Oh. My. Gods.
Page 41
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“Oh, Nicole, I’m so sorry.”
“The worst of it was,” she says, wiping at her tears, “they were punished because of what Griffin and I did. Because he wouldn’t accept responsibility for his actions. He let the gods ruin my parents’ lives to save his own skin.”
“I can’t believe that.” I know Griffin can be jerky, but the boy I met on the beach—the one I’m going through all this for—has a good heart. “He wouldn’t do something that would knowingly hurt—”
“He went in to testify,” she snaps. “When he came out, my parents were banished.”
Tears stream down her cheeks. Wrapping my arms around her, I squeeze tight. This is what Mom would call the release of repressed emotion. I think it’s just good for her to let it all out. I can’t believe she never talked to anyone about this before. Then again, everyone else probably already knows the whole story. I’m just glad I could be here for her.
For several minutes we sit there, Nicole crying and me hugging her. Eventually, the tears stop and she begins to sniff.
“So,” I say to alleviate the post-traumatic release silence, “you said something about strategy?”
“Yes,” she says matter-of-factly, jumping to her feet and pretending like she was never crying. “You can’t go in without a game plan. It’d be like . . .” She thinks for a second. “. . . running a race without knowing the course.”
Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like this?
“Okay,” I relent. “Strategy.”
“I recommend one part helpless girl, one part ample cleavage, and three parts ego-petting.” She must see the blank look on my face because she adds, “Do I need to write this down?”
“No,” I reply. “But you’ll have to explain it.”
With a whole body sigh, she sits on the bed. “To get Griffin’s attention—in a good way—you need to appeal to his weaknesses. Those would be playing the hero, ogling breasts, and colossal arrogance that could fill the Parthenon.”
I nod, but am still not really sure what she means.
Nicole rolls her eyes at my continued confusion. “He’s a chauvinistic, hormone-driven, egotistical jerk.”
Oh. Is that all? I already knew that.
“The real question,” she continues, “is how to use that against him.”
“I bet you have a plan.”
“As a matter of fact—” She grins wickedly. “I do.”
I know I’m not going to like this.
“Are you ready for pain?” Griffin asks as I walk up to the starting line.
Nicole suggested I play it weak—no arguing, no witty retorts, nothing but sweetness and sugar. The second I see Griffin’s smug smile I know I can’t play that part.
“I can take anything you dish out, Blake.”
He looks me up and down, hovering over my chest and thighs on the way back up. I’m filled with a little bubble of satisfaction that my clothing is worth the embarrassment. If nothing else, I know that he likes what he sees.
“Let’s get started,” I say when he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.
“Right,” he says, his eyes snapping back up to my face. “You warmed up?”
“On fire.”
He smirks. “Then on my count.”
We line up at the starting line.
Griffin counts down, “Three, two, one—”
I take off before he says go, speeding down the trail, knowing he’s at least one pace behind. A quarter-mile into the course he catches up with me.
“You cheated.”
“No,” I say casually. “I was just evening the score.”
He has no comeback for that. He knows he cheated last time and I’m confident he’s not going to cheat again. There’s no one here but the two of us to see who wins.
Besides, I bet he’s dying to find out for real who’s faster.
Right then I know I can’t go through with Nicole’s plan. It feels too good to be in a real race for victory—I can’t not compete. I’m going to run this race until my feet bleed. And I’m going to win.
I see a blaze of red out of the corner of my eye.
Turning, I see Nicole’s spiky blonde hair amidst the shrubby trees and undergrowth. What is she doing h—
A flash of light glows at my feet and next thing I know I’m pitching to the ground, face-first. Even as I tumble, I feel my feet fly out from under me and I know it’s not another case of knotted shoelaces.
No, Nicole just sprained my ankle for me.
Chapter 7
“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” Griffin is leaning over me, his brows
pinched together in concern.
“Yes,” I say, rolling onto my back. “Just peachy.”
“What happened?” He looks really anxious, like I’m going to accuse him of zapping me like last time.
No, I know better.
“I’m not sure. I just tr—aaaack!” I try to stand, but my right ankle buckles under me. Arms flailing, I collapse forward against Griffin’s chest.
Seems like Nicole didn’t just knock me down. My ankle doesn’t hurt or anything, but it won’t support my weight. As I clutch Griffin’s shoulders and claw my way upright, I throw a scowl in the direction of the bushes where I glimpsed her. She’s long gone, I’m sure.
“You must have really twisted that ankle,” Griffin says, placing his hands on my back for support. “Can you walk?”
