“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 young girls 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 against 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 ears 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.
“Welcome to Goddess Boot Camp, Phoebe,” she says, bouncing into the courtyard. “We’re going to have lots of fun in the next two weeks.”
She punctuates her falsely cheerful and heavily sarcastic statement with a lip-glossed smile. For about thirty seconds we have a kind of stare-down—like we’re both too afraid or too proud to be the first to look away. The girls around us, sensing some kind of confrontation, start oohing.
“Do you have the welcome packets, Dara?”
Oh no! Just when I thought my life couldn’t get worse.
“I can’t find them in my bag.”
I break eye contact with Adara just in time to see Stella hurrying into the courtyard, digging through her Pepto-pink purse for the missing schedules.
“I have them,” Adara says as Stella reaches our little group.
She smiles big as she looks up at me. “Hi, Phoebe. You made it on time.”
“What is this crap?” I demand.
“You said a bad word,” a ten-year-old says.
“Yes,” Adara agrees, nodding at the tattletale. Then she gives me a stern look. “But she won’t do it again.”
“Can I talk to you for a second?” I snap at Stella, not letting her respond before grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her away from the gaggle. “What in the name of Nike is going on?”
“What do you mean?” she asks innocently.
I scowl. Why is she being so cheery about all of this? “Wait a second,” I say. “This is why you’ve been so giddy, isn’t it? You’ve been plotting all the ways you could torture and humiliate me during camp.”
“Don’t be silly,” she says, still smiling. “Why would I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “Because you hate me?”
“Phoebe, I don’t—”
“Forget it,” I say, fed up. “I’m not sticking around for this. Who cares if I fail the stupid test. I’ll just—”
Stella’s eyes look over my shoulder and she practically melts. Well, as much as Stella can melt, anyway. Her face gets this totally dreamy look and somehow I know it’s not just my humiliation she’s been fantasizing about.
“Morning, Xander,” she calls out, waving at someone behind me.
I spin around, eager to see who can turn the queen of mean into a total delight. Walking into the courtyard is a tall, brooding rebel boy, dark and dangerous right down to his scuffed motorcycle boots. Without even a second glance I can tell he’s trouble. He has that go-ahead-and-try look in his eyes. Like he’s always looking for a fight.
He doesn’t say anything, just kind of jerks his chin—the way guys do when they think they’re too cool to wave—in our direction.
Stella follows him with her eyes as he crosses the courtyard and takes a seat on one of the benches. When he stretches out his legs and kicks one boot over the other, I think I hear her sigh.
Then again, it could have been one of the ten-year-olds, since every last one of them is staring at him like he’s the gods’ gift to girls. Maybe he is. With his short-cropped, dark blond hair, chiseled cheeks and jaw, and serious set of muscles—displayed clearly in his tight black T-shirt—he looks like he walked straight out of an action movie.
Only Adara and I seem to be unaffected by his beauty. I prefer the dark, curly-haired, distance-runner type. She pr
obably does, too.
“Who is he?” I ask Stella.
“Xander Katara,” she replies absently, reverently, still openly staring.
“What’s he doing here?” I smile as a thought occurs. Maybe I’m not the only grown-up in the camp. He looks like the kind of guy who knows how to wield his powers, but maybe not. “Is he in the camp, too?”
That tears her attention away from him. “Of course not.” She looks at me like I just made her eat a lemon. “Xander is a counselor. Besides, the boys’ camp doesn’t start until July.”
“Then why is he here?” I ask. “Shouldn’t Goddess Boot Camp be girls only?” Like my shame would be any less if there were only girls present to witness my humiliation.
“Daddy made an exception,” she says, although she doesn’t seem too unhappy about the resulting situation. She scowls at me. “For your sake.”
Before I can ask what she means, my watch starts buzzing. I quickly punch off the alarm I set last night.
“Ten o’clock,” I explain.
Suddenly, happy, cheerful Stella is back.
