Goddess Boot Camp(4)

“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. Multimile 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 does roll 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?”

I follow her off the bed and start pacing.

The Pythian Games are a huge deal. Apparently, the Olympics weren’t always the only games in town. When the last ancient Olympics were held in the year 393, the Pythian Games became restricted to hematheos competitors and went underground. They’ve been held every four years—except during World Wars I and II—since forever.

Griffin and I were invited by the coach of the Cycladian team— who also happens to be Coach Lenny—to try out for this summer’s games.

We’re supposed to start training today. In fact—I check my watch—he’s supposed to be here any second.

“Relax,” Nicole says as she pulls herself off the floor. “It’s not so much scary as . . .” She smiles. “Embarassing.”

“Great. That’s just what I need.” I flop into the giant squishy chair Mom and Damian bought for my birthday, sinking into the turquoise velvet softness. “Another reason for everyone to make fun of me.”

Being the new girl at a school full of descendants of the gods is no cakewalk. You’d think once I found out I was a descendant, too, they would let up. But no. Most of them still treat me like a total outsider. An interloper who can’t control her powers. An intruder. Especially after I “stole” Griffin—as if you can steal someone who doesn’t want to be stolen—away from cheer queen Adara Spencer. And don’t think she has ever let me forget it. When we had to give our final speeches in Oral Communications two weeks ago, she made every word I said come out in pig latin.