Authors: Tera Lynn Childs
“What’s the matter?” He comes up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders, trying to turn me around. He has the nerve to sound concerned. “What happened?”
I stiffen against his touch. “Nothing.”
“Are you crying?” When I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak again, he says, “You
are
crying.”
Despite my best efforts, he half turns me around and half slides around so we’re face-to-face. I close my eyes. I just can’t look at him right now. Not when all I see is him talking to Adara, going into the bookstore with Adara, meeting Adara at her dorm. It’s too much.
“Talk to me,” he demands.
I feel his fingers on my cheeks, wiping my sad excuse for tears away. Which only makes them fall harder.
His forehead touches mine and he whispers, “Please.”
I take several long, deep breaths.
“Where were you this afternoon?” I finally ask.
He hesitates for a split second. “I told you, I—”
My eyes fly open. “Do.
Not.
Lie to me.”
I step back, needing space to think clearly.
I can see him thinking. Beneath his dark curls, his bright blue eyes don’t budge from mine; he doesn’t blink. Then, after several long seconds, he closes his eyes, sucks in a deep breath, and says, “Aunt Lili and I got back and done with the stocking early. I was visiting a friend in the dorms.”
“Adara.”
He hesitates, then says, “Yes.”
“What?” I’m shocked he admitted the truth.
“Yes.” He looks like he is afraid to say more. “Yes, I was visiting Dara.”
“Why have you been lying to me?” I can hear the icy edge in my voice and I don’t like it. I don’t like how he’s making me feel right now. Jealous. With a neon capital
J
. “You’ve been spending all your time with her. Like yesterday. At the bookstore.”
He doesn’t show any signs of shock that I didn’t buy his story about looking for a training book.
“You’re right,” he says, and my heart tries to pound out of my chest. “I met Adara at the bookstore yesterday.”
And lied about it.
“But it’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it
is
,” I demand.
Gods, I hate how I sound like such a jealous girlfriend, but it’s not like he’s not giving me a reason to distrust. I close my eyes and suddenly I’m reliving the last time I felt like this. Junior prom. More than a year ago now, but I remember like it was yesterday.
I had known something was wrong when Justin didn’t show to pick me up. A smarter girl might have taken that as a sign, but I believed in him. Trusted him. Something must have come up. Rather than curl up with a box of tissues and a cup of self-pity, I called Cesca and got a ride with her and her date. When I climbed into the limo and saw the look of pure sympathy in her eyes, that’s when I knew.
By the time we pulled up at the glamorous Sunset Tower Hotel, I was ready for the confrontation. I stormed into the dance, scanned the room until I found Justin at a table in the far corner, and marched right up to him.
“Where were you?” I demanded.
“Let’s not do this here, Phoebe,” Justin had said. “Why don’t we go out to my car and—”
“No,” I shouted, hands fisted on my hips, on the silver satin of the bustier dress that had taken me weeks to find. The perfect dress. “I deserve to know.”
He’d hesitated, deciding whether to lie.
Just like Griffin did tonight.
Only tonight feels infinitely worse. Because I love Griffin infinitely more.
That realization clenches around my heart.
“I—” He jams his fingers through his curls. “Phoebe, I can’t tell you.”
Everything inside me stills.
At least Justin had the decency to confess dumping me for Mitzi Busch because her knees weren’t Super Glued shut like mine. Griffin wasn’t even pretending to admit the truth.
“Then I don’t believe you.” My heart splinters a little with every word.
“I can’t make you believe me,” he says, dropping his hands and taking a step back. “I thought we were past the distrusting stage. I thought you knew me better than this. Better than anyone.”
I can’t look away from his blue eyes, a little less bright thanks to the betrayal I see there. But the truth is, he lied to me. More than once. And now, even though he’s admitted to lying to me, he won’t tell me the whole truth. He’s not the only one who feels betrayed.
“So did I,” I say, turning away and walking to my desk.
“Phoebe, I didn’t mean to—”
“I’d like you to leave.” My voice cracks as I add, “Now.”
I stand in front of my desk, afraid to move until he does—afraid that my heart will shatter completely. For a long time there’s just silence, stillness in the air, as I can feel him watching me.
“I’m not Justin,” he whispers.
Then, all of a sudden, it’s like a vacuum sucks all the air out of my room. The next thing I hear is the click of my door closing behind him as he leaves.
I collapse into my desk chair, folding my arms over my laptop and laying my cheek on the smooth, plastic surface. My heart feels like it’s been ripped out of my chest. The oracle was wrong. Griffin and I aren’t fated for anything more than heartache.
It’s not until I feel the wetness on my arm that I realize I’m crying on my laptop. The last thing I need is to fry my connection to the outside world. I sit up, wipe away my tears, and lift the top on my laptop. I’ve never needed Nola and Cesca more in my life, and if one of them isn’t online, I don’t know what I’ll do.
But when I log in to chat, I see blank little faces next to their screen names.
Right. Cesca’s probably in Paris by now. Nola’s probably at the library doing research for her study. How can they both have so much great stuff going on when my life is a mess?
Yeah, I know that’s totally self-centered. It’s not fair for me to begrudge them good stuff. Especially since we’re best friends.
Not one person on my friends list is online. Not Cesca or Nola, not Nicole, not Troy. Not even the gorgon cheerleader queen—trust me, if I could get Adara off my friends list I would, but the Academy IM system seems to have a twisted sense of humor about this. How can everyone be unavailable when I need them?
While I’m staring at the screen through tear-fogged eyes, a yellow smiley face shows up next to Nola’s screen name.
Thank the gods!
I open up a new chat window.
LostPhoebe: Nola!
GranolaGrrl: hey Phoebes
GranolaGrrl: what’s up?
LostPhoebe: I think Griffin and I just broke up
GranolaGrrl: omigods what happened??
