by Audrey Hart
―Well, I went… I mean, I was…‖
―I think the word you‘re looking for is eavesdropping.‖ She flips her perfectly straight dark hair over her shoulder. ―So you heard what I said and, what? It upset you?‖
I swallow. ―A lot.‖
―That makes perfect sense, dear.‖
Again that annoying ―dear.‖
―The reason it makes sense is that we loathe in others what we loathe most in ourselves,‖
she says and walks away, as if she‘s won the battle.
Feeling dizzy, I take another sip from the goblet. Then I sit down on the nearest plush lounge chair to try to relax. I must look funny the way I‘m sitting, upright, my legs crossed at the ankles, my arms crossed and the tea perched awkwardly on my left elbow. So I can‘t blame her for laughing.
―There is nothing to be nervous about,‖ she moons, elegantly sliding onto another lounge chair. She props herself up on her elbow like a girl in one of those misleading TV ads for the casinos in Connecticut, where they are trying to convince you that everyone there is rich, beautiful and incapable of losing.
―I‘m not nervous.‖
―Zoe, we‘re both guilty of trying to protect the ones we love.‖
―Who am I trying to protect?‖
―That‘s just the question I was hoping you‘d answer.‖
―Well…how can I open up to you after you‘ve just made it pretty clear that you don‘t want anything to do with me.‖
―Oh, Zoe. It‘s adorable to think that you would have that kind of an impact on me.‖ Ouch.
―That you would matter so much so instantaneously.‖ Double ouch. ―But it‘s not you I‘m upset about. You‘re just an issue that my friends and I have to deal with.‖
―I‘m an issue?‖ Damn, she‘s good. She would rule Greeley if she transferred midyear as a senior.
―Now listen. What you heard in there was our business. It wasn‘t meant for your ears so it probably sounded terrible to you.‖
―It didn‘t sound good. I can tell you that.‖
―But you seem like a very wise little girl.‖ Little girl? Ugh. ―So I know that you‘re wise enough to realize that if a stranger were to appear in your home, you, in turn, would gather with your own friends and try to protect one another.‖
―Maybe I‘d just ask her where she‘s from first.‖
―Okay. Where are you from, Zoe?‖
I redden. Somehow I never saw that question coming. I need to take over this conversation now. I look around at the ridiculous opulence of the room and trill, ―Your place is gorgeous.‖
―I know.‖
I fight back an eye roll. There are a couple of girls at school that do that too. When you pay them a compliment, they don‘t say ―thank you‖; they say, ―Yes, it is,‖ as if your very existence and opinions are superfluous. But maybe I‘m oversensitive. I take a sip from the goblet. As I move to rest it on the arm of the chair, I ‗accidentally‘ spill half the tea on my legs.
―Oh no! I‘m so sorry,‖ I say. ―I spilled tea everywhere.‖
―Don‘t worry. You‘re not the only clumsy girl in the world,‖ she simpers, tossing me a linen napkin. ―And besides, I have more ambrosia.‖ I‘ve been corrected and I feel stupid and I lift my glass and she refills it from the impossibly cool and unique little kettle. I‘d love to be one of those girls with an eye for stuff like that. I wonder if she found it at a flea market in town, and then I remember that it‘s not an antique, because we‘re in ancient Greece and it‘s 1000 BC. Why can‘t I seem to find my footing? I feel like I‘m walking along a foggy precipice, about to lose my step at any point.
―You must be so run-down from your travels.‖
―Do I look that bad?‖
She just tilts her head.
―Well,‖ I laugh. ―It‘s been a rough few days, to say the least.‖ I sip some more of the ambrosia. The tiles on the floor look Mexican and it occurs to me that I might be sitting in the origin of fashion and design. Did all styles of the world come from this one place, this one lofty apartment in the clouds? I never get like this, all indulgently philosophical, like one of those hippies who says that you can hear all colors of the rainbow euphonically represented in Led Zeppelin‘s II if you listen to it while standing on your head with your eyes closed. Maybe it‘s the combination of ambrosia, butter soft pillows, and heaven-scented air, all helping me to unwind.
―You are an interesting girl,‖ Hera says. And she‘s got me now, because in this state of mind, I‘d love to talk about me. I want to know how I come off. I want a genie or a mean girl to analyze me and tell me what I am, why I‘m here.
―What‘s so interesting about me?‖
―You look to the walls and to the floor with this searching, lost gaze when here I sit and yet you don‘t want to look at me and ask me for answers.
It‘s puzzling, Zoe.‖
―I‘m sorry.‖
―You are afraid and insecure. There is nothing to be sorry about.‖
―I‘m not afraid.‖ Wait, why didn‘t I say I‘m not insecure?
―Then tell me what is wrong.‖
I take another sip and look out the large bay window. Trees I can‘t name dance in the breeze. The branches rise and fall and I can‘t help but feel like they‘re telling me to lighten up, to open up. Maybe Hera is right. What‘s the harm in talking a little?
