Goddess Boot Camp

by Tera Lynn Childs

  I can tell he still wants to argue, but I can also tell that he gets how important this is to me. He nods. Reluctantly.

  I just hope I’m not doing something stupid. Again.

  When Nic and I walk out of the boys’ dorm, the sun is riding low in the sky. I check my watch. It’s six o’clock. If I’m quick, I can run home and grab some dinner before I have to meet Griffin at the dock.

  As I step off the front stairs, about to say good-bye to Nicole, movement to my left catches my eyes.

  Griffin.

  I smile automatically and am about to call out to him when I realize something very important. It’s Griffin. Going into the girls’ dorm. And Adara is standing on the front step to greet him.

  Suddenly I’m not so hungry anymore.

  CHAPTER 8

  AUTOPORTATION

  SOURCE: ZEUS

  The ability to move oneself to a different location through nonphysical means. Maximum distance traveled depends on strength and skill of powers. Autoportation to a previously unvisited place is prohibited because of the inherent risk of arriving in an undesirable, perilous, or public location.

  DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE © Stella Petrolas

  WHEN THE LAST RAY of sunlight disappears, I’m planted on the couch reading last month’s Runner’s World. Well, I’m pretending to read last month’s Runner’s World. My eyes are skimming across the pages and everything, but my mind hasn’t taken in a single word. It’s too busy screaming, Griffin is back together with Adara!

  Through some major act of willpower—or hopelessness—my eyes aren’t even full of tears.

  I hear giggling seconds before the front door opens. “You are so right,” Stella says, looking over her shoulder as she walks in. “I’ll have to add that to my résumé.”

  I don’t feel like facing Stella right now. Wishing I’d retreated to my room earlier, I bury my face in my magazine, hoping I can blend in with the unfortunately white couch. Why did the MY SPORT IS YOUR SPORT’S PUNISHMENT tee have to be cherry red?

  “Phoebe,” a rebel-boy voice says in greeting.

  I peek over the top of an article about avoiding knee injuries. The recipient of Stella’s giggling is none other than Xander. Great. All I need is him taunting me at home, too.

  “I didn’t know you were home,” Stella says, looking like a kid caught sneaking an extra cookie. Yeah, a Xander-shaped cookie. Her two-shades-darker-than-her-hair eyebrows draw into a frown. “I thought you were meeting—”

  “I’m not,” I interrupt. She knows exactly where I was supposed to be right now. I don’t need the reminder. I don’t even want to hear his name.

  She looks surprised, but doesn’t comment. Smart girl. In my present mood, I’m itching to test my current powers control. She would make the perfect guinea pig. In fact—

  “Xander and I were just talking about you actually,” she says, giving him a warm smile and distracting me before I actually try to turn her into a rodent. She is blissfully unaware of how close she came to becoming someone’s pet. “Discussing that exercise I was telling you about earlier.”

  I glance at the object of her adoration. He’s standing just inside the door, like he’d rather keep out of the line of fire, with his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans. Watching me with those unusual lavender eyes, he doesn’t move a muscle. Like a statue. His face remains unreadable.

  Typical guy. Keeps everything hidden so you have to guess what he’s thinking. So a girl’s imagination can run rampant until confronted with incontrovertible proof of her suspicions.

  “Good for you.” I snap my magazine shut and get up from the couch. If they’re going to be here, giggling and talking about me, I’m locking myself in my room. Figuratively, of course, since my door doesn’t lock.

  “Actually”—she glances at Xander—“we could try that exercise with the glass of water—”

  “Not,” I say, my pent-up emotion barely contained, “tonight.”

  I can practically hear her mouth drop.

  She’ll get over it. Or not. Either way, playing counselor and camper is not on my agenda for the night. The last thing I want is to be around people. Solitude and the comfort of my bed are calling. That, and a box of tissues.

  I’m almost to my room when I feel a hand clamp over my shoulder.

  “Running away isn’t going to help,” Xander says.

  “I’m not running away from anything.” I spin around, shrugging off his hand. “I’m going to my room for some privacy, thank you very much.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his brows, like he dares me to lie again. “Denying your feelings can affect your powers.”

  “Oh yeah?” I snap brilliantly. “You don’t know anything about my feelings. Or my situation.”

  “I know more than you think.” He steps closer, his voice barely a growl. “You mentioned my expulsion earlier. Do you know why I was expelled?”

  I shake my head.

  “Because three years ago,” he whispers, “I had to take the test.” His mouth is right next to my ear when he adds, “And I didn’t pass.”

  My heart thwacks against my chest. Xander is the other student who had to take the test. Xander failed the test. Xander got expelled for a year.

  “What did you—” I shake my head and start over. “What happened when you failed?”

  He leans back, his lavender eyes completely blank.

  “I hope you never find out,” he says. Then he turns and stalks through the kitchen and out the back door.

  Stella stares at the door for several seconds, before turning on me. “What did you—”

  “You couldn’t have told me earlier?” I snap.

  Her cheeks flush and I think, for the first time since we met, she’s actually embarrassed about something. Good.

  “You lied,” I accuse. “About your student passing the test.”

