by Kieran Scott
“True! What’re you doing here?” Charlie asked pleasantly.
“We followed you after school and asked the coach what you were doing,” I said. “He told me the cross-country tryouts would take about forty-five minutes, so we waited.”
His brow knit, and he eyed me curiously. “Okay.”
“So did you make the team?” Stacey asked, biting her bottom lip.
“I did, yeah,” he replied.
“That’s amazing!” Stacey cheered, gripping me even harder.
“Um . . . thanks?” He shot me a question with his eyes.
“This is Stacey,” I told him, smiling my encouragement. “She loves to read, excels at math, and plays the flute in the school orchestra. Oh, and she detests football.”
They both seemed nonplussed by my introduction, but Stacey recovered first.
“I saw your audition after class today,” she told him, touching his forearm with her fingertips. “You were . . . amazing.”
Charlie blushed. “Wow. Thanks. You play the flute?”
“Second chair,” she replied, looking at her feet. “It’s not as cool as drums.”
“No, no. Flute’s cool,” Charlie said.
They both laughed. They grinned and shifted their feet and turned all sorts of colors. I might not have had my powers of intuition, but even I could see that these two were hitting it off.
“Why don’t you guys go out and celebrate?” I suggested, detaching myself from Stacey’s side. “You made the team!” I cheered, tilting my head toward Stacey and hoping Charlie would get the message.
“Yeah?” Charlie said, eyebrows raised.
“Totally!” Stacey enthused. “You’re new here, right? Have you been to Goddess yet? It’s amazing!”
“Um . . . no. I—”
“Good! Let’s walk into town. I’ll show you around,” Stacey suggested, gathering up her things. Charlie bent to pick up her flute case and Stacey preened. Perfect. They were perfect. Or, perhaps, amazing.
“Okay. But I have to hit the locker room and get my stuff.”
As the two of them moseyed off together, Charlie turned around and gave me a double thumbs-up, the flute case hooked around two of his fingers. I grinned and waved, watching them until they’d disappeared inside, Charlie holding the door open for his lovely girl.
With a breath of relief, I reached up and laid my hand over Orion’s arrow. My heart swelled and tears stung my eyes, remembering the first time we’d met. It was almost three thousand years ago, and a love connection was not in the cards—at least not for us—but still, it was a memory I now cherished. I walked to a nearby bench and sat with my eyes closed, my face tipped to the sun, letting the remembrance embrace me.
• • •
“Come one, come all! Come god, come mortal! None of you can best me when there’s bow and arrow in my grasp!”
Orion threw his sinewy arms wide, turning in a slow circle at the center of the wide, sun-dappled hills of the poppy field, a favorite meeting place for the lower gods and goddesses near the apex of Mount Olympus. I had heard tales of his bravado, but this was the first time I’d ever seen it for myself. I understood why so many women in the heavens and on Earth had fallen for the guy. He was a perfect specimen. Obnoxious, to be sure, but otherwise perfect.
I approached, my bow at my side, my quiver fastened, as it always was, to my back.
“We have a taker!” he crowed to the clumps of gods and goddesses lounging in the flowers along the knoll. I saw my nemeses—the twins Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, and Apollo, God of Light—draped over each other, along with Artemis’s Titaness friend Hecate, who was even more awful than they were. Her black eyes were trained on me as she leaned toward Artemis’s ear to whisper. “And you are?” Orion said to me.
“She is Eros, the Goddess of Love!” Artemis shouted. “She fancies herself the greatest archer on Mount Olympus.”
A few of the other gods laughed, and I smiled. “It is not a fancy,” I called back, “but a proven fact.”
“You have not tested me,” Artemis replied, a shadow passing through her eyes.
“Then come forth,” I shouted back. “Orion has the test laid out for us!”
I gestured to the target Orion had fastened to the tallest tree at the edge of Gaia’s Wood, a dark and magical forest, home to all sorts of exotic and unnatural beasts. Artemis squinted at the bull’s-eye, her hand held up to guard against the sun.
