Goddess Boot Camp (12 page)

“Show us,” Nic says.

“What?” My hand is still in my pocket and I smooth my fingers over the edge of the patch. “You want me to trust-fall in here?”

“Nah.” She waves off my suggestion. She reaches across the table and grabs the saltshaker, setting it in from of me. “Move this using air.”

“I don’t think I should—”

“Come on,” Troy says. “We want to see what you learned.”

I hesitate. What if I can’t really control that power? What if I send the salt flying all over the room? That probably mean years of bad luck or something. Or what if I accidentally conjure an entire salt mine? Or if I zap us to the Dead Sea? Or—

“Stop dragging your feet.” Nicole points at the shaker. “Go.”

“Fine,” I say, but not before throwing her an annoyed scowl.

Then I turn my attention to the salt. Keeping in mind what Stella said—I know, right?—I concentrate on trusting the shaker to move. I’m not thinking about the salt or trying to move it or wishing it would move, I just picture it already there. In my mind, the shaker is in front of Nicole. I believe. I trust.

Everything glows. When I blink through the light, I see the little glass shaker slide smoothly down the table. The paper napkin from my cone flutters as the shaker passes.

Nicole catches the shaker as it slides to a stop.

“Nice,” she says with a grin.

I release a huge sigh of relief. All I can think is,
It actually worked!
Sure, I’d caught myself before smashing skull to pavement, but it wasn’t a conscious effort. This time I actually knew what I was doing. I had a goal. I met that goal.

And nothing blew up!

One step closer to not getting smoted.

“Maybe Goddess Boot Camp is the best thing that could have happened to your powers this summer,” Troy says. “Zeus knows it’s better than what’s happening to
me
this summer.”

“At least you’re not stuck with Stella and Adara,” I reply.

Okay, so Stella’s not at the top of my evil-harpy list at the moment. But Adara’s holding strong at number one.

“That reminds me,” Nicole says. “I might know what happened to the record.”

“The one about Phoebe’s dad?”

I know, I know. We weren’t
supposed
to tell anyone about going into the secret archives. But really, Troy is one of our closest friends. It’s not like
he’s
going to tell anyone.

“What?” I ask.

“After you ran off to camp,” she says, “Philipoulos was so mad about finding it gone that she ranted a bit. She kinda forgot I was there.”

“And you didn’t try to remind her.”

She flashes me a mischievous smile. “She said the only way someone could have slipped past the security of the closet elevator without her knowledge was if they had been a library aide. Anyone who wants a book from the archives has to fill out a request slip. Since Mrs. P is the only librarian on staff, once she has approved their request, she either sends an aide to retrieve the book or goes herself. Which means . . .”

“It had to be a student.” I shake my head. “Why would a student want to steal my dad’s trial record? Or any record? I mean, it’s not like it’s breaking news or anything.”

“There could be dozens of reasons,” Troy says. “Like someone looking for a loophole in an Olympic ruling, for example.”

His hazel eyes flick to Nicole.

“Or someone wanting to uncover a secret,” she snaps. “Or do a research paper. Or write an article for the
Chronicle
.”

The Chronicle?
The school newspaper? A puzzle piece falls into place.

“Adara writes for the
Chronicle
.” It would be so typical for her to torment me like this. “She could have done it.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Troy says. “Don’t accuse her without—”

“She never worked in the library,” Nicole interrupts. “But there’s another possibility.” She pulls a computer printout from her back pocket and sets it in the middle of the table. “Read this.”

Troy and I both lean forward to see where she’s pointing.

Electronic Catalog and Historiography of Olympus REPORT

Search String: past student employees

Time Frame: 5 years

Query Results: 11 entries

“How did you get this?” Troy asks as I scan the list. “Access to ECHO is insanely restricted. You remember what happened in eighth grade when I tried to change my failing algebra grade.” He shudders at the memory. “Sometimes my fingers still tingle when it rains.”