  “I didn’t,” she insists. “I was Xander’s tutor after he failed. I helped him pass on his second attempt.”

  “Whatever.”

  I spin and head for my room.

  The roller coaster is finally getting to me. Thankfully, I make it to the safety of my room and collapse on my bed before the tears start. I think I’m going through what therapist Mom would call an emotional release. More like an emotional flood. Between the looming test and my dad’s missing record and Griffin, it’s amazing my emotions are holding together at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if they just gave up on me altogether and—

  Knock, knock.

  Over the pounding beat of my heart, I wipe at my tears and say, “I’m not here.”

  Whoever it is doesn’t wait for a response.

  “Phoebe?” Griffin asks. “I thought we were meeting at seven.”

  His voice sounds perfectly normal.

  Of course it does. He doesn’t know what I know—what I saw, what I felt. Why should he even suspect that I know he’s back with his ex-girlfriend? He must think he’s kept it a pretty tight secret.

  I squeeze my eyes together for a second, willing—begging—my unshed tears to disappear. They are a weakness I can’t afford.

  “Yeah, well,” I say, pushing up to my feet while keeping my back to him, buying myself a few more seconds. “You thought wrong.”

  “What’s the matter?” He comes up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders, trying to turn me around. He has the nerve to sound concerned. “What happened?”

  I stiffen against his touch. “Nothing.”

  “Are you crying?” When I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak again, he says, “You are crying.”

  Despite my best efforts, he half turns me around and half slides around so we’re face-to-face. I close my eyes. I just can’t look at him right now. Not when all I see is him talking to Adara, going into the bookstore with Adara, meeting Adara at her dorm. It’s too much.

  “Talk to me,” he demands.

  I feel his fingers on my cheeks, wiping my sad excuse for tears away. Which only m
akes them fall harder.

  His forehead touches mine and he whispers, “Please.”

  I take several long, deep breaths.

  “Where were you this afternoon?” I finally ask.

  He hesitates for a split second. “I told you, I—”

  My eyes fly open. “Do. Not. Lie to me.”

  I step back, needing space to think clearly.

  I can see him thinking. Beneath his dark curls, his bright blue eyes don’t budge from mine; he doesn’t blink. Then, after several long seconds, he closes his eyes, sucks in a deep breath, and says, “Aunt Lili and I got back and done with the stocking early. I was visiting a friend in the dorms.”

  “Adara.”

  He hesitates, then says, “Yes.”

  “What?” I’m shocked he admitted the truth.

  “Yes.” He looks like he is afraid to say more. “Yes, I was visiting Dara.”

  “Why have you been lying to me?” I can hear the icy edge in my voice and I don’t like it. I don’t like how he’s making me feel right now. Jealous. With a neon capital J. “You’ve been spending all your time with her. Like yesterday. At the bookstore.”

  He doesn’t show any signs of shock that I didn’t buy his story about looking for a training book.

  “You’re right,” he says, and my heart tries to pound out of my chest. “I met Adara at the bookstore yesterday.”

  And lied about it.

  “But it’s not what you think.”

  “Then tell me what it is,” I demand.

  Gods, I hate how I sound like such a jealous girlfriend, but it’s not like he’s not giving me a reason to distrust. I close my eyes and suddenly I’m reliving the last time I felt like this. Junior prom. More than a year ago now, but I remember like it was yesterday.

  I had known something was wrong when Justin didn’t show to pick me up. A smarter girl might have taken that as a sign, but I believed in him. Trusted him. Something must have come up. Rather than curl up with a box of tissues and a cup of self-pity, I called Cesca and got a ride with her and her date. When I climbed into the limo and saw the look of pure sympathy in her eyes, that’s when I knew.

  By the time we pulled up at the glamorous Sunset Tower Hotel, I was ready for the confrontation. I stormed into the dance, scanned the room until I found Justin at a table in the far corner, and marched right up to him.

  “Where were you?” I demanded.

  “Let’s not do this here, Phoebe,” Justin had said. “Why don’t we go out to my car and—”

  “No,” I shouted, hands fisted on my hips, on the silver satin of the bustier dress that had taken me weeks to find. The perfect dress. “I deserve to know.”

  He’d hesitated, deciding whether to lie.

  Just like Griffin did tonight.

  Only tonight feels infinitely worse. Because I love Griffin infinitely more.

  That realization clenches around my heart.

  “I—” He jams his fingers through his curls. “Phoebe, I can’t tell you.”

  Everything inside me stills.

  At least Justin had the decency to confess dumping me for Mitzi Busch because her knees weren’t Super Glued shut like mine. Griffin wasn’t even pretending to admit the truth.

  “Then I don’t believe you.” My heart splinters a little with every word.

  “I can’t make you believe me,” he says, dropping his hands and taking a step back. “I thought we were past the distrusting stage. I thought you knew me better than this. Better than anyone.”

  I can’t look away from his blue eyes, a little less bright thanks to the betrayal I see there. But the truth is, he lied to me. More than once. And now, even though he’s admitted to lying to me, he won’t tell me the whole truth. He’s not the only one who feels betrayed.

  “So did I,” I say, turning away and walking to my desk.

