Oh. My. Gods.
Page 37
“Thank—”
“Well, well, well,” a whiny voice I’m starting to get sick of says, “look who showed up at the bonfire uninvited.”
Flanked by two other cheerleaders, Adara is wearing a white crocheted bikini top and a pair of white cutoff jeans shorts. I’m shivering in my jeans and sweatshirt—she must be freezing.
The thought makes me smile.
“Hi, Adara,” I say with sugary sweetness. “I love your swimsuit.”
She scowls, but can’t resist the compliment. “Thanks—”
“Of course, I loved it when everyone in L.A. was wearing them last summer.” I turn to Troy and whisper dramatically, loud enough for everyone to hear, “It’s so last season.”
Adara’s mouth drops open. “Listen, kako. Tonight is for descendants only—no godly blood, no bonfire. Leave now before you embarrass yourself.”
“Leave off, Adara,” Troy says. “She’s with me.”
“Really?” she coos. “She was panting over my boyfriend at lunch today. Are your attachments always so fleeting, kako?”
Troy lunges forward, but I grab his shoulders and hold him back. He gives me a look that says he’s clearly willing to throw down with Adara for me. I shake my head.
“She’s not worth it,” I say. “You have to pity someone who doesn’t understand the concept of friendship.”
Adara sidesteps Troy, stepping right up into my face.
“Stella may be softening toward you, but I know better.” We are nose to nose when she sneers, “You are a disgrace to the Academy and your very presence sullies a reputation over two thousand years in the making.”
I know this shouldn’t bother me. I mean, she’s a jealous, vindictive cow. Still, I have a feeling that she’s not the only student at the Academy who feels that way. Since I can’t really argue that point—I mean, I can’t like suddenly make myself the descendant of a god—I resort to hitting Adara where it hurts.
In her superficial face.
“Wow, I have never seen pores that big,” I say with a gasp of awe, tilting my head for a closer look. “Those blackheads look like Dalmatian spots.”
While she struggles to think of some witty comeback—I’m not waiting around all night for that—I take Troy by the hand and lead him down the beach toward the blanket Nicole has spread out.
He stumbles a little as I tug him, but catches up quickly.
“She’s going to hate you.” He sounds genuinely concerned.
I roll my eyes. “She already does.”
From behind, she shouts, “At least I’m not wearing shoes from the last decade.”
I glance at my footwear.
My Chuck Taylors are brand-new. In fact, they’re so new they need a little wearing in and maybe a few scuffs. Besides, black All Stars are always the height of fashion.
And the originals date back to the fifties. Adara could use some work on her fashion history.
“You’re right,” I shout back over my shoulder, darting a glance at her standing petulantly with her hands on her hips. “Those beaded flip-flops you’re wearing are only two seasons old.”
“Aaargh!!!” Her scream echoes across the beach.
Everyone turns to stare at her as she stomps her foot on the sand. Does she think that’s making a statement?
“You’d better get off this island as soon as possible,” Troy says, laughing. “The longer you stay the greater the chance that Adara blasts you to Hades.”
“I’m not afraid of her.” We reach the blanket and I drop down to sit next to Nicole. “If she does anything too horrible to me, Damian will ground her powers.”
“Yeah,” Nicole says as she pokes me in the arm, “but by then you’ll be smoted.”
I shrug and lay back on the blanket, my hands behind my head. “No worries. With all the extra practices and workouts, Coach Lenny will kill me long before she gets the chance.”
Nicole lays out next to me. “I can’t understand why anyone would run on purpose, anyway. Are you masochistic?”
“Nonrunners don’t get it, I guess.” I close my eyes and picture myself running. A sense of calm sweeps over me. “There’s freedom in running. Escape. Power.”
“Insanity,” Troy adds.
I pry open one eye to glare at him. He’s sitting at the edge of the blanket staring out at the water.
Maybe it is insanity. Every time I hit the wall, when my body screams, No more of this running crap! I tell myself this is the last race ever. Am I so stupid that I want to run myself into utter exhaustion for no good reason? I’ll just finish this race and then hang up my sneakers. Forever.
Then I push through the wall. And everything becomes clear.
Euphoria sets in—along with a whole boatload of endorphins. I
can’t remember why I was even thinking about giving it up.
Maybe that is insanity.
Everyone has to find their version of therapy. Running is mine.
I wonder what Troy’s is?
“Don’t you have something that you just have to do, even though every time you do it you tell yourself you’re crazy to even try? But if you don’t do it you feel even crazier?”
He keeps staring at the water. He’s silent so long I think he’s not going to answer. I drop my head back and close my eyes.
“Music,” he finally says.
