’s a—”

“Friendship bracelet,” I say. Just like the one Nola gave me in kindergarten—the one that finally wore off in third grade after more than three years of continual wear.

Sticking out my wrist, I let him tie on the bracelet.

Looking at Troy with thoughts of Nola in my head I wonder what she would think of him. With his tie-dyed Grateful Dead T-shirt, well-worn blue jeans, and leather-free Vans he’s like her male mirror image.

Maybe they will meet at the wedding.

“It’s not just a friendship bracelet,” he says as he finishes tying off the ends. “It doubles as a super-duty good luck charm. With this . . .” He lets go of my arm and grins. “. . . you can’t lose.”

“Thanks, I—”

Coach Lenny sticks his head out in the hall. “Hurry up, Castro.”

I tell Troy, “I gotta get changed. Thanks.” I give him one more hug. “Really.”

“Good luck,” Troy says. “See you at the finish line.”

I turn and run into the locker room wondering how my nerves just disappeared. Then again, I don’t need to know why. They’re gone and I’m ready to race.

There are three other schools in the meet today. The team from Lyceum Olympia is the strongest. Coach Lenny told me their lead runner—Jackie Lavaris—is going to be on the Greek team next Olympics. She’s my stiffest competition.

But the racers from Academia Athena—an all-girls military school—look pretty tough. Their camo uniforms might have something to do with that impression. Some of the HestiaSchool girls look like their preppy softness could be a veneer. I’ve learned to never underestimate a runner based on appearances—the pink shorts could be a disguise.

I’m standing in our starting block—the painted square where all the runners from the Academy will start—taking deep, calming breaths and shaking out my legs.

Under the light blue shorts of my uniform I’m wearing my lucky underwear. Since I can’t wear any of my running t-shirts on race day I always wear my DON’T WORRY--YOU’LL PASS OUT BEFORE YOU DIE undies. They are just a reminder not to leave anything on the course. Running won’t kill me, but losing might.

“Oh no!” Zoe cries.

“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”

She points at her foot and the broken lace on her left shoe. After a quick glance around to see if anyone’s watching she points her

finger at the offending lace.

Nothing happens.

She frowns and points again.

Again, nothing.

“What the—”

“Surprise,” Coach Lenny says as he walks up.

“Coach,” Zoe whines. “My powers are—”

“Grounded,” he says.

“B-but—” Her lower lip pouts out and starts to quiver. Totally fake and totally not working on Coach Lenny.

“We just finished going through the roster. Everyone on the team is grounded for today,” he explains. Then, looking at me, adds, “We want this to be a fair race.”

Zoe scowls at me but doesn’t say anything.

I watch her stalk off to find the supply box to get a replacement lace. Why does everyone have to blame me for everything? I didn’t ask them to do this. Sure, I knew they were talking about it, but it’s not like I could do anything either way.

Besides, if anyone’s to blame it’s Griffin. He’s the one who zapped me in tryouts. He’s really, really sorry now, but that doesn’t change the fact that he did it.

But does anyone blame him? Nooo. Why would they? He’s one of their own.

That’s when it hits me. No matter what I do—no matter how hard I race, how much Griffin likes me, how much I try just to stay out of everyone’s way—I’ll never fit in here. There’s only one requirement to belonging at the Academy and I can’t fill it.

 That realization could throw me into a deep, dark depression that I can’t afford to wallow in today. So, drawing on years of pre-race psychology experience, I shove those thoughts into the back of my mind.