―Zoe, you are amongst the gods. We are worshipped as the masters of your world. Have you any idea what others would give to sit where you are now? It is silly of you to waste this opportunity for enlightenment just because you‘re upset over a boy who could never be yours anyhow.‖
―Oh, no. This is not about Zeus.‖
―I saw the way you were with him. I‘ve seen it a thousand times, you know.‖
―You have?‖
―Look at him. He‘s the most beautiful man in the world. And do you know why that is?‖
I shake my head.
―Because he‘s not a man. He‘s a god. And so often young girls like you mistake his politeness and his charity for something else.‖
―He saw me naked, you know,‖ I snap. Love is annoying like that. It takes away your sense of humor and self-preservation.
Hera doesn‘t react. Did I actually say that out loud? Oh God.
―I was swimming. In a lake. And when I came out, he was watching me. Then he helped me get my things and he asked me out on a date.‖
―A date?‖
―Yeah, you know, he asked me to spend the day with him.‖
―Because you were lost.‖
―Because he liked me.‖
She sips her drink and eyes me carefully. ―Why were you wandering around the forest?‖
―Just something to do, I guess.‖
―Does your family know where you are?‖
―My parents are dead.‖ Did I just say that out loud too? What‘s happening to me?
―I‘m so sorry for your loss,‖ she says blithely.
―It happened when I was young. I‘ve had many years to adjust.‖ Another safe reveal. I‘m fine, really, and I take a sip.
Hera tilts her head to the side. She makes a sad expression and brings her hand to her heart.
―A loss like that, it must change you,‖ she says. ―To have no family.‖
―Well, I spend my summers with my aunt and uncle.‖ She rises to refill my goblet again.
How many goblets of ambrosia have I had so far? But before I can count them, Hera is talking again. ―They‘re not your parents, though, are they? They can‘t replace them.‖ She sighs.
―My parents are long gone as well. The gods, they‘re my family now.‖
―Aunt Sophia and Uncle Alex are pretty great actually. I mean, they‘re archeologists so—‖
With great effort, I force myself to rein it in.
Archeologists? Are you crazy, Zoe? I don‘t understand why I‘m so anxious to talk about myself. I never get like this; I‘m usually very private. It‘s a little freaky,
this sudden urgency to bring it all back to my story.
―Now, Zoe, if your aunt and uncle…what did you say their names were?‖
―Sophia and Alex,‖ I reply. It seems like a safe enough answer.
―Sophia and Alex must be missing you terribly right now. Because you don‘t seem like the kind of girl who wanders off on her own very often.‖
―Well…‖
She smiles. She‘s all teeth and big eyes. It‘s a fake smile. We learned about those in psychology class last year, how you can tell when a smile is genuine if the eyes crinkle and the gums show.
I take another sip of ambrosia. My face feels hot.
Wait, what were we just talking about? Oh right. Me!
―Hera, I actually do wander off a lot. But usually I don‘t go quite this far away.‖
―Oh, are you very far from home now?‖
―Yeah,‖ I laugh, feeling a giggle come on. ―Yeah, you could say that.‖
―How far?‖
Don‘t say it, Zoe. You can‘t say it.
―The farthest you can be from home.‖
―You‘ll have to be more specific than that, dear. I‘m very well traveled.‖ With a grin, I slide my feet onto the floor and prepare to blow Hera‘s high and mighty attitude right out of the water.
―Well, I think I might be a little more well traveled than you, dear.
Because I‘m from the future.‖
Chapter 30
Here‘s what I hoped would happen. I hoped that Hera would roll her eyes and say it‘s ridiculous and just move on to another subject. But the problem is that she believes me and now I have an open forum to tell my story. And for some reason, I can‘t help myself. So I‘m telling her all about what happened, how my uncle uncovered the temple and I snuck off and found the coin and put it on the giant iPhone and then there was a storm and I wound up traveling thousands of years back to now. Hera just nods. So I go on and tell her all about the future, about airplanes and the Internet and Greeley and archeology and cars and TV and she‘s still just nodding. Does nothing impress this girl?
―Oh my goodness,‖ I say. ―In all my rambling I‘ve forgotten to tell you the most important part.‖
―What‘s that, dear?‖
―In the future, you don‘t exist.‖
She blinks, startled. For the first time, I seem to have gotten her attention.
―Impossible,‖ she says.
―You‘re just a story. They say the ancient Greeks invented you and the other gods while they were sitting around the fire telling stories.‖ She‘s turning red. ―That‘s ridiculous. As if humans could ever conjure up anything so interesting.‖
―It‘s true. The gods are just stories to us. Humans rule the future, Hera.‖ She shifts in obvious discomfort. I watch her flip her hair over her right shoulder and run her hand through it.