I lift back up on my elbows. “Music?”
“Well, well, well,” a whiny voice I’m starting to get sick of says, “look who showed up at the bonfire uninvited.”
Flanked by two other cheerleaders, Adara is wearing a white crocheted bikini top and a pair of white cutoff jeans shorts. I’m shivering in my jeans and sweatshirt—she must be freezing.
The thought makes me smile.
“Hi, Adara,” I say with sugary sweetness. “I love your swimsuit.”
She scowls, but can’t resist the compliment. “Thanks—”
“Of course, I loved it when everyone in L.A. was wearing them last summer.” I turn to Troy and whisper dramatically, loud enough for everyone to hear, “It’s so last season.”
Adara’s mouth drops open. “Listen, kako. Tonight is for descendants only—no godly blood, no bonfire. Leave now before you embarrass yourself.”
“Leave off, Adara,” Troy says. “She’s with me.”
“Really?” she coos. “She was panting over my boyfriend at lunch today. Are your attachments always so fleeting, kako?”
Troy lunges forward, but I grab his shoulders and hold him back. He gives me a look that says he’s clearly willing to throw down with Adara for me. I shake my head.
“She’s not worth it,” I say. “You have to pity someone who doesn’t understand the concept of friendship.”
Adara sidesteps Troy, stepping right up into my face.
“Stella may be softening toward you, but I know better.” We are nose to nose when she sneers, “You are a disgrace to the Academy and your very presence sullies a reputation over two thousand years in the making.”
I know this shouldn’t bother me. I mean, she’s a jealous, vindictive cow. Still, I have a feeling that she’s not the only student at the Academy who feels that way. Since I can’t really argue that point—I mean, I can’t like suddenly make myself the descendant of a god—I resort to hitting Adara where it hurts.
In her superficial face.
“Wow, I have never seen pores that big,” I say with a gasp of awe, tilting my head for a closer look. “Those blackheads look like Dalmatian spots.”
While she struggles to think of some witty comeback—I’m not waiting around all night for that—I take Troy by the hand and lead him down the beach toward the blanket Nicole has spread out.
He stumbles a little as I tug him, but catches up quickly.
“She’s going to hate you.” He sounds genuinely concerned.
I roll my eyes. “She already does.”
From behind, she shouts, “At least I’m not wearing shoes from the last decade.”
I glance at my footwear.
My Chuck Taylors are brand-new. In fact, they’re so new they need a little wearing in and maybe a few scuffs. Besides, black All Stars are always the height of fashion.
And the originals date back to the fifties. Adara could use some work on her fashion history.
“You’re right,” I shout back over my shoulder, darting a glance at her standing petulantly with her hands on her hips. “Those beaded flip-flops you’re wearing are only two seasons old.”
“Aaargh!!!” Her scream echoes across the beach.
Everyone turns to stare at her as she stomps her foot on the sand. Does she think that’s making a statement?
“You’d better get off this island as soon as possible,” Troy says, laughing. “The longer you stay the greater the chance that Adara blasts you to Hades.”
“I’m not afraid of her.” We reach the blanket and I drop down to sit next to Nicole. “If she does anything too horrible to me, Damian will ground her powers.”
“Yeah,” Nicole says as she pokes me in the arm, “but by then you’ll be smoted.”
I shrug and lay back on the blanket, my hands behind my head. “No worries. With all the extra practices and workouts, Coach Lenny will kill me long before she gets the chance.”
Nicole lays out next to me. “I can’t understand why anyone would run on purpose, anyway. Are you masochistic?”
“Nonrunners don’t get it, I guess.” I close my eyes and picture myself running. A sense of calm sweeps over me. “There’s freedom in running. Escape. Power.”
“Insanity,” Troy adds.
I pry open one eye to glare at him. He’s sitting at the edge of the blanket staring out at the water.
Maybe it is insanity. Every time I hit the wall, when my body screams, No more of this running crap! I tell myself this is the last race ever. Am I so stupid that I want to run myself into utter exhaustion for no good reason? I’ll just finish this race and then hang up my sneakers. Forever.
Then I push through the wall. And everything becomes clear.
Euphoria sets in—along with a whole boatload of endorphins. I
can’t remember why I was even thinking about giving it up.
Maybe that is insanity.
Everyone has to find their version of therapy. Running is mine.
I wonder what Troy’s is?
“Don’t you have something that you just have to do, even though every time you do it you tell yourself you’re crazy to even try? But if you don’t do it you feel even crazier?”
He keeps staring at the water. He’s silent so long I think he’s not going to answer. I drop my head back and close my eyes.
“Music,” he finally says.
I lift back up on my elbows. “Music?”
