Worse? My heart sinks. I've been spending hours upon hours working on controlling my powers. All right, some of those hours-okay, manyof those hours-were spent with Griffin. And maybe we don't alwaysspend every second on my training, but hey, a girl can't focus on work all the time when in the presence of such a god. Can she?

"I don't blame you, Phoebe. We both know that, since you are the third generation removed from Nike, your powers are stronger than most. It is not surprising that you are having difficulty controlling them." He smiles kindly and my stomach kind of clenches.

I don't need pity… I need help.

"I don't know what else to do," I say, trying not to whine. I am so not a whiner. "I'm sorry. I've been working hard. Maybe I just need a little more time."

"Unfortunately," he says, "we have little time left."

Little time left?What is that supposed to mean? No one ever said anything about a time limit. No learn-to-use-your-powers-by-summer-or-else speech. Suddenly I have an image of myself, chained to the wall in the school dungeon-not that they have one, but this is my nightmare and I can be as creative as I want-being tempted by cheesy, yummy bougattaI'm not allowed to eat until I learn to-

"Phoebe." Damian says, interrupting my fantasy of torture and bringing my attention back to his desk-which is, I realize with sad resignation, now covered in the cheesy pastry treat. Damian waves his hand over the bougatta,erasing it as quickly as it came, and says, "Please, try to restrain your rampant imagination. No one is going to torture you for your lack of control."

"Sorry," I say for like the millionth time. I don't mean it any less, but it's starting to feel like the only thing I know how to say.

I shake off the self-pity. Feeling sorry for myself is not going to solve the problem.

Damian leans forward, resting his elbows on his pastry-free desk. "I was hoping this would not be an issue. That you would harness your powers in your own time without intervention from the gods, but-"

"Whoa!" I jump forward to the edge of my seat and wave my hands in front of me. "The gods?"

Damian smiles tightly and tugs at the knot in his tie.

Oh no.In the nine months since Mom and I moved in, I've learned that an uncomfortable Damian is never a good sign.

"Since we discovered your heritage, the gods have been closely monitoring your dynamotheosprogress."

"My dyno-what?"

"Dynamotbeos,"he repeats. "The official term for the powers derived from the gods. They've been observing you-"

"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… ab-hem…. concerned about your progress."

Not the ab-hem.I have a feeling I'm in big trouble.

"The gods have decreed that you must… ab-hem… pass a test of their design before the upcoming summer solstice."

"And what exactlydoes this test entail?'" I ask, already fearing the answer. Whenever Damian breaks into ah-hemsand 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."

"Goddess Boot Camp?" she gasps. "Seriously?"

Goddess Boot Camp?My stomach knots at the thought of a military-style training program. Multi-mile marches at dawn. Rope climbs in the rain, instructors standing on my back while I do a million push-ups. A far cry from the cross-country and wilderness camps I've experienced.

"Is there something wrong with that?"

"No." Nicole starts laughing uncontrollably, practically rolling off my bed. "Nothing"-laugh, laugh, laugh-"wrong"- laugh, laugh, laugh-"with that."

"What?" I demand, shoving her shoulder so she doesroll off the bed. "I'm going to be turned into a goat, aren't I? How can I train for the Pythian trials with four legs?"