In that moment, I feel a connection to him like I’ve never felt with anyone before. Like I can feel what he’s feeling. Little tingles—like a whole bunch of static shocks—prick at my palm where it meets Griffin’s. He lays his cheek against Nicole’s head and our eyes meet over her spiky blonde hair. A spark flashes in his eyes. He can feel the connection, too.
I glance at Troy, who looks totally stunned.
He’s such a good friend I know he resented Griffin on Nicole’s behalf. I bet he’s just as shocked as she is to hear Griffin’s side of the story. When I give him a look that says, “What do you think?” he just shakes his head in disbelief.
When Nicole finally steps back, her eyes are red but dry.
“Well,” she says, pulling on her tough girl attitude, “we’d better get to class. One more tardy and Tyrant’s making me clean the blackboards with my tongue.”
Without another word, she turns and heads off down the hall. Troy stares for a second, then shrugs and trails after her.
Griffin slips his arm around my waist as we follow, hugging me close to his side. “Thanks,” he whispers in my ear. “That would never have happened without you.”
“But I didn’t—”
“I know,” he says. “You didn’t do anything. It just seems like good things have been happening for me since you got here.”
Wow. I’m trying to think up a suitable response when Nicole glances back over her shoulder and shouts, “Hurry up, Blake. I may have forgiven you, but I’m not licking chalk dust for anyone.”
We all laugh, and I feel like things are finally starting to come together.
My life in Serfopoula may not be perfect, but it seems to be getting better every day.
The next morning I nearly throw up.
This isn’t out of the ordinary. I nearly throw up before every race.
But this morning is so bad I can’t even eat my customary oatmeal
with brown sugar and raisins pre-race breakfast.
I try not to take this as a bad omen.
Then again, at a school full of descendants it’s highly possible someone—Adara—has bribed the Fates to ruin my life today. Stella has been so . . . well, not nice exactly, but not horrid, lately that when Damian threatened to ground her powers for a year if she interfered with the race she actually laughed at him. It’s not like we’re friends, but I think we have an understanding.
Somehow I make it through the school day. Not without a lot of help from Nicole in Algebra and Physics and meeting Griffin between every class. He’s a wonder at calming my nerves, but every time he leaves they come back.
At least my nerves keep me from paying attention to all the whispers. I hear the occasional “Blake,” “kako,” and “outsider,” but mostly my nerves block it all out. I know the entire school must be humming with gossip about us and if not for the race I would probably be embarrassed that everyone from the Hades harem to the Zeus set is hungrily gossiping about us. Right now, the race consumes all my attention.
And when I’m with Griffin, everything else fades away.
Too bad we can’t race together.
By the time I walk to the locker room to change and get the pep talk from the coaches I’m all nerves. I’ve never been this nervous before a race. Nothing I’ve tried seems to help—not even the aromatherapy sachet Nicole gave me during lunch. I’m pretty sure it’s full of dead flowers that can’t help me from the grave.
I’m on my way through the door when I hear Troy.
“Phoebe!”
He runs down the hall—pretty fast for a guy who claims to hate running more than Brussels sprouts—and slides to a stop in front of me.
“Hey.” I wave. “What’s up?”
“I just . . .” He smiles wryly. “. . . wanted to wish you luck.”
“Thanks,” I say. “That means a lot.”
“I have something for you,” he says, stepping back. After fishing around in his pocket, he produces a long braided string. “It’s a—”
“Friendship bracelet,” I say. Just like the one Nola gave me in kindergarten—the one that finally wore off in third grade after more than three years of continual wear.
Sticking out my wrist, I let him tie on the bracelet.
Looking at Troy with thoughts of Nola in my head I wonder what she would think of him. With his tie-dyed Grateful Dead T-shirt, well-worn blue jeans, and leather-free Vans he’s like her male mirror image.
Maybe they will meet at the wedding.
“It’s not just a friendship bracelet,” he says as he finishes tying off the ends. “It doubles as a super-duty good luck charm. With this . . .” He lets go of my arm and grins. “. . . you can’t lose.”
“Thanks, I—”
Coach Lenny sticks his head out in the hall. “Hurry up, Castro.”
I tell Troy, “I gotta get changed. Thanks.” I give him one more hug. “Really.”
“Good luck,” Troy says. “See you at the finish line.”
I turn and run into the locker room wondering how my nerves just disappeared. Then again, I don’t need to know why. They’re gone and I’m ready to race.
There are three other schools in the meet today. The team from Lyceum Olympia is the strongest. Coach Lenny told me their lead runner—Jackie Lavaris—is going to be on the Greek team next Olympics. She’s my stiffest competition.