“I didn’t access the system,” Nicole says. “Philipoulos left the printout on her desk when Mr. Sakola asked for help finding the Atlantis collection in the map room. You’d think he was Adonis, the way she dropped everything and—”

My eyes pop out when I see the third name on the list.

“Did you see this?” I point at the third name.

Nicole breaks off and says, “Yeah. I thought that was kind of interesting.”

“What?” Troys spins the paper around. After a quick glance, he says, “Holy Hades!”

“Tell me about it.” I slump back against the vinyl seat. “And just when I thought we were getting along.”

The third name on the list is Stella Petrolas.

As we walk through the village—a little aimlessly because I’m not so eager to go home and face Stella—I know I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Just because Stella
could
have stolen the record doesn’t mean she
did
. I mean, she was with me when the note arrived. Even Stella isn’t powerful enough to be in two places at once. Of course she could have gotten someone else to leave the note. Or she could have stolen the record, but not have been behind the note. Or she could have nothing to do with anything. Or—

“Let’s go to the bakery,” Nicole says.

“No thanks,” Troy grumbles, looking miserable.

“Come on,” Nic says with a smile. “If anyone can make delicious sugar-free treats Lili can.”

“Huh-uh,” I say, pulling myself out of my Stella ponderings. “Bakery’s closed. Griffin and Aunt Lili went to Serifos today to get a fresh stock of berries.”

“That’s weird,” Nicole says. “I could have sworn I saw . . .”

She trails off, her dark blonde eyebrows scrunching down into a frown.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head, like she’s trying to forget whatever she thought she saw. “Never mind.”

“What, Nicole?” I demand. I can tell from the way she’s evading that it’s bad. A burning ache starts low in my stomach. “Tell me what you saw.”

“On my way here”—she gives me an apologetic look—“. . . I saw Griffin.”

No. That’s not possible. He’s at the farmer’s market on Serifos. That’s why we rescheduled our run for this morning. That’s why I got up early on my summer vacation. Griffin wouldn’t have done that to me for no reason. He wouldn’t lie to me. Even when he wanted to hate me when I first got to Serfopoula, he didn’t
lie
to me.

But Nicole wouldn’t lie to me, either. Not about this.

There must be a reasonable explanation.

Confused, I look up at her. Her blue eyes look sympathetic and a little wary. Nervous.

“What else?” I ask.

She shakes her spiky blonde head, like she doesn’t want to tell me. The burning ache takes over my entire stomach, making me regret my hasty consumption of Demetrius’s White Russian.

“Just tell me.” I take a deep breath. I know she wouldn’t be all concerned like this for no reason. “Where did you see him?”

“Going into the bookstore.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “With Adara.”

“Oh,” I say quietly.

I’m not surprised. After the way he’s been behaving—to me and to Adara—this is not completely unexpected. He’s been spending as much time with her recently as he has with me. I’ve been busy the last few weeks—forced into servitude over Stella’s graduation, helping get Mom and Damian out the door for their honeymoon, learning how to wield my powers while surrounded by ten-year-olds. He’s been busy, too—helping out Aunt Lili in the bakery full-time, getting math tutoring so he can take calculus next year, swapping spit with his ex-girlfriend.

Stepping back from the ledge of conclusion, I make myself consider other possibilities. It could be totally innocent—they could have coincidentally arrived at the bookstore simultaneously and decided to walk in together.

Or, the part of me that still stings from jerky Justin’s betrayal screams, it could be totally
not
innocent.

Griffin,
I tell myself,
is
not
Justin.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I say, trying to sound like I believe it. “They probably just ran into each other.”

“Yeah,” Troy says.

He’s a horrible liar.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Nicole agrees. “It’s nothing.”

She’s a much better liar, but has much lower tolerance for self-deception. The friend part of her wants to reassure me. The Nicole part of her wants me to be prepared for the reality of the situation.

But whether he ran into Adara or was actually meeting her, the truth is Griffin
did
lie to me. I try to convince myself that he wouldn’t. Maybe they got back early. Maybe there was a change of plans. Maybe Aunt Lili decided to go another day. Or alone. Or maybe she didn’t want the berries after all. For the moment I am not going to jump to condemn Griffin. After everything we’ve been through, he deserves the benefit of the doubt.

