Oh. My. Gods. (20 page)

“Damian wanted to. But I stopped him.” She brushes my hair out of my eyes. “Once I knew what this world would be like, I wanted you to have a chance to find your own home at the school. If you had known—if others had known—you would have been judged solely on your association with Nike.”

“Instead I was judged as the only nothos. As a kako with bad blood.” No. Even as I say this, though, I realize it’s not true.

Sure, at first that’s what happened. But Nicole never thought any less of me for not being godly—in fact, I think she liked me better for being nothos. I may go down in her estimation now. Troy never cared, either. Oh crap, I have to apologize to him. And Griffin . . . well, he was a little more work. No matter what he thought of me, though, he never called me kako. I smile—Griffin liked me before he even knew it.

Plus, all my hard work paid off. I won the race. Even before the whole glowing incident I was leagues ahead of every last racer from the Academy.

“Wait a second,” I say, realizing something. “Coach, you said I didn’t cheat—that I couldn’t have because my powers were grounded. If that glow was my powers, how is that possible?”

Coach shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“That was certainly a surprise,” Damian says. “Even with your heritage.”

“From what Damian told me,” Mom says, moving around to his side of the desk and leaning her hip against his chair, “this is the

most exciting part.”

More exciting than the whole I’m-a-descendant-of-Nike thing?

“A general grounding of powers is usually sufficient to prevent any adolescent descendant from using them,” Damian explains.

“I didn’t think I’d need to use something more powerful,” Coach mutters.

“I believe the glow we all saw was your powers trying to manifest.” Damian leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk. “The fact that yours—latent and dormant as they were—managed to appear at all suggests that they are quite potent.”

I stare at him. “How is that possible?”

“Like any other talent, powers strength vary greatly from person to person,” Damian says. “There is a correlation between strength and the concentration of godly blood you carry. In short, the closer your proximity to a deity, the stronger your powers.”

“Which is a complicated way of saying . . .?”

Mom beams. “That your father was Nike’s grandson.”

It’s a good thing I’m sitting down, because otherwise I think I’d fall over. I’m only one “great” away from a goddess?

“Your powers,” Damian says, “have phenomenal potential.”

Coach pumps his fist. “We are so going to win the Mediterranean Cup this year!” When Mom, Damian, and I all glare at him, he hurries to say, “Not that we’d use her powers to win, of course. Phoebe doesn’t need powers to kick tail on the course.”

Powers?My powers? I have phenomenal powers? Now that is a strange thought.

Yet somehow it makes sense. When I think about how easy running has always come for me, and how sometimes I can almost sense what other people are feeling (not to mention my almost unnatural obsession with Nike shoes) it seems almost logical that I’m descended from the goddess of victory herself. Being here, on Serfopoula, has made these things even more apparent. I dropped my already exceptional running time. I connect with Griffin and—I will never, ever admit this to Mom—I feel even closer to Dad. Maybe it was my godly blood coming home?

Another thought occurs. If I have godly blood then I must be able to zap stuff like everyone else. I know Nicole said you have to learn how to use powers, but I wonder if I can . . .

As soon as the thought enters my mind I get a tingling feeling in my hands. I look down and they’re glowing.

Mom gasps.

Coach’s jaw drops.

Damian smiles.Until the collection of framed diplomas and stuff hanging on the wall suddenly crash to the floor.

Maybe there’s more to this whole zapping thing than I thought.

“Powers are not something to be toyed with.” Damian waves his hand and the frames all zip back up onto the wall. “You will need to train. Extensively. Other students have had years to learn how to control their powers. If you can tap into yours this easily—and unintentionally—then you must take great care in your thoughts and actions until you have mastered them.”

I hang my head. “Sorry.”

Suddenly, the enormity of what I’ve just learned about myself hits me. I’m part god. I have supernatural powers. Powers I have no idea how to control.

“This is the other reason, besides your being my baby girl . . .” Mom gives me a watery smile. “. . . that I think you need to stay on at the Academy for an additional year.”

She’s right. Who knows what kind of damage I can do? I could probably destroy this entire island without even—

No, I probably shouldn’t even think that.

“Hey girls,” I say as I walk out of Damian’s office in a daze.

