Oh My Gods

by Alexandra Sheppard

  Noor piped up. “Yas is right. Miss is such a hippy. Get this – our next essay is about our hopes and dreams for the future. She wants us to ‘show her the person behind the uniform’.”

  “This is such a weird topic. Who thinks about the future beyond next week? I don’t even know what lippy I’ll wear tomorrow,” said Daphne. She examined her blonde fringe in a compact mirror before tucking it in her blazer.

  By the time Double English finished, I’d forgotten about my awkward introduction and relaxed a bit. The girls had actually been nice. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  I took a peek at the timetable handed to me that morning. I still had the rest of the day to survive. “Does anyone have French after this? With Mr Parsons in 4C?” I asked.

  “Oui, mon petit pois,” said Noor. “I should warn you that his class is drier than the Sahara. And that’s before he starts talking about perfect infinitives.”

  Miss Bloom dismissed us and we filed out of the classroom, a few of the boys scuffling and honking out unimaginative nicknames. Just like in my old school. The behaviour of the average teenage boy was universal.

  “I’d kill to swap my advanced science with your French. Can you believe I’m the only girl in my class?” said Yasmin.

  “Serves you right for being such a nerd,” Daphne said with a wink.

  Yasmin smirked. “Carry on like that, and you’ll have to find someone else to help you with your English essay.”

  Daphne pretended to shoot herself in the head. Essay writing wasn’t her strong point, clearly.

  “Relax! It’s going to be the easiest essay you’ve ever written. You must have some idea about what you want to do with your life, Daphs?” asked Yasmin.

  Before Daphne had a chance to answer, a distractingly gorgeous guy bounced out of his class. Her eyes went dreamy as he walked right through the middle of our group.

  “Um, Daphs, Yasmin asked what you want to do. Not who you want to do,” said Noor. We collapsed into giggles. I felt like I’d known these girls for years, not hours.

  “That’s Jayden Taylor,” Noor said to me. “Ever since he tried to grow a beard he went from being kinda cute to this unbelievably hot Drake/Zayn Malik hybrid.”

  “Oh crap. You don’t think Jayden heard that, do you?” asked Yasmin.

  “Why do you care, Yasmin?” I asked.

  She pursed her lips, ignoring the question, and we all burst out laughing again. The answer was obvious.

  “By the way,” said Noor. “He’s the only guy in this school who looks like that. So don’t get your hopes up.”

  “Anyway, back to the question,” said Yasmin. “What do you want to do when you grow up? You must have given it some thought, Daphne.”

  “Yas, chill,” said Noor. “Not everyone has planned out their career on a whiteboard in their room. Anyway, Daphs, you know what Miss Bloom is like. Knock out a page about wanting to save the dolphins or start an organic lavender farm. She’ll lap it up.”

  It was hard to believe just how nervous I’d been that morning. Now, I was chatting with my new mates about boys and homework. Joking around with them felt so … normal. And a single god didn’t interfere all day.

  After my weekend, it was exactly what I needed.

  FOUR

  My first week at school had gone far better than I expected. Even though I had nightmares of eating lunch alone or having to introduce myself at assembly, I managed to avoid both. To top it off, I even got a sleepover invite from Daphne. Success!

  Dad may be immortal, but he has one thing in common with every other father in history: he hates to part with cash. Especially if it’s for something fun. I had to fight tooth and nail with him to get some money for Friday night’s sleepover.

  I think Dad is making up for lost parenting time by being stricter than ever. From what I’ve read, I don’t recall him caring this much about his offspring two thousand years ago. Just my luck.

  I mean, did Hercules have to ask permission to hang out with his friends after completing his quests? Doubt it.

  I caught Dad before he went to spend the evening pottering around in the shed with his antiques. Immortals don’t have to sleep, and this helped him fill the time overnight. Last time I made the mistake of visiting him there, he subjected me to a twenty-five-minute lecture on Edwardian silverware.

  He can be soooo dull, even by dad standards. That, and the fact that he wears Crocs outside of the house, makes it hard for me to see Dad as the head of the gods.