“Time to start,” she announces. “Let’s all form a circle in the middle of the courtyard.”
She glances at Xander, who looks completely uninterested in the proceedings of the camp. But when Adara herds the ten-year-olds into position, he deigns to join the group. Stella scoots in next to him.
I hover outside the circle, still not certain whether I’m participating.
“Welcome to Goddess Boot Camp, girls,” she says, pulling on her head-goddess-in-charge persona. “My fellow counselors and I are going to make sure this is one of the most memorable experiences of your young lives.”
When Stella emphasizes the word young, I roll my eyes. If she thinks those little digs are going to get to me, she’s wrong. Compared to cross-country trash talkers, she’s an amateur. Rather than rise to her bait, I just cross my arms and hang back. She can say whatever she wants, but I am not going to lose my cool. I am implacable.
Until Adara says, “Make room in the circle for Phoebe, girls. She needs all the help she can get.”
My face feels like it’s on fire.
Now, Stella can goad me all she wants. I’ve learned to ignore her for the most part. But there’s just something about Adara—maybe it’s my tweak over her friendship with Griffin or her generally superior attitude—that makes me want to fight back. So, when she makes her little snide comment, instead of walking away, I walk into the circle. I take the position directly across from her—which happens to place me between Stella and Xander. I can feel Stella fuming next to me, but I don’t care. I’m busy staring Adara down.
“Can we start already?” Xander asks in a bored tone.
“Right,” Stella says, snapping out of her minisnit and brightening at the sound of his voice. “We’re going to start off with an overview of our schedule for the next two weeks. Dara”—she nods across the circle—“the welcome packets please.”
Adara pulls a rainbow stack of stapled papers from her bag and hands half to the girls on either side of her. The girls each take one and pass on the rest.
“These packets contain vital information for camp.” Adara holds up a rainbow packet. “Besides the schedule, there are handouts, work sheets, and study guides. The most critical is the Dynamotheos Study Guide.”
“This guide explains the powers passed down by the twelve Olympians to all hematheos. It is the foundation for our training,” Stella explains. “We expect you to study it thoroughly. Tonight.”
I take the packet Stella hands me and flip through it. This seems a lot like homework—something I was looking forward to not doing this summer. As if a work sheet is going to help me control my powers.
“Yes, Larissa?” Adara says.
A blonde girl to my right lowers her raised hand and asks, “Um, if dynamotheos comes from the twelve Olympians, why is Hades there? He doesn’t live on Olympus.”
“No,” Stella explains. “But he is one of the six original children of Cronus and Rhea. Demeter gave up her claim to a dynamotheos, preferring to pass on her agricultural abilities through outreach and education.”
“Oh,” Larissa says with a shy smile. “Okay.”
“Now let’s go over the schedule. And after,” Stella continues, “we will do some icebreaker activities so we can all get to know each other a little better.”
Even though she can’t look at him without being totally obvious, I’m sure Stella means she wants to get to know Xander best of all. The idea that Stella has a crush and I might get to witness her acting like a lovesick puppy makes me happier than it probably should, but a girl has to take pleasure where she can.
Maybe this won’t be the worst two weeks of my life, after all.
“My name is Pandora. I’m a descendant of, well, Pandora. I usually live with my mom in Geneva, but she’s doing relief work in the Congo and sent me to stay with my dad on Serfopoula for the summer.”
Everyone in the circle says, “Hi, Pandora!”
I swallow a groan. This is like the first morning of every cross-country camp I’ve ever attended. Only at cross-country camp I at least had hard-core running to look forward to. I don’t think I’m lucky enough to hope that after the icebreakers Stella’s going to say, “Warm-up’s over. Let’s run.”
We’re just over halfway through the circle, with three girls, the counselors, and—joy—me still to give our introductions.
“Welcome, Pandora.” Stella smiles sweetly at the frizzy-haired blonde. “What are your expectations for Goddess Boot Camp?”
