Goddess Boot Camp
Page 3
“Observing me?” My teeth clench. “Like how?”
I imagine the sneaky gods spying on me in the shower or the locker room or when I’m “studying” with Griffin.
“Circumspectly, I assure you.”
I am not assured.
Damian shuffles papers on his desk. “In any event, they are . . . ah-hem . . . concerned about your progress.”
Not the ah-hem. I have a feeling I’m in big trouble.
“The gods have decreed that you must . . . ah-hem . . . pass a test of their design before the upcoming summer solstice.”
“And what exactly does this test entail?” I ask, already fearing the answer. Whenever Damian breaks into ah-hems and nervous shuffling, it always spells bad news for me.
My introduction to this nervous Damian was last year when he told me the Greek gods—you know, Zeus, Hermes, Aphrodite . . . those gods—were real, not myth. So there’s probably something major—and majorly unpleasant—coming my way.
“I couldn’t say, exactly. In my time as headmaster, they have only demanded such a test from one other student.” His mouth tightens a little around the edges. “It will be designed with your personal strengths and weaknesses in mind. I can tell you, however, that it will put your powers—and your control of your powers—to the ultimate test. That is why I would like to accelerate your training.”
“Why?” I shift nervously in my seat. “When exactly is summer solstice?”
“The precise date is . . . ah-hem . . . the twenty-first.” He readjusts his tie. Again. “Of June.”
“The twenty-first of June?” I leap out of my chair and start pacing. “That’s only . . .” I count down on my fingers. “Sixteen days away.”
“The gods do not prize patience as a great virtue.”
“You think?” I ask, pulling out my best sarcasm.
I am not even pacified by the fact that he looks embarrassed.
He should be embarrassed. Even if this isn’t his fault.
Why does this stuff happen to me? I mean, I barely make it through what should have been my skate-through senior year with a B average. Now, after deciding to stick around an extra year to work on my powers—and to spend another year with the previously mentioned amazing boyfriend, Griffin—I find out I have to pass a test that proves I know how to control my powers first. Talk about a contradiction.
“What happens if I fail?” I ask. “Do I have to repeat Level 12, or what?”
“You will not fail,” he says, way too eagerly. “You have my word.”
“Okay,” I agree. “But what if I do?”
“If you do?” More paper shuffling. “You will be placed in a kind of . . . remedial program.”
There is something more he’s not saying, I can tell. I’ve learned to read him pretty well since he became my stepdad. But, at this point, I’m not prepared to dwell. I have an extreme imagination for coming up with all kinds of crazy punishment scenarios, but in this world—the world of myths and gods and dynamotheos powers—sometimes even my worst fears pale in comparison. Prometheus getting his liver pecked out daily by a giant eagle comes to mind. I don’t want to know what he’s not telling me.
“I will not allow you to fail,” he says again.
“How exactly are you going to make sure I don’t? Do you have some kind of magical get-out-of-Hades-free card?” I pace back and forth in front of his desk. “You and Mom are leaving in the morning for your honeymoon. You can’t exactly work with me from Thailand, can you?”
“Of course not,” he answers smoothly. “I have already arranged for an alternative training program.”
I silently hope this means even more private lessons from Griffin, but I know I’m not that lucky. And Damian’s not that considerate of my love life.
“No, not private lessons,” he says, proving again that he can read minds. “I have enrolled you in Dynamotheos Development Camp. You begin in the morning.”
“Now I have to pass this mysterious test before summer solstice or I’ll get held back a year.” I flop back next to Nicole on my bed, staring at the white plaster ceiling while my feet dangle off the edge. “Or locked in the school dungeon or chained to a mountainside—”
“You’re being melodramatic,” Nicole interrupts. “No one’s been chained to a mountain in centuries. And those rumors about the torture devices in the dungeon are completely fabricated.”
At my panicked look, she relents. “I’m teasing.” She grabs a pillow and smacks me over the stomach. “Lighten up, will ya?”
I try to relax with a deep breath and a heavy sigh. It doesn’t work.
Nicole is so much better at the whole go-with-the-flow, leave-your-worries-behind thing. Me? I’m like a poster child for stressing about stuff you can’t control.
I don’t know what I’d do if she weren’t staying on Serfopoula for the summer. Of course, she stays on Serfopoula every summer—it’s one of the contingencies for allowing her back on the island to attend the Academy after her parents were banished by the gods. She can’t leave until she graduates.
That sucks for her, but I’m glad she’s here.
“Does Petrolas have a plan to boost your training?”
“Yeah.” I sigh, wishing I was a little more spiky-blonde-haired extremist girl, instead of long-brown-ponytailed worry girl. “He’s sending me to Dynamotheos Development Camp for the next two weeks.”