For a second, I feel bad for her. I feel like I‘ve just told her there‘s no Santa Claus. But come on, Zoe. If the positions were reversed, she would be gloating right now, not sympathizing.
Hera clears her throat. She sits up straight in her chair and eyes me coolly. ―Well, I don‘t see how that‘s possible.‖
―That‘s because up here you look down on humans. You don‘t see their power.‖
She stands up abruptly and crosses the room. ―You‘re not making sense, dear,‖ she says.
―You‘re tired and confused from the ambrosia. Sitting in the house of a goddess and telling her she doesn‘t exist…‖
―Of course you exist now. But in the future, when you and the others are gone, all that‘s left are distorted stories.‖ I stand up. I have the floor and I have the power and I may not have a clique or the love of Zeus but I have the truth. ―They dress up as you for fun. Or they make jokes about you.
Like, there‘s this movie about a pregnant teenager and she says that you‘re really pretty and really mean.‖
―A ‗movie‘?‖
I shake my head. I don‘t have the patience to explain modern cinema.
―It‘s too complicated. All I mean is that this thing you have going here, it doesn‘t last forever. So I wouldn‘t get too cozy if I were you.‖ She laughs and says, ―I think I‘ll take my chances.‖ Her ego is like a brick and I want to break it. So I try again.
―Nobody worships you anymore, Hera. Nobody.‖
―Then who do they worship?‖
―Humans.‖
She gasps.
―It‘s true. Just ask Kim Kardashian. I mean, I don‘t personally worship her, but a lot of girls do.‖
―Is she a goddess?‖
―No.‖
―She must have some special power.‖
―Well, she has nice hair. And she‘s beautiful, I guess. But they‘re not special powers. And anyway, that‘s not the point. The point is that she‘s who people worship, not you.‖
―No human girl is more beautiful than a goddess,‖ Hera says, looking me up and down. She leans in for emphasis. ― Ever.‖
―Things are different in the future,‖ I say with a defiant smile. ―All that worship for the gods gets directed toward humans who are good-looking and have a lot of money.‖
―That‘s disgusting.‖
―It is pretty shallow. But it‘s the truth.‖
―It can‘t be. You have no proof,‖ she says. And I feel a little guilty again because her shoulders are slumped and she looks genuinely sad and I‘m not a mean girl and why did I even start all this in the first place? I sip the ambrosia. I sit back down.
―I didn‘t mean to upset you.‖
―You didn‘t,‖ she says. ―You‘re confused from your travels. At some point I‘m sure you hit your head.‖
I could carry on, telling her more and more about how irrelevant she and her friends become, but she looks so sad and I don‘t want to crush her.
They always say that people in cliques aren‘t as mean as they seem, that their cocky attitudes are a cover-up for all their insecurities and that they stick together because, at heart, they‘re all just afraid to be on their own.
I‘ve never really believed that. It‘s always sounded like a rationalization.
But sitting here now, and seeing this goddess so visibly shaken, I know I‘ll never look at cliques the same way ever again. Cliques are sad. It‘s sad that she‘s deluded enough to think that Zeus is her boyfriend. It‘s sad that she thinks any sort of power is permanent. It‘s sad that she had to be cruel to me before she could be nice to me.
Now that she knows I‘m from the future, she‘s probably intimidated by me, the way Greeley girls get when the daughter of a famous person or a guy from some castle in Europe arrives at school. I mean, I actually feel sorry for Hera. She probably wants to hitch a ride to the future, or to make me her automatic best friend now that we have a secret. She‘s just sitting there, not saying a word.
―You can ask me anything. Hera. It‘s okay. I‘m an open book.‖
―Do you want to go home?‖ she says.
―What?‖
―I can help you go home,‖ she says. ―You clearly don‘t belong here and you miss your…things. So I‘ll help you.‖ I swallow, feeling stupid and kicked aside. I mean, I just told her the secrets of the universe and she wants to send me away? She doesn‘t want to be my friend? Even if just for a little while?
―I don‘t know that there really is a way back home,‖ I tell her honestly.
―The Oracle told me to come to Olympus and that my destiny was here.
She didn‘t say anything about how to get home.‖
―The Oracle‘s an idiot.‖
―Excuse me?‖
―Anyone who has real power is up here.‖ She flips her hair to the side.
―You said you went through a door in the new temple.‖
―Well, sort of. I put the coin into that giant iPhone—‖
―You found a door, Zoe. Maybe they call doors ‗iPhones‘ in the future, but in the interest of getting you home, I think it‘s best we both speak the same langua
ge, mmm?‖
What is there to say? There is nothing to say. ―Mmm.‖
―The door you spoke of in the temple, was it made of a black, luminous material?‖
I nod.
Hera smiles. ―That door has a twin in the labyrinth here, on Olympus.‖
―It does?‖ For some reason this news upsets me.