Oh. My. Gods. (7 page)

I start to smile, but as soon as he notices me looking, he scowls and looks away. Boys can be so strange.

When I don’t answer, Coach Z glances at his clipboard. “There are twenty-five events to choose from. Throwers stay here with me. Jumpers go with Coach Andriakos. Hurdlers with Coach Karatzas. Sprinters meet Coach Vandoros at the starting line. And distance runners, Coach Leonidas is waiting for you at the entrance to the tunnel.”

Around me, everyone gets up and heads off toward their coaches. I know I am going to the tunnel, but I hold back, waiting to see where Griffin goes.

Adara, her arms wrapped around his neck, gives him a quick kiss before bouncing off with the rest of the sprinters. He turns and sets off at a jog.

Toward the tunnel.

Omigod.

Heart thumping in my chest, I follow close behind. From the second I saw him on the beach I thought he looked like a distance runner, but now I know it’s true.

That’s one thing we have in common.

“Ah, Miss Castro,” Coach Leonidas says as I walk through the tunnel, “you are a distance runner.” He smiles and rubs his hands together. “Excellent. Tell me about your background.”

Griffin is in front of me and he turns to hear my answer.

“Well,” I say, trying to focus on running and not the gorgeous hunk watching me with the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen, “I ran cross-country and long-distance track for three years at my old high school.”

“How’d you do?” Griffin asks.

I can’t tell if he’s teasing or asking, so I answer, “I won the Western Regional Championship twice.”

“What about the third year?”

This time I can tell he’s making fun—only to impress his obnoxious friends, of course. Why else would he be such a jerk when he was so nice to me this morning?

Well, while wanting him to smile at me someday might include a laugh or two, I don’t actually want him laughing at me. It’s a fine line. “Freshman year I came in second.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but Coach Leonidas interrupts. “Wonderful,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll bring a lot to the team.”

“Thanks, Coach Leo . . .”

Okay, so Coach Z said his name, but I can’t remember how to pronounce it. Everything in this country is a tongue twister.

“Call me Lenny,” he says. “Everyone does.”

“Thanks,” I say again, “Coach Lenny.”

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way,” he says, “let’s get to the running.”

Everyone cheers—still full of the excitement of the first day of the season and not yet worn down by miles and miles and miles of running.

I cheer, too. After all the embarrassment and inferiority I’ve faced today, I’m ready to show them all what I’m really good at.

“We’re going to start out with a nice, easy warm-up before we run the qualifying race.” Coach Lenny looks happy, like he loves running and thinks it’s great luck he gets to make a living doing it. “Follow me.”

He turns and heads out of the tunnel, into the afternoon sun.

Now Coach Lenny looks like an athlete. There’s no trace of belly, beer or otherwise, on his wiry frame—he’s not hiding one, either, because his white tank and blue running shorts leave little to the imagination. He sets the pace—the twenty kids who’d assembled in the tunnel fall in behind him—a gentle run that’s not about to get anyone sweaty. I focus on the footfalls of his sneakers, counting out the rhythm in my mind and letting it sink into me.

The steady rhythm matches my heart rate.

I am vaguely aware that our pace is increasing. As we build up speed I stay focused on Coach Lenny’s sneakers, never letting him get more than a few feet ahead of me.

I get lost in the run.

Barely noticing my surroundings, I’m surprised when he looks over his shoulder and announces, “We’ll make two more laps around the stadium before heading to the course.”

I’m in the middle of the lead group, content for the warm-up to hold back my pace. Don’t want to wear myself out before the qualifier.

I love everything about running: the steady rhythm of my sneakers hitting the ground, the adrenaline and endorphins pulsing through my bloodstream, the cotton of my PAIN IS WEAKNESS LEAVING THE BODY tee rubbing against my skin with every step. If I could do it without winding up in a tree or a ditch, I’d close my eyes and just . . . feel.

Running is when I know I’m alive.

Everything else is downtime.

Step, step, step, breathe. Step, step, step, breathe.

That pattern is my comfort.

Nothing else that happened today matters anymore. The craziness of my life melts away. In my mind, I’m back home—running on the beach with Dad shouting encouragements and urging me to push myself. No gods, evil stepsisters, or mind-muddling boys allowed. All I know is I’m running and I feel perfect.

