Goddess Boot Camp omg-2

by Tera Lynn Childs

  If Nola comes to visit, then all will be right with the world.

  Or half right anyway. If she and Cesca both come it will be perfect.

  To: lostphoebe@theacademy.gr

  From: princesscesca@pacincpark.us

  Subject: Paris Is Calling

  Hey hot stuff. Just a quick e-mail to update my sched. I've got to be in Paris, like, yesterday. I'm on a plane tomorrow and have to report to work at six the next day-that's six in the *moroing*! Ugh. I'm busypacking. Don't know when I'll be able to e-mail, but I'll get in touch as soon as I can. Want anything from the city of lights?

  XOXO Cesca

  Cesca is even less of a morning person than I am, but I know that she'll do anything to spend the summer traipsing around after fashion designers in her personal holy city. One day her designs will grace the covers of every major fashion magazine.

  To: losiphoebe@Iheacademy.gr

  From: valeriepetrolas@hotmail.com

  Subject: We've Got Mail

  Phoebola,

  Sorry we haven't called, International rates from Bangkok are phenomenally expensive. But e-mail is not. They have a business center in the hotel lobby, so here I am. We arrived safely and will stay in Bangkok for two more days before setting out on the guided tour of the rest of the country. We're actually going to be in Phuket for their international marathon. We'll get you a souvenir t-shirt.

  Is everything going alright at home? You and Stella haven't strangled each other, have you? How were your first days of boot camp? Make any new friends?

  I know that controlling your powers is an unfamiliar challenge, but you are the strongest, most dedicated, strong-willed young woman I've ever known.You have your fathers drive to succeed, and that more than anything else will see you through this trial. I have absolute faith in you.

  Damian and I are on our way to a traditional Thai dance performance, a style called khon.I will write more when I can. Call if you need anything.

  Have fun and don't murder your stepsister.

  Love,

  Mom

  That's pretty cool that they'll get to see an international marathon. I wish I could go. Before we moved to Serfopoula, I never had a burning desire to be anywhere but Southern California. Now I wish I could go everywhere. It's like if being in Greece changed my perspective on the world so much-for the better-then I can only imagine how different I would be if I saw even more of it.

  I send Mom a quick reply-mainly because I think she'll brave the cost of a phone call if I don't. My mind is such a mess right now I know she'd pick up on it and the last thing I need is her turning into therapist Mom from thousands of miles away.

  I don't want to open the next e-mail, but know I should.

  To: lostphoebe@theacademy.gr

  From: cheergirl@theacademy.gr

  Subject: Boot Camp Update

  Greetings Campers

  PROPER CAMP ATTIRE: Please wear closed-toe shoes and long pants every day. NO SHORTS or SANDALS!!! This is for your own protection.

  Tomorrows boot camp will be something SPECIAL! Meet in frontof the maintenance shed at the north end of the quad at 10 A.M.! Latecomers will be left behind and this is a day you will not want to miss!

  –Adara-

  I roll my eyes. Besides her overuse of exclamation points and her tendency to yell, the idea that we're doing "something special" in camp tomorrow is not exciting. It's terrifying.

  Next is an administrative message from Ms. T, the Level 13 coordinator.

  To: Level 13 Students

  From: tyrovolas@theacademy.gr

  Subject: Upcoming School Year

  Attention all returning Level 13 students:

  Summer is not too early to begin planning your academic future. You will meet in individual sessions with your assigned adviser at the end of August, but I encourage you to review the course catalog and make a list of those you would like to schedule. Because many Level 13 classes have restricted enrollment, you should also list second and third choices for every period. Any advance preparation will make your advising session go far smoother.

  I appreciate your efforts in this endeavor.

  Tanya Tyrovolas

  Level 13 Coordinator

  Professor of Literature

  The Academy

  Serfopoula. Greece

  Ms. T is a bit of a nutcase. She wears togas to school and I think she's a strong advocate of reinstating trial by combat-as in gladiatorial combat, which was banned in the sixth century. I make a reminder in my Academy calendar to look at the course catalog before August. The last thing I want is to spend my (second) senior year enrolled in classes I hate.

  I skim through the next few messages.

  An automated system message reminding students that Academy e-mail is rigorously scanned and violators of the terms of use will be required to take a forty-hour 'Responsible Electronic Communications" course.

  Three e-mails from school clubs, encouraging new members to join now to beat the fall rush-yeah, like Mock Government is going to be turning them away at the door.

  An e-mail from the maintenance staff, asking students to remove personal items from lockers before the buildingwide clean-out next week.

  The last e-mail-with no sender and no subject-piques my curiosity.

  To: lostphoebe@theacademy.gr

  From: [Blocked]

  Subject: [Ho Subject]

  Curious about the contents of the missing Olympic record?

  Be in the courtyard at midnight on Tuesday.

  Come alone.

  My heart starts racing. My mind starts racing. So whoever sent me the note already knewthe record was missing? Then why did they send the note? Is this the same person who stole it? Or do they know who did?

  What if they are just trying to mess with me? Or hurt me? It wouldn't be the first time someone at the Academy went out of their way to make me look and feel like an idiot. Would I be totally stupid to agree to this meeting?

