Goddess Boot Camp
Page 31
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Her voice wavers with sympathy, like she understands where I’m coming from. Whatever. She has no idea what I’m going through.
Without responding, I rush to my room. I hate it when she acts like a human—it’s so much easier to think of her as a vicious harpy.
At my desk, I pull the folded printout from my back pocket and smooth it out over my closed laptop. I scan the names on the list. Besides Stella, I only recognize three of them.
Katara, Xander
Roukas, Zoe
Martin, Christopher
I can’t imagine why any of the three would do this to me. Sure, there are still some—a lot of—lingering ill feelings about me being at the Academy. Students who don’t care that I’m one of them now, who hate outsiders or runners or Californians or whatever. Or that are resentful because I went from being nothos to being a third-generation hematheos and therefore pretty powerful and apparently enviable.
But this seems kind of extreme. I mean, it’s not like whoever it is won’t get in trouble for stealing the record. Damian would probably put them in detention for a year.
Besides, no one on the list seems a likely candidate.
Xander didn’t know I existed until camp started, so I doubt he’s masterminding the wild-goose chase. Zoe and Christopher are both on the track team. Christopher is one of the nicest guys in school—before I found out about my Nike heritage, he was the only one who would willingly pair up with me in practices. He would never do this. Zoe is one of Adara’s minions—translation: she hates me—but she’s off the island for the summer, visiting her family in Sweden or Switzerland or something.
I sigh, folding the list back up and slipping it into my desk drawer. No use beating my brain up against a brick wall. I’ll have to do some investigating. Maybe Troy and Nicole know something about the other kids on the list. I can ask tomorrow. For tonight I’ll do a quick search on the Academy Web site.
I power up my laptop and decide to check e-mail first.
Twelve new messages. And not one of them is spam. Maybe the gods finally developed a functioning spam blocker for the Academy e-mail system.
I quickly skim through my in-box.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Training Tomorrow
Phoebes,
Can we run in the morning again tomorrow?
Griff
No explanation. No apologies. No confession that he spent the afternoon at the bookstore with his ex. I take a deep breath. Benefit of the doubt, I tell myself. Benefit of the doubt. I shoot back a quick message saying I’ll meet him in the stadium at eight in the morning. I’m sure there is a perfectly rational reason.
I click to the next message.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Good News
The grant committee reconvened early. No decision yet, but I’ll
find out sooner rather than later whether I get it.
Peace and love,
Nola
Crossing my fingers and toes, I send a silent plea that the grant committee gives Nola her research grant. Just the thought of hanging out for a couple of weeks—instead of the couple of days we’ve spent together since I left L.A.—makes me forget all the craziness of the day.
If Nola comes to visit, then all will be right with the world.
Or half right anyway. If she and Cesca both come it will be perfect.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Paris Is Calling
Hey hot stuff. Just a quick e-mail to update my sched. I’ve got to be
in Paris, like, yesterday. I’m on a plane tomorrow and have to report
to work at six the next day—that’s six in the *morning*! Ugh. I’m busy packing. Don’t know when I’ll be able to e-mail, but I’ll get in touch
as soon as I can. Want anything from the city of lights?
XOXO Cesca
Cesca is even less of a morning person than I am, but I know that she’ll do anything to spend the summer traipsing around after fashion designers in her personal holy city. One day her designs will grace the covers of every major fashion magazine.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: We’ve Got Mail
Phoebola,
Sorry we haven’t called. International rates from Bangkok are phenomenally expensive. But e-mail is not. They have a business center in the hotel lobby, so here I am. We arrived safely and will stay in Bangkok for two more days before setting out on the guided tour of the rest of the country. We’re actually going to be in Phuket for their international marathon. We’ll get you a souvenir t-shirt.
Is everything going alright at home? You and Stella haven’t strangled each other, have you? How were your first days of boot camp? Make any new friends?
I know that controlling your powers is an unfamiliar challenge, but you are the strongest, most dedicated, strong-willed young woman I’ve ever known. You have your father’s drive to succeed, and that more than anything else will see you through this trial. I have absolute faith in you.
