The Dig (7 page)

Her face lights up. ―You are nothing like the other goddesses.‖ Naturally, even in never-never land, I have to be an outcast who can‘t seem to fit in.

I follow Creusa into the tree trunk and enter the vale. The bark swings closed behind me, shutting us in.

I don‘t know what to expect when entering the vale of the nymphs, but the first thing that comes to mind is the board game I used to play as a toddler, Candy Land.

Suddenly I‘m in a world of soft edges and bright happy colors. Exiting the tree, we walk down a winding staircase with no stairs, just plush, spongy bright orange ramps that curl farther and farther down. We pass turquoise waterfalls and what can be best described as lightning bushes, literally bolts of lightning interlocked, twinkling in the inconsistent way that Christmas tree lights flicker when a few of the bulbs are broken. By the time we reach the main atrium, as sprawling as a casino—minus the cigarettes and the slot machines—Creusa‘s patience for my awe is wearing a little thin.

―Wow, the colors,‖ I repeat, shaking my head in amazement.

―Zoe, you really don‘t have to do that. It‘s very polite, but—‖

―Polite? I‘m serious. This is spectacular.‖

―It‘s no Mount Olympus.‖

―Creusa, I‘ve never been to Mount Olympus.‖

―Of course you have. All gods live on Mount Olympus.‖

―I‘m not a god,‖ I say. ―I‘ve been trying to tell you that.‖

―But you moved the earth.‖

―Yeah but…I don‘t really know how it happened. Or why. It was a total fluke.‖

Her shoulders sink.

―I‘m sorry,‖ I say. ―I‘m just a person. Nothing special.‖ But she only turns away.

―I said I‘m sorry, Creusa.‖

She sets off without me, and I feel a flash of panic. I need to find a way to get back home, and right now Creusa, as strange as she might be, is my only hope. At least she knows how this mysterious world works.

And besides, as cute as the vale might be, I‘m not up for being abandoned in this pastel, environmentally friendly, health food version of Candy Land. So I hurry after her, catching up in a few swift strides. As we walk together, the passing nymphs bow as if I‘m Kate Middleton.

―Listen, Creusa, I really need to come up with a plan to get home, and quickly, so if you could tell me where we‘re going and what we‘re doing that would be great.‖

She spins around and crosses her arms. Her face flares red, then orange.

―You know something, Zoe? Now I‘m surer than ever that you are a goddess.

You are woefully impatient.‖

―Impatience isn‘t exclusive to gods, Creusa. I‘m a teenager. We kind of wrote the book on being impatient.‖

―What‘s a book?‖

―Never mind.‖

We veer onto a spongy vivid green path. At the end of the path, Creusa pushes a purple bush aside. ―Wait,‖ she says, releasing the bush. It snaps back, knocking her on her little pink butt.

She springs up again. ―Before we go any farther, I want you to know that I am not selfish. I didn‘t bring you here just because I thought you might be of use to me. But I hoped—‖

―Creusa, if you need help, I‘ll do whatever I can.‖ And with that, she slithers under the purple bush. I push my way through and see the problem. There has been some kind of rocky avalanche in this pasture. Nymphs are buzzing about, frenetic. Two fly at the two largest boulders, trying to roll them aside, only to bounce back and into the purple bushes.

―This is our garden,‖ Creusa says. ―Without these berries we can‘t live.‖ I shake my head sadly. I know what she is asking. And I also know that I can‘t do it.

―I‘m sorry, Creusa. Even though I‘m bigger than you, I‘m still not strong enough to lift those boulders.‖

―Of course you can‘t lift them. I can tell by your breathing that you don‘t challenge yourself physically often enough.‖

―Uh gee, thanks.‖

―But you do have the power to move the boulders. You saved me earlier.

Now use your goddess powers, please, to save my kin.‖ I can see all of the nymphs‘ wide, watery eyes fixed hopefully on me.

But I‘m not a goddess. I
wish
I had the power to just will the boulders off their crops and I hate that I will disappoint them. I don‘t want to seal their fate. It‘s a shame, really, that part of the pasture is unmanageable, rocky and barren. What a waste. The nymphs have worked wonders with the area that was fertile, only to now have it cramped by boulders. Mind you, the entire ―field‖ is no larger than the common room at Greeley. Why did the boulders have to crush the only useful area of this field? Imagine being that small and vulnerable and you build this whole world and nature just drops a boulder on it. Where will they go now?