“The worst of it was,” she says, wiping at her tears, “they were punished because of what Griffin and I did. Because he wouldn’t accept responsibility for his actions. He let the gods ruin my parents’ lives to save his own skin.”
“I can’t believe that.” I know Griffin can be jerky, but the boy I met on the beach—the one I’m going through all this for—has a good heart. “He wouldn’t do something that would knowingly hurt—”
“He went in to testify,” she snaps. “When he came out, my parents were banished.”
Tears stream down her cheeks. Wrapping my arms around her, I squeeze tight. This is what Mom would call the release of repressed emotion. I think it’s just good for her to let it all out. I can’t believe she never talked to anyone about this before. Then again, everyone else probably already knows the whole story. I’m just glad I could be here for her.
For several minutes we sit there, Nicole crying and me hugging her. Eventually, the tears stop and she begins to sniff.
“So,” I say to alleviate the post-traumatic release silence, “you said something about strategy?”
“Yes,” she says matter-of-factly, jumping to her feet and pretending like she was never crying. “You can’t go in without a game plan. It’d be like . . .” She thinks for a second. “. . . running a race without knowing the course.”
Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like this?
“Okay,” I relent. “Strategy.”
“I recommend one part helpless girl, one part ample cleavage, and three parts ego-petting.” She must see the blank look on my face because she adds, “Do I need to write this down?”
“No,” I reply. “But you’ll have to explain it.”
With a whole body sigh, she sits on the bed. “To get Griffin’s attention—in a good way—you need to appeal to his weaknesses. Those would be playing the hero, ogling breasts, and colossal arrogance that could fill the Parthenon.”
I nod, but am still not really sure what she means.
Nicole rolls her eyes at my continued confusion. “He’s a chauvinistic, hormone-driven, egotistical jerk.”
Oh. Is that all? I already knew that.
“The real question,” she continues, “is how to use that against him.”
“I bet you have a plan.”
“As a matter of fact—” She grins wickedly. “I do.”
I know I’m not going to like this.
“Are you ready for pain?” Griffin asks as I walk up to the starting line.
Nicole suggested I play it weak—no arguing, no witty retorts, nothing but sweetness and sugar. The second I see Griffin’s smug smile I know I can’t play that part.
“I can take anything you dish out, Blake.”
He looks me up and down, hovering over my chest and thighs on the way back up. I’m filled with a little bubble of satisfaction that my clothing is worth the embarrassment. If nothing else, I know that he likes what he sees.
“Let’s get started,” I say when he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.
“Right,” he says, his eyes snapping back up to my face. “You warmed up?”
“On fire.”
He smirks. “Then on my count.”
We line up at the starting line.
Griffin counts down, “Three, two, one—”
I take off before he says go, speeding down the trail, knowing he’s at least one pace behind. A quarter-mile into the course he catches up with me.
“You cheated.”
“No,” I say casually. “I was just evening the score.”
He has no comeback for that. He knows he cheated last time and I’m confident he’s not going to cheat again. There’s no one here but the two of us to see who wins.
Besides, I bet he’s dying to find out for real who’s faster.
Right then I know I can’t go through with Nicole’s plan. It feels too good to be in a real race for victory—I can’t not compete. I’m going to run this race until my feet bleed. And I’m going to win.
I see a blaze of red out of the corner of my eye.
Turning, I see Nicole’s spiky blonde hair amidst the shrubby trees and undergrowth. What is she doing h—
A flash of light glows at my feet and next thing I know I’m pitching to the ground, face-first. Even as I tumble, I feel my feet fly out from under me and I know it’s not another case of knotted shoelaces.
No, Nicole just sprained my ankle for me.
Chapter 7
“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” Griffin is leaning over me, his brows
pinched together in concern.
“Yes,” I say, rolling onto my back. “Just peachy.”
“What happened?” He looks really anxious, like I’m going to accuse him of zapping me like last time.
No, I know better.
“I’m not sure. I just tr—aaaack!” I try to stand, but my right ankle buckles under me. Arms flailing, I collapse forward against Griffin’s chest.
Seems like Nicole didn’t just knock me down. My ankle doesn’t hurt or anything, but it won’t support my weight. As I clutch Griffin’s shoulders and claw my way upright, I throw a scowl in the direction of the bushes where I glimpsed her. She’s long gone, I’m sure.
“You must have really twisted that ankle,” Griffin says, placing his hands on my back for support. “Can you walk?”