“She will not take the bait,” Orion said, leaning toward my ear. The masculine scent of him was very appealing, the odors of sweat and blood and wine. “Of all the goddesses, I find Artemis to be the most vile. She has the bark, but not the bite.”
“And you?” I said, looking him up and down. “What do you look for in a mate?”
He smiled wickedly, and I opened my inner ear to his heart of hearts. “Submission,” he replied, even as I read his real desire. He longed for someone who could be his equal. Someone who would challenge him. A great beauty with whom he could forge new adventures. Someone who would fight by his side and love him forever.
A mischievous plan formed in the back of my mind. I turned to the hill.
“Come, Artemis!” I shouted jovially. “Let us play!”
The other gods and goddesses cheered, goading her on. I saw my sister Harmonia and her friend Hephaestus, the divine craftsman, stand up and applaud on the opposite hill. They made an intriguing pair. While Harmonia was as pristine, regal, and sweetly smiling as ever, Hephaestus was covered in the soot of his forge, which made his already dark skin appear black as pitch, and he wore his ever-present stoic and suspicious expression. Nike and Selene and several of the other lower gods and goddesses were there as well, obviously excited by the prospect of a contest. It was perfection. Artemis might have backed down from the challenge with some flimsy excuse if we were alone, but with an audience, I knew she’d never yield. After another whisper from Hecate, she rose to her full, willowy height and strolled down to us, her bow and quiver clutched in her hands.
“Fine,” she said as she stood next to me, her brown curls bouncing around her shoulders. “Who shoots first?”
“I do,” I told her. “For it was I who issued the challenge.”
“Actually, I believe it was I who issued the challenge,” Orion said.
“Oh, well,” I replied innocently, lifting a shoulder.
Then, before either of them could react, I pulled out two of my golden arrows and shot them each through the heart. Artemis stumbled back a few feet, clutching her chest. Orion did the same. The crowd gasped. Then the pair of them looked up into each other’s eyes and melted.
“Orion!” Artemis cried.
“My love!” he replied.
“No!” Apollo wailed from the knoll.
But he was too late. The cockiest man on Earth fell into the waiting arms of the most awful goddess on Mount Olympus. Victory was mine.
“What have you done?” Apollo demanded, appearing at my side in a blink. Hecate remained on the hill, seething, her fists clenched at her sides.
“I believe they are well matched,” I replied, laughing as Artemis pushed Orion to the ground and climbed on top of him.
“You have defiled my sister,” Apollo seethed, his dark eyes aflame. “You will pay for this!” He let out a mighty screech and whirled off as Harmonia and Hephaestus appeared at my side.
“Ugh. No one needs to see that,” Hephaestus said, staring at the couple nonetheless.
“I think it’s sweet,” I replied giddily.
“You’re too capricious, Eros,” Harmonia scolded me.
“Please! They deserve each other!” I cried. “There are no two more obnoxious beings on Earth or in the heavens.”
Harmonia sighed. “This is the type of thing that can come back to haunt you.”
“I’m not afraid,” I told her, lifting my chin. “I’m never afraid.”
• • •
A door slammed and I blinked myself back to the now, back to Earth
. My headache suddenly felt less severe, with Orion so vivid in my memory. I could do this. I was still good at my job. In fact, I pretty much kicked ass at my job. Less than eight hours and already I’d matched the perfect couple. It would be no time before I saw Orion again for real. Before I held him in my arms. Sensing that Zeus was watching, I looked up at the sky with a cocky sort of scowl.
I hoped he knew what I was thinking right then.
One down, two to go.
CHAPTER NINE
Katrina
“Katrina! I’ve been meaning to come find you.”
Dr. Krantz, the school psychologist, gave me his biggest, friendliest smile as he walked toward me in the main hall. The school was mostly deserted, and there was nowhere for me to run. I should have known this was coming, but I still felt a spark of anger at the sight of him. I knew what he wanted—to sit me down and pick my brain and ask me how I was feeling—and there was nothing I wanted to do less.
“So,” he said, cradling a book in his arm as he paused in front of me. “How was your summer? How are you?”