―Yes!‖

Before I can figure out why everyone is squealing, a bevy of nymphs is buzzing about me, like non-stinging bees, giddily swirling and touching me. Loyal Creusa grabs my hand and swats the nymphs off. ―She doesn‘t want all of you all over her! Just say thank you and keep your distance.‖ As it happens, nymphs follow directions much better than humans.

They comply immediately, and Creusa yanks my hand and leads me away.

―I don‘t get it. Why is everyone celebrating? The boulders are still there.‖ I shake my head.

―I told you I‘m not a goddess.‖ She stops and says, ―Did you not see?‖

I follow her gaze to the mini-pasture. Sure enough, the boulders are still there. But there is something different about this picture.

The ragged rocky soil is gone, replaced by fertile dirt. Already, the nymphs are transplanting their seeds.

My lower lip starts to shake. Did I just do that?

Creusa squeezes my hand. ―You must go to Mount Olympus, Zoe.

Where the gods live.‖

―And do what?‖

―Visit the Oracle. She waits at the foot of Olympus. She will reveal your fate to you.‖

―I don‘t care about my
fate
,‖ I say. Watching the nymphs work the Candy Land crops together reminds me of my aunt and uncle, of the dig where Darren and the others are probably in line right now at the catering truck. ―I just want to know how to get home.‖ Creusa must sense my homesickness, because she doesn‘t bite my head off or start in again about my being a goddess.

She speaks very plainly, like a friend who stays calm when you‘re losing your ground: ―Then find the Oracle, Zoe. She holds the answers to all of our questions.‖

I nod without speaking, watching as live nymphs with beating hearts plant seeds in the earth—earth that I just magically transformed from rocky ground into lush soil.

A few minutes ago I wondered
if
I did that. But now my doubts have popped like balloons.

I can only compare this feeling to one I had the day of the bee sting. I am different now. It‘s as if a focus deep within me that existed all along, sleeping but real, has awakened. I‘m not afraid anymore; I‘m determined.

I look down into Creusa‘s wide bright eyes. ―Okay,‖ I tell her, ―I‘ll find the Oracle.‖

She smiles.

―But is there somewhere I could, um, pee before I leave for Mount Olympus?‖

The First And Last Time I Go Skinny-Dipping

Creusa and I have gotten so far from the nymph-tree that we can‘t even see it anymore.

I know that it is about time for her to leave. And while I understand that I have to journey to Mount Olympus on my own, I‘m scared and longing for the Greece I once knew, the familiar one that‘s all sandbanks and expansive dry vistas and camera-wielding tourists and rickety ancient temples, everything old, everything fading and delicate and spread out.

The Greece of 1000 BC is just, frankly, way too woodsy for my taste.

―Now remember, you must practice every day as you travel.‖

―Practice what?‖

―Your powers.‖

―No, no. They‘re just reactionary.‖

She squints at me, not comprehending.

―I mean, so far, they only work under stress. Trying to save your life.

Trying to save your field. Like a fire alarm that only goes off when there‘s smoke.‖

Creusa furrows her incandescent brow.

That‘s a bad analogy, Zoe. You traveled back in time. Remember? ―I mean,‖ I say, trying again, ―I can‘t just decide to make something happen.‖

―That‘s why you need to practice.‖

―No, what I need is to get home.‖

―Zoe, you must respect your gifts. If you don‘t respect your gifts, the other gods are bound to be angry with you. You won‘t control your powers if you don‘t honor them with practice. The gods don‘t just sit around. They
do
things.‖

I‘m still not used to the god talk, and on top of that, I‘m stung by the criticism. I‘ve never been accused of being lazy before.

―Power is a gift,‖ she tells me. ―And practice is a thank-you note.‖

―That‘s so incredibly lame,‖ I say, and we both burst out laughing.

―Time for you to go,‖ Creusa says a moment later, and I nod sadly.

We try to hug but it‘s an awkward embrace. She‘s so little and seemingly breakable. It‘s like bending over and hugging a tea set.

―I don‘t understand how to practice.‖

―Make things.‖

―Like what?‖

―What do you like?‖

I have no idea how to answer her. I can‘t say archeology,
The Simpsons
or Mayan civilization.

―Well I, for one, like hearts,‖ she says.