  “Phoebe, I didn’t mean to—”

  “I’d like you to leave.” My voice cracks as I add, “Now.”

  I stand in front of my desk, afraid to move until he does—afraid that my heart will shatter completely. For a long time there’s just silence, stillness in the air, as I can feel him watching me.

  “I’m not Justin,” he whispers.

  Then, all of a sudden, it’s like a vacuum sucks all the air out of my room. The next thing I hear is the click of my door closing behind him as he leaves.

  I collapse into my desk chair, folding my arms over my laptop and laying my cheek on the smooth, plastic surface. My heart feels like it’s been ripped out of my chest. The oracle was wrong. Griffin and I aren’t fated for anything more than heartache.

  It’s not until I feel the wetness on my arm that I realize I’m crying on my laptop. The last thing I need is to fry my connection to the outside world. I sit up, wipe away my tears, and lift the top on my laptop. I’ve never needed Nola and Cesca more in my life, and if one of them isn’t online, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  But when I log in to chat, I see blank little faces next to their screen names.

  Right. Cesca’s probably in Paris by now. Nola’s probably at the library doing research for her study. How can they both have so much great stuff going on when my life is a mess?

  Yeah, I know that’s totally self-centered. It’s not fair for me to begrudge them good stuff. Especially since we’re best friends.

  Not one person on my friends list is online. Not Cesca or Nola, not Nicole, not Troy. Not even the gorgon cheerleader queen—trust me, if I could get Adara off my friends list I would, but the Academy IM system seems to have a twisted sense of humor about this. How can everyone be unavailable when I need them?

  While I’m staring at the screen through tear-fogged eyes, a yellow smiley face shows up next to Nola’s screen name.

  Thank the gods!

  I open up a new chat window.

  LostPhoebe: Nola!

  GranolaGrrl: hey Phoebes

  GranolaGrrl: what’s up?

  LostPhoebe: I think Griffin and I just broke up

  GranolaGrrl: omigods what happened??

  I bite my lip to keep from crying. More.

  LostPhoebe: he’s cheating on me

  GranolaGrrl: of course he’s not!

  LostPhoebe: he is

  LostPhoebe: with Adara

  GranolaGrrl: his ex? that’s nuts

  GranolaGrrl: he’s crazy about you

  LostPhoebe: he’s been spending lots of time with her

  GranolaGrrl: maybe there’s a reasonable explanation

  Nola always sees the good in people. While this is a great trait in a best friend—she always looks past my bad attitude when I’m in a crappy mood—she’s not the most discerning when it comes to character. She blindly believes the best until presented with incontrovertible proof. Sometimes not even then.

  LostPhoebe: there’s more

  LostPhoebe: he was in her dorm room this afternoon

  LostPhoebe: when he told me he was helping his aunt

  GranolaGrrl: are you sure?

  GranolaGrrl: did you ask him about it?

  LostPhoebe: he admitted it

  LostPhoebe: he says it’s not what I think

  LostPhoebe: but he won’t tell me what it *is*

  GranolaGrrl: I’m so sorry sweetie

  New tears rush to my eyes. If even Nola is willing to accept that I’m right, then all my niggling doubts are gone. How could I have been so stupid over a guy . . . again?

  GranolaGrrl: I know how much he means to you

  LostPhoebe: guess it wasn’t mutual

  GranolaGrrl: you never know

  GranolaGrrl: he might still surprise you

  LostPhoebe: doubt it

  GranolaGrrl: promise me you’ll give him a chance to explain

  LostPhoebe: I did

  LostPhoebe: he wouldn’t

  GranolaGrrl: give him one more chance

  GranolaGrrl: for me

  I almost say I won’t. I don’t want to. But for Nola, only for Nola, I will.

 
; LostPhoebe: okay

  LostPhoebe: for you

  GranolaGrrl: I need to go

  GranolaGrrl: you okay?

  LostPhoebe: I’ll be fine

  GranolaGrrl: I’ll be online again later

  GranolaGrrl: love you

  LostPhoebe: love you too

  LostPhoebe: thanks

  I stare at the chat screen until her smiley face disappears.

  Instead of feeling better, reassured, I feel a little more empty after chatting with Nola. She didn’t exactly say what I wanted to hear. That’s Nola, though. She always says and does what’s right, not what’s convenient or comforting.

  Almost automatically, needing something to keep my mind busy, I click on the icon to check my e-mail. Three new messages. One from Adara—no thank you. I click on the message and am about to drag it to the trash when I see the folder I made when I was mad at Griffin last year. “Liars.” I drop her e-mail in there. Even if she hasn’t lied to me, I bet she would if I gave her the chance.

  The second e-mail is from Mrs. Philipoulos.

  To: Library Employees

  Cc: headmaster@theacademy.gr

  Bcc: lostphoebe@theacademy.gr

  From: librarylady@theacademy.gr

  Subject: Secret Archives Access

  Former Academy library employees,

  Upon a recent inspection of the library secret archives, I have discovered two missing volumes in the Mount Olympus records. If you have any knowledge of the theft or whereabouts for these vol- umes, please contact me immediately. No punitive action will be taken if the volumes are returned within the week.