Goddess Boot Camp
Page 19
Griffin and Adara instantly forgotten, I turn on Stella.
“What?”
I can’t have heard her right. That sounded like . . . a compliment.
“Most kids have trouble bringing their powers to the surface. Yours live on the surface. They bubble out when you’re not even trying.”
Is that envy in her voice?
“That’s highly unusual. Rare, even. Once you learn to harness them, you’ll be at least as powerful as I am.” She purses one side of her mouth, like she can’t believe what she’s about to say. “Maybe more.”
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. That definitely sounded like a compliment. “What?”
“You heard me,” she retorts. “I won’t say it again.”
“Wow,” I say, in utter shock. Stella actually complimented me. I didn’t think that was in her vocabulary. I’m surprised she didn’t spontaneously combust at the effort.
“Earth to Phoebe,” she says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Focus on the bigger picture here, please.”
I scowl. “How do you know what I’m focusing on?”
She just cocks her eyebrows, as if to say, How do you think?
Then it hits me. Her dad has this uncanny ability to read minds—or emotions or whatever he’s admitting to at the time. She probably inherited that talent from him.
“What, is reading minds like a Hera thing?”
“Didn’t you review the study guide?” She crosses her arms over her chest, daring me to try sarcasm again. “Psychospection, the ability to see into the minds of others, is a power derived from the queen of the gods.”
“Oh.” And I thought I was kidding.
That would be a pretty cool power to have. No more trying to guess what Griffin is thinking or what Adara’s motives are. Too bad I’m not a descendant of Hera.
“All hematheos have this power,” Stella says, answering my thoughts. “To some degree, anyway. It’s how the powers thing works. In addition to a primary ability from your specific ancestor god, we have powers derived from all twelve Olympians—which you would know if you had read the study guide. The closer you are on the tree, the stronger all the powers.”
And I assumed the powers were more of a vague, limitless thing. I never thought about there being different kinds. Or where they came from.
“So I can read minds?”
“Not likely.” She snickers. “Only descendants of Hera can literally read minds. Most hematheos just sense basic emotions or general ideas.”
Good. The last thing I need is everyone reading my mind. It’s bad enough if Stella can. Especially when I’m thinking about how much she—
“Wait,” I say, remembering what caused the whole living-birthday-cake incident. “Does that mean you—”
“Yes.”
One word. She didn’t even hear the question, but I know she knows.
“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it. I may not like Stella all the time, but she is the closest thing to a sister that I have. Besides, I don’t like being mean to anyone—except Adara, of course. It’s bad karma or something. And I don’t need to invite more bad luck than I already have.
“The bigger picture,” she prods. “You can apologize profusely after you pass the test.”
“Oh, right.” I set aside my personal berating. “I’m superpowerful. What does that mean?”
“It means your powers are harder to control. They work with very little effort.” She flicks her highlight-heavy hair over her shoulder. “You need to learn how to control them properly so they stop unintentionally going off.”
That makes my powers sound like a burglar alarm. Like if I accidentally open the door, I have three seconds to enter the code or the police will report to the scene. At least I don’t have sirens blaring every time my powers mess up. Although that would at least let me know when it’s happened.
“How exactly do I do that?” I ask. I’ve been training for months, and they’re still out of control. “It’s not like I haven’t been trying.”
“But you haven’t had my undivided attention.” She smiles smugly. “I can work miracles when I have full focus and a plan.”
I shiver at the thought of being Stella’s full focus.
“What makes you think you know the magic formula? No one else does.”
“Because I’ve done it before.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Daddy told you there was another student who had to pass the gods’ test, right?”
I gasp. “That was you?”
“No, of course not.” She scowls, like how could I be so stupid? “Under my tutelage, that student passed the test.”
Tutelage? That sounds too much like torture.
But it’s kind of reassuring to know that other student passed the test. With Stella’s help. Plus, that means she can dish some more details on the test. Like what that test will be like and what might happen if I fail the test.
“With this other student,” I begin. “How did they—”
“I’m going to go through some of my old training lesson plans this afternoon.” She cuts off my question and checks her watch. “Why don’t we meet back home at six to discuss the plan?”
