So little trust.
"Of course, Daddy. We'll be fine." Stella looks at me. "I'll keep my eye on Phoebe."
"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask, stabbing at a carrot.
Stella just smiles and shrugs.
I scowl.
This is how our uneasy truce works. She makes obnoxious remarks like that-it's who she is. Queen of the cutting comments. Sometimes I let them slide. Sometimes I'm itching for a fight.
After the day I've had, my tolerance meter is on zero.
Focusing on one of the big fat kalamata olives on her plate, I picture a big ugly beetle. I know I can do this. I'm visualizing the olive turning into the beetle. I can see it. It's going to-
The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
As I stare at the olive, suddenly little black legs that look like licorice laces pop out on each side and start to wiggle around. All right, so the legs aren't even long enough to reach the plate. But still, it's a success. I wanted the olive to become a beetle and it (kinda) did.
My powers control is definitely improving.
At least I didn't conjure up real beetles or anything-
"Phoebe!" Damian roars.
I tear my eyes away from my success on Stella's plate.
Crawling up Damian's tie-and along his collar and out of his shirt pocket and over his cuff links-are real, live beetles.
"Good heavens." Mom gasps.
Damian closes his eyes, his jaw clenched in clear loss of patience.
Not again. "Here, let me-"
"No." Damian interrupts. "I'll take care of them."
He glows for a second and then the beetles are gone.
Why can't I have that kind of easy control? I mean, I know he's had a lifetime to learn, but just a little taste of containment would be nice.
"Damian, I'm sorry," I say, giving him my best apologetic look. "I shouldn't have tried to use my powers at the dinner table."
"No, you should not have." He releases a heavy sigh. When he opens his eyes, he smiles and picks up his fork. "Let's continue our meal, shall we?"
I glare at Stella, as if this is all her fault.
On the outside, she's all composure and highlights and happy, preppy chic. But her gray eyes are full of smug. Like my reaction- my botched powers usage-is exactly what she wanted. I think she enjoys our not-quite-sisterly sparring sessions as much as I do.
Sometimes I think it's more habit with us than actual dislike. Secretly- and I would never admit this under torture or threats of smoting or promises of ice cream-I actually kind of admire her. She never pretends to be anything but herself. Can't say that about most people.
She grabs an olive-the legs now hanging limp-and says, "I think it's lucky for all of us that you're going to boot camp. Mealtime will be safe again."
She pops the olive in her mouth and I'm only partly satisfied by the disgusted look on her face. The rest of me is still disappointed that my success turned to failure so quickly.
As much as Stella's snarky comment about boot camp bugs me, I know that controlling my powers is really important.
I'm tired of being a supernatural hazard.
After dinner, I retreat to my room and my laptop. I call up my IM chat and am relieved to find Nola and Cesca online. If anyone can cheer me up it's my two best friends.
LostPhoebe: hi girls!
PrincessCesea: Phoebe!
GranolaGrrl: we've been waiting for you forever
LostPhoebe: what's up?
PrincessCesea: we have exciting news
PrincessCesca: I got a summer internship with A La Mode magazine
PrincessCesca: in PARIS!!
LostPhoebe: omg Paris?!? awesome
PrincessCesca: tell me about it
LostPhoebe: when does it start?
PrincessCesca: the end of the month
LostPhoebe: maybe I can visit you
Paris is only a three-and-a-half hour flight from Athens, and Athens is only a three-hour ferry ride from Serifus-the next island over. I bet once I pass the test I can sneak away for a quiek visit. Of course that implies that I pass the test and don't end up hanging from some medieval torture device in the dungeon. With all my other distractions, that's nowhere near a sure thing.
For now, though, I'm just excited for Cesca. I know how much she loves Paris and fashion. This is perfect for her.
LostPhoebe: thats so awesome C!
PrincessCesca: thanks
PrincessCesca: I'm beyond excited
LostPhoebe: what's your news N?
