Read Oh.My.Gods. 02 - Goddess Boot Camp Page 5


  When I open the bath­ro­om do­or, all three of them are stan­ding the­re wa­iting for me.

  "For the lo­ve of Ni­ke," I say, exas­pe­ra­ted. "Wo­uld you two bon vo­ya­ge al­re­ady so 1 can go back to wa­king up in pe­ace?"

  Mom gi­ves me a ha-ha-very-fun­ny lo­ok. What we­re they thin­king le­aving at eight in the mor­ning, any­way? Tha­iland will still be the­re in the af­ter­no­on.

  I shuf­fle in­to my ro­om, clo­sing the do­or be­fo­re any of them can fol­low me. Thirty se­conds la­ter I've tra­ded my bo­xers for swe­ats and ha­ve pul­led on my All Stars so I can see them off.

  In a bi­zar­re lit­tle pa­ra­de, we all tra­ip­se down to the dock. Ze­nos, the yacht cap­ta­in, is car­rying two of Mom's me­ga­su­it­ca­ses and Da­mi­an is car­rying the ot­her. I'm strug­gling with Mom's car­ry-on- which I sus­pect has at le­ast a we­ek's worth of clot­hes. Mom is wal­king hand in hand with Hes­per, who is way mo­re li­ke fa­mily than staff. Stel­la is car­rying-yep, you gu­es­sed it-not­hing. How do­es she al­ways ma­na­ge to get out of the­se things? She's li­ke the Ho­udi­ni of grunt work. Ma­kes Tom Saw­yer lo­ok li­ke an ama­te­ur slac­ker.

  As Da­mi­an and Ze­nos lo­ad the su­it­ca­ses, Mom fa­ces me and Stel­la.

  "Now you're su­re you girls will be all right?" she asks, aga­in.

  I'm temp­ted to emp­loy sar­casm, but the fe­ar that she might ac­tu­al­ly ta­ke it se­ri­o­usly ma­kes me say. "Of co­ur­se, Mom."

  "Re­al­ly. Va­le­rie." Stel­la adds. "I ha­ve everyt­hing un­der cont­rol."

  I drop Mom's car­ry-on on Stel­la's Keds-clad fo­ot.

  "Be­ca­use we can can­cel the trip," Mom says. And I know from the su­per­sad lo­ok in her eyes, she'd do it, too. She wo­uldn't want to- she's be­en dre­aming of this trip for months-but she wo­uld.

  I sco­ot the car­ry-on off of Stel­la's fo­ot.

  "Se­ri­o­usly, we'll be fi­ne," I say, gi­ving her my best I'll-be­ha­ve-li­ke-an-adult sin­ce­rity. "Stel­la and I can get along for a few days." I don't lo­ok at Stel­la be­ca­use I don't think I can hold a stra­ight fa­ce. "I'll be busy tra­ining and go­ing to camp."

  "If you're su­re…" Mom's eyes get all wa­tery.

  "Be­si­des, we're on an is­land pro­tec­ted by the gods," I say, thro­wing my arms out wi­de. "What co­uld pos­sibly go wrong?"

  know, I know. Whe­ne­ver so­me­one says that in mo­vi­es, so­met­hing go­es ter­ribly wrong. But se­ri­o­usly, this is the is­land of the gods-they even ha­ve the so­uve­nir T-shirts to pro­ve it. The­re are su­per­na­tu­ral sa­fe­gu­ards.

  "Don't work too hard." she in­sists, pul­ling me in­to a hug.

  "I won't."

  "Don't spend all yo­ur ti­me wor­rying abo­ut the test."

  "I won't."

  "1 wish this was so­met­hing I co­uld help you with, she sniffs. "I fe­el so po­wer­less and-"

  "I know, Mom." I le­an back and gi­ve her my best se­ri­o­usly-I'm-an-adult-and-I'm-to­tal­ly-fi­ne lo­ok. "Re­al­ly, I ha­ve to fi­gu­re it out on my own."

  Ho­pe­ful­ly with a lit­tle help from God­dess Bo­ot Camp.

  "The yacht is re­ady,Va­le­rie," Da­mi­an says. "We must de­part or we will miss the ferry in Se­ri­fos."

  Mom's te­ars start to fall. "I'll call you every day, she says, squ­e­ezing me one last ti­me.

  "You will not, I in­sist. "This is yo­ur ho­ney­mo­on. Enj­oy it. Don't spend all yo­ur ti­me wor­rying abo­ut me."

  When she re­le­ases me,she qu­ickly wi­pes away her te­ars. Stel­la steps for­ward and gi­ves her a qu­ick hug.

  "I'll ta­ke ca­re of yo­ur girl, Va­le­rie." she pro­mi­ses.

  Okay. I am se­ri­o­usly get­ting ti­red of Stel­la's pat­ro­ni­zing com­ments. Li­ke I'm so­me kind of lit­tle kid who ne­eds to be watc­hed over. She's months-not ye­ars-older. But I am not abo­ut to try for re­ven­ge with Mom and Da­mi­an stan­ding right the­re. If I mess up- or may­be I sho­uld say when I mess up-they'll can­cel the­ir trip in a se­cond. And then I'd fe­el re­al­ly, re­al­ly gu­ilty.

  "Go, I say, sho­o­ing Mom to­ward the bo­at.

  With one last lit­tle hug, she hur­ri­es to jo­in Da­mi­an. Ze­nos un­ti­es the yacht from the dock and ta­kes his pla­ce at the whe­el. As they pull away, Stel­la and I stand the­re wa­ving-per­fectly fa­ke smi­les pas­ted on both our fa­ces. Hes­per steps to the end of the dock, pulls a whi­te hand­kerc­hi­ef from her dress, and starts wa­ving it at the ret­re­ating yacht.

  "Don't worry," I sho­ut as they es­ca­pe he­aring dis­tan­ce. "If I ha­ve to kill Stel­la, I'll bury her body in the ro­se gar­den."

  Not that we ha­ve a ro­se gar­den.

  I bra­ce myself for Stel­la to zap me in­to the wa­ter. When she do­esn't, I sne­ak a pe­ek from the cor­ner of my eye. She's still smi­ling and wa­ving.

  The­re is de­fi­ni­tely so­met­hing wrong with her.

  "Are you fe­eling all right?" I ask ner­vo­usly.

  "Won­der­ful, she says, ne­ver ta­king her eyes off the yacht.

  "Why are you be­ing so-"

  "You'd bet­ter hurry, she in­ter­rupts, tur­ning ab­ruptly to gi­ve me a bril­li­ant smi­le. "Wo­uldn't want to be la­te for the first day of camp."

  She turns and walks away and I'm left sta­ring af­ter her, to­tal­ly con­fu­sed.

  "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 cars 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 pro­bably 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 po­
si­ti­on, 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.