He shrugs. This exercise isn't about trusting me."

I scowl. "It's not?"

"No." He shakes his head slowly. "It's about trusting yourself."

"I don't get it."

He just shrugs again and holds out his hands.

Clearly, explanation time is over.

I debate it for a minute longer. I mean, he's definitely strong enough to catch me-that's why I'm paired with him and not a ten-year-old-and definitely more likely than Stella or Adara to catch me. But the question is: Will he catch me? There's a dark spark of mischief in his lavender eyes that suggests he likes breaking rules no matter the consequences. He's trouble and likes it that way.

"Tell me something about yourself first." I'm not about to riskbodily injury trusting someone who won't tell me more than his name and grade.

He looks indifferent. "Like what?"

"Like-" I almost ask why he got expelled, but then change my mind. That might be too personal for a first question. And after what Griffin said about some people being touchy about their ancestor god, that's not a smart choice, either. Instead, I go for something safe… ish. "Are you subjecting yourself to weeks of ten-year-olds just to spend time with Stella?"

I am totally bluffing. I mean, he's shown no indication so far that he's interested in anythingabout this camp, let alone one of the counselors. But she's definitely interested in him. I'm looking out for my girl, testing the waters to see if her crush might be reciprocated. Maybe plant the seed of interest in his mind.

I don't expect an admission.

His dark blond brows lift just the tiniest bit, betraying his surprise. Then, shocking the crap out of me, a flush of pink crawls up his neck.

Gotcha!

He grumbles, "Let's just get on with the exercise."

"Fine," I say, satisfied with my victory.

Besides, if he drops me. I'll have an excuse to skip out on the rest of these stupid exercises. I'll be bleeding from the head, but I'll be doing it at home.

Holding my arms straight out to the side, I close my eyes and fall.

Halfway to the ground, my eyes fly open. He's not going to catch me. He's not going to-

A split second before I hit the ground, his hands slip under my pits. My heart racing, I scramble upright and whirl around. "You almost let me drop!"

"You did not trust."

"Of course not!" I smack him on the shoulder. Hard. "You were going to let me fall."

"No."

"No?" My jaw drops. "My skull was inches from tile."

"Did it hitthe ground?"

Well, no," I stammer. "But if you had-"

"Everything all right here?" Stella chirps. She's been making her rounds of the partners, checking on the whole I-trust-you-you-trust-me status.

"No," I snap. "It's not all right. He sucks as a partner."

Stella glares at me. Right, like she'll listen to any words against Xander.

"This exercise," she says slowly, "is not about your partner."

I just cross my arms. As if anything I say is going to convince her that Xander's at fault here.

"Hold this for me." She hands Xander-who spears me with a nervous scowl-her clipboard. Holding out her hands, she says, "Try with me, Phoebe."

"Yeah, right."

Her jaw clenches so tight I can see it.

"Just try," she practically growls.

Fine. Whatever. I spin around, fling out my arms, and hesitate. My heart is still pounding from my almost crash with Xander.

"This time., Stella says, her voice soft and reassuring, "don't think about trusting me to catch you."

"Good," I retort. "Because I don't."

"Instead," she continues like I didn't snap at her, "think about trusting yourself not to fall."

"What?" That doesn't even make any sense.

"Just try it."

Fine, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.,I think, I. Will. Not. Fall.

I fall back.

She catches me yards before I hit the ground.

I hear clapping.

When I open my eyes, I see Stella and Xander on either side of me, standing over me.

"Congratulations," Stella says, beaming. "You just earned your first merit badge."

I stare at her clapping hands. "You're not holding me," I say stupidly.

She shakes her head.

"Then who-"

I twist my head back. No one is there.

"You are," Stella says triumphantly.

I crash to the ground in a heap.

Chapter 6

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PSYCHODICTATION


SOURCE: ATHENA


The ability to communicate telepathkally, whether in words, feelings, orother ways, with another hematheos. Communication should not beattempted without proper training, because of rare but serious risk ofbrain aneurism.(See Psycbospection for the ability to read another'sthoughts.)

DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE * Stella Petrolas

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


WHEN I PUSH THROUGH the glass door of the ice-cream parlor, the owner waves. "Afternoon, Phoebe."

I tell myself Demetrius knows my name because he prides himself on knowing everystudent's name-not because I have an ice-cream problem or anything.

"How was camp today?" he asks.

Demetrius, a descendant of Clio-the muse of history-and a major throwback to the fifties, keeps the place in perfect Happy Daysstyle. Chrome and sky-blue vinyl everywhere. A long bar with round, counter height stools. A pair of cramped booths in the back with mini-jukeboxes on the tables. And just about any ice-cream flavor you could ever imagine.

I shrug. "Fine."

"Phoebe," Nicole calls out from one of the booths.

Troy waves and says, "Hey!"

"Be right there," I say, then turn to Demetrius to place my order. "I'll have my usual."

My mouth starts salivating at the thought of that perfectly spherical scoop of mint chocolate chip perched on a crunchy brown sugar cone. Knowing Griffin is going to crack down on our training nutritional plan any minute now makes the indulgence even more enticing. Allure of the forbidden and all that.

"Not today," Demetrius says. "I've got something better."

Better? What could be better?

"Try this," he says. "On the house."

I take the cone and eye it suspiciously. It looks like pretty average ice cream-vanilla colored with little white flecks.

"Thanks," I say, a little defeated. But it's not like I can resent free ice cream.

"Try it."

With a shrug, I dart out my tongue for a quick sample. My taste buds explode with a long-forgotten flavor.

"Oh my gods," I gasp, staring at Demetrius. "You didn't!"

Me smiles smugly. "I did."

Nicole, tired of waiting for me, shouts out, "He did what?"

I stare, wide-eyed, at my new favorite person on the planet.

"This ice-cream genius," I say between licks, "re-created Ben Jerrys White Russian. Perfectly." I shake my head in awe. "My all-time favorite."

Demetrius winks at me. "You're welcome."

"I could just jump over this counter and hug you." I take another lick.

He actually blushes. "Go on," he says, gesturing me away. "Your friends are waiting."

"Thanks."

As I slide into the sky-blue booth next to Nicole, Troy asks, "Why are you getting apoplectic over ice cream?"

"This isn't just any ice cream," I explain. "This is the best flavor ever invented. BJ discontinued it years ago and I haven't had a taste since. "Here," I say, holding out the cone, "try it."

Troy turns kind of green and shakes his head adamantly.

"What's wrong?" I ask, jabbing the ice cream in his direction.

"Oh gods," Troy yelps, then claps one hand over his mouth and the other over my wrist, shoving me away.

"What's wrong with him?" I ask Nicole.

"When he was in Athens last week," she says, giving Troy a sympathetic look, "he finally told his parents he wants to be a musician."