Tera Childs - Oh. My. Gods.

“Nicole was right about you. You’re a selfish bastard.” I barely have control of the tears trying to fill my eyes. “Stay away from me.”

Then I run all the way home.

Mom tries to get me to talk when I won’t even leave my room for dinner, but I tell her it’s just hormones and she leaves me alone.

Even if she doesn’t believe me.

Spending an entire day locked in my room, avoiding all social interaction, gives me a lot of time to think. I go back over all the moments with Griffin, analyzing each one, and decide that I can’t tell when he was being straight and when he was playing me. Which only reinforces my decision to stay as far away from him as possible.

I can’t trust myself to tell which Griffin I’m talking to.

Around ten o’clock I decide to check my e-mail.

I have been avoiding it all day-just in case there’s another drama/crisis/problem waiting for me in my inbox. After deleting all the spam-you would think the gods could develop some sort of supernatural spam-blocker-I have three new messages. I decide to open in the order of most likely to make me feel better-or rather, least likely to make me feel like worse crap.

The first is from Coach Jack at USC.

To: lostphoebe@theacademy.gr

From: coachjack@usc.edu

Subject: Cross-Country Scholarships

Miss Phoebe Castro, I am pleased to announce that you are being considered for the Helen Rawlins Memorial Scholarship. Pending your successful admission to the University of Southern California, you will compete with three other candidates for this prestigious scholarship that will cover your tuition, books, fees, room and board for up to four years of undergraduate education.

Annual renewal of the scholarship is dependent upon maintaining an above-average academic record and participation in the USC cross-country team.

Best of luck,

Coach Jack Farley

This isn’t anything I didn’t already know. Coach Jack told me at camp that I was up for the scholarship, even though the officialannouncement wouldn’t be made until the fall. He also said that if I get through senior year with a B average and do well in crosscountry meets then the scholarship is mine.

Six months ago that didn’t seem like a difficult task.

Today it seems impossible.

I move that message into my USC folder and go on to the mes sage from Cesca.

To: lostphoebe@theacademy.gr

From: princesscesca@pacificpark.us

Subject: Jerk Alert

I’m sorry I’ve been acting like such a jerk, Phoebe. There has been so much going on and I don’t have you here to talk to about any of it. When you said you couldn’t tell me what that IM was about I guess I just took out all my frustrations on you.

Forgive me?

Cesca

I saved her message for second because I couldn’t tell what it was going to be like from the subject line. She could just as easily have been calling me the jerk.

I am massively relieved that she’s apologizing-not that she needs to. I’m the one with the secret. I should be apologizing, too.

To: princesscesca@pacificpark.us

From: lostphoebe@theacademy.gr

Subject: Just As Jerky

Forgiven.

Now do you forgive me? I really, really, really wish I could tell you what I meant, but it’s not my secret to tell and it affects a lot of other people. Just know that there aren’t any important secrets between us and there never will be.

Love and kisses,

Phoebe

After clicking send I stare at my inbox, wondering whether I want to open the third message. It’s from Griffin.

Curiosity gets the better of me.

To: lostphoebe@theacademy.gr

From: gblake@theacademy.gr

Subject: If I could do it over… … I wouldn’t treat you so badly.

I’m sorry.

Today wasn’t about the bet.

Give me another chance.

G

Just like him: brief, cryptic, and full of crap.

I’m tempted to delete the message-he certainly has no place taking up bytes in my mailbox-but can’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I make a folder named “Liars” and move his message there.

For the first time since running out of the tunnel this morning I actually smile.

All this introspection time today makes me realize that I have tostay focused on my goal. I can’t let USC out of my sights for even a second. No matter what Mom, Damian, Griffin, or anybody else on this stupid island thinks or does, I have to get that B average, stay on the cross-country team, and count down the days until I go back to California.

I don’t want to be away from Cesca and Nola any longer than absolutely necessary. I’ve only been gone a few weeks and look what a mess my life has become.

No, from now on I’m single-focus-Phoebe.

Nothing can deter me.