“Hold up here,” Coach Lenny announces, stopping us at a clearing with a smooth dirt path that leads into a pine forest. “Everyone walk it out, bring your heart rate back down. Get a drink of water.”

He points to a drinking fountain near the head of the trail. I wait until everyone else has taken a drink before getting my own.

Someone taps on my shoulder, just as I suck down a big gulp.

Coughing, I turn to find Troy standing behind me, a big grin on his face.

“Hey,” I say, wiping at the water dripping down my chin. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought you might need a good luck charm.”

He holds out his hand, keeping it fisted so I can’t see whatever’s inside. I hold out mine beneath his. With a twist of his wrist, he opens his fist and I feel something fall onto my palm.

“A feather?”

“Yeah,” he says, blushing a little. Pink looks good on his cheeks. “To help you fly faster.”

“Thanks,” I say, blushing myself. “That’s sweet.”

“You running today, Travatas?” Coach Lenny asks.

“No way.”Troy backs away. “Just saying hello.”

“If you stay, you run.”

Troy turns to me, looking a little panicked. “I’ve gotta run. I mean go.” He glances nervously at Coach Lenny. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’s gone before I can say, “See ya.”

I don’t have time to laugh at his hasty escape, Coach Lenny blows his whistle and calls us all to the starting line.

“I’m going to lead the course,” he says. “And I’ll be waiting back here when you finish the circuit. Follow the path marked with white flags.”

Holding up his stopwatch, he turns to the course, blows his whistle, and starts the race. My heart rate kicks up at the shrill whistle, knowing this is the moment I have to prove myself.

Monitoring my pace, I stay in the middle of the pack. I’ve always been a strong finisher and it’s better if I conserve some energy for the last kilometer than burn it all off at the start. A couple kids bolted out of the gate and I know they will be running out of steam halfway through.

I maintain my pace, just like Dad taught me.

Step, step, step, breathe. Step, step, step—

“Why bother trying out?”

Griffin’s question—from right next to me—startles me and I trip over my own feet, but manage to stay upright and moving forward. It takes several steps before I get my rhythm back.

“What do you mean?”

I risk a glance.

His blue eyes are focused on the course and his mouth is twisted in a smirk. “You’ll never qualify,” he says. “You’re a nothos. You can’t keep up.”

Who is he to tell me what I can and can’t do? He doesn’t know me. Cute boy or not, I can beat his tail.

“I’m keeping up with you,” I snap.

“Only because I’m letting you.”

His expression doesn’t change and he doesn’t look away from the course, but I can tell he’s laughing at me. I really can’t stand it when people laugh at me.

I feel a little surge of extra energy—adrenaline—and pick up my pace.

“When the race is over,” I say, letting his taunts get the better of me, “you can let me know how it feels to be beat by a nothos.”

That hits home. His anger doesn’t show on his face, but his hands ball into fists and his movement becomes a little tighter.

“That,” he says through clearly clenched teeth, “will never happen.”

What happened to the super sweet guy I met on the beach? This is more like the guy Nicole warned me about. “Were you possessed by the Furies after we met this morning? Or did I just catch you off guard before you’d had your jerk juice?”

“This morning,” he snaps, “I didn’t know who you were.”

“Oh,” I say, “you’re only nice to strangers. Now that we’re acquainted you have to be rude. Got it.”

“If I were being rude,” he said, his voice cold and hard, “you would know it. I’m only amusing myself to pass the time. In about half a kilometer you’ll be in my dust.”

Well, I didn’t get to be Western Regional Champion—twice— without learning how to ignore head games. Cross-country is full of trash talk, but it’s only effective if you let it get to you.

“Whatever.” I shrug, “We’ll see at the finish line.”

Looking ahead, I realize we have dropped back a little from the main group. I can’t let him get me off my race. I count to three before kicking up my pace another notch. Already I can feel myself closing the gap.

“Never,” Griffin says as he speeds up, “mess with a descendant of Ares, nothos.”

Then, before I can reply, a flash of light glows at my feet and the next thing I know I’m tumbling headfirst into the packed dirt path.

Griffin and the other runners disappear around a bend in the course and all I’m left with is a thin cloud of dust. Jumping to my feet, I look down to find my shoelaces untied, or, more accurately, untied and retied together.