I always knew when people were really asking me whether or not I was still crushed about my dad by the way they pronounced the “are.”
“I’m fine,” I told him. “I was just going to the library to get some studying done, so . . .”
His bushy eyebrows shot up. “Studying after school on the first day? Well. We’ve come a long way.”
I pressed my teeth together. What was I supposed to say to that?
“How’s everything at home?” he asked. “How’s your mom?”
“Fine. Busy,” I said curtly. Did he really think I wanted to talk about this stuff with him? Every time he’d stalked me down during classes last year, I’d sat in his office, silent, until he’d finally given up. Maybe he thought that since I was clearly ready to do schoolwork, I would also be ready to spill my guts to a relative stranger. Not likely. “Can I go now?” I said finally.
His face fell. “Sure. But come by my office soon to chat. I want to help you, Katrina. That’s all.”
Stifling a groan, I slipped inside the air-conditioned library. I still vividly remembered his face when I’d stepped into his office last year, clueless that my life was about to be turned upside down. He’d said the right sympathetic things, but when my mother had buckled to the floor, I swear there was this gleam in his eye. Like on some level he was glad. Like he relished having a potential real patient with a real problem, instead of the girls who went to him every day sobbing over a breakup.
I would never forgive him for that.
The school library was silent and still. I walked past the larger study tables, their chairs tightly tucked in, and headed for the windows where the smaller, two-person tables were set up. I almost tripped when I saw Zadie in the corner. She had a laptop open in front of her, the logo for the school’s literary magazine—the Muse—plain across the top of the page she was typing into. I sat down at the table farthest from her, and she gave me a quick, uncertain wave.
Hi, I mouthed.
She smiled, pushed her glasses up, and went back to her typing.
“Can I help you with anything?”
I nearly jumped out of my chair, startled by the full-voice question. Mr. Carlson, one of the school librarians, hovered behind me. He wore his hair in about a million braids that he tied back with a standard tan rubber band, and his blue cotton tie was loosened around his neck. There were a bunch of earring holes in his ears, but no earrings, which had led to the rumor that he’d once been in a hard rock/reggae band but burned out young, landing himself a high school job instead.
“No. I’m fine,” I said.
He didn’t move, but kept his dark eyes fixed on me. My palms started to sweat.
“Is it—I mean—am I not supposed to be here?” I asked.
“Depends on what you were planning on doing,” he said.
I tugged my history text out of my backpack. “Um, studying?”
Mr. Carlson blanched slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry. We’ve . . . last year we had a lot of issues with students using the library for other . . . inappropriate—”
My face burned, and I wasn’t sure if it was for him or for me. What did he think I was going to do? Smoke a joint? Meet a guy to hook up? What?
“Dad! God!” Zadie hissed.
We both stared at her. She widened her eyes, and Mr. Carlson backed away.
“I apologize,” he said formally. “Go about your business.”
He shot Zadie a look and quickly walked back to the front desk. It took a good two minutes for me to feel comfortable again. I eyed Zadie as I reached for my poetry notebook. So she was Mr. Carlson’s daughter? Interesting.
“Katrina! There you are!”
Ms. Day had appeared as if from nowhere. Was everyone at this school trying to give me a heart attack?
“Dr. Krantz said she saw you come in here. I’m so relieved.” She was out of breath, her hand over her heart. “Would you mind coming with me?”
“Um . . . sure.”
I was already shaking as I shoved my stuff back into my bag. I caught Zadie watching me and pretending she wasn’t. I knew what she was thinking. What did that girl do? I was thinking the same thing. Was I in trouble? For what? It was only the first day of school. I couldn’t possibly have done anything wrong yet, could I?
