Oh. My. Gods.
Page 22
I maintain my pace, just like Dad taught me.
Step, step, step, breathe. Step, step, step—
“Why bother trying out?”
Griffin’s question—from right next to me—startles me and I trip over my own feet, but manage to stay upright and moving forward. It takes several steps before I get my rhythm back.
“What do you mean?”
I risk a glance.
His blue eyes are focused on the course and his mouth is twisted in a smirk. “You’ll never qualify,” he says. “You’re a nothos. You can’t keep up.”
Who is he to tell me what I can and can’t do? He doesn’t know me. Cute boy or not, I can beat his tail.
“I’m keeping up with you,” I snap.
“Only because I’m letting you.”
His expression doesn’t change and he doesn’t look away from the course, but I can tell he’s laughing at me. I really can’t stand it when people laugh at me.
I feel a little surge of extra energy—adrenaline—and pick up my pace.
“When the race is over,” I say, letting his taunts get the better of me, “you can let me know how it feels to be beat by a nothos.”
That hits home. His anger doesn’t show on his face, but his hands ball into fists and his movement becomes a little tighter.
“That,” he says through clearly clenched teeth, “will never happen.”
What happened to the super sweet guy I met on the beach? This is more like the guy Nicole warned me about. “Were you possessed by the Furies after we met this morning? Or did I just catch you off guard before you’d had your jerk juice?”
“This morning,” he snaps, “I didn’t know who you were.”
“Oh,” I say, “you’re only nice to strangers. Now that we’re acquainted you have to be rude. Got it.”
“If I were being rude,” he said, his voice cold and hard, “you would know it. I’m only amusing myself to pass the time. In about half a kilometer you’ll be in my dust.”
Well, I didn’t get to be Western Regional Champion—twice— without learning how to ignore head games. Cross-country is full of trash talk, but it’s only effective if you let it get to you.
“Whatever.” I shrug, “We’ll see at the finish line.”
Looking ahead, I realize we have dropped back a little from the main group. I can’t let him get me off my race. I count to three before kicking up my pace another notch. Already I can feel myself closing the gap.
“Never,” Griffin says as he speeds up, “mess with a descendant of Ares, nothos.”
Then, before I can reply, a flash of light glows at my feet and the next thing I know I’m tumbling headfirst into the packed dirt path.
Griffin and the other runners disappear around a bend in the course and all I’m left with is a thin cloud of dust. Jumping to my feet, I look down to find my shoelaces untied, or, more accurately, untied and retied together.
Stepping out of my shoes rather than bother untying the supernatural knot—which is probably impossible to undo, anyway—I turn and start the long trudge back to the starting line.
Chapter 4
WHEN COACH LENNY crosses the finish line, I am sitting in the dirt, trying to unknot my sneakers without success. After trying to unravel the knot for nearly half an hour, it hasn’t budged a millimeter. Either I’m going to have to cut the laces or buy new Nikes.
“What happened?” he asks, slowing to a stop at my shoeless feet.
I shrug. “I tripped.”
“Tripped?” he asks between panting breaths. He starts pacing around me in little circles. “So you just give up?”
“What do you want me to do?” I shout, flinging my hopelessly joined sneakers into the woods. “I’m just a plain old, non-godrelated person. I can’t keep up.”
Even if I could, no one would let me. Except for my mom—and maybe Damian—nobody wants me on this stupid island. I wish I could go home. Only I don’t have a home to go home to. At this point, a year with Yia Yia Minta—with her stinky goat cheese, chain smoking, and spitting on everything for good luck—would be a blessing.
Coach Lenny squats in front of me. He stares into my eyes, like he’s trying to see all the way into my brain. Heck, he’s part-god. Maybe he can.
The sounds of footsteps and heavy breathing coming from the course indicate the first group of racers. Griffin, of course, is in the lead. I wonder if he cheated against everybody else, too.
Coach Lenny looks from me to Griffin and back again. His lips firm into a tight line. I can see the muscles in his jaw clenching.
“Did he use his powers against you?” Coach Lenny pronounces every word very carefully. He sounds really angry.
Griffin, walking around the starting area with his hands on his waist, looks at me like a puppy caught peeing on the rug. Nicole and Troy said the whole powers thing is strictly controlled and that using them against someone else is a big no-no. Like when Stella zapped my backpack.
I bet sabotaging my race is worth more than a week of grounded powers.
His fate is in my hands.
I smile at Griffin, majorly satisfied to see his ears turn red. I don’t know if he’s embarrassed for being such a jerk or afraid that I’m going to rat on him, but I like both options equally.
Either I turn him in and get revenge for his jerkiness this afternoon, or I cover for him and then he owes me one. Big time.
