“It could still be useful,” I insist, “if I had some hint of what to expect.”
I mean, seriously. The solstice is just days away. And even though I earned a handful of merit badges last week—mostly by accident—I feel completely unprepared. My minor success with Stella’s pen isn’t exactly a guarantee of success. After Xander’s cryptic I-hope-you-never-find-out-about-the-consequences comment, getting smoted for accidental powers usage is losing ground on the fear scale in the face of suffering some unknown punishment for failing the test.
“Fine,” he says with a sigh. “But it won’t help you.”
“We’ll see.”
“It was an unimportant Thursday in Level 10.” His eyes get a faraway look, and it’s like he’s not here anymore. “The girl I’d been dating for three years walked up to me in the cafeteria and, in front of the entire school, announced she was dumping me for some descendant of Zeus because he was better-looking.”
I blink at him a few times. When he doesn’t continue, I say, “And . . .”
“And thirty seconds later, she and the new guy were deep in the heart of King Minos’ labyrinth.”
That seems like a bit of an overreaction.
“As I said, the test is intensely personal.” He rubs a hand over his face, like he’s suddenly very tired. “For anyone else, that wouldn’t have been a big deal. For me . . . well, let’s just say my family history makes me kind of sensitive about superficial stuff.”
“Oh-kay . . .”
“My emotions got the better of me that day,” he says. “And I spent the next ten months paying for the lapse. Without Stella’s help, I’d probably still be there. If Blake is messing with your emotions, we need to take care of it.”
There is something ominous in his tone.
“I don’t need your—or anybody else’s—help when it comes to Griffin.”
“I’m not trying to provoke you, Phoebe,” he says, leveling his hypnotic lavender gaze on me. “Just keep in mind that sometimes when you tell yourself things are fine, you’re really just driving the tough stuff even deeper.”
“Good morning, Xander,” Stella’s extra-cheerful voice calls out, breaking the spell of his mesmerizing eyes. As she reaches our spot at the base of the column, she looks at me. “Phoebe.”
“Stella,” Xander says as he climbs to his feet. After a quick nod, he strides off through the Academy’s golden doors.
She watches him walk away with a sad, puppy-dog look in her eyes.
I must be feeling generous or something, because I say, “You should ask him out already.”
“What do you mean?” Startled, she looks at me. “What makes you think I’m interested in Xander?”
“Puh-lease,” I say, pushing up from the cold marble. “Don’t play innocent with me. I learned your tricks months ago.”
She purses out her lips, like she wants to refute my claim. Then her gray eyes flick to the door Xander just walked through and her whole face softens.
“Do you—” Stella has never looked this vulnerable before. “Do you really think he might . . .”
“You never know until you try.”
For several long seconds she watches me, evaluating me. Then she turns on her heel and hurries after him.
As soon as she’s gone, I’m thinking about what Xander said. And wondering if he’s right. Either way, I need to sort out my feelings.
What if I am just making assumptions about Griffin? What if I’m making a big huge deal out of what he’s doing with Adara, when there’s really a totally innocent explanation? But if there were, he would have told me. When he told me there was nothing romantic going on between him and Adara, he would have told me what was going on. Wouldn’t he?
An image of Cesca flashes in my mind. A memory of last year, when I had a secret of my own that I couldn’t tell my best friends.
What if it’s something like that?
My head is going to spin off my neck if I keep going in circles like this.
“Hi, Phoebe!” Tansy bounds up the steps.
“Hey, Tansy,” I reply, still a little distracted by my thoughts, but relieved to have someone nonconfusing to talk to. “What’s up?”
“Ready for camp,” she says. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a question.”
Shaking off my thoughts of secrets, I say, “Shoot.”
“How do you become a runner?”
I look at her and smile. “I don’t think a person becomes a runner,” I say. “You either run or you don’t.”
She bites her lower lip, like she’s worried about what to say next.