Keeping my head down as I passed Mr. Carlson’s judging eyes, I followed Ms. Day along the dark-gray carpet and out into the hall. She led me past students straggling at their lockers and teachers chatting over schedules, into the English department’s office. It was a cramped space with two cluttered, badly lit square rooms. Sitting in the second room behind a huge desk was Mrs. Roberge. She was in charge of the English department and taught honors classes, and she was totally intimidating. Her shoulders were wide and square, and she wore her brown hair clipped close to her head like a helmet, with two points coming forward over her ears. Two streaks of dark-pink blush marked her cheekbones, and she had on enough eyeliner to keep Lana happy for a year. I stood in front of her and waited for her to speak, wrapping the fringe on my scarf around my index finger. Then she shifted, and I noticed that on her desk was my paper.
“Katrina Ramos . . . ,” Mrs. Roberge said, eyeing me suspiciously. She lifted my paper, pinching opposite corners with her fingers so I could see it. “You wrote this?”
My heart jolted. Was that what this was about? Did they think I’d plagiarized my paper or something? My throat closed over and I nodded. “Um . . . yes?”
Great. That sounded confident.
Mrs. Roberge’s face lit up. When she smiled, she looked pretty and about ten years younger. I hadn’t known that before because I’d never seen her smile.
“It. Is. Excellent,” she said, enunciating each syllable.
A whoosh of air filled my lungs. “Really?”
“Really,” Ms. Day said behind me.
“It’s so excellent that we’d like to move you into my honors English class,” Mrs. Roberge continued, laying the paper down again and folding her fingers on top of it. “Ms. Day has always taken issue with your being demoted to standard levels this year, and now that I’ve read this, I have to agree.”
I beamed at Ms. Day.
“It involves switching your econ section,” Mrs. Roberge continued, “but we’ve already spoken to your guidance counselor and he raised no objections.”
“That would be great,” I said. “I . . . thank you.”
“Good. Then tomorrow you will be with me sixth period and have economics directly afterward,” Mrs. Roberge said. “Come ready to challenge yourself.”
“I will. Okay,” I said, glancing over at Ms. Day, then at the door. “Should I—?”
“I’ll walk out with you,” Ms. Day offered.
“Bye,” I said to Mrs. Roberge. She lifted a hand but had already moved on to reading something else.
Out in the hallway, I felt like I didn’t know where I was. I looked left and right, wanting to scr
eam. I was going to be back in honors English. I was on my way. My dad would be so—
Suddenly tears sprang to my eyes and my whole chest felt heavy. My dad. My dad my dad my dad. I wished I could tell my dad.
“Congratulations, Katrina,” Ms. Day said, squeezing my arm. “I’ll miss having you, but you definitely deserve to be bumped up.”
I cleared my throat. “Thanks, Ms. Day. I’ll, um . . . I’ll miss you, too.”
She laughed, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to say that.”
“No. I really will,” I said, trying to cling to the excitement and not let the heaviness take over. “Thanks for everything.”
Ms. Day nodded. “You don’t have to thank me. You did the work,” she said, checking her watch. “I should be going. I’ll see you around the halls!”
She walked off toward her classroom, but I felt frozen. I didn’t want to go back to the library now, but I couldn’t go home, and Ty wouldn’t be here for another half hour. I looked out the window through the open door of the main office. It was beautiful outside, sunny and blue and bright. Maybe I’d celebrate by writing under a tree somewhere.
Taking a deep breath, I watched my feet as I walked down the hall, through the lobby, and out the front door. I would have killed to be able to call my father, but instead I imagined what he would say if he were here right now.
I knew you had it in you, mija. You’re your daddy’s girl.
I smiled sadly, longing to hear his voice, and tears stung my eyes. I fished out my phone to call someone, anyone, to keep from crying. The word HOME stared up at me.
Bad idea, Katrina. She won’t care and then you’ll be disappointed. But she would have to care, right? We’d had so many fights last year about my failing grades. This was a big deal. Maybe she’d be excited. Maybe we could even have a celebratory dinner together. It could happen.
I hit HOME, then instantly regretted it. But it was already ringing. I couldn’t back out now, because if the phone did wake her, and I hung up, she’d freak even worse. Shaking, hoping, holding my breath, I brought the phone to my ear. It rang twice. Three times. I felt sick to my stomach. The line connected. There was a scrabbling sound—her bringing the phone to her ear across the bed—then a yawn. I almost hung up.