Oh. My. Gods. omg-1

by Tera Lynn Childs

  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 Pacific Park.”

  “If there were boys like that at Pacific Park, 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 ripthe 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? “You know,” I say, putting my arms around them and pulling them back into a big hug, “I think this is great.”

  They both look at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. But if I’ve learned anything from moving halfway around the world, it’s that a change of plans can be a good thing. Sometimes it can even be a great thing. Right now, I can’t imagine what my life would be like if Mom and I were still in L.A. No Greek gods. No Griffin. No Nicole and Troy. No learning that I’m part-goddess. All those things feel like a natural part of my life now. Who knows what the next set of changes might bring? “We’re best friends, no matter how far apart we are,” I say. “Just because we have to go after life in different directions doesn’t mean we’re not still sisters on the inside.”

  When Damian leave
s to take Nola and Cesca back to Athens and their plane, Mom goes with him. I go running.

  As I lace up my Nikes I stop and stare at that perfect little swish.

  For years it’s meant so much to me-a symbol of my running, my passion, and my connection to my dad. Now I know that all those things are part of me that can’t be contained by a scrap of colorful leather.

  Quickly knotting my laces, I head out the front door and toward the beach.

  As my adrenaline flows, my mind clears and it’s like every moment of my life leading to this moment makes perfect sense. Nike is in my soul. In my blood. And so is my dad. Maybe I feel so close to him when I run because that’s when he’s closest to me-that’s when my Nike genes kick into full gear, and that’s my dad.

  I smile and shake my head. I’m a descendant of Nike!

  Maybe Mom was right-about not telling me sooner about my heritage. I mean, if I’d been labeled as a Nike I’d have been tossed in with the Ares crowd in a flash. Nicole and Troy and I might never have become friends. They would have been off-limits to me.

  And the truce I have with Stella would have been completely fake.

  We might not be best friends, but at least I know how to read her bullcrap and that she is genuinely starting to like me-even if it’s against her will.

  Reaching the rocky cliffs at the far end of the beach, I sink down into the powder-soft sand. Sure, Griffin and I could have still ended up together since we’d have been in the same clique, but nothing else about my life would be “I figured I’d find you here.”

  I look up as Griffin sits down on the sand next to me.

  “I was just thinking about you,” I say.

  “I would hope so,” he says, smiling, “I’ve been trailing you since you hit the beach.”

  “Couldn’t keep up, huh?”

  He shrugs. “Thought you needed some time.”

  He sits there, arms resting on his knees as he stares out over the water, looking at me with those breathtaking blue eyes. Though he doesn’t say anything, I know he knows.

  “Who told you?” I ask.

  “About your heritage?” He focuses on the water. “Travatas.”

  Suddenly there’s a distance between us, and not the physical kind. Griffin is miles away on the inside and I’m not sure what that means. What if that means there’s some kind of Olympic law against our dating? Maybe Ares’s and Nike’s aren’t allowed to“There was a prophecy,” he says, interrupting my increasingly panicked thoughts.

  “A prophecy?” This could be even worse. I remember that prophecy from Oedipus -what if Griffin is supposed to kill me, or, ew, what if we’re related or something.

  “Before I was born, my mother visited the oracle and requested a reading.” There’s a hint of sadness in his eyes. My panic vanishes as I realize that he’s thinking about his mom.

  “What did the oracle say?”

  He smiles sadly and shakes his head. “She told my mother that her son would find his match in a daughter of victory.”

  “Oh,” I say. Then, “Ohhh! Wow.”

  Daughter of victory. That’s me.

  Turning to look at me-a few stray curls falling across his forehead-he says, “Yeah, wow.”

  I tuck one of the curls behind his ear. “Well, I am the only one who beat your tail on the racecourse.”

  He throws back his head and laughs. “Oh Phoebe,” he says-I still get shivers when he says my name-and hugs me close to his side. “That’s the least of it. You just found out you’re Nike’s greatgranddaughter. You can do-almost-whatever you want in the entire world.”

  I close my eyes. It’s the almost that brings sudden tears to my eyes.

  All I can think is why did Dad choose football over staying with us? He loved us, I know he did. I have enough memories of him to know that without a doubt. Was football worth more than that?

  More than us?

  For six years I’ve thought he died in a freak accident, in some bizarre act of nature. That if he had known about it beforehand, he would have never played in that game. If he had only known, he would still be with us.

  But now I know he did know. Maybe not that he would be smoted at that particular game, but eventually.

  Everything I ever thought about my dad is wrong.

  Like I never knew him at all.

  Then again, when I’m running I can’t imagine giving that up for anything. I don’t think I would ever cheat, but maybe the temptation of greatness was more powerful than questionable ethics for Dad. Or maybe, like how mine tried to come out during the race, he hadn’t meant to use his powers.