  And if I don't, will I ever find out what really happened to Dad?

  Chapter 7

  __________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  VISIOCRYPTION

  SOURCE: HADES

  The ability to hide, mask, or cloak an object. Duration of effect and size of object affected varies depending on strength of powcr. Effect is temporary and does not affect the physical characteristics of the object.(See visiomutation for permanent changes of appearance.)

  DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE * Stella Petrolas

  __________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  WHEN I WALK THROUGH THE TUNNEL and out onto the stadium field the next morning, Griffin is waiting for mc next to the soccer goal-sure, in Greece they call it football, but my dad played football. The sport with a round, black-and-white ball will always be soccer to me. Griff smiles that heart-melting smile, gives me a quick kiss, and says, "I missed you, kardia tis kardias mou."

  Until that moment I have every intention of letting the whole Griffin-and-Adara-in-thc-bookstore thing go. Not every guy is a cheating jerk like Justin.

  But when he says he missed me, I wonder, Did he really?

  I can't stop myself from asking, "How was the trip to Serifos?"

  "Oh," he says. "We had to reschedule. The freezer malfunctionedand flooded the cellar. Aunt Lilli and I spent the morning rearranging the stockroom."

  So he hadn't left the island yesterday. "Is that why we're running in the morning again?"

  "Didn't I say that?" He bends over, reaching for his toes.

  No, he didn't say that.

  Joining him in the stretch, I ask, "What did you do in the afternoon?"

  I feel I like the Inquisition.

  He's not avoiding eye contact, I tell myself. He can't exactly look me in the eye when he's hanging upside down and pulling himself into deeper extension.

  "I stopped by the bookstore." He spreads his feet
and twists to reach for one ankle. "Wanted to see if they had anything on endurance conditioning and nutrition."

  Of course it was something innocent-he was researching our training.

  I smile as I mimic his stretching, mentally whipping myself. Clearly, I need to get a handle on that jealousy monster-which Nicole insists has red eyes, not green. Sometimes I wonder how she knows so much about mythological beasts. Other times I don't want to know.

  "Did they?" I lift my foot behind me and grab my ankle, stretching my quads.

  "No." He smiles and says, "But Iona said they would order some for us."

  Why am I so eager to assume the worst about Griff?

  As the daughter of a psychiatrist, I do not go in for the therapy thing. After a lifetime of psychoanalysis, I'm immune. But I'm starting to think that maybe I need some help on my trust issues. I mean, I shouldn't be so quick to doubt Griffin, Especially not after what we went through to get together.

  We're fated by an oracle, after all.

  If the prophecy says Griffin will "find his match in a daughter of victory"-aka the goddess Nike, aka my great-grandmother-then our relationship, our future is secure, right?

  The red-eyed monster needs to take a hike.

  "So what's our training plan for today?" he asks, interrupting my self-exploration.

  I give him a wicked grin. "Steps."

  "Excuse me?"

  I nod in the direction of the stadium stands. "We're going to run steps."

  Hie looks warily up at the stands.

  The stadium is a smaller version of the Roman Colosseum-or maybe the Colosseum is a bigger version of the Academy stadium?– but it's still several stories high. From field level to the top row of bench seats is probably around one hundred steps. I don't know what Griffin is worried about. This is nothing. It's my dream to run the steps of the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, and the Empire State Building. Stadium steps are no big deal.

  "All right," he says, without enthusiasm. "Let's do it."

  After a quick four-lap warm-up and another round of stretching, we tackle the steps. There are ninety-six, to be exact, and I know this because we run them a dozen times. I count them aloud each time.

  As we turn around for our final climb, I begin counting down. "Ninety-six, ninety-five, ninety-four…"

  "How many more?" Griffin gasps.

  "Ninety, eighty-nine, eighty-eight," I pant, keeping my count. "Last one."

  "Thank the gods," Griffin gasps as we keep climbing.

  I manage a smile that probably looks more like a wince. Griffin doesn't notice-he's too busy trying not to die.

  "Sixty-three, sixty-two…" I manage, though my lungs and my quads and my everything are burning. Every last muscle in my body is screaming, desperately begging me to stop this insanity, to just drop down and die like a normal person.

  But I'm not a normal person,I tell my body. I'm a runner. Pain is my fame.All this bodily rebellion tells me I've let my endurance go. Cutting back on my running time for the last few months to work on controlling my powers has made my running suffer-and it hasn't done wonders for my powers, either.

  A wave of endorphins washes over me, bringing that familiarfeeling of invincibility. With crystal clarity, I know that somehow-I'm not sure exactly how, but somehow-everything will work out.I'll get a hold on my powers. I'll keep my race training on track. AndI'll learn to trust Griffin . . .somehow.

  A girl can't spend her whole life suffering the aftershocks of one bad boyfriend.

  "When we reach the top," Griffin wheezes between sucking breaths, "just push me over the edge."

  "Not on your life," I wince-smile again. "Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen…"

  He grunts, but keeps taking step after step.

  We're so close.