  So I was on red alert. Get in and get out before he bored me to death – that was the mission.

  “Come in, Helen,” said Dad as I was about to knock on his office door. That always creeped me out. I know he has incredible hearing and could tell it was me from a mile off, but I wish he’d at least pretend to be normal.

  “Hey, Dad.” I climbed over a couple of unpacked cardboard boxes to sit in the worn leather chair opposite his desk.

  He was marking essays with his reading glasses perched on his nose. I know for a fact these are a prop, as all the gods have perfect vision. It’s one of the little things Dad does to prove to the world that he’s normal.

  “Yes?” he asked. Dad looked up at me impatiently, like I was one of his students dropping by to ask for a deadline extension.

  “My first week at school went well. I even made some new friends,” I said. Thanks for asking.

  Dad raised one eyebrow. “Glad to hear it. I hope the curriculum isn’t too different from your previous school?”

  “Um, yep. All good on the old curriculum front.” And honestly, who cared? “Anyway, Dad. Daphne, one of my new friends, is having a sleepover tomorrow night.”

  He stared blankly at me. “Remind me, Helen. What happens at a sleepover exactly?”

  “You know. A sleepover?” I said. The clue was in the name. Wasn’t he meant to be a professor? “We’re going to stay the night at Daphne’s, watch a few films, and order a pizza. I’ll be back in the morning.”

  “I see.” He didn’t look or sound convinced. “But surely you can do all of that here, Helen? Minus the hassle of taking your overnight things, disrupting your bedtime routine…”

  “Yes, Dad. But it’s more fun with friends.” It was like talking to a Martian.

  “I suppose it’s one of those teenage pastimes I’ll never understand, like theme parks and discotheques,” he muttered.

  “And I’ll need some spending money,” I said.

  “Why on earth do you need spending money? Is your friend charging admission?” Dad asked, chuckling at his pointless joke.

  “The takeaway pizza won’t pay for itself!”

  “Doesn’t your friend have any food at home? In my time, Helen, hosts provided meals for their guests.”

  “In your time, they threw people to the lions and called it a wholesome day out. Times have changed!”

  Dad reached for his wallet. “This is all I have. And by the way, that was Ancient Rome, not Greece.”

  He gave me a measly fiver – a quid for every minute listening to Dad bang on. So not worth it.

  “Thanks, I guess. I’d better get on with my homework,” I said, getting up to leave.

  “That reminds me, Helen, please keep Sunday afternoon free,” he said.

  “Cool. I don’t have any plans this Sunday.”

  “And all Sunday afternoons, going forward. I want us to use that time to make sure you’re on top of your studies. A little extra tutoring won’t do you any harm.”

  I groaned. “Is that really absolutely completely necessary, Dad?”

  “Why, yes. Your exams are over a year away, and I know that seems a long time, but…”

  I tuned out as Dad twittered on about coursework and my last school reports being “less than satisfactory”.

  “Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “Sunday afternoons. Got it.”

  I bounced out of the room, and Dad turned back to marking his essays.

  I spent Friday afternoon counting
down the minutes until biology ended. Time seemed to stand still. I was too nervous and excited to concentrate on the life cycle of a plant cell.

  Tonight was more than a sleepover. It had to go well with the girls. If I was going to settle into this new home, I needed to have friends. I didn’t want to spend my weekends dodging Aphrodite’s sharp tongue or getting roped into Dad’s latest torture regime (aka Sunday afternoon tutoring).

  As soon as biology ended (I swear the clock was going backwards at one point), I met everyone at the school gates and we walked to Daphne’s house.

  “Mum, we’re here!” Daphne yelled as she unlocked her front door, but the house was cold and dark. “She must still be at work.”

  We padded up the stairs and dumped our bags in Daphne’s room.

  “Daphs, I’m gonna get changed in your bathroom,” said Noor before leaving the room with her bag. Were we getting into our pyjamas already?

  Daphne pulled out a powder-blue dress with a white collar from her wardrobe. It was seriously cute – Aphrodite would have approved.