Step, step, step, breathe. Step, step, step—
“Why bother trying out?”
Griffin’s question—from right next to me—startles me and I trip over my own feet, but manage to stay upright and moving forward. It takes several steps before I get my rhythm back.
“What do you mean?”
I risk a glance.
His blue eyes are focused on the course and his mouth is twisted in a smirk. “You’ll never qualify,” he says. “You’re a nothos. You can’t keep up.”
Who is he to tell me what I can and can’t do? He doesn’t know me. Cute boy or not, I can beat his tail.
“I’m keeping up with you,” I snap.
“Only because I’m letting you.”
His expression doesn’t change and he doesn’t look away from the course, but I can tell he’s laughing at me. I really can’t stand it when people laugh at me.
I feel a little surge of extra energy—adrenaline—and pick up my pace.
“When the race is over,” I say, letting his taunts get the better of me, “you can let me know how it feels to be beat by a nothos.”
That hits home. His anger doesn’t show on his face, but his hands ball into fists and his movement becomes a little tighter.
“That,” he says through clearly clenched teeth, “will never happen.”
What happened to the super sweet guy I met on the beach? This is more like the guy Nicole warned me about. “Were you possessed by the Furies after we met this morning? Or did I just catch you off guard before you’d had your jerk juice?”
“This morning,” he snaps, “I didn’t know who you were.”
“Oh,” I say, “you’re only nice to strangers. Now that we’re acquainted you have to be rude. Got it.”
“If I were being rude,” he said, his voice cold and hard, “you would know it. I’m only amusing myself to pass the time. In about half a kilometer you’ll be in my dust.”
Well, I didn’t get to be Western Regional Champion—twice— without learning how to ignore head games. Cross-country is full of trash talk, but it’s only effective if you let it get to you.
“Whatever.” I shrug, “We’ll see at the finish line.”
Looking ahead, I realize we have dropped back a little from the main group. I can’t let him get me off my race. I count to three before kicking up my pace another notch. Already I can feel myself closing the gap.
“Never,” Griffin says as he speeds up, “mess with a descendant of Ares, nothos.”
Then, before I can reply, a flash of light glows at my feet and the next thing I know I’m tumbling headfirst into the packed dirt path.
Griffin and the other runners disappear around a bend in the course and all I’m left with is a thin cloud of dust. Jumping to my feet, I look down to find my shoelaces untied, or, more accurately, untied and retied together.
Stepping out of my shoes rather than bother untying the supernatural knot—which is probably impossible to undo, anyway—I turn and start the long trudge back to the starting line.
Chapter 4
WHEN COACH LENNY crosses the finish line, I am sitting in the dirt, trying to unknot my sneakers without success. After trying to unravel the knot for nearly half an hour, it hasn’t budged a millimeter. Either I’m going to have to cut the laces or buy new Nikes.
“What happened?” he asks, slowing to a stop at my shoeless feet.
I shrug. “I tripped.”
“Tripped?” he asks between panting breaths. He starts pacing around me in little circles. “So you just give up?”
“What do you want me to do?” I shout, flinging my hopelessly joined sneakers into the woods. “I’m just a plain old, non-godrelated person. I can’t keep up.”
Even if I could, no one would let me. Except for my mom—and maybe Damian—nobody wants me on this stupid island. I wish I could go home. Only I don’t have a home to go home to. At this point, a year with Yia Yia Minta—with her stinky goat cheese, chain smoking, and spitting on everything for good luck—would be a blessing.
Coach Lenny squats in front of me. He stares into my eyes, like he’s trying to see all the way into my brain. Heck, he’s part-god. Maybe he can.
The sounds of footsteps and heavy breathing coming from the course indicate the first group of racers. Griffin, of course, is in the lead. I wonder if he cheated against everybody else, too.
Coach Lenny looks from me to Griffin and back again. His lips firm into a tight line. I can see the muscles in his jaw clenching.
“Did he use his powers against you?” Coach Lenny pronounces every word very carefully. He sounds really angry.
Griffin, walking around the starting area with his hands on his waist, looks at me like a puppy caught peeing on the rug. Nicole and Troy said the whole powers thing is strictly controlled and that using them against someone else is a big no-no. Like when Stella zapped my backpack.
I bet sabotaging my race is worth more than a week of grounded powers.
His fate is in my hands.
I smile at Griffin, majorly satisfied to see his ears turn red. I don’t know if he’s embarrassed for being such a jerk or afraid that I’m going to rat on him, but I like both options equally.
Either I turn him in and get revenge for his jerkiness this afternoon, or I cover for him and then he owes me one. Big time.
