The Dig (15 page)

―I didn‘t
steal
her. I saved her,‖ I say, trying to sound as lighthearted and friendly as possible while totally disagreeing with him.

―She wasn‘t yours to save,‖ Dio sneers.

―Or yours to take,‖ I reply.

―Come on Dio,‖ Zeus says, patting his friend on the shoulder. ―This is all just a simple misunderstanding. Zoe‘s new to the area. She‘s still figuring things out.‖

Dio doesn‘t seem very appeased by this, but before he says anything else, the squeaky-clean beauty on his arm introduces herself.

―Hi, I‘m Aphrodite. Ditey to my friends.‖ I run through the Greek mythology picture book in my memory and try to remember everything I can about Aphrodite. Love. Beauty. She‘s like the Victoria‘s Secret model of the goddesses. What do you say to a girl like that? I am scrambling to improvise and finally blurt out, ―You have amazing highlights.‖

Ditey laughs.

―I mean, they‘re incredible,‖ I babble. ―What do you use? Lemon juice?

Tea? Honey?‖

She looks at me curiously. ―Use?‖

―In your hair. For the, uh, highlights.‖ Suddenly, her mouth tightens. ―I don‘t
use
anything,‖ she sniffs.

―You mean that‘s just natural?‖

I must have spinach between my teeth, because Ditey is giving me that condescending stare. Well, look at the good side, I tell myself. If the gods were afraid of you and your powers before, that fear is probably gone by now. Ditey looks at Zeus as if to say, Where did you
find
this girl? And he tilts his head as if to say,
I know what you mean, she’s nuts
. The Olympus clique doesn‘t want anything to do with me. Ditey rolls her eyes, bored of me, and whispers to Dio. I‘ve been here before.

Except it‘s different from Greeley because the gods don‘t just rule this school; they
are
this school. All this time we‘ve been in the garden, I haven‘t seen a single person breeze by. No parents, no teachers, not even a custodian. Everyone who lives up here is standing in front of me, which I guess I should have expected, as everyone knows that only gods live on Mount Olympus.

Introductions are over, and everyone walks away from me. Immediately I am reminded of Greeley and its cliques. There are the preps, the wild childs (that‘s what they call themselves, even though it‘s bad grammar), the math people (they don‘t call themselves that, and a lot of them don‘t even excel at math but rather look as if they do) and the Ones. The Ones are the most powerful.

CeeCee is invited in with them occasionally, but she‘ll never really be a member of the Ones because she‘s not socially ruthless enough. The evidence of this? She keeps me as a friend.

Despite attempts by the school to break up the cliques by mashing together different kids during Greeley‘s ―Annual Collective Weekend,‖ it never works. The cliques just reform, stronger than ever. In my experience, a clique is like a ball made of rubber bands. Oh sure, you can sit there and disentangle the bands one by one. But it will take you hours, and when you do eventually separate them, you‘ll find that they are all permanently bent because their time in that ball changed them, fundamentally. They are shaped by the clique and they will never be factory-fresh; the girls with bottomless accounts at J. Crew and blue ribbons in horseback riding will never bend toward the wallflower types who hide in the library drawing pictures of horses.

Ares runs off to fetch a leather ball, and as the boys start to play their game, the girls begin a game of their own, the one called Let‘s Whisper About the New Girl. As always, I stand on my own, grateful only for the fact that the white pants I bought to fit in with people like this are too long and cover my dangerously modern boots.

As the boys swat the ball around, I count them again:
One two three
four five...

Zeus makes six. Six boys. Six girls.

One me.

It doesn‘t matter if the gods are like the Ones, making up and breaking up within their clique. They‘re evenly matched, so even if Zeus and Hera
aren’t
involved right now, they‘re the only two unattached and so must perpetually be drawn together. I have no place here.

An arm sweeps around my shoulder. I look up and it‘s Zeus. ―You must be tired,‖ he says.

―Want to go home?‖

―You have no idea.‖

He laughs and we head toward one of the marble buildings.

―I‘m so confused,‖ I say, as we walk along the winding mosaic pathway.

The tiny stones are brilliantly colored and polished, blues and reds and greens.