  “Is that for tonight?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Mum found it for me at a second-hand shop near her office,” she said, holding it up against her curvy figure. “Isn’t it adorbs? I’m obsessed with everything vintage. What are you changing into?”

  I pictured the contents of my rucksack: toiletries, hairbrush and pyjamas. And that was it. No top or jeans. What idiot goes to a sleepover and doesn’t pack a spare pair of clothes? I had no choice but to stay in my uniform until bedtime. Now the girls would think that I’d never been to a sleepover before, and never ask me over again. I saw rain-sodden car boot sales in my future.

  “Oh gosh. I remembered everything but my clothes,” I said.

  “You have your pyjamas though, right?” asked Yasmin, clutching the jeans and top she was about to change into.

  “Yeah, I have those.” I’d spent ages deciding which pair to pack.

  “Then you have clothes! Put them on. It’s not like anyone but Daphne’s mum will see us,” Yasmin said. “I’m going to wear mine too.”

  “Yeah! It’ll be like a real pyjama party,” said Daphne. She hung her dress back inside the wardrobe.

  Soon we were all wearing pyjamas and debating which movie to watch while we waited for our takeaway to arrive. Already, Daphne’s house was a million times more fun than mine. Dad would never abandon his shed for a movie night. Because, apparently, nothing beats the thrill of adding to one’s antique spoon collection.

  “Helen, you need me to save your eyebrows,” said Noor, unpacking her make-up bag. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

  I didn’t like the idea of Noor fiddling with my face. But she looked so excited! If it was going to make me friends, I’d be willing to sacrifice a few eyebrow hairs.

  Plus, she had the thick, perfectly arched brows of an Instagram model. If there was anyone I could trust with the two furry caterpillars on my face, it was Noor. She pulled her long black hair away from her face and into a high bun, and selected her tweezers. This girl meant business.

  “You’re so like my half-sister,” I said, while Noor examined my eyebrows between her thumbs.

  “Oh yeah? Is she also buff, with the best brow game this side of the river?”

  “Very funny,” I said, trying to keep still under her grip. “She’s desperate to sort out my face. Always giving me make-up and telling me what to wear, just because she’s a make-up artist. It’s so annoying.”

  Noor pulled back. “Shut the front door. Your big sis is a make-up artist. For real?”

  Uh-oh. Here came the questions. I had to deflect big time.

  “Half-sister. And she works on some breakfast TV show with Z-list celebs. It’s nothing special.”

  “Babe, it doesn’t matter if she’s your third cousin twice removed. Getting paid to do make-up is, like, my life’s ambition. And now I finally know a real make-up artist!”

  Just. My. Luck. I should have known that Noor, who has more lip gloss than stationery in her pencil case, would be all over Aphrodite’s job.

  “Do you think she’d give me some advice?” she asked.

  I thought about Aphrodite’s mood swings. If she was this terrible to me, her half-sister, imagine how rude she could be to my friends? “Um, maybe, but I’m not so sure that—”

  “I know! The next sleepover should totally be at your house.”

  My heart sank. There’s no way Dad would let me have a sleepover. Noor was welcoming me into their gang, and I was forced to lie my way out of it.

  “I’d love to, but my dad’s not too keen on me having friends over. He works late in his office and doesn’t like the house to be too noisy,” I said, hoping they’d buy it.

  Noor’s smile dropped. “Oh. No worries.” Now I’d upset Noor, who had been kind to me from day one. Great.

  “What’s the point of putting on a film if no one’s watching it?” interrupted Yasmin. “You two are chatting, and Daphne’s taken about a million selfies since the movie started.”

  “OK, Daphne, who are you texting that’s more important than pizza?” I asked. She had barely touched her slice of pepperoni.

  “Huh? It’s Adam from Spanish. He was asking me for … homework help,” said Daphne, her pale cheeks flushing pink.

  Yasmin paused the film and side-eyed Daphne. “Homework help? On a Friday night? I don’t buy it.”

  “What did he say?” Yasmin asked, now peering over Daphne’s shoulder. “Spill!”

  “He said ‘What you up to now, señorita?’” said Daphne.