Stepping out of my shoes rather than bother untying the supernatural knot—which is probably impossible to undo, anyway—I turn and start the long trudge back to the starting line.

Chapter 4

WHEN COACH LENNY crosses the finish line, I am sitting in the dirt, trying to unknot my sneakers without success. After trying to unravel the knot for nearly half an hour, it hasn’t budged a millimeter. Either I’m going to have to cut the laces or buy new Nikes.

“What happened?” he asks, slowing to a stop at my shoeless feet.

I shrug. “I tripped.”

“Tripped?” he asks between panting breaths. He starts pacing around me in little circles. “So you just give up?”

“What do you want me to do?” I shout, flinging my hopelessly joined sneakers into the woods. “I’m just a plain old, non-godrelated person. I can’t keep up.”

Even if I could, no one would let me. Except for my mom—and maybe Damian—nobody wants me on this stupid island. I wish I could go home. Only I don’t have a home to go home to. At this point, a year with Yia Yia Minta—with her stinky goat cheese, chain smoking, and spitting on everything for good luck—would be a blessing.

Coach Lenny squats in front of me. He stares into my eyes, like he’s trying to see all the way into my brain. Heck, he’s part-god. Maybe he can.

The sounds of footsteps and heavy breathing coming from the course indicate the first group of racers. Griffin, of course, is in the lead. I wonder if he cheated against everybody else, too.

Coach Lenny looks from me to Griffin and back again. His lips firm into a tight line. I can see the muscles in his jaw clenching.

“Did he use his powers against you?” Coach Lenny pronounces every word very carefully. He sounds really angry.

Griffin, walking around the starting area with his hands on his waist, looks at me like a puppy caught peeing on the rug. Nicole and Troy said the whole powers thing is strictly controlled and that using them against someone else is a big no-no. Like when Stella zapped my backpack.

I bet sabotaging my race is worth more than a week of grounded powers.

His fate is in my hands.

I smile at Griffin, majorly satisfied to see his ears turn red. I don’t know if he’s embarrassed for being such a jerk or afraid that I’m going to rat on him, but I like both options equally.

Either I turn him in and get revenge for his jerkiness this afternoon, or I cover for him and then he owes me one. Big time.

“Oh no,” I say with a wide, innocent grin, batting my eyelashes for effect, “Griffin would never do something so underhanded, would he?”

I’m not fully sure why I don’t squeal. Maybe I like the idea of being one up on him. Or maybe I think the whole thing isn’t worth the trouble. Or maybe—and this is a terrifying possibility after what he’s done to me—I still want him to like me.

Or at least the him that I met that morning on the beach.

The him he’s showing this afternoon can go take a leap.

Griffin exhales loud enough for me to hear, like he’s beyond relieved that I didn’t rat on him.

A few more runners cross the finish line. Griffin congratulates them as they arrive, and then they pat him on the back for coming in first. They might dismiss his red cheeks and ears as a result of running, but I know he’s embarrassed. He knows he won unfairly.

Coach Lenny eyes me suspiciously. I’m a horrible liar and he can probably tell I am covering for Griffin. But he apparently decides to let this one slide and walks away.

Now it sinks in that I am going to have to walk all the way back to Damian’s house—across the whole campus and a very rocky hillside—in my socks.

I glare at Griffin, bent over the water fountain and showing off his cute butt—I mean his rotten backside. Well, I am not going into the woods sock-footed after a pair of shoes when it’s his fault I threw them in there.

Jumping to my feet, I stomp across the starting area as best as I can without shoes and tap him on the shoulder.

“Get my shoes back,” I demand.

He jerks up and spins around, like he’s shocked that I have the nerve to talk to him. “Excuse me?” he asks, like I’m the one being rude.

Only I can’t really remember what I was asking him because his lips are all glossy and wet from the drinking fountain.

“I, um . . .” I swallow hard, hoping that will clear my brain. “Shoes. They’re . . . in the woods.”

I wave my hand back over my shoulder in the general direction that my shoes had gone. Then, while my eyes are locked on his lips, his tongue darts out to catch an extra drop of water at the corner of his mouth. I sort of shudder all over and I think it’s with only the biggest display of willpower that I don’t whimper.