GranolaGrrl: I might get a summer research grant from Berkeley
LostPhoebe: cool, what are you going to research?
GranolaGrrl: native cycladian flora
LostPhoebe: English please?
GranolaGrrl: the flowers of Serfopoula
LostPhoebe: OMG! does that mean you'd be coming here?
GranolaGrrl: yes!
GranolaGrrl: *if* I get the grant
I haven't seen Nola and Cesca since Mom and Damian's wedding last December. There was talk of me spending part of the summer with Yia Yia Minta in LA, or maybe visiting Aunt Megan in San Francisco, but when the Pythian Games trials came up, those plans got put on hold. If Griffin and I make the team, then we'll be training all summer for the games in late August. This is a once-every-four-years opportunity, so I can't just toss it aside.
But if Cesca is as close as Paris and Nola comes to Serfopoula itself, then it won't matter if I can't get to Cali.
LostPhoebe: when do you find out?
GranolaGrrl: who knows?
GranolaGrrl: whenever the grant committee comes back from summer hiatus
LostPhoebe: you guys do not know how much you just made my day
GranolaGrrl: something wrong?
LostPhoebe: no, just a tough day
LostPhoebe: so much better now
GranolaGrrl: gotta go
GranolaGrrl: mom calling
PrincessCesea: me too
PrincessCesca: Tons of packing to do
LostPhoebe: night girls
LostPhoebe: so glad you're heading my way
When I sign off my computer i feel a million times better. It's amazing what a difference a little chat can make.
As I fall into bed, I'm not even thinking about tomorrow. Or about Griffin and Adara. Or the stupid test. Or Dad. Or accidental smoting. In my mind it's already weeks from now and my two best friends are here.
Now, if only actual time would fly that fast.
"Rise and shine, camper."
Through the fog of sleep I hear a disgustingly cheerful voice. Stella's disgustingly cheerful voice. I must be having a nightmare. In real life Stella is never cheerful. Condescending? Yes. Obnoxious? Absolutely. Just. Not. Cheerful.
"Come on. Phoebekins." the voice says. "You need to get up and see Dad and Valerie off. And you don't want to be late for camp."
I'm blinded as my comforter is jerked away and my eyes are exposed to the morning sunlight streaming in my window. Squinting, I force one eye open.
"What are you doing in my room?" I grumble.
"Waking you up, silly." She takes me by the wrist and pulls me into a sitting position. "They're leaving in ten minutes."
The instant she releases my wrist I fall back into my fluffy white bed.
But my eyes are open.
As she walks away I eye her warily. It's not like Stella to be so sickeningly enthusiastic. She's more the scowl-of-superiority type. But today, everything about her screams joyfulness. From her sunny yellow twinset to her bright white Keds.
Wait. Stella doesn't wear sneakers. Not even the casual preppy kind.
Something is definitely suspicious.
"Are you up. Phoebola?" Mom asks, poking her head in my door. "You know we're leaving in-"
"I'm up already." I say, flinging my comforter to the side.
"Is Phoebe awake?" Damian asks, walking up next to Mom. When he sees me climbing out of bed he adds. "Good, your mother and I are a
bout to depart."
"I know." I rub the sleep out of my eyes as I stumble across the room. "Just give me two minutes in the bathroom."
I squeeze around Mom and Damian and then past Stella, who is waiting in the hall. When did my room become Union Station? Thankfully I sleep in a modest T-shirt and smiley-face boxers.
In the bathroom I quickly splash cold water on my face and run a hairbrush through my hair. I don't have the energy to pull it into a ponytail, so I just leave it hanging over my shoulders. I can always secure it later.
When I open the bathroom door, all three of them are standing there waiting for me.
"For the love of Nike," I say, exasperated. "Would you two bon voyage already so 1 can go back to waking up in peace?"
Mom gives me a ha-ha-very-funny look. What were they thinking leaving at eight in the morning, anyway? Thailand will still be there in the afternoon.