But the racers from Academia Athena—an all-girls military school—look pretty tough. Their camo uniforms might have something to do with that impression. Some of the HestiaSchool girls look like their preppy softness could be a veneer. I’ve learned to never underestimate a runner based on appearances—the pink shorts could be a disguise.
I’m standing in our starting block—the painted square where all the runners from the Academy will start—taking deep, calming breaths and shaking out my legs.
Under the light blue shorts of my uniform I’m wearing my lucky underwear. Since I can’t wear any of my running t-shirts on race day I always wear my DON’T WORRY--YOU’LL PASS OUT BEFORE YOU DIE undies. They are just a reminder not to leave anything on the course. Running won’t kill me, but losing might.
“Oh no!” Zoe cries.
“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
She points at her foot and the broken lace on her left shoe. After a quick glance around to see if anyone’s watching she points her
finger at the offending lace.
Nothing happens.
She frowns and points again.
Again, nothing.
“What the—”
“Surprise,” Coach Lenny says as he walks up.
“Coach,” Zoe whines. “My powers are—”
“Grounded,” he says.
“B-but—” Her lower lip pouts out and starts to quiver. Totally fake and totally not working on Coach Lenny.
“We just finished going through the roster. Everyone on the team is grounded for today,” he explains. Then, looking at me, adds, “We want this to be a fair race.”
Zoe scowls at me but doesn’t say anything.
I watch her stalk off to find the supply box to get a replacement lace. Why does everyone have to blame me for everything? I didn’t ask them to do this. Sure, I knew they were talking about it, but it’s not like I could do anything either way.
Besides, if anyone’s to blame it’s Griffin. He’s the one who zapped me in tryouts. He’s really, really sorry now, but that doesn’t change the fact that he did it.
But does anyone blame him? Nooo. Why would they? He’s one of their own.
That’s when it hits me. No matter what I do—no matter how hard I race, how much Griffin likes me, how much I try just to stay out of everyone’s way—I’ll never fit in here. There’s only one requirement to belonging at the Academy and I can’t fill it.
That realization could throw me into a deep, dark depression that I can’t afford to wallow in today. So, drawing on years of pre-race psychology experience, I shove those thoughts into the back of my mind.
And just in time, too.
“Racers, to your positions,” Coach Lenny—referee of the day— calls.
The five girls from the Academy and I line up in our box. The girls from Lyceum Olympia, Academia Athena, and HestiaSchool line up in theirs.
Coach Lenny holds up the starting pistol and my heart jumps.
Then he fires the go shot and everything else fades away.
Halfway through the eight kilometer—five mile—race I’m in the lead pack with four other girls. Jackie Lavaris is a few paces ahead of me.
My eyes are trained on her back. I’ve read her number—thirtyseven—about a million times. At least once for every step since we left the starting line.
I turn it into my mantra.
Thir-ty-sev-en.
Over and over and over again.
Thir-ty-sev-en. Thir-ty-sev-en. Thir-ty-sev-en.
If someone asked me my age right now I’d tell them thirty-seven.
I wish I could know what Jackie is focusing on. She’s like a machine. Same rhythm, same pace over every terrain. Every slope. Every turn.
I’m starting to wonder if I’ll be able to catch her.
One mile from the finish line I hit the wall.
My legs feel like melted Jell-O. Every breath I manage to suck in sends sharp pain through my lungs and radiating out to the rest of my body. I can’t feel my feet anymore.
But my eyes are glued to number thirty-seven.
Thir-ty-sev-en.
Jackie is only two paces in front of me now. The other girls from the lead pack faded half a mile ago, so we are alone in the lead. In the four miles I have been watching her, Jackie hasn’t shown a single sign of weakness. No slip or stumble. No surreptitious glance over her shoulder to see who’s close.
Nothing.
The only sign that she’s actually exerting herself is the sweat soaking her shorts and tank top. That keeps me going—at least she’s working hard.
But I can feel myself weakening.
Like I’m using the very last of my energy reserves and am not going to have anything left for a strong finish. In fact, I might not have anything left at all.
Suddenly, Jackie moves ahead three paces.
No, she doesn’t move ahead. I drop back.
I’m fading.
Crap! I’ve worked too hard the last three weeks—my entire life— to lose now. All those extra hours and lack of sleep weren’t in vain. I won’t let it be for nothing.
And I’m not letting four miles worth of thir-ty-sev-ens go to waste.
Digging deeper than I’ve ever dug before, I scrape up the last shreds of my energy from the furthest reaches of my soul and—just as I pass the four-and-a-half-mile mark—step up my pace a notch. I close in two paces.
