Goddess Boot Camp (8 page)

“How did you do that?” Miss Orivas asks.

I shift nervously. “Um . . . I don’t know . . . I—”

“What were you thinking about?”

Yeah, like I’m going to admit what I was thinking at that moment. Stella would not only smote me, she’d make it so torturous that the six-day Marathon des Sables through the Sahara would feel like a stroll on the beach.

“I was thinking about my birthday,” I cover. “It was a couple months ago and it was so much fun.”

Miss Orivas nods in understanding. Of what exactly, I’m not sure. I know I don’t understand.

“Phoebe Diane Castro.” Stella’s voice, gritted out through tightly clenched teeth, is icy cold and barely contained. If there weren’t a dozen people here, she’d probably be screaming like a harpy. She takes a deep breath and then bursts into a bright glow.

I blink into the brightness and then, when I can see again, she’s back to her perfect preppy self. There’s a tiny blob of blue on her left shoulder, but I’m not about to point that out.

“You,” she says, an uncomfortable smile on her face, “will learn how to control your powers in the next two weeks.”

I’m ready for a threat—although I’m kinda surprised she’d incriminate herself in front of witnesses—but it never comes.

“You will be my pet project.” She eyes me up and down. “If I can’t turn you into a proper goddess, no one can.”

I’m not sure which thought terrifies me more: the idea that I am about to become the focus of Stella’s energy, or that I’m actually counting on her to succeed.

CHAPTER 4

PSYCHOSPECTION

SOURCE: HERA

The ability to read the thoughts and emotions of others. Most
hematheos
can only sense general feelings, rather than specific, tangible thoughts. Descendants of Hera have the greatest affinity for this power and can often hear another’s thoughts as if spoken aloud.

DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE © Stella Petrolas

GRIFFIN IS WAITING FOR ME on the Academy steps when camp lets out for the second day—which wasn’t any more exciting than the first day, unless you count Stella and Adara bickering over whether today’s handout was supposed to be green or purple.

“Hi,” I say, hurrying over to him and throwing my arms around his neck. “I didn’t know you were meeting me here. I thought we were training at six today.”

“We are,” he replies, hugging me back, but looking totally unhappy.

“Then you just stopped by to see me?” He can be so sweet, especially for a descendant of Ares. Nothing warlike about Griffin. Of course there’s the Hercules side of him, too. I lace my fingers through his. “I missed you.”

He smiles nervously.

I can’t tell what’s going on in his head. You would think that after going out for nearly nine months, I’d have a little better insight into what makes his mind tick. But no.
Hematheos
guys aren’t any easier to figure out than the regular ones.

Still, I can tell there’s
something
he’s not saying.

Damian’s ability to read minds would sure come in handy right now.

“Actually”—he squeezes my hand—“I’m here to—”

His gaze shifts. His blue eyes look over my shoulder and he smiles.

Before I turn around, I know what I’m going to see.

“Hey, Dara,” he says with a little wave.

Adara is standing at the base of the steps, just a few feet away, and looking disgustingly vulnerable. Where is the haughty lift of her brows? The disdainful smirk on her lips?

I frown. This must be her tactic—playing the victim about something so Griffin feels compelled to help her. He swears no one but me and Damian knows he’s half descended from Hercules, so I’m sure she’s not knowingly exploiting the heroic compulsion. But she’s up to something. The stench of
Steal Back My Boyfriend
is overwhelming, even from this distance.

I’m kinda disappointed Griffin would even fall for this.

Turning back to me, he says, “Look, Phoebes, I need to talk to her. I’ll catch up with you at six, okay?”

Then, before I can answer—by saying, “Um, excuse me?”—he gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and then jogs over to Adara’s side, leaving me in the dust. What is going on here? I feel like a total jealous witch, even though I
know
there is nothing romantic going on between them. I know that. Right? Not on his side, anyway. But Adara . . . ?

Prepared to stake my claim, I start after them.

“Castro!” Stella’s authoritative voice calls out, stopping me in my tracks with one foot hovering mid-stalk.

