Oh. My. Gods.

“So,” she says hesitantly, “did he cause major problems for you?”

  “No, not major.”

  “Oh.”

  “Look, Cesca. I really, really, really wish I could tell you what this is all about, but—”

  “I understand. Just like I wouldn’t expect you to break my confidence if I had a secret, so I wouldn’t ask you to break someone else’s, either.”

  Huge sigh of relief. It’s so much better to talk through things like this on the phone. E-mail is so impersonal—and so open to interpretation. We chat awhile longer—not too long because I know international calls can be astronomically expensive—before hanging up, promising to e-mail at least every other day. And to not keep any more secrets unless they’re somebody else’s.

  Mom is waiting for me when I emerge.

  “Is everything all right?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “We just had some stuff to talk through.”

  “I know how much you miss your friends.” She wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll see them again soon.”

  Not soon enough.

  “At least they’re flying out for the wedding,” she adds.

  I force a grin. “Only three months away.”

  “Don’t worry.” She gives me a good squeeze before releasing me. “Your friendships will survive the hurdles of time and space.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say, not meaning it.

  Three months and seven thousand miles is more than I’m willing to put between my friendships.

  “Nervous?” Nicole asks as she slides in next to me at our lunch

  table. “The big race is only days away.”

  “Nah.” I shrug.

  On the inside, I’m boiling with nerves at the mere mention of the race. Sure, I’ve competed in dozens, maybe hundreds of races in my lifetime. This one is different.

  There is more riding on the outcome. I’m used to racing for myself, trying to beat my time or beat my opponent. This time I’m racing for my racing future. Not just my slot on the team is at stake. If I don’t race well this year then no scholarship. No scholarship, no USC.

  Talk about pressure.

  But there’s more to this race than staying on the team. In all my years of running I’ve had a pretty easy time. Make a little effort and win the race. This time I’m going to have to exert myself—run all-out. I’m racing against some of the best high school athletes in the world, grounded powers or not. This is my first real opportunity to see what I’m made of on the racecourse.

  I’m afraid to find out I’m made of nothing more than some talent and very little grit and determination.

  Like my T-shirt says, NO GUTS, NO GLORY.

  Still, I’m not about to let anyone know how nervous I am.

  “No big deal,” I say, then take an I’m-totally-calm bite of my hamburger.

  Troy walks up while my mouth is full and drops into the seat across from me. Ever since he finished Chemistry tutoring he’s been in the dumps.

  “Hi,” he says.

  I try to say, “Hi,” around my hamburger, but it sounds more like, “Mrff,” so I add a wave.

  “I can’t stand this vortex of gloom anymore, Travatas,” Nicole blurts. “What’s your problem?”

  “Yeah,” I say after taking a big gulp of pineapple Fanta to wash down the hamburger. “You seem so, well, not you.”

  He shrugs, “I don’t know. I guess it’s just that, ever since I passed that test my dad has been pressuring me to apply for the Level 13 pre-med program.”

  It kills me to see Troy so torn up. He obviously doesn’t want to be a doctor, so I don’t know why his parents are forcing him to try. Music is his passion and they should support that. Just like Mom supports my running.

  “You have to tell them,” I venture.

  “Tell them what?” he asks.

  “About your dreams,” I explain. “That you want to be a musician.”

  He laughs out loud. “Yeah right. I like my powers, thank you very much, and I’d prefer to keep them.”

  “They can take them away?” I ask. Maybe, if I push Stella enough, Damian will strip her powers.

  “No,” Nicole answers, rolling her eyes at Troy. “Only the gods can revoke powers.”

  “But my parents could ground them until I’m twenty-one.”

  “Come on, Travatas,” Nicole says. “Grow some courage and confess. I hear it’s good for the soul.”

  “I appreciate that you guys care,” he says in a way that suggests he doesn’t appreciate it at all, “but I have to handle this my way.”

  “Fine,” Nicole says with a shrug. “Don’t say we didn’t try. Now, can we talk about how we’re going to get back at Blake and the evil twins?”

  I knew this was going to come up again. Ever since I told her what happened she’s been pressing me to go after revenge—a revenge that I know wouldn’t be just about me.

  But revenge is hollow. I’d prefer amnesia.

  “I don’t want revenge,” I tell Nicole for like the fiftieth time. “I just want to forget about it and never talk about them again.”

  Just because I live in the same house as Stella doesn’t mean I have to talk to her. The last few dinners have been blissfully silent. It doesn’t hurt that I threatened to tell Damian what she did. The thought of another week without her powers is apparently enough to keep her quiet.

  Though she did leave an empty latte cup outside my door.