I shuffle into my room, closing the door before any of them can follow me. Thirty seconds later I've traded my boxers for sweats and have pulled on my All Stars so I can see them off.
In a bizarre little parade, we all traipse down to the dock. Zenos, the yacht captain, is carrying two of Mom's megasuitcases and Damian is carrying the other. I'm struggling with Mom's carry-on- which I suspect has at least a week's worth of clothes. Mom is walking hand in hand with Hesper, who is way more like family than staff. Stella is carrying-yep, you guessed it-nothing. How does she always manage to get out of these things? She's like the Houdini of grunt work. Makes Tom Sawyer look like an amateur slacker.
As Damian and Zenos load the suitcases, Mom faces me and Stella.
"Now you're sure you girls will be all right?" she asks, again.
I'm tempted to employ sarcasm, but the fear that she might actually take it seriously makes me say. "Of course, Mom."
"Really. Valerie." Stella adds. "I have everything under control."
I drop Mom's carry-on on Stella's Keds-clad foot.
"Because we can cancel the trip," Mom says. And I know from the supersad look in her eyes, she'd do it, too. She wouldn't want to- she's been dreaming of this trip for months-but she would.
I scoot the carry-on off of Stella's foot.
"Seriously, we'll be fine," I say, giving her my best I'll-behave-like-an-adult sincerity. "Stella and I can get along for a few days." I don't look at Stella because I don't think I can hold a straight face. "I'll be busy training and going to camp."
"If you're sure…" Mom's eyes get all watery.
"Besides, we're on an island protected by the gods," I say, throwing my arms out wide. "What could possibly go wrong?"
know, I know. Whenever someone says that in movies, something goes terribly wrong. But seriously, this is the island of the gods-they even have the souvenir T-shirts to prove it. There are supernatural safeguards.
"Don't work too hard." she insists, pulling me into a hug.
"I won't."
"Don't spend all your time worrying about the test."
"I won't."
"1 wish this was something I could help you with, she sniffs. "I feel so powerless and-"
"I know, Mom." I lean back and give her my best seriously-I'm-an-adult-and-I'm-totally-fine look. "Really, I have to figure it out on my own."
Hopefully with a little help from Goddess Boot Camp.
"The yacht is ready,Valerie," Damian says. "We must depart or we will miss the ferry in Serifos."
Mom's tears start to fall. "I'll call you every day, she says, squeezing me one last time.
"You will not, I insist. "This is your honeymoon. Enjoy it. Don't spend all your time worrying about me."
When she releases me,she quickly wipes away her tears. Stella steps forward and gives her a quick hug.
"I'll take care of your girl, Valerie." she promises.
Okay. I am seriously getting tired of Stella's patronizing comments. Like I'm some kind of little kid who needs to be watched over. She's months-not years-older. But I am not about to try for revenge with Mom and Damian standing right there. If I mess up- or maybe I should say whenI mess up-they'll cancel their trip in a second. And then I'd feel really, really guilty.
"Go, I say, shooing Mom toward the boat.
With one last little hug, she hurries to join Damian. Zenos unties the yacht from the dock and takes his place at the wheel. As they pull away, Stella and I stand there waving-perfectly fake smiles pasted on both our faces. Hesper steps to the end of the dock, pulls a white handkerchief from her dress, and starts waving it at the retreating yacht.
"Don't worry," I shout as they escape hearing distance. "If I have to kill Stella, I'll bury her body in the rose garden."
Not that we have a rose garden.
I brace myself for Stella to zap me into the water. When she doesn't, I sneak a peek from the corner of my eye. She's still smiling and waving.
There is definitely something wrong with her.
"Are you feeling all right?" I ask nervously.
"Wonderful, she says, never taking her eyes off the yacht.
"Why are you being so-"
"You'd better hurry, she interrupts, turning abruptly to give me a brilliant smile. "Wouldn't want to be late for the first day of camp."
She turns and walks away and I'm left staring after her, totally confused.
"The house will feel so empty." Hesper says sadly, still waving her white hankie.
