Oh. My. Gods.
Page 55

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.