His mouth kicks up at one side in that cocky grin.

Like he knows just what kind of thoughts I’m having.

That shakes me out of it.

I drag my eyes away from his lips and focus on his eyes—his bright blue, hypnotic . . .

“My shoes,” I say as forcefully as possible. “I tossed them in the woods. Get them back.”

“Why would you throw your—”

“Because I couldn’t get them unknotted, thank you very much.”

“Oh,” he mouths, scowling. As if he hadn’t realized I couldn’t untie his supernatural knot.

Then, before I can blink, he holds out his hand to the woods and then my shoes are there—laces unknotted and tied into neat little bows. He holds them out to me and, as soon as I take them, turns and walks away.

I stare after him, confused.

I feel like I’ve missed something again, like I should thank him for undoing the rotten thing he did in the first place. Like he’s pushing me away and pulling me in at the same time.

And I thought girls were supposed to be the complicated ones.

Forcing myself to forget Griffin and his contradictions, I slip back into my shoes and start for Damian’s house. No point hanging around to hear I didn’t make the team. Great! There goes USC. There goes the one thing I could count on to keep me going on this stupid island. There goes my life for the next year—and beyond.

“Wait a minute, Castro,” Coach Lenny calls out. “We have a meeting in the locker room to announce the team roster.”

Yeah, right. Does he think I enjoy humiliation? I didn’t even finish the race—not that it was my fault or anything, but quitting is quitting. Oh well. Since I have to stop by school anyway to pick up my homework, I might as well sit in on the announcement. With Griffin coming in first, I’m sure there’s no way he’s not on the team, but maybe I’ll get the satisfaction of seeing Adara get cut.

The locker room is deafening loud with everyone talking at once. The coaches are locked away in Coach Z’s office, making their decisions and everything.

Even surrounded by sixty kids I feel completely alone.

No one is talking to me, but plenty are talking about me. And staring at me. And pointing at me. And laughing at me.

Rather than sit there and take it, I go get a drink from the water fountain. A nice, long drink. I don’t think I’ve ever drunk so much at once—except for the time I ran the Death Valley Marathon. Being waterlogged is definitely more appealing than sitting around being stared at like a talking dog.

When I can’t drink any more, I glance around the hallway while wiping at my mouth. A little ways down I see a display case and wonder what this one holds. More Olympic medals? More artifacts from the first marathon?

No, just a big collage of pictures of last year’s track team.

A bunch of guys in blue running shorts dumping a cooler full of ice on Coach Lenny’s head. A group of girls posing around Coach

Z. Adara and Griffin kissing on the starting line. Gag me. I’ve had enough. I’m not going to stand around and wait to hear

how I suck and I should never run again and—

“She didn’t even finish the race,” a deep male voice says.

Looking around I don’t see anyone in the hall.

“Because Blake used his powers on her,” a voice that sounds like Coach Lenny says.

The voices are coming from a slightly ajar door. It’s wrong and sneaky and all those things, but I tiptoe up to the door and listen. They are talking about me, after all. I think I have a right to hear.

“If he did,” the first voice—I think it is Coach Z—says, “then we will have to ground his powers.”

“I can’t prove it,” Coach Lenny responds, sounding exasperated. “She wouldn’t admit what he had done. She’s protecting him.”

I knew he hadn’t believed me.

“That doesn’t change the fact that she didn’t complete the race. How do we know what she can do on a course—”

“She kept up with me during warm-up, damn it!”

Wow, Coach Lenny sounds really upset. Maybe he doesn’t like the idea that a normal girl could run as fast as him. Man, these descendants sure are a bunch of egotistical freaks.

“I was going to keep it at a slower pace,” Coach Lenny explains, “so I didn’t wear her out. But she kept up. So I pushed harder. And she kept up. By the end I was almost running full out and still she kept up. She was barely winded when we stopped. The girl has phenomenal talent, powers or not.”

Wait a minute. He actually sounds impressed.

“Really?”

They both sound impressed.

“Petrolas said she might surprise us, but I’m not sure, Lenny,” Coach Z says. “We still don’t know what she will do under the pressure of competition.”

I almost reveal my presence by shouting, I live for competition! But I don’t think getting in the middle of this conversation is going to help my cause.