“Mom, I’ve made my decision,” I say when I find her in Damian’s office, scanning wedding websites. “I’m going to USC and that’s final.”

She turns away from the computer, a surprisingly neutral look on her face. I expect her to yell and scream and ground me until I’m twenty-five. Instead, she smiles and says, “If you’ve considered this carefully as I asked, then I support your decision.”

Wow. Where did that trust in my decision-making abilities come from? What happened to nothing but dictates and unilateral decisions?

I’m not going to question my good fortune.

Who knows when the rug will be pulled out from under me.

“Yes, I have,” I explain. “I don’t fit in here and I am only making things difficult and uncomfortable for myself and everyone else.”

She steeples her hands over Damian’s desk. Uh-oh, therapist mode.

“That sounds like you’re running away from your problems.”

“No,” I insist as I drop into one of the chairs in front of the desk. “It’s more than that, really. I miss Cesca and Nola and Southern California. I even miss…” I pull out the surefire family card.

“… Yia Yia Minta. I bet she misses me, too.”

Mom smiles. “Nice try.”

Can’t I get anything past the adults in this house? Mom might as well read minds like Damian.

“Fine, it’s not about Yia Yia Minta. It’s about me.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not happy here. I’m not going to be happy here.I’m counting the days until I can go home-something this place will never be for me.”

She watches me for a long time, like she’s evaluating me for a psych report. I’m used to this. She’s been shrinking my head since I was a baby-and it’s not going to work any better now than it did then.

I just lie back and relax until she reaches her conclusion.

What she says surprises the crap out of me.

“I’m sorry for putting you through this.” She actually looks sad.

“If there had been any other way-I feel so selfish for turning your world upside-down, just so I could be happy.”

Her voice kinda cracks at the end, and I see tears form in her eyes. Can she really be this heartbroken? After all, she’s the one who brought me here. I tried to tell her I didn’t want to-

She sobs. A big gasping sob backed up by a whole lot of tears.

As she reaches for a tissue from the nearest bookshelf, I feel super guilty for making her feel so rotten.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mom,” I soothe. “You deserve happiness as much as anybody. More, on most days.”

“I should have waited,” she says, shaking her head. “Damian and I could have married next summer.”

I wince as she blows her nose with a big honk.

“I’m over that,” I say, handing her the box of tissues.

“I’m going to miss you so much when you go off to college.” The tears start again with more force. “After your father died you were the only thing that kept me going. I want to hold on to you for a little longer, is that so wrong?”

“Aw, Mom.” I jump out of my chair and hurry around to her side.

Pulling her into a big bear hug, I promise, “I’ll still come back on holidays and maybe even summer vacation. I’ll be the only kid on campus who gets to spend all her off time on a Greek island. Everyone will be so jealous.”

She laughs through her sniffles and squeezes me back.

We are still clutched in a tight hug when Damian walks in.

“We have a problem,” he says, his voice tight and flat. “A big problem.”

“OUR WEB SCANNERS flagged another search,” Damian says.

I can practically hear his teeth grinding. Letting go of Mom, I stand up straight to defend my friend.

“It wasn’t Cesca this time,” I say. “I’m certain.”

Mom looks back and forth between us like she has no clue what’s going on. Maybe Damian hasn’t told her anything.

“The scanners also caught a blog post titled Secrets of Serfopoula. ”

A muscle just below his left eye starts twitching. “We suppressed the post, but the entry was… imaginative.”

“How?” I ask.

“What’s going on here?” Mom asks.

Damian answers my question. “The author proposes that Serfopoula is the secret base of operations for an elite force of superheroes.”

“Well,” I say, relieved, “at least it isn’t accurate.”

“No,” Damian replies, “but it suggests that the origins of the superheroes date back to ancient mythology.”

“Oh.” That’s a little closer to home. “Well, I know it’s not Cesca, because she doesn’t have a blog. Besides, that’s a huge leap of imagination from supernatural powers to Greek mythology. Maybe this is completely unrelated to my slip-up.”