“Yes?” I squeak, twisting around to see her glaring down at me from the top of the steps.

With her fists on her hips and a determined look in her cool gray eyes, she looks like a girl on a mission. And I have a sinking feeling that
I
am the mission.

“You and I need to chat.” Clearly sensing I’m about to make some excuse, she adds, “Now.”

With a glance at my boyfriend chatting with his ex, I sigh. “Fine.”

She stomps down the steps.

“Listen,” she snaps. “I’ve been a Goddess Boot Camp counselor for three years, and I haven’t failed a camper yet. I‘m not about to start with you.”

“So?” I ask, stealing a glance at Griffin and Adara. I nearly pounce when he puts his hand on her shoulder.

“So?”
Stella repeats. “You pose a somewhat more”—she searches for the word—“challenging educational situation.”

“Why is that?” I ask absently.

How can Griffin do that, knowing I’m right here watching them? The ex-couple move down the path and ’round the corner of the building, disappearing from my sight. I can’t believe this.

“Because—and it kills me to say this,” Stella says, letting out a severely exasperated sigh, “you have the most natural power of any
hematheos
I have ever known.”

Griffin and Adara instantly forgotten, I turn on Stella.

“What?”

I can’t have heard her right. That sounded like . . . a compliment.

“Most kids have trouble bringing their powers to the surface. Yours
live
on the surface. They bubble out when you’re not even trying.”

Is that envy in her voice?

“That’s highly unusual. Rare, even. Once you learn to harness them, you’ll be at least as powerful as I am.” She purses one side of her mouth, like she can’t believe what she’s about to say. “Maybe more.”

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. That
definitely
sounded like a compliment. “What?”

“You heard me,” she retorts. “I won’t say it again.”

“Wow,” I say, in utter shock. Stella actually complimented me. I didn’t think that was in her vocabulary. I’m surprised she didn’t spontaneously combust at the effort.

“Earth to Phoebe,” she says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Focus on the bigger picture here, please.”

I scowl. “How do you know what I’m focusing on?”

She just cocks her eyebrows, as if to say,
How do you think?

Then it hits me. Her dad has this uncanny ability to read minds—or emotions or whatever he’s admitting to at the time. She probably inherited that talent from him.

“What, is reading minds like a Hera thing?”

“Didn’t you review the study guide?” She crosses her arms over her chest, daring me to try sarcasm again. “
Psychospection,
the ability to see into the minds of others, is a power derived from the queen of the gods.”

“Oh.” And I thought I was kidding.

That would be a pretty cool power to have. No more trying to guess what Griffin is thinking or what Adara’s motives are. Too bad I’m not a descendant of Hera.

“All
hematheos
have this power,” Stella says, answering my thoughts. “To some degree, anyway. It’s how the powers thing works. In addition to a primary ability from your specific ancestor god, we have powers derived from all twelve Olympians—which you would know if you had read the study guide. The closer you are on the tree, the stronger
all
the powers.”

And I assumed the powers were more of a vague, limitless thing. I never thought about there being different kinds. Or where they came from.

“So I can read minds?”

“Not likely.” She snickers. “Only descendants of Hera can
literally
read minds. Most
hematheos
just sense basic emotions or general ideas.”

Good. The last thing I need is everyone reading my mind. It’s bad enough if Stella can. Especially when I’m thinking about how much she—

“Wait,” I say, remembering what caused the whole living-birthday-cake incident. “Does that mean you—”

“Yes.”

One word. She didn’t even hear the question, but I know she knows.

“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it. I may not like Stella all the time, but she is the closest thing to a sister that I have. Besides, I don’t like being mean to anyone—except Adara, of course. It’s bad karma or something. And I don’t need to invite more bad luck than I already have.

“The bigger picture,” she prods. “You can apologize profusely
after
you pass the test.”

“Oh, right.” I set aside my personal berating. “I’m superpowerful. What does that mean?”

“It means your powers are harder to control. They work with very little effort.” She flicks her highlight-heavy hair over her shoulder. “You need to learn how to control them properly so they stop unintentionally going off.”