I can‘t help but smile. I mean, hearts are exactly what you would expect a nymph to like.

―Make hearts,‖ Creusa says. ―You can make them out of rocks and out of dirt and out of clay.‖

It‘s amazing to me that I‘m not annoyed by Creusa. I can‘t relate to the girls at school who wear charm bracelets with hearts jangling, or even worse, heart-shaped earrings. I mean, come on.

How cheesy can you get?

But coming from Creusa, it all sounds kind of earnest and sweet.

―I will fill the forest with hearts,‖ I tell her.

―Oh no you won‘t. Remember, you must be discreet. Don‘t talk to strangers. Don‘t even
look
at strangers. And above all, do not let anyone see you practicing. Do you promise?‖

―I promise.‖

She hops toward the nearest tree and races up to the topmost branches.

Shielding her eyes, she gazes out. Then she scuttles back down to the ground and faces me.

―We are alone. Try.‖ I stare blankly.

―Well goodness, Zoe, you‘re not going to turn
me
into a heart. Focus on something else.‖

She swipes a rock from the ground. It‘s about the size and color of a baked potato. Creusa holds out the rock and stares expectantly at me.

I sigh. This all seems so ridiculous. I mean, I don‘t have a magic wand or a goofy coat. I never even read the
Harry Potter
books.

―Try,‖ Creusa says.

―I am.‖

―Try harder.‖

So I do. I put my hands on my hips and I bug out my eyes and glare at that rock like it‘s my worst enemy.

Creusa giggles.

―Thanks. That‘s really supportive.‖

―I am sorry, Zoe. I mean no harm. But you are not a spiteful goddess.

You will have no success with your powers if you always operate from such a dark place in your soul.‖

―So what am I supposed to do? Hug the rock?‖

―Just think of someone you love.‖

―Someone I love.‖

―Yes, think of all the love in you, your truest and deepest spirit. And then command in a happy way.‖

―Okay.‖

I think of Aunt Sophia and Uncle Alex and my parents but it‘s not the kind of love Creusa means, and I know it. She has mistaken me for someone who wears charm bracelets and has seven BFFs. And now I‘ll never get out of here because I‘m not a googly-eyed nymph who‘s superconnected to the universe and made of sparkles and hearts. I‘m a loner. I close my eyes and think of the ogres who made an attempt on her life. I imagine I can hear them rustling through the forest, gunning for us, closer every second. Oh, how I‘d like to break them into—

―Hooray!‖

I open my eyes but there‘s no heart to be found. The rock has just exploded.

―Don‘t be sad,‖ she says. ―It will take time to make perfect hearts. What matters most is that you know now that you can use your powers whether or not you or anyone else is in danger.

You will be safe now. I just know it!‖ I don‘t have the heart—no pun intended—to lie to her, so we hug and then she heads back to the vale of the nymphs and I head deeper into the forest.

To what? I don‘t know. It feels like a bad omen, starting a journey with a big fat lie. Creusa might be the last person I ever see, and she‘s not even a person.

Practicing my powers reminds me of that time, in seventh grade, when I decided that since I didn‘t fit in and couldn‘t seem to make friends, I must be some kind of musical genius. So I signed up for band and chose the flute. I practiced with gusto. My lips got chapped and my fingers grew calloused and my neck ached from straining to the side for at least two hours every single day. And yet the more I practiced the flute, the worse I sounded. It was my first experience in life of being really bad at something.

I hike all morning, taking breaks every half hour to practice my powers, and I never manage to make a single heart. I grab a new rock to try again.

Remembering Creusa‘s advice, I close my eyes and try to think happy thoughts—whatever those are. I picture little pink cartoon hearts floating in the air like emoticons, but when I peek with one eye, the rock remains unchanged. Okay, try harder, I tell myself, and shut both eyes again.

Happier
, Zoe. I imagine swirling cotton candy and ponies and flowers and whatever else girls are supposed to like.

I hear a
crack
.

Excited, I open my eyes.

The rock has broken in half.

With a sigh, I toss the halves aside and sit on a fallen log. I remember now how it took me three months to summon the courage to approach our bandleader, Mr. Cullerman, and tell him that I had lost my flute on a bus. A lie, of course, but I didn‘t want him to think that I was a quitter. In reply, Mr. Cullerman simply walked over to the closet and unlocked the door with the keys that were always attached to his belt, reached inside and pulled out a new flute.