  “I can understand not bothering with Stella and Adara. . . .” Nicole lifts up her hamburger bun and gives the contents a wary look. “. . . they’ve been hideous harpies since the day I got here.”

  She drops the bun and pushes her plate away.

  “Longer,” Troy adds. “Those two have been up to no good since they were five. We can’t expect them to change now.”

  “But Griffin,” Nicole says.

  “Yeah.” Troy’s eyes light up. “Blake deserves to be taken down a notch or two.”

  “I could do a few heinous things to him without losing sleep.” Nicole clearly harbors serious feelings of resentment over whatever happened between her and Griffin in the past. I’m not about to let her thirst for revenge push me into action.

  “No,” I say definitively. “I don’t want to do anything to any of them. No revenge. Got it?”

  Humiliation is bad enough. I just want to forget about it and move on.

  I look at each of them, waiting for verbal consent.

  Reluctantly, Troy nods his head. “Fine.”

  Nicole, on the other hand, is cagier. “No promises.” When I stare her down, she adds, “But I’ll leave you out of whatever I do. Okay?”

  I say, “Okay.”

  Still, I’m a little worried.

  Nicole can be unpredictable—if she can zap away my ankle without a second thought, who knows what revenge she’s going to exact on Griffin. If he weren’t the scum of the earth—and I didn’t know she couldn’t actually kill him—I might feel inclined to warn him.

  I manage to steer clear of Stella until dinner on Tuesday before the race. Since she finally decides to dine with the rest of us and I’m focused on properly fueling my body for the week, I guess there’s no way to avoid sharing the meal with her.

  “Evening, Daddy.” She plants a big kiss on his cheek. “Valerie.” She nods to Mom. Then sits down, not acknowledging me.

  Damian glances at each of us over a spoonful of bean soup.

  “No greeting for your sister?” he asks before finishing his bite.

  “Good evening, Phoebe.” She smiles falsely. “I’m not sure I can eat a bite—I had a big latte for lunch.”

  That’s it. Pushing back from the table, I knock my chair over as I lunge across the table. “You little—”

  “Phoebe!” Mom shouts, jumping up and clearly prepared to stop me.

  I freeze, my knee poised over the table, ready to launch into Stella’s smirking lap. Knowing they’ll never let me actually get away with throttling her at the dinner table I l
ower back into my seat.

  “What is this about?” Mom asks once I’ve calmed down.

  “Why don’t you ask the ice queen over there?” I snap.

  Stella schools her features into a look of pure innocence. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Listen, girls,” Mom begins. “Whatever’s bothering you, it will be better if you talk it out. We will all be living in the same house for the next year, and—”

  “Nine months.” I think it’s important to be clear when it comes to details.

  That earns me a mom look. “There is always a period of adjustment when families combine.”

  “Her face could use an adjustment.”

  “Phoebe,” Mom gasps.

  Stella crosses her arms across her chest and raises one eyebrow. “I’d like to see you try.”

  “Stella,” Damian warns, “do not make the situation worse.”

  “Damian,” Mom says, moving behind him and placing her hands on his shoulders. “Why don’t we leave the girls alone for a few minutes,” she suggests. “I’m sure they would rather discuss their problem without an audience.”

  Damian looks like he wants to argue, but lets Mom lead him to the kitchen anyway. Just before they disappear out the back door, he looks over his shoulder and gives Stella a stern look that clearly says, “Work this out. Now.”

  Hey, I was willing to forgive and—well, not forgive, but forget anyway. But she has to keep throwing it in my face with the whole I’m-so-full-on-my-latte thing.

  “I have no idea what your problem is,” she says, casually taking a sip of her water. “Your attitude is really quite awful.”

  “My attitude?” I gasp. “You’re the one who—”

  “Still crying the same old song, Phoebe? Let it go.”

  “Let it go?” She is so full of—

  I stand up slowly and calmly and say in as steady a voice as possible, “Listen. You made that awful bet with Adara. You tricked me into helping you win that awful bet. You let me believe—”

  Oh no, I can feel the tears tightening up my throat. Not good. I take a calming breath. I’ve decided on brutal honesty at this point, there’s no stopping now.

  “I actually started to believe that Griffin liked me—me, the lowly little nothos—when no one else in your high and mighty cliques would do more than look at me with scorn.” I blink against the tears now filling my eyes. “And the worst part is that I was actually starting to like him, the real him. Or at least what I thought was the real him. And come to find out he was only playing a part, too.”

  That’s what hurts the most. Not the bet or the deal or any of that. It’s that they’re right about me. I really am so weak that I would fall for a guy who’d done nothing but treat me like scum since I got to this stupid school without even putting up much of a fight.