They’re standing in front of the trophy case with the golden apple, and when I speak they jump like they got caught watching the neighbor boy undress. I know this, because that’s just how we looked when we got caught spying on jerky Justin in eighth grade.

“Hi, Phoebes.”Cesca recovers first. “Have a good chat with the stepdad?”

Nola looks guiltily over her shoulder at the apple. I guess Damian is right: that apple is dangerous.

“Um, actually,” I say, knowing the time has come to tell them the truth about the island, “I have some pretty heavy stuff to tell you guys.” Nola still hasn’t looked away from the trophy case, so I suggest, “Why don’t we go out into the courtyard?”

Cesca and I each grab Nola by a shoulder and drag her around the corner and out through the double doors that open onto the courtyard. There is a line of stone benches circling the perimeter, so we head for one of those.

Nola elects to sit on the ground, pretzel-style, and turns her face up to absorb the sun.

Cesca checks the bench for dust. When it passes inspection, she sits and carefully crosses her legs.

I’m too wound up to sit. Instead, I start pacing. “I have something to tell you.”

“Sounds serious,” Nola says.

“Well . . .” I stalk three steps before spinning around. “It is.”

Nola and Cesca look at each other. Knowing from years of experience that I mean it, they settle in for whatever I have to say.

“Cesca,” I begin. “I don’t know if you told Nola about my IM slip-up—”

“I didn’t.” She looks offended that I would even ask.

“But,” I continue, indicating she shouldn’t interrupt, “I want to explain to both of you the secret of Serfopoula.”

“Aha!” Nola jumps up and points at me. “I knew there was something fishy about this island.”

“Nola, please,” I say.

Cesca smacks her on the leg. “Sit down and let her finish.”

Nola sinks reluctantly back to the ground, but I can tell she’s still gloating. And this time she’s right.

“It’s not a secret military testing ground or a witness protection hideout for the Kennedy conspirators.”

Her lower lip pouts out and I can tell she’s vastly disappointed.

“It is,” I say, drawing it out with a sense of the dramatic, “more mythology than conspiracy.” At their confused looks I continue. “Serfopoula is protected because the Academy is a private school for the descendants of Greek gods.”

“For the what?” Nola asks.

Cesca uncrosses her legs and leans forward. “Get out.”

“Really,” I say. “Everyone at the school is descended from a Greek god. Even my stepdad.”

I can’t quite bring myself to say it out loud—to say that I’m a descendant, too. It’s not that I’m afraid of how they’ll react—they’re my best friends and they love me—but somehow, saying it makes it undeniable. My freak status in the normal world will be irrevocable.

“Wow,” Cesca says, her voice full of awe.

Nola is silent. She looks like she’s in one of those meditative trances she goes into when she’s deep in yoga. That’s her way of dealing with major shocks.

“That is . . .” Cesca shakes her head. “. . . flipping awesome. So, like, these kids are related to Zeus and Apollo and Aphrodite and all of them?”

“Yup.”

“I don’t believe it,” Nola finally says.

“Do they have powers and stuff?” Cesca asks.

“More than you want to know about,” I say, speaking from experience.

“I don’t believe it,” Nola says again.

“Like what?” Cesca asks. “What can they do?”

“Whatever they want, as far as I can tell.”

“I don’t believe it!”

We both stare at Nola, shocked by her vehement outburst. She’s usually so calm and balanced, it’s a major shock when she gets upset.

“Nola, it’s true,” I say.

“That explains it,” Cesca says.

“Explains what?” I ask.

“That glow around you at the end of the race.”

I freeze.

“Come on, Nola,” Cesca says as she pokes the unmoving Nola in the ribs. “You saw that glow. What else could it have been?”

“No,” Nola insists. “I don’t believe it. Nothing you can do or say—”

Nola suddenly floats three feet off the ground before plopping back down on a giant cushion that wasn’t there a few seconds ago. I’m pretty sure I didn’t do that—wouldn’t know how to even if I wanted to. I look over my shoulder and see Troy standing in the doorway.

He winks.

I owe him one whopper of an apology.

Turning back to the girls, I say, “One second,” before running across the courtyard.