  “That’s not all! He left two kisses and a red heart emoji,” said Yasmin. “That almost makes up for the fact that he spelt ‘señorita’ with the letter ‘y’.”

  “The red heart emoji is no jokes, babe,” said Noor. “He must be into you.”

  Daphne broke into a shy smile and the tips of her ears went pink.

  “Not gonna lie, I’m kind of jealous. It’s been ages since I messaged a guy. And even longer since I last kissed someone,” said Yasmin, fiddling with her box braids.

  “I know the feeling,” sighed Noor. “Can you forget how to kiss? Because it’s been months.”

  Luckily they didn’t ask me when my last kiss was. Because the answer would be “never”. Unless you count the time some boy ran up to me in the playground, gave me a peck on the lips and ran away. I was five, and Mum always joked it was my first ever kiss.

  All of the girls seem to have kissed someone before, and I’ve only ever kissed a five-year-old in a playground. With my mum watching. Was I stamped “LOSER” at birth? Was there an invisible force field around my gob only detectable by cute boys?

  I was probably the only girl in my year dealing with No First Snog Syndrome. The average age of first kisses is fourteen, and I don’t turn fifteen until the summer, so there’s still time. But it’ll take even longer if I insist on holding out for true love. Or at the least, a boy that doesn’t overdo it with eye-watering amounts of Lynx body spray.

  At least I wasn’t the only one without a boyfriend. Maybe they were all as fussy as me?

  “It’s not just you, Noor. The ratio of eligible guys to girls in our school is seriously off,” Yasmin said. “I’ve done the maths.”

  “That’s hella depressing,” Noor said. “You did maths out of choice?” Yasmin playfully smacked her with the nearest pillow.

  “You know what we need to do, gang?” I asked. “Make a list!”

  They were all quiet for a second.

  “Um, do you need to go to the shops or something, Helen?” Daphne asked.

  “Let me explain. My mum always said that saying things out loud is the first step to making it happen,” I said. “You know: speaking it into existence. We could do the same for our future boyfriends?”

  After a few minutes, we each read out our Ideal Guy lists:

  Daphne: mustn’t be embarrassed by nipping to the shops for tampons and chocolate once a month. Or at any other time, for that matter.<
br />
  Yasmin: must not be intimidated by a girl who is smarter and more ambitious than him.

  Noor: must think of romantic dates. I’m not spending hours on these eyebrows for a Friday night at the cinema.

  Me: must be able to handle an eccentric family.

  “Eccentric family, eh,” said Noor “will he be dating you or your dad?”

  “He can be a bit overprotective sometimes, that’s all,” I said.

  “Ugh, story of my life,” Yasmin said. “The only reason I’m not being forced to tag along on my parents’ trip to Ghana this Christmas is because my big bro is seventeen now. Apparently he can finally ‘babysit’.”

  “Isaac can babysit me any time,” Noor said, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow.

  Yasmin pulled a face. “Please! You’d end up looking after him. He can’t even microwave popcorn without smoking out the kitchen. He’s seriously annoying. And my parents let him get away with murder.”

  Daphne looked thoughtful. “How long are your parents away?” she asked.

  “Pretty much all of the Christmas holiday. They go every year. Why?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” asked Noor. “You’re meant to be the clever one,” she said, squeezing Yasmin playfully.

  “Yas! Your parents will be in another continent on the biggest party night of the year. You should have a house party,” Daphne said.

  Yasmin’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “Are you mad, bruv?! If Dad found out, he’d put me under house arrest until uni.”

  I dreaded to think what would happen if I broke any of Dad’s rules. I wouldn’t see my phone for weeks. Maybe this thunderbolt temper I’d heard so much about would make an appearance, too.

  “If he found out. And they won’t, if you get their golden boy Isaac to help cover it up,” Noor said.

  “Plus, if Isaac and his mates are there then the party won’t get out of hand,” Daphne chipped in. “It would be so much fun! I’d much rather spend New Year’s Eve with my besties than here at home. Mum and her friends will just drink too much, sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and ask me if I’m ‘courting’.”