I feel myself burst through the wall, demolishing it with a mental sledgehammer. Energy—or adrenaline or endorphins—flows through me and all my pain fades away.
My leg muscles tighten for a second to let me know they’re back in action. I feel my feet pound the dirt path. My lungs fill with oxygen and I’m not racked with crippling pain anymore. It’s like I’m just starting the race instead of almost finishing.
I’ve pushed through the wall before, but it’s never felt like this. Like I’m racing fresh. Fully recovered.
We pass the four-and-three-quarter-mile mark.
I close in another pace.
Only one pace separates me from victory.
I can see the finish line—and the small sea of people waiting—in the distance. It’s a straightaway from here.
The onlookers catch sight of Jackie and send up a cheer.
Spurred on, I close in another pace. We’re neck-and-neck. For the first time in the entire race, she glances to the side. I grin at the shocked look on her face—until she speeds up and I have to match her pace to catch her.
The finish line is closing in, so I turn up the fire and try to take the lead. Jackie keeps my pace easily. I give it more. So does Jackie. I can’t get ahead.
I take a deep breath and—for a split-second—close my eyes. I think of my dad, wanting to win this race, like every other one, for him.
When I open my eyes I’m ahead.
I don’t look to see where Jackie is. I’m ahead and I’m not going to lose the lead.
Thinking of Dad, I put every ounce of my being into closing the last hundred yards. I see everyone cheering for me—Coach Lenny, Mom, Damian, Stella (yes, even Stella), Troy, Griffin, Nicole, and—
Oh my god!
Nola and Cesca are standing at the finish line.
A bright glow surrounds me as I pound the dirt. Something’s not right, but my mind is mush and all I can think about is getting to the finish line—first—before collapsing. My best friends and my new friends are all there waiting for me and I have to get there or die trying.
Then, all of a sudden, I’m across the line.
The crowd around me is cheering.
Everyone rushes me, surrounding me, hugging me. I struggle to breathe and remain upright. The endorphins are failing me now.
The last thing I remember before collapsing is Troy’s smiling face and that’s when I know. I didn’t win this race without help.
Which means I didn’t win at all.
Chapter 11
“I CAN’T BELIEVE you guys are here,” I repeat for, like, the millionth time, as we walk back across campus. After my race, we had stayed to watch the boys run. Griffin won by nearly two minutes and, even though he was a sweaty mess when he met Nola and Cesca, they were suitably impressed. It feels so good to have my girls at my side.
“We thought you needed a little . . .” Cesca grins. “. . . extra support.”
Nola hugs me. Again.
“Damian and I made the arrangements with their parents,” Mom says. “They have to return on the ferry tomorrow, so they don’t miss any more days of school.”
“Only one day,” I cry. It’s not enough. But it’s way better than nothing.
Damian walks up next to me. “We also thought it might be easier for you to . . . explain your situation in person.”
“Explain my—” I stop cold. Is Damian saying what I think he’s saying? “You mean?”
He nods.
I’m floored by how much trust he just put in me. He doesn’t know Nola and Cesca from anyone, but he trusts me enough to trust them.
“Thanks,” I say. Then, I can’t help it, I fling my arms around him and give him a big hug.
“You are more than welcome,” he says in his typical, formal voice. But there is a warmth in there that I never noticed before.
I can’t believe he’s really letting me tell Nola and Cesca about the school, the island, everything.
Now, all I have to do is figure out how to tell them.
“First, however,” he says in full on principal mode, “we need to have a discussion.”
Right. I knew this trust thing was too good to be true. My shoulders slump. I glance ahead at Mom and the girls who are getting ahead of us.
“Phoebe,” he says, laying a hand on my shoulder, “this has nothing to do with your friends.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “All right.”
“Why don’t we go to the school and your friends can look around while we talk?”
I nod, sensing that what he wants to tell me is a pretty big deal. Considering all the major life-flipping news I’ve gotten lately, I’m a little nervous about what more he could possibly have to talk to me about. Maybe he knows that Troy cheated to help me win.
“Hey girls,” I shout, running to catch up with them. “Wanna see my new school?”
We detour across the central lawn toward the front steps.
“PacificPark hasn’t been the same without you,” Cesca says.
“Did she tell you what she did to Justin?” Nola asks.
“No,” I say, grinning at my girls. “What?”
“It’s nothing,” Cesca says with a wink. “Really.”
Nola roll
s her eyes at the understatement. “She pantsed him in front of the whole school at the homecoming assembly.”