“Can’t,” I say, stifling a growl. She always acts so superior. “Griffin and I have a training run.”
“What?”
I can’t have heard her right. That sounded like . . . a compliment.
“Most kids have trouble bringing their powers to the surface. Yours live on the surface. They bubble out when you’re not even trying.”
Is that envy in her voice?
“That’s highly unusual. Rare, even. Once you learn to harness them, you’ll be at least as powerful as I am.” She purses one side of her mouth, like she can’t believe what she’s about to say. “Maybe more.”
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. That definitely sounded like a compliment. “What?”
“You heard me,” she retorts. “I won’t say it again.”
“Wow,” I say, in utter shock. Stella actually complimented me. I didn’t think that was in her vocabulary. I’m surprised she didn’t spontaneously combust at the effort.
“Earth to Phoebe,” she says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Focus on the bigger picture here, please.”
I scowl. “How do you know what I’m focusing on?”
She just cocks her eyebrows, as if to say, How do you think?
Then it hits me. Her dad has this uncanny ability to read minds—or emotions or whatever he’s admitting to at the time. She probably inherited that talent from him.
“What, is reading minds like a Hera thing?”
“Didn’t you review the study guide?” She crosses her arms over her chest, daring me to try sarcasm again. “Psychospection, the ability to see into the minds of others, is a power derived from the queen of the gods.”
“Oh.” And I thought I was kidding.
That would be a pretty cool power to have. No more trying to guess what Griffin is thinking or what Adara’s motives are. Too bad I’m not a descendant of Hera.
“All hematheos have this power,” Stella says, answering my thoughts. “To some degree, anyway. It’s how the powers thing works. In addition to a primary ability from your specific ancestor god, we have powers derived from all twelve Olympians—which you would know if you had read the study guide. The closer you are on the tree, the stronger all the powers.”
And I assumed the powers were more of a vague, limitless thing. I never thought about there being different kinds. Or where they came from.
“So I can read minds?”
“Not likely.” She snickers. “Only descendants of Hera can literally read minds. Most hematheos just sense basic emotions or general ideas.”
Good. The last thing I need is everyone reading my mind. It’s bad enough if Stella can. Especially when I’m thinking about how much she—
“Wait,” I say, remembering what caused the whole living-birthday-cake incident. “Does that mean you—”
“Yes.”
One word. She didn’t even hear the question, but I know she knows.
“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it. I may not like Stella all the time, but she is the closest thing to a sister that I have. Besides, I don’t like being mean to anyone—except Adara, of course. It’s bad karma or something. And I don’t need to invite more bad luck than I already have.
“The bigger picture,” she prods. “You can apologize profusely after you pass the test.”
“Oh, right.” I set aside my personal berating. “I’m superpowerful. What does that mean?”
“It means your powers are harder to control. They work with very little effort.” She flicks her highlight-heavy hair over her shoulder. “You need to learn how to control them properly so they stop unintentionally going off.”
That makes my powers sound like a burglar alarm. Like if I accidentally open the door, I have three seconds to enter the code or the police will report to the scene. At least I don’t have sirens blaring every time my powers mess up. Although that would at least let me know when it’s happened.
“How exactly do I do that?” I ask. I’ve been training for months, and they’re still out of control. “It’s not like I haven’t been trying.”
“But you haven’t had my undivided attention.” She smiles smugly. “I can work miracles when I have full focus and a plan.”
I shiver at the thought of being Stella’s full focus.
“What makes you think you know the magic formula? No one else does.”
“Because I’ve done it before.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Daddy told you there was another student who had to pass the gods’ test, right?”
I gasp. “That was you?”
“No, of course not.” She scowls, like how could I be so stupid? “Under my tutelage, that student passed the test.”
Tutelage? That sounds too much like torture.
But it’s kind of reassuring to know that other student passed the test. With Stella’s help. Plus, that means she can dish some more details on the test. Like what that test will be like and what might happen if I fail the test.
“With this other student,” I begin. “How did they—”
“I’m going to go through some of my old training lesson plans this afternoon.” She cuts off my question and checks her watch. “Why don’t we meet back home at six to discuss the plan?”
“Can’t,” I say, stifling a growl. She always acts so superior. “Griffin and I have a training run.”