  “I didn’t mean to try to cheat,” I say, wanting Griffin to know I would never cheat on purpose. “I know if Coach hadn’t grounded everyone’s powers, mine would have come out, but that’s not me.

  That’s not how I-”

  “Come on, Phoebe.” He levels an exasperated stare at me. “You’ve just realized you have powers. Of course it’s going to take some training to learn how to control them.” His lips creep into a small smile. “When I first got my powers I was eight. I zapped my nanny to the Amazon.”

  “But see…” I turn to face him. “… you’ve had ten years to practice. How can I expect to control them like you-”

  “You won’t,” he says, squeezing me closer. “Not at first.”

  I shake my head, overwhelmed by the idea of having powers and having to learn to control them.

  “For a while-maybe even a long while-they’ll be controlled by your emotions.” He places his hand over mine, lacing our fingers together. “Like today.”

  I turn to face him. “That’s what I’m worried about. I didn’t even know what I was doing. What if I-”

  “You wouldn’t have been driven to using your powers by the need to prove yourself if I hadn’t let my emotions get the better of me at tryouts.” He looks out at the water, his cheeks red. “I didn’t consciously knot your shoelaces, you know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He takes my hand and starts rubbing his thumb in little circles against my palm.

  He sighs. “I was so conflicted about my feelings for you-feeling like I should scare you off because I thought you were a nothos and at the same time feeling overwhelmingly attracted to you… to something inside you. Since that first morning on the beach. Even though I knew who-what-you were, I couldn’t stop feeling this way. I just-” His cheeks turn redder. “My powers responded to my emotions and-”

  “Sent me tumbling face-first into the dirt?” I say, joking. “Yeah, I remember that part.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, squeezing my hand tighter. “I wish I could go back and-”

  “So you’re saying even you can’t fully control your powers?”

  With his free hand, he rubs his palm against the knee of his jeans. “It takes a lifetime to have complete control. We all have to work at it.” Looking up at me from beneath his lids, he adds, “The teachers at the Academy can help you learn control faster than you ever could on your own.”

  Is he right? Would it be better if I stayed on Serfopoula through next year and learned how to use-I mean control my powers? “Who knows what havoc you might wreak on the poor, unsuspecting citizens of Los Angeles?” He leans over and nudges me with his shoulder. “You’d be endangering the safety of millions of people.”

  “Really?” I ask with feigned awe. “Am I that powerful?”

  He looks like he wants to lie, but thinks better of it-and a good thing, too, because I’ve had enough lies and half-truths to last me a lifetime.

  “No,” he admits. “Probably not. But you could level a house or two.”

  “Well, then. For the safety of Los Angeles,” I say in mock severity, leaning into his shoulder, “I should learn to control my powers before I return.”

  “So you’re staying?” he asks, his voice full of anticipation.

  “Through Level 13?”

  “Maybe…” I hedge. “If you’ll teach me one trick.”

  “Anyt
hing.”

  “Teach me how to turn water green.”

  He frowns at me. “What have you got planned?”

  “Nothing,” I promise innocently. “I just want to help my mom with her wedding color scheme.”

  “All right,” he says, laying back and pulling me down next to him. “I’ll teach you on one condition.”

  Smiling, I nudge closer until my mouth is inches from his.

  “What’s that?”

  “You never…” He leans forward to peck a kiss on my cheek. “… ever…” On my other cheek. “… use that trick…” On the tip of my nose. “… on me.”

  Instead of answering, I kiss him.

  I wonder if he realizes that no answer means no promise. Then he reaches up and cradles my cheek in his hand and I stop wondering anything.

  I’m kissing a boy with godly powers and movie-star-worthy looks.

  I’m part god myself. I’m surrounded by the turquoise Aegean, and stretched out on the pristine beach of Serfopoula, a tiny island I’m suddenly glad no one has ever even heard of.

  Epilogue

  WHEN THE ACADEMY’S string quartet plays the opening strains of Handel’s Water Music the flower girl-Damian’s four-year old niece-starts down the aisle, throwing white rose petals everywhere.

  Beside me I can feel Stella fuming, and not because I get to walk with Damian’s only attendant, his best man, and she has to walk alone.

  The wedding planner points to her and motions down the aisle.

  Stella shakes her head vehemently, backing up like she wants to leave the church.

  “Huh-uh,” I say, pushing her back into the doorway. “Don’t want to ruin the wedding.”

  Her stare could melt glass. And if Damian hadn’t grounded her powers this morning, I’d probably be a puddle on the floor right now. With one last snarl in my direction, she turns and walks toward the altar.

  I don’t know why she’s so upset.

  The green tint of her hair really brings out her eyes. And coordinates perfectly with her blue-green bridesmaid dress. I think after all the crap she put me through those first few weeks of school, I deserve a little good-natured retribution. Besides, it’s not like it’ll be documented for all eternity-Griffin taught me how to make sure it doesn’t show up in the photos.