“She looked like she could use a little undeniable proof,” he says as I hurry over to him.

“Oh, Troy,” I say, hoping he’ll forgive me. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have accused you when I didn’t have any proof. I shouldn’t have jumped to accusations at all, no matter what happened—”

“Hey,” he interrupts. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”

“It is,” I insist. “Especially since it wasn’t you . . . it was me.”

He smiles like I’m totally dense. “Well, yeah. I could have told you that weeks ago.”

“You could have—” I shake my head. “How did you know?”

“A guy doesn’t come from a two-thousand-year line of doctors without being able to tell a little about a person’s physiology.”

“Then why didn’t you . . .?”

He raises his hands in surrender. “I didn’t want to be the messenger. You scare me.” When I act appalled, he adds, “I figured you’d find out in your own time. Besides, I don’t want to be on Petrolas’s bad side. I’m the creative type—I’d never survive detention.”

“You,” I say, leaning forward and giving him a peck on the cheek, “are a rock star in coward’s clothing.”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Of course,” I insist.

He waves good-bye and I head back over to my girls.

“Who’s the yumsicle?” Cesca asks.

“That’s Troy,” I say. “He’s just a friend.”

“I suppose,” she says, “with a boy like Griffin around, Troy can be just a friend. Too bad there aren’t boys like that at PacificPark.”

“If there were boys like that at PacificPark, Southern California would be in for a world of trouble,” I say with a laugh.

Nola is staring at the ground, muttering silently to herself. If I could read lips I’d probably hear a whole vocabulary I’ve never heard from Nola before.

When she finally manages to speak, all she says is, “Okay. I believe it.”

“I can’t believe you went this long without telling us,” Cesca says.

And I feel horrible about that. “Like I said, it wasn’t my secret to tell. If Mom and Damian hadn’t given me the go-ahead I wouldn’t be telling you now. It kills me to keep secrets from you guys, but I swear this is the only one.” I bite my lip. “Only there’s one last part of it.”

They both look up at me eagerly.

Closing my eyes, I exhale fully. “I just found out . . . like five minutes ago . . . that well, I’m . . .” I suck in a quick breath—better to rip the bandage off in one quick pull—and blurt, “I’m part-god, too.”

Cesca’s mouth falls open. “Get out!”

“Omigod,” Nola gasps, her eyes bulging wide with shock.

For what feels like hours they stare at me. Great, I’m a freak show. How can I expect to go out into the real world again when even my best friends think I’m a total abnormality?

Finally, Cesca speaks. “Oh, honey,” she says, smiling. “We’ve always known you were a goddess. This just makes it legit.”

Have I mentioned how much I love my best friends? In a heartbeat, they’re both on their feet and we’re in a massive group hug, complete with tears of joy.

“But that’s the last secret, I promise,” I say when I recover the ability to speak. “You know absolutely everything else.”

I step back so I can wipe away my tears.

Cesca gets a weird look on her face as she turns to look at Nola. Nola looks just as strange. I recognize the looks. Guilt.

“Um, Phoebe,” Cesca begins.

I know something’s up because she sounds hesitant. Cesca is never hesitant.

“There’s something we’ve been meaning to tell you,” Nola says, having found her voice.

“What?” I’m getting scared, they are both acting strange.

Cesca clasps her hands together behind her back. “I know we’ve been planning on going to USC together since, like, forever.”

“But,” Nola says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, “sometimes plans change.”

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Well . . .” Cesca looks around me to Nola, then nods. “I’m not going to USC next year. Parsons accepted me early admission. If I want to go into couture fashion I can’t be in L.A.”

Parsons? That’s on the whole other side of the country. “You’re going to school in New York?”

She nods and looks apologetic.

I turn as Nola says, “And I’m going to Berkeley.” She reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “It has the best Environmental Sciences program in the country.”

I know they’re right—about studying fashion in New York and environmental science at Berkeley—but I feel like they’ve betrayed me. We’ve been planning this for years now, and all of a sudden they change their minds at the last minute. How is that fair?

But as I look at them—both looking totally guilty for going separate ways—I realize how selfish I’m being. How could I ask them to give up their futures just so we can go to school together?