I bite my lip to keep from crying. More.
LostPhoebe: he’s cheating on me
GranolaGrrl: of course he’s not!
LostPhoebe: he is
LostPhoebe: with Adara
GranolaGrrl: his ex? that’s nuts
GranolaGrrl: he’s crazy about you
LostPhoebe: he’s been spending lots of time with her
GranolaGrrl: maybe there’s a reasonable explanation
Nola always sees the good in people. While this is a great trait in a best friend—she always looks past my bad attitude when I’m in a crappy mood—she’s not the most discerning when it comes to character. She blindly believes the best until presented with incontrovertible proof. Sometimes not even then.
LostPhoebe: there’s more
LostPhoebe: he was in her dorm room this afternoon
LostPhoebe: when he told me he was helping his aunt
GranolaGrrl: are you sure?
GranolaGrrl: did you ask him about it?
LostPhoebe: he admitted it
LostPhoebe: he says it’s not what I think
LostPhoebe: but he won’t tell me what it *is*
GranolaGrrl: I’m so sorry sweetie
New tears rush to my eyes. If even Nola is willing to accept that I’m right, then all my niggling doubts are gone. How could I have been so stupid over a guy . . . again?
GranolaGrrl: I know how much he means to you
LostPhoebe: guess it wasn’t mutual
GranolaGrrl: you never know
GranolaGrrl: he might still surprise you
LostPhoebe: doubt it
GranolaGrrl: promise me you’ll give him a chance to explain
LostPhoebe: I did
LostPhoebe: he wouldn’t
GranolaGrrl: give him one more chance
GranolaGrrl: for me
I almost say I won’t. I don’t want to. But for Nola, only for Nola, I will.
LostPhoebe: okay
LostPhoebe: for you
GranolaGrrl: I need to go
GranolaGrrl: you okay?
LostPhoebe: I’ll be fine
GranolaGrrl: I’ll be online again later
GranolaGrrl: love you
LostPhoebe: love you too
LostPhoebe: thanks
I stare at the chat screen until her smiley face disappears.
Instead of feeling better, reassured, I feel a little more empty after chatting with Nola. She didn’t exactly say what I wanted to hear. That’s Nola, though. She always says and does what’s right, not what’s convenient or comforting.
Almost automatically, needing something to keep my mind busy, I click on the icon to check my e-mail. Three new messages. One from Adara—no thank you. I click on the message and am about to drag it to the trash when I see the folder I made when I was mad at Griffin last year. “Liars.” I drop her e-mail in there. Even if she hasn’t lied to me, I bet she would if I gave her the chance.
The second e-mail is from Mrs. Philipoulos.
To: Library Employees
Bcc: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Secret Archives Access
Former Academy library employees,
Upon a recent inspection of the library secret archives, I have discovered two missing volumes in the Mount Olympus records. If you have any knowledge of the theft or whereabouts for these vol- umes, please contact me immediately. No punitive action will be taken if the volumes are returned within the week.
Also, please remember that your right to access the secret archives depends on your status as a library employee. If you are no longer working in the library, you should not access the secret archives for ANY reason.
Yours,
Philippa Philipoulos
At least she only blind-copied me. Damian won’t know I’m involved. I wouldn’t want him to get suspicious and rush home from his honeymoon. The last thing I need is Mom and Damian nosing around in the middle of my trying to find out what happened to Dad.
Mrs. Philipoulos said two volumes are missing. Clearly, one of them is Dad’s trial record. I wonder what else was taken.
The last e-mail is yet another blocked message.
From: [Blocked]
Subject: [No Subject]
Urian Nacus will not be able to decrypt my identity before our meeting.
Do not be late.
Just for ducks, I click print. When the blank page spits out, I slide it back into the paper tray. I’m so not surprised. If e-mails one and two wouldn’t print, it would be some kind of divine intervention if the third did.
Closing down my computer, I decide I need to get out of my room, out of this house. I need the clarity of thought that only running can bring. I grab the zip-up sweatshirt off the back of my chair. As I hurry through the living room, I try not to make eye contact. Xander is back and I’m not up for conversation. I can see him and Stella sitting on the couch—Stella flirtatiously turned to face him with one foot tucked up underneath her and Xander nonflirtatiously focused on whatever he’s writing in a spiral notebook.
Maybe I can get to the front door—
“Phoebe,” Stella calls out before I can escape, “are you okay?”
“Fine,” I say, hoping she’ll take the hint.
Of course subtlety is not her strong suit.
“Griffin looked pretty upset when he left.” She climbs off the couch and approaches me. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she asks, “Is everything all right?”
“Just peachy,” I say, and I can’t quite keep the emotion out of my voice.
But instead of pouncing on my trauma—I can just see her gloating to Adara over my continued torment—she puts her hand on my shoulder and says, “I’m sorry.” And then shocks the Hades out of me by adding, “If you ever need someone to talk to . . .”
“Sure.” I try to smile—and hide my shock at her apparently sincere offer. “Thanks.”
She smiles sympathetically.
“I’m going for a run,” I say, uncomfortable with this friendly Stella. I jerk my hand back over my shoulder, “I need some fresh air.”
Xander looks up at me, his lavender eyes wide and intent. He looks like he might say something, but I turn and head outside before he gets the chance.
I take the front steps two at a time. Those same steps where Griffin almost first kissed me. Right after I found out he was a duty-bound descendant of Hercules. Right before I found out I was part of some elaborate bet between him and Stella and Adara. I should have listened to my gut the first time. Then my heart wouldn’t be shattering right now.
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised at our rocky end. We had a pretty rocky beginning, even if the time between was smooth and wonderful.
“Phoebe,” Xander calls out. Then, when I don’t stop, he shouts, “Castro!”
I. Have. Had. Enough.