Damian and I are on our way to a traditional Thai dance performance, a style called khon. I will write more when I can. Call if you need anything.
Without responding, I rush to my room. I hate it when she acts like a human—it’s so much easier to think of her as a vicious harpy.
At my desk, I pull the folded printout from my back pocket and smooth it out over my closed laptop. I scan the names on the list. Besides Stella, I only recognize three of them.
Katara, Xander
Roukas, Zoe
Martin, Christopher
I can’t imagine why any of the three would do this to me. Sure, there are still some—a lot of—lingering ill feelings about me being at the Academy. Students who don’t care that I’m one of them now, who hate outsiders or runners or Californians or whatever. Or that are resentful because I went from being nothos to being a third-generation hematheos and therefore pretty powerful and apparently enviable.
But this seems kind of extreme. I mean, it’s not like whoever it is won’t get in trouble for stealing the record. Damian would probably put them in detention for a year.
Besides, no one on the list seems a likely candidate.
Xander didn’t know I existed until camp started, so I doubt he’s masterminding the wild-goose chase. Zoe and Christopher are both on the track team. Christopher is one of the nicest guys in school—before I found out about my Nike heritage, he was the only one who would willingly pair up with me in practices. He would never do this. Zoe is one of Adara’s minions—translation: she hates me—but she’s off the island for the summer, visiting her family in Sweden or Switzerland or something.
I sigh, folding the list back up and slipping it into my desk drawer. No use beating my brain up against a brick wall. I’ll have to do some investigating. Maybe Troy and Nicole know something about the other kids on the list. I can ask tomorrow. For tonight I’ll do a quick search on the Academy Web site.
I power up my laptop and decide to check e-mail first.
Twelve new messages. And not one of them is spam. Maybe the gods finally developed a functioning spam blocker for the Academy e-mail system.
I quickly skim through my in-box.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Training Tomorrow
Phoebes,
Can we run in the morning again tomorrow?
Griff
No explanation. No apologies. No confession that he spent the afternoon at the bookstore with his ex. I take a deep breath. Benefit of the doubt, I tell myself. Benefit of the doubt. I shoot back a quick message saying I’ll meet him in the stadium at eight in the morning. I’m sure there is a perfectly rational reason.
I click to the next message.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Good News
The grant committee reconvened early. No decision yet, but I’ll
find out sooner rather than later whether I get it.
Peace and love,
Nola
Crossing my fingers and toes, I send a silent plea that the grant committee gives Nola her research grant. Just the thought of hanging out for a couple of weeks—instead of the couple of days we’ve spent together since I left L.A.—makes me forget all the craziness of the day.
If Nola comes to visit, then all will be right with the world.
Or half right anyway. If she and Cesca both come it will be perfect.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Paris Is Calling
Hey hot stuff. Just a quick e-mail to update my sched. I’ve got to be
in Paris, like, yesterday. I’m on a plane tomorrow and have to report
to work at six the next day—that’s six in the *morning*! Ugh. I’m busy packing. Don’t know when I’ll be able to e-mail, but I’ll get in touch
as soon as I can. Want anything from the city of lights?
XOXO Cesca
Cesca is even less of a morning person than I am, but I know that she’ll do anything to spend the summer traipsing around after fashion designers in her personal holy city. One day her designs will grace the covers of every major fashion magazine.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: We’ve Got Mail
Phoebola,
Sorry we haven’t called. International rates from Bangkok are phenomenally expensive. But e-mail is not. They have a business center in the hotel lobby, so here I am. We arrived safely and will stay in Bangkok for two more days before setting out on the guided tour of the rest of the country. We’re actually going to be in Phuket for their international marathon. We’ll get you a souvenir t-shirt.
Is everything going alright at home? You and Stella haven’t strangled each other, have you? How were your first days of boot camp? Make any new friends?
I know that controlling your powers is an unfamiliar challenge, but you are the strongest, most dedicated, strong-willed young woman I’ve ever known. You have your father’s drive to succeed, and that more than anything else will see you through this trial. I have absolute faith in you.
Damian and I are on our way to a traditional Thai dance performance, a style called khon. I will write more when I can. Call if you need anything.