I imagine the sneaky gods spying on me in the shower or the locker room or when I’m “studying” with Griffin.
“Circumspectly, I assure you.”
I am not assured.
Damian shuffles papers on his desk. “In any event, they are . . . ah-hem . . . concerned about your progress.”
Not the ah-hem. I have a feeling I’m in big trouble.
“The gods have decreed that you must . . . ah-hem . . . pass a test of their design before the upcoming summer solstice.”
“And what exactly does this test entail?” I ask, already fearing the answer. Whenever Damian breaks into ah-hems and nervous shuffling, it always spells bad news for me.
My introduction to this nervous Damian was last year when he told me the Greek gods—you know, Zeus, Hermes, Aphrodite . . . those gods—were real, not myth. So there’s probably something major—and majorly unpleasant—coming my way.
“I couldn’t say, exactly. In my time as headmaster, they have only demanded such a test from one other student.” His mouth tightens a little around the edges. “It will be designed with your personal strengths and weaknesses in mind. I can tell you, however, that it will put your powers—and your control of your powers—to the ultimate test. That is why I would like to accelerate your training.”
“Why?” I shift nervously in my seat. “When exactly is summer solstice?”
“The precise date is . . . ah-hem . . . the twenty-first.” He readjusts his tie. Again. “Of June.”
“The twenty-first of June?” I leap out of my chair and start pacing. “That’s only . . .” I count down on my fingers. “Sixteen days away.”
“The gods do not prize patience as a great virtue.”
“You think?” I ask, pulling out my best sarcasm.
I am not even pacified by the fact that he looks embarrassed.
He should be embarrassed. Even if this isn’t his fault.
Why does this stuff happen to me? I mean, I barely make it through what should have been my skate-through senior year with a B average. Now, after deciding to stick around an extra year to work on my powers—and to spend another year with the previously mentioned amazing boyfriend, Griffin—I find out I have to pass a test that proves I know how to control my powers first. Talk about a contradiction.
“What happens if I fail?” I ask. “Do I have to repeat Level 12, or what?”
“You will not fail,” he says, way too eagerly. “You have my word.”
“Okay,” I agree. “But what if I do?”
“If you do?” More paper shuffling. “You will be placed in a kind of . . . remedial program.”
There is something more he’s not saying, I can tell. I’ve learned to read him pretty well since he became my stepdad. But, at this point, I’m not prepared to dwell. I have an extreme imagination for coming up with all kinds of crazy punishment scenarios, but in this world—the world of myths and gods and dynamotheos powers—sometimes even my worst fears pale in comparison. Prometheus getting his liver pecked out daily by a giant eagle comes to mind. I don’t want to know what he’s not telling me.
“I will not allow you to fail,” he says again.
“How exactly are you going to make sure I don’t? Do you have some kind of magical get-out-of-Hades-free card?” I pace back and forth in front of his desk. “You and Mom are leaving in the morning for your honeymoon. You can’t exactly work with me from Thailand, can you?”
“Of course not,” he answers smoothly. “I have already arranged for an alternative training program.”
I silently hope this means even more private lessons from Griffin, but I know I’m not that lucky. And Damian’s not that considerate of my love life.
“No, not private lessons,” he says, proving again that he can read minds. “I have enrolled you in Dynamotheos Development Camp. You begin in the morning.”
“Now I have to pass this mysterious test before summer solstice or I’ll get held back a year.” I flop back next to Nicole on my bed, staring at the white plaster ceiling while my feet dangle off the edge. “Or locked in the school dungeon or chained to a mountainside—”
“You’re being melodramatic,” Nicole interrupts. “No one’s been chained to a mountain in centuries. And those rumors about the torture devices in the dungeon are completely fabricated.”
At my panicked look, she relents. “I’m teasing.” She grabs a pillow and smacks me over the stomach. “Lighten up, will ya?”
I try to relax with a deep breath and a heavy sigh. It doesn’t work.
Nicole is so much better at the whole go-with-the-flow, leave-your-worries-behind thing. Me? I’m like a poster child for stressing about stuff you can’t control.
I don’t know what I’d do if she weren’t staying on Serfopoula for the summer. Of course, she stays on Serfopoula every summer—it’s one of the contingencies for allowing her back on the island to attend the Academy after her parents were banished by the gods. She can’t leave until she graduates.
That sucks for her, but I’m glad she’s here.
“Does Petrolas have a plan to boost your training?”
“Yeah.” I sigh, wishing I was a little more spiky-blonde-haired extremist girl, instead of long-brown-ponytailed worry girl. “He’s sending me to Dynamotheos Development Camp for the next two weeks.”