That makes my powers sound like a burglar alarm. Like if I accidentally open the door, I have three seconds to enter the code or the police will report to the scene. At least I don’t have sirens blaring every time my powers mess up. Although that would at least let me know when it’s happened.

“How exactly do I do that?” I ask. I’ve been training for months, and they’re still out of control. “It’s not like I haven’t been trying.”

“But you haven’t had my undivided attention.” She smiles smugly. “I can work miracles when I have full focus and a plan.”

I shiver at the thought of being Stella’s full focus.

“What makes you think you know the magic formula? No one else does.”

“Because I’ve done it before.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Daddy told you there was another student who had to pass the gods’ test, right?”

I gasp. “That was you?”

“No, of course not.” She scowls, like how could I be so stupid? “Under my tutelage, that student passed the test.”

Tutelage? That sounds too much like torture.

But it’s kind of reassuring to know that other student passed the test. With Stella’s help. Plus, that means she can dish some more details on the test. Like what that test will be like and what might happen if I fail the test.

“With this other student,” I begin. “How did they—”

“I’m going to go through some of my old training lesson plans this afternoon.” She cuts off my question and checks her watch. “Why don’t we meet back home at six to discuss the plan?”

“Can’t,” I say, stifling a growl. She always acts so superior. “Griffin and I have a training run.”

Stella turns on her stern face. “I really think this is more important—”

“No.” As if
anything
is more important to me than running. “I’ll do whatever it takes to learn to control my powers, but I am not giving up running. The Pythian Games trials are less than two weeks away and I plan on qualifying. I can’t do that if I don’t train every day.”

She looks like she wants to argue. Or like she’s reading my thoughts.

Read this:
No, no, no, no, no.

“Fine,” she says, exasperated. “How about after dinner? You will be home for dinner, won’t you?”

“Sure,” I say, even though I wonder how dinner will go when it’s just the two of us. We had plenty of dinner-table battles when our respective parents were there to intercede. Who knows what could happen when we’re alone. Hesper might have to intervene.

“And if you’re late,” she says with a wicked smile, “I might reconsider my decision to not seek vengeance for my wedding hair color.”

An image flashes in my mind, an image of me with hot-pink streaks in my dark brown hair. At this point, I’m not sure if the image is a result of my overactive imagination or if there’s some power that lets her plant it in my mind—I
need
to read that study guide—but either way it’s not very appealing.

I give Stella my best glare. “Oh, I’ll be there.”

“Did you have your talk with Adara?” I ask Griffin as we start our run. I swallow my irritation, trying for innocuous. After dwelling on my reaction all afternoon, I finally decide I have to face it head-on. I can’t pretend it never happened, but I will give him a chance to explain.

“Yeah.”

That’s it. No details.

“Was it something about school?” I probe. No response. “Or summer?”

“No.”

We jog in silence for several long seconds. Just when I think he’s not going to offer anything more, he says, “It’s a personal thing, Phoebes. Adara’s going through some stuff and I’m helping her out. There’s nothing to it.”

“Oh.” His sincerity makes me feel like a jerk. “Okay.”

I never wanted to be one of those jealous girlfriends, so I’m just going to let this roll off my back like trash talk on the racecourse. That doesn’t mean I like it any better than I did two hours ago. But maybe that’s my problem, not his.

Besides, I don’t doubt his commitment. He can withstand her advances.

This time, the silence is comfortable. We’re training on the cross-country course today, a course we’ve run so many times we could make it blindfolded.

My thoughts drift—like always—to this kind of Zen-like state where my mind disconnects from my body. Not really, of course, but there’s a distance that lets me think about whatever—usually Dad—and then link back in to check on my body. It’s hard to describe, but it’s what gets me through the long races. Only this time, instead of thinking about Dad’s smoting and whether he knowingly made that choice, my thoughts jump ahead to my own situation. To my out-of-control super-superpowers, to the test I have no idea how to take, to the camp where I will be spending my days for the next two weeks, the camp full of ten-year-olds, (sometimes) evil stepsisters and archenemies, and enigmatic rebel boys who are supposedly there for my sake—whatever that means.