  The muscle burn is overwhelming. I concentrate on the lactic-acid buildup in my quads, embracing the pain and knowing that it means my muscles are trying to work more efficiently, trying to keep up with what I'm forcing them to do. I'll pay them back later with a long soak in a hot bath.

  "Three," Griffin says, probably trying to hurry the countdown.

  "Two." I can almost feel the recovery that will begin as soon as we reach the peak.

  "One." He bursts up onto the top level of the stadium, raising his fisted hands in the air at our success… and then dropping them immediately when the exhaustion overtakes the thrill.

  "We did it!" I join him and stop long enough to squeeze a quick hug around his waist.

  "Let's never do this again," he gasps.

  "Never again," I agree as he turns and starts the final descent. Then I smile. "Until next week."

  I can hear his groan from a dozen steps away.

  Before following him to the stadium floor, I hesitate, casting a glance out over the parapet to appreciate the view from this far up.

  The island of Serfopoula stretches several miles to the east, covered in barren rocky patches and thick pine forest, interspersed with stretches of shrubby plains. To the north, alush green valley peeks out between rolling hills. As I turn to descend one last time- for today, anyway- I think about how little of the island I've actually experienced. Since the school and the village are on the west end, I've only really seen that part. The only beaches I've run are on this end. I wonder if the beaches on the eastern shore are the same silky white sand?

  "I think I'm going to die," Griffin says as we reach the field and he collapses on the grass. 'No. I think I want to die."

  "Don't be silly," I say, pacing a circle around his carcass. "Besides, we have to cool down."

  "I can't move."

  "You have to." I focus on my breathing as I reach down and grab his wrist, tugging him back to his feet. "You won't be able to walk tomorrow if you don't."

  Despite his groans, he follows me into a jog around the track.

  After one lap at a casual pace-and on flat ground-my breathing has almost returned to normal and the burn in my quads has ebbed to a comfortable ache. Trust me, after this many years of running, a dull ache is comfortable. It's comforting.

  "If I didn't know you adored me," he says as we start our second lap, "I'd think you were trying to kill me."

  "Just imagine what I would do to someone I don't like."

  Someone like Adara.

  No. I shake my head. I will not let her sneak into my thoughts, into this time with Griffin. My time with him is limited enough thissummer, between his job and my camp and the looming test and whoever is sending me on a wild-goose chase for the missing record of my dad's trial.

  Why can't anything on this island be simple? At Pacific Park, the most dramatic thing that ever happened was a social nobody winning homecoming queen. One year at the Academy and suddenly I'm a goddess, dating a real-life hero, and hunting for a Mount Olympus record book.

  "What do you know about the secret archives?" I ask absently.

  Griffin stumbles, "The what?"

  "The secret archives of Mount Olympus," I repeat. "Come on, I know they're not really a secret."

  "Oh, those secret archives."

  "Are there other secret archives?"

  "Not that I know of," He laughs. "What do you know about the secret archives?"

  "Not as much as I'd like," I shrug as we round lap two. "I know they contain the records of Mount Olympus and the remains of the Library of Alexandria."

  "Really?"

  "And they have seriously limited access."

  "I don't know much more," he says. "What do you want to know?"

  There are so many possible questions, How far back do the records go? What else do the archives hold? Who files the documents? But there is only one question I care about.

  "I want to know how someone would steal one of the records-"

  Griffin stumbles again. "You don't want to-"

  "-and why they would steal the record of my dad's trial."

  "Someone stole that?" he asks as we slow to a walk. "How do you know?"

  "Because when Nicole and I
went looking for it yesterday, it was gone."

  "So that's how…" He shakes his head, scowling, and then starts over. "That's how you knew about the archives."

  I'm pretty sure that's not what he started to say.

  "I don't know why someone would steal your dad's record," he replies. "There's a rumor about a secret entrance to the library. If someone wanted to get in and out of the secret archives unnoticed, that might be how."

  Great. A rumor of a secret entrance to the secret archives. How is that supposed to help me? I feel like I've been dropped into the middle of a Harry Potter book. Next, some evil genius is going to be plotting to kill me.

  We finish our cooldown laps and make our way through the tunnel to the campus quad. As we reemerge into the morning sun, I hang back a step to admire Griffin in his fresh-from-a-workout glory. His nicely tanned arms and legs are glistening with sweat, the moisture catching the low-angle sun like a mirror rippling with every move of his lean muscles.

  When he realizes I'm not at his side, Griffin turns, catches me ogling, and his mouth spreads in that cocky grin I love so much.

  "Enjoying the view?" he teases.

  "Maybe." I saunter up to him, then-unable to keep up the coyact-wrap my arms around his neck and tug him close until our foreheads touch. "You have a problem with me looking?"

  Shaking his head slowly against mine, he hums, "Huh-uh."

  Then his hand cups the back of my neck and he pulls my mouth the few inches to meet his. I love the feel of his soft lips against mine. Nine months of kissing him whenever I want and I still can't get enough.

  I slip my arms farther around his neck, stretching myself into him and up into the kiss. When he drops his hands to press against my lower back, shivers race down my spine and over my exhausted muscles. He's mine, all mine. No one else gets to kiss him like this.