“Z, if you’re not convinced then give her a trial slot on the team. Let her show us what she can really do in a race when no one zaps her laces together.”

There is a long, painful silence. I can picture Coach Z sitting there thinking, rubbing his big potbelly while he decides whether or not I’m worth a shot.

I am holding my breath. If he doesn’t answer soon I’ll probably pass out, and then they’ll find me in a heap outside their door.

“All right,” he finally says and I suck in oxygen. “She can train with the team and she’ll run in our first meet. If she doesn’t place in the top three then she’s out. That fair?”

Fair? Insanely! Because even though everyone else may have godly powers, I haven’t placed lower than second in . . . well, ever.

“Great,” Coach Lenny says, sounding very happy. “Let’s go announce the team.”

I turn and take off at a dead run for the locker room. I am just taking my place in the back corner of the room when the coaches walk in. It is a major struggle not to break into a massive grin. Adara glares at me from across the room, but I can’t even muster a scowl.

“Everyone, may I have your attention, please.” Coach Z thumps his clipboard against his leg until everybody quiets down and looks at him. “The team roster will be as follows . . .”

As he starts to read off names by event, I glance at Coach Lenny. He is looking at me with a proud smile on his face. I give him a beaming smile. I can’t help it, even if it gives away my eavesdropping.

He smiles back. Then he cups a hand over his ear like someone listening at a door and winks at me.

I laugh out loud. Man, you can’t get away with anything at this school.

“How was your first day?” Mom asks as I fly into the house and let my backpack drop on the floor with a thud.

She is sitting at the dining table with magazines spread out in front of her. They are all wedding magazines. She has months to plan, so I don’t know why she’s obsessing.

“Long,” I answer before heading to the kitchen for my traditional after workout snack: Gatorade and a PowerBar.

Only we don’t have either.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Mom says. “Hesper goes to the market on Serifos once a week. She’ll get what you need on Friday.”

Closing my eyes, I wonder what she’ll forget to tell me next? First, the whole immortal thing. Now, the once-a-week grocery shopping thing. Maybe next I’ll find out Alexander the Great is coming back to life and bringing his army to dinner.

“Whatever.”

I slam the refrigerator door shut and head back to the living room to grab my backpack. What I need right now is a refuge from life. I really wish there was a lock on my bedroom door.

“What were your classes like?” she asks. “Do you like your teachers?”

“They’re okay.”

“What about the students? Did you make any friends?”

“A couple.”

“What god do they belong to?” Her voice takes on that professional analyst tone. “Damian tried to describe the social dynamics of the school, but I’d like to hear your—”

“Just drop it, okay? I’ve got a ton of work to do.” I want to stomp off to my room, but my thirst gets the better of me. I drop my backpack and go get a glass of water—from the tap. Is bottled water too much to ask for?

“Honey, I know this is a lot to face all at once.”

“I’m fine. So there’s no Gatorade. I’ll dehydrate like a normal person, all right.”

She looks a little hurt, but that was pretty much what I was going for. Everything about this situation is great for her and crappy for me.

“Do you think—” she starts to say, but then stops.

I fling my backpack over my shoulder and head for my room. I can sense Mom trailing behind me, but I’m happy to ignore her. Unzipping my bag, I start setting the massive textbooks out on my bed. I think I have more homework tonight than I had in my entire three years at PacificPark.

“Damian told me the cross-country tryouts were today,” Mom says from the doorway. “How’d they go?”

I shrug. “I made the team.”

“That’s wonderful. I never doubted you would.” She falls silent.

“Look, Mom.” I carry my Algebra II textbook to my desk and drop it on the smooth wood surface. “I have a ton of homework to do, so . . .”

“Oh.” She looks around and sees all my books on the bed. “Of course, I’ll just leave you alone to get to work. I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready.”

“Fine,” I say. And then, because I feel a little guilty for being so mean, I add, “Thanks.”

One hour and thirty quadratic equations later, my eyes are blurry from staring at so many numbers. I think I can solve for x in my sleep now. The house is oddly silent—the Stella monster must be out somewhere and I haven’t heard Damian come home. I haven’t even heard Mom moving around.

Emerging from my room for a glass of water, I see Mom still hunched over the magazines on the dining table.