―By what?‖

―Well…never mind.‖

―Look,‖ he says and stops. He puts his hands on my shoulders. ―You‘re safe here. Nobody is going to hurt you. There is a lot to learn, but really, as long as I‘m here, you‘re safe. What‘s that look?‖ I glance over at his crew, discreetly watching us. ―I guess I just really understand why you were off by yourself in the woods.‖ Finally I‘ve said the right thing. His face breaks into a huge grin. ―Me too, Curly, me too.‖

It would be the perfect moment to ask him about Hera, but I can‘t do it. I‘ll sound psycho and lame. I mean, my first question after meeting his friends can‘t be of the crazy-jealous nature.

It‘s at that moment that I‘m reminded that alpha girls like Hera actually
can
read minds, because suddenly she‘s standing in front of us, her palms pressed together and her fingertips tapping at her lips.

Did she just put on mascara and fluff her hair?

Needless to say, Zeus isn‘t grinning at me or touching my shoulders anymore.

―Z, you‘re being terribly rude, you know,‖ Hera says.

She calls him
Z
.
Ugh, shoot me now.

―I‘m not being rude. Just hang on a second.‖ He looks at me. ―I‘ll see you later. Okay?‖

Ah, so she
is
his girlfriend. ―Sure,‖ I say.

He winks at me. ―Curly.‖

Hera reaches for his hand but he pulls away. I make a fool of myself pretending to have missed the little interaction, but Hera knows that I saw it. Her eyes hone in on me. ―Boys are so insensitive, right? Here you are, a mess, your hair scraggly, your skin filthy, your…pantaloons dragging and stained. I‘m sure the last thing you want is some
boy
looking you up and down.‖

I get out one word: ―Um…‖

―I‘m taking him away, sweetie. You can thank me later.‖ Zeus goes off with her, looking disturbingly untroubled by the barrage of passive-aggressive insults. I guess all boys, even gods, are kind of dense when it comes to girls like Hera.

Once they‘re gone, I look back at the couple fest on the grass.

Apollo grunts, ―Someone has to take care of her or she‘s just going to stand there staring.

Thena?‖

I feel like an awkward pre-frosh, my host students arguing over who has to take me to the dining hall. It‘s a humiliating feeling, going from goddess to nuisance, like an egg you have to babysit for a stupid health class exercise. Athena is plowing my way and for a second I think that maybe I do have a friend. But when I smile, she just continues walking. I follow her anyway, since that‘s what I guess I am here, a follower.

I shouldn‘t be so surprised. Part of the reason I never liked Greek mythology was that the gods all seemed so unlikable, so impulsive and egotistical. If Zeus is so nice, how does he stand to be around them?

Of course it‘s possible that he‘s not so nice, that he didn‘t rescue me, but rather seduced me and enticed me to come up here. And now I‘m stuck in a vacuous paradise that‘s not supposed to exist, mind-bendingly far from home.

I brush away the scary thought and continue following Athena. As we cross the garden, I spot a small natural pool nearby. The pool seems to be the source of the river that winds its way down Mount Olympus and across the land, reaching as far as the vale of the nymphs, and possibly farther. In the center of the pool sits a pale bluish rock about the size of a man. I can‘t help but stop and stare. Athena looks at me, looks at the thing and then yanks her sleeves over her hands.

―Are you coming?‖

―What is that?‖ I ask.

―Oh, don‘t act like you don‘t know what that is.‖

―But…I don‘t,‖ I reply, confused. ―Why would I know what that is?

I‘ve never been here.‖

She stares at me, her eyes narrowing, until finally she looks satisfied that I‘m telling the truth. Then she spins on her heel and walks off, answering me in haughty mid-stride. ―It‘s nothing.

Just a rock. We call it the Petros.

Now, are you coming?‖

Do I have a choice? Between the togas and the lush, decadent outlay of the mountaintop, I feel like I‘m at a small college, pledging a sorority, just another freshman rush slogging through the hazing rituals.

Oh, if only that were true.

My bedroom is a dungeon.

Not literally, mind you, but it‘s not a suite by any means. Athena is savvy. She moves quickly, pointing out the washroom, the narrow bed, glancing at the minuscule window but not drawing any attention to it.