  I’m pathetic, and that’s what really hurts.

  “Phoebe,” Stella says, an unnatural softness to her usually icy voice.

  I’m prepared for a scathing comment.

  Instead, she walks around the table to stand right in front of me, and says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much—” She shakes her head and starts again. “I know how much unrequited love can hurt. If I had known you had any real feeling for him . . .”

  I am floored beyond belief. Stella is exhibiting real honest-togoodness sympathy, an emotion I believed her incapable of.

  That, and she’s apologized.

  I almost feel like checking out the windows for flying pigs.

  “If it helps any,” she says quietly, “it wasn’t my idea.”

  “It doesn’t,” I say, mostly because I’m not surprised. Sure Stella’s right up there with the evil bi’atches in history, but she doesn’t hold a candle to Adara.

  “And I don’t think Griffin—”

  “No,” I interrupt, not wanting to even hear his name. I’d rather forgive Stella. I still have to live with her. “Look, I—I accept your apology. Just don’t mention him again, okay?”

  Then, to my total shock and amazement, Stella pulls me into a big hug. At first I’m kinda startled and I just stand there, awkward. Eventually I realize she’s waiting for me to participate, so I lift up my arms and pat her gently on the back.

  Apparently that’s enough because she releases me and steps back.

  “Just don’t think this is going to change our relationship. I still don’t like you.” Her eyes are shining a little brighter than usual.

  “Right back at ya.”

  I’m blinking in astonishment at the fact that she’s wiping away tears when Damian and Mom walk back in.

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  “Yes,” Stella says, moving back to her chair.

  Mom looks at me, her eyes questioning. I shrug and take my seat. I don’t have any more of a clue about what happened than she does. I have a feeling, though, there won’t be any more bets made on my anticipated behavior in the near future. And I guess that’s all any girl can ask for.

  “This is our last practice before the big meet. No practice tomorrow, so I expect you all to rest up and eat complex carbs. On Friday

  we compete for the Cycladian Cup. The victors get to display the

  coveted trophy at their school for the next year.” Coach Z gives us

  all a stern scowl. “The losers get nothing but dust in their teeth.”

  This is apparently the big pep speech for the meet.

  I’ve heard so many of these in my lifetime I just tune out.

  Instead, I glance over the crowd of teammates listening avidly to Coach Z’s threats and promises. Adara and her blondes, Zoe included, are right up front, watching Coach Z with rapt attention. There must be some sort of gender war going on because there’s not a single guy sitting with them. My gaze flicks briefly to Griffin, surrounded by Christopher, Costas, and the rest of the Ares jock-heads. He looks up, like he feels my eyes on him, and I immediately look the other way.

  Eye contact is too much contact as far as I’m concerned.

  He doesn’t take the hint.

  No, he stands up, weaves his way through the crowd while Coach Z is still speaking, and sits down next to me on the grass.

  “Phoebe, I—”

  I get up and move away.

  He follows me.

  “We haven’t seen the trophy at this school in five years,” Coach Z says, scowling at Griffin’s disregard. “I want that trophy back in our front hall this year.”

  Everyone cheers.

  I keep evading Griffin, who is shadowing my every step.

  “Now break up into your events and get in a good practice,” Coach Z says, dismissing the group to our individual coaches.

  I head for Coach Lenny, hoping our workouts will separate us.

  “Today we’ll be working out in pairs,” Coach Lenny explains. “I want you to push each other to perform at your highest level. The pairs are as follows—”

  He starts reading names from his clipboard. As he works through the roster, I’m starting to get worried—he hasn’t read my name or Griffin’s yet.

  No, I tell myself. Coach Lenny wouldn’t do this to me.

  Then he does. “Phoebe Castro and Griffin Blake.”

  He gives us a brief rundown of our workouts then turns to walk out of the stadium. I jog up and tap him on the shoulder. Griffin, of course, is right behind me.

  “Something wrong?” Coach Lenny asks when he sees the sour look on my face.

  “No, sir,” Griffin answers.

  I glare at him. “Pair me with someone else, Coach.”

  “He’s the only one capable of pushing you, Phoebe.” Coach Lenny gives me an apologetic look. “Work with him.”

  “No. He’s an a—”

  “For the sake of your running,” Coach Lenny says. “It’s just for one day.” Then he gives Griffin a threatening look. “Follow the workout, push her to do her best, or you’ll answer to me on race day.”

  “Yes, sir,” Griffin replies
, the picture of a perfect gentleman.

  Ha. What a put on.

  The second Coach Lenny walks away he starts in. “Phoebe, I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be—”

  “Thanks for the permission,” I say.