“Well . . .” Pandora says, chewing on her lip as she thinks. “I’d like to be able to turn my little brother into a toad.”
The other girls all laugh.
Stella tsks. “You most certainly will not learn that.”
“Fine, then.” Pandora crosses her arms with a little pout. “Since I live in the nothos world, I want to learn how to keep my powers hidden.”
“Very good.” Stella nods in approval.
Everyone else claps.
I’m secretly relieved, because I need to learn that, too. As much as I love Mom and Damian—most of the time—I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life on this tiny island. If I am ever going to return to the nothos world, as Pandora put it—a world I happily inhabited until a few months ago—then I have to not only learn how to control my powers, but also how to conceal them.
Xander leans forward and says, “When camp is over, I can help you out with that toad thing.”
He seems completely serious—no hint of a smile or anything. That earns him a scowl from Stella, a giggle from Pandora, and an eye roll from Adara. I’m definitely intrigued. This is the most he’s said all morning. Up until now it’s been nods, raised eyebrows, and—when forced—a grunt of agreement. He’s definitely got the whole mysterious thing working.
I never knew Stella went for the jaded rebel-boy type.
“Next,” Adara says, moving the introductions along.
“I’m Gillian and my mom teaches here at the Academy. I’m a descendant of Athena, and I—”
“Sorry I’m late.”
Everyone turns to look as a woman rushes toward the circle, her sandals smacking on the stone floor with every step. Halfway to the circle, the strap on her tote bag breaks, sending the contents flying everywhere. She drops to her knees, gathering the stray papers back into a pile.
Next to me, Stella huffs.
“Everyone,” she says, her voice full of barely disguised exasperation, “this is our faculty sponsor. Miss Orivas.”
As Miss Orivas looks up and, still on all fours, waves, Stella points at the papers. They glow for a second and then are suddenly back in the tote bag. Another quick glow repairs the broken strap.
“Thank you,” Miss Orivas exclaims, climbing back to her feet. “Don’t mind me. The girls are in charge.” She points at Stella and Adara. “I’m just here to make sure no one blows up the school.”
“Lucky us,” St
ella mutters under her breath. Then to the group, “Miss Orivas is an academic counselor here at the Academy. She advises A through H students in Level 13.”
“I’m a descendant of Harmonia on my mother’s side and Eris on my father’s,” she says cheerfully. “Which makes me a little conflicted.”
Everyone laughs. I force a laugh, too, even though I don’t get what’s so funny. I mean, I can guess that Harmonia is the goddess of peace and harmony or something, but I can’t remember who Eris is.
My total confusion must show, because the girl on the other side of Xander—who seems a couple years older than the rest—leans around him and whispers, “Eris is the goddess of discord.”
“Thanks . . . um . . .”
“Tansy,” she offers, then leans back into her spot.
Okay, I get it. Miss Orivas descends from war and peace. Major conflict.
“My family history made for good conflict-resolution training.”
I think she expects us to clap or ask questions or something, but we all look at her kind of confused. Well, except for Xander, who is leaning back on his elbows and looking up at the sky. At the unexpected response, Miss Orivas giggles uncomfortably as she takes a seat in the circle between me and Stella and says, “Please, continue with the introductions.”
“Of course,” Stella says, but I can tell she’s annoyed. Maybe because Miss Orivas separated her from Xander even farther, or maybe because Miss Orivas seems kind of nutty. Or maybe Stella’s cheerful veneer is finally wearing off—I knew it couldn’t last. In any case, she smiles at Gillian, and says, “Continue.”
The rest of the ten-year-olds introduce themselves in that painful, first-day-of-class way. Like you’re crazy nervous because you know everyone in the circle is staring at you. That was always my least favorite part of back-to-school.
When the last ten-year-old finishes, everyone’s eyes turn on me.
I blank.
“Phoebe . . .” Stella leans into the circle and gives me a fake encouraging look. I know it’s fake, because she looks totally innocent—and I know she’s not totally innocent.
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