―Thena, I don‘t know how to thank you.‖

―It‘s
A-thena
.‖

―I‘m sorry. I thought I heard someone call you…‖ I trail off. She turns sharply. Before she‘s out the door, she looks down and says, ―There are sandals under the bed, should you like.‖

―Oh, thank you, but I‘m okay.‖

Her guard collapses in one fell swoop. ―I‘m choosy about shoes too. It just doesn‘t seem like a wise gift, a pair of sandals.‖ I think we might be bonding, so I go for it. ―Totally agree. When nobody could possibly know your size.‖

―Or your preference.‖

―Or the fact that my feet are always cold and I only wear sandals on, like, the hottest day of the year.‖

Uh oh. I slipped, and now she‘s staring at my feet, still hidden by the long pants. ―May I see?‖

―My feet are a mess.‖

She laughs and it‘s the kind of laugh that signals irritation. ―I realize that. I‘m just curious to see your shoes.‖ I think of the logo, the modern laces, the steel and plastic pieces, and then I remember the story of Athena and Arachne, the human girl with the loom who made Athena jealous and paid the price for it by spending the rest of her life as a spider. ―I would show you, Athena, but they‘re so ugly and yours are so beautiful.‖

She‘s got my number; she‘s not buying it for a second. ―You should rest, Zoe. You don‘t seem quite fit right now.‖

Like a lonely freshman who had thirty-five seconds of conversation with a sophomore who deigned to respond, I lay it on thick. ―Thanks for the talk and thanks for the shoes.‖

And she‘s on her feet and out the door without so much as a goodbye.

Because of the desperate, pathetic tone in my voice, I can‘t even blame her.

I‘m not being myself around these gods and it‘s a good thing that the way to a man‘s heart isn‘t through his friends, because were that the case, my future with Zeus would be positively hopeless.

If it‘s true that I
am
a god, like kind little Creusa insisted, then shouldn‘t these other gods welcome me? But now I sound crazy, actually believing that I‘m a god. Then again, I do have powers...

I growl. I need a distraction. Obviously there are no books in here, not in 1000 BC. How is it that I, Little Miss Bookworm, didn‘t pack a

just-in-case-I-travel-through-time-and-need-distraction paperback?

I lie on the bed, my arms folded against my chest, and try to figure out my next move. The Oracle said Mount Olympus was waiting for me, but now that I‘m here, it doesn‘t even seem to have noticed. If I
am
―destined for one true thing,‖ as the Oracle told me, I‘d love to know what it is.

Because right now it looks an awful lot like sitting around in a strange room without friends. All that talk about my destiny and my fate and the order of things, and the Oracle can‘t spare me a single hint?

I‘m in the middle of a real self-pity attack when I hear door open. I sit up. Please god, let it be Zeus.

―Hey, Zoe.‖

―Hi, Z,‖ I say, relieved, as he appears in the doorway.

―You know,‖ he says, his face reddening, ―I actually hate being called

‗Z.‘‖ I smile. He likes me.

―Did you get a chance to wash up?‖

I stammer and try to climb off the bed but I‘m moving too fast and I almost fall. ―Um, sort of.‖

―Well, if you‘re busy doing that, I can come back another time.‖

―No, I‘m fine. I‘m all cleaned up.‖

That‘s right, Zeus. I‘m actually sort of a slob at heart. Do you still like me?―So it‘s okay if I come in?‖

―Sure.‖

He shuts the door and slips out of his cloak. There are those golden wings, folded away. I want to touch them but that would be rude. And I don‘t want to make him feel like a freak on our first date in Olympus.

Oh no. I‘m calling it a date.

―I have to admit,‖ he says, ―I‘m relieved you‘re not angry at me.‖

―Why would I be angry at you?‖

―Well, that wasn‘t the warmest reception out there.‖

―It‘s okay. I mean, I told you how I‘m not exactly, you know, a group person.‖

―It‘s not your fault, Zoe. They‘re just—I tried to warn you about them but…‖

―Yeah, wow. Your friends seem really, um, attached to you.‖

―We‘re just stuck up here together. You know how it is. You mentioned that you‘ve spent time away.‖

Yes, Zeus, at a boarding school in Connecticut with around five hundred students and teachers. Not an unreachable palace with twelve spoiled gods and goddesses.

―Look, they‘re really not as bad as they seem,‖ he says.

―Are you trying to convince yourself or are you trying to convince me?‖ He looks at me and I can‘t tell if he‘s hurt or impressed. I want to tell him that it‘s simple. He‘s like the captain of the football team and his friends will never be my friends. But I can‘t even read his face.

Sometimes I think his real power isn‘t those wings but the power to stop his feelings from appearing on his face.

―You don‘t have to apologize for your friends,‖ I say.

―I‘m not, really. Hera, she‘s just a little wary of girls. She argues with everyone. You shouldn‘t take that personally.‖

―The queen bee.‖

He takes this in with surprise, clearly never having heard the expression.