As we stroll past the bookstore, I resist the urge to look inside. Because with all the mounting evidence, it’s getting harder and harder to accept that Griffin and Adara are nothing more than friends. I’m not ready to believe the worst. And the benefit of the doubt is hard to hold on to.

“You never told me you worked at the library,” I say when I get home. My voice, cool and collected, echoes in the silent kitchen.

Stella freezes, the refrigerator door open and an ice-filled glass in her hand, for a full five seconds. Straightening, she clears her throat—just like Damian does when he’s nervous—and asks, “Should I have?”

I shrug, playing it cool. If I’ve learned anything from years of Mom headshrinking me, it’s that if you want to find out everything, keep your mouth shut. Guilty people love to fill a tense silence.

Grabbing the refrigerator-door handle from her, I pull it wide open. When I lean past her to grab a Gatorade from the stock Hesper keeps in the fridge for me, she says, “I worked there Levels 10 and 11.” She fills her glass with water. “I needed some legitimate work experience. I can’t exactly put
Hera’s Personal Assistant
on my résumé.”

I ignore her awkward laugh.

We face off, her leaning against one counter sipping ice water, me leaning against the opposite counter chugging my Gatorade. We just watch each other. I’m waiting for her to crack. Zeus only knows what she’s waiting for.

As I drain the last drop of Gatorade, I decide to break the silence.

She beats me to it.

“Mrs. Philipoulos called me.” Her French-manicured fingers tighten around her glass. “She asked me about the stolen record.”

I toss my empty bottle into the recycling bin under the sink. “And?”

“And nothing,” she says, looking affronted. “I don’t know anything about it. Why would I?”

She looks pretty innocent, but then again Stella’s the queen of looking innocent. I can’t count the number of times in the last year she’s skated on stuff she did. Me? I always get caught. (Not that I ever do anything, of course.)

“But you do know about the secret archives.” I don’t ask it as a question. “You know how to access them.”

“Of course,” she says. She finishes her water and sets the glass in the sink. “
Everyone
knows about the ‘secret’ archives. Mrs. Philipoulos deludes herself into thinking no one knows. It’s the worst-kept secret on the island.”

That’s true. There’s still a lot about this island—about this world—that I don’t know, and even
I
knew about them.

“You could access them,” I repeat. “If you wanted.”

“Of course,” she replies. At least she didn’t deny it. “
If
I wanted. I don’t want, and I didn’t access. Anyone who’s ever worked in the library could access
if
they wanted. Are you going to accuse the entire former payroll staff? Better start with Daddy. He was an aide back in the day. Why don’t we give him a call? I’m sure he and Valerie won’t mind the interruption on their honeymoon.”

I roll my eyes at her melodrama.

Though I haven’t got the best record for trusting people, I believe her innocence. Besides, if she’d done it, she’d be gloating about it all over my face. She would still deny it to the authorities, but she’d be taunting me to the ends of the earth.

Where does that leave me? If Stella didn’t steal the record, then who?

That brings me back to the list. As soon as I’d seen Stella’s name, I’d fixated on that. The rest of the list was pretty much a blur. I need to check out the other names.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” I say, turning to go to my room and do a little research into my fellow students.

“Phoebe.” Something in her voice—something sad—stops me. “Nothing in that record will change what happened. No one can reverse an Olympic decree.”

“I know that.” I keep my back to her. She doesn’t need to see my tears. “But it might give me some answers.”

I hear her sigh. “Then I hope you find them. Everyone deserves answers.”

Her voice wavers with sympathy, like she understands where I’m coming from. Whatever. She has no idea what I’m going through.

Without responding, I rush to my room. I hate it when she acts like a human—it’s so much easier to think of her as a vicious harpy.

At my desk, I pull the folded printout from my back pocket and smooth it out over my closed laptop. I scan the names on the list. Besides Stella, I only recognize three of them.