"If you want, I offer, "I could conjure up a houseguest or two."
"No, she chides with a cluck. "You girls will keep me busy enough. Besides, she says, giving me a sly look, "with your luck the entire Greek navy would appear at our door."
"Hesper," I gasp.
"Run along, girl," She motions me up the path to the house. "Your camp will hold more surprises than you can imagine."
As I climb the path, I think Hesper must be exaggerating. I mean, it's just a summer camp. How surprising can it be?
Chapter 3
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
VISIOMUTATION
SOURCE: APHRODITE
The ability to change the appearance of an object. This results in a lasting, but reversible, physical alteration. Such alterations include changes of color, texture, and shape, but are limited to visible qualities.(See Visiocryption for temporary changes of appearance.)
DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE * Stella Petrolas
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
MY FIRST CLUE that something is very, very wrong is the giggling. It hits me like a wave of endorphins as I pull open the door to the Academy courtyard. Girls giggling. Lots of girls giggling. Lots of younggirls giggling.
When I step into the open, I see them huddled in a little giggling mass around a bench in the far corner. There are at least a dozen of them. And they are all, like, ten.
I look desperately around the courtyard for signs of anyone who has successfully survived puberty. No. There is only me and the ten-year olds.
Sticking close to the wall, I inch farther into the courtyard, hoping there's someone else hiding somewhere. If anything can send a teenager into hiding, it's a swarm of ten-year-old girls. They could repel an invading army, given the right circumstances.
"Then what did he do?" one of the girls squeals.
After a brief hushed whisper another one says, "Ew! His tongue? That's gross."
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Surely there's some kind of mistake. They must be here for some other camp or summer school or something. Maybe I got the location wrong? Or the time?
I twist my backpack off my shoulder and retrieve the flyer from the outside pocket. I'm in the right place. At the right time.
Still, maybe they're here for another reason.
Or maybe I've transported to another universe.
"Hey, are you one of our counselors?" a girl calls out.
They've spotted me hovering again
st the wall, clutching the flyer to my chest. All of them turn to look at me and then-I press my back tighter against the wall-walk toward me. My adrenaline starts pumping as my body screams for me to run.
Okay, you may be thinking that I have some kind of irrational fear of ten-year-olds. Not true. Fear? Yes. Irrational? Not on your life.
Two summers ago the track coach from USC-my one and only dream college until a few months ago-asked me to be a counselor for their middle-school running camp. It was me and a girl from Orange County against more than a hundred fifth and sixth graders. I still have nightmares.
So when I see a herd of them closing in on me, I kind of panic. "N-no," I stammer. Then I straighten my back-never let them see your fear. As casually as possible, I ask, "What camp are you here for?"
"Duh," one of the girls says. "Goddess Boot Camp." My heart drops like a lead weight into my stomach. Nicole's uncontrollable laughter when she found out I was going to this stupid camp now makes total sense.
"If you're not a counselor," another asks, "why are you here?"
"Um… ah…" I just can't bring myself to say it. "I, uh…"
"She's here," a whiny voice says, "for the same reason as you."
I turn toward the voice, hoping my cars are playing a trick on me, but knowing exactly who I'll find standing in the doorway to the courtyard. What have I done to deserve this kind of punishment? Did I piss off the gods in a past life or something?
Seriously, of all the people who might witness my humiliation, Adara is the worst. Partly because I know my hope to keep this under wraps is now a total fantasy. Mainly because I know she will love watching every second of it. From the smug smile on her face, she already is.
She looks like camp counselor Barbie. Even in the shadow of the doorway, her yellow-blonde hair glistens. She's wearing a pair of pink camo cargo pants and a tight white baby tee that says GODDESS BOOT CAMP in glittery pink army letters.
I feel a bit scruffy in my old gray sweats and my I'M THE FAST GIRL YOUR MOTHER WARNED YOU ABOUT tee.
Goddess Boot Camp omg-2 Page 4