“Chill, Travatas,” Nicole says. Then to me she says, “I think what Tarzan here is trying to say is that whoever pulled off this e-mail stunt—and snuck into the secret archives—has to be pretty powerful. And pretty devious. You shouldn’t meet this person alone.”
“No.” I can’t believe she’s siding with him. “The e-mail says I have to come alone. I’m not going to blow this.”
Troy glares at me, looking like he really wants to say something more. But, instead, he turns to Urian and asks, “Can you find out before then?”
“One hundred and twenty hours, give or take?” He looks like he’s crunching numbers in his head—my brain hurts just thinking about it—and then finally says, “That’s cutting it close. Fifty-fifty chance.”
“Great,” I say.
“I copied the source file into my e-mail account,” Urian says. “But I may still need to access your—”
“No way.” He may be helping me out, but I still only met him like two minutes ago. Besides, a girl needs her privacy.
“Not a problem,” he says with a grin. “My computer recorded your keystrokes. If I need access, I have your codes.”
“Great,” I say, less enthusiastically than before.
“Let’s meet here on Tuesday night,” Nicole suggests. “Eleven o’clock?”
“Excellent,” Urian says.
“Fine by me,” I say, still annoyed at Troy. Since when did he become my guardian and protector?
“See you Tuesday,” Troy says as we leave.
“The countdown has begun,” Urian returns.
Geek melodrama. I roll my eyes.
“And, Urian,” Nicole says, “you might try doing laundry once in a while.”
As we step into the hall, she pulls the door shut with a slam.
“Phoebe,” Troy says as we walk back to his room, his voice low and serious, “if Urian hasn’t figured out who sent the e-mail in time, I will go to the courtyard with you.” Before I can argue, he adds, “You’re my friend and I couldn’t stand it if you got hurt.”
My argument dies on my tongue. It’s hard to be mad at concern like that. But that doesn’t change what I have to do.
“If the computer genius hasn’t figured it out,” I say, “you can walk me to the courtyard. But I’m going in alone.” When he starts to argue, I say, “I appreciate that you’re worried about me, but I won’t let anything jeopardize finding out the truth about my dad.”
I can tell he still wants to argue, but I can also tell that he gets how important this is to me. He nods. Reluctantly.
I just hope I’m not doing something stupid. Again.
When Nic and I walk out of the boys’ dorm, the sun is riding low in the sky. I check my watch. It’s six o’clock. If I’m quick, I can run home and grab some dinner before I have to meet Griffin at the dock.
As I step off the front stairs, about to say good-bye to Nicole, movement to my left catches my eyes.
Griffin.
I smile automatically and am about to call out to him when I realize something very important. It’s Griffin. Going into the girls’ dorm. And Adara is standing on the front step to greet him.
Suddenly I’m not so hungry anymore.
CHAPTER 8
AUTOPORTATION
SOURCE: ZEUS
The ability to move oneself to a different location through nonphysical means. Maximum distance traveled depends on strength and skill of powers. Autoportation to a previously unvisited place is prohibited because of the inherent risk of arriving in an undesirable, perilous, or public location.
DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE © Stella Petrolas
WHEN THE LAST RAY of sunlight disappears, I’m planted on the couch reading last month’s Runner’s World. Well, I’m pretending to read last month’s Runner’s World. My eyes are skimming across the pages and everything, but my mind hasn’t taken in a single word. It’s too busy screaming, Griffin is back together with Adara!
Through some major act of willpower—or hopelessness—my eyes aren’t even full of tears.
I hear giggling seconds before the front door opens. “You are so right,” Stella says, looking over her shoulder as she walks in. “I’ll have to add that to my résumé.”
I don’t feel like facing Stella right now. Wishing I’d retreated to my room earlier, I bury my face in my magazine, hoping I can blend in with the unfortunately white couch. Why did the MY SPORT IS YOUR SPORT’S PUNISHMENT tee have to be cherry red?
“Phoebe,” a rebel-boy voice says in greeting.
I peek over the top of an article about avoiding knee injuries. The recipient of Stella’s giggling is none other than Xander. Great. All I need is him taunting me at home, too.