The Dig @page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } The Dig Audrey Har t BACKLIT: Fiction Forward www.BackLitFiction.com Copyright © 2011 Backlit Fiction, LLC Backlit and the colophon are registered trademarks of Backlit Fiction, LLC. The Dig www.zoeandzeus.com This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you�Śre reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is a work of the author�Śs experience and opinion. The names, characters, places, incidents and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used factiously and are not to be construed as real. 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The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content. Cover Designed by: Arsonal Design, LLC www.Arsonal.com Published by: Backlit Fiction, LLC www.BacklitFiction.com ISBN: 978-1-937704-13-1 Prologue Everybody talks about falling in love like it�Śs the greatest thing in the world. All the songs, all the movies, all the books�"they tell you over and over that when it happens to you, it�Śll be the best day of your life. You�Śll never stop smiling. You�Śll be so happy. Who knows? Maybe they�Śre right. I�Śm sure I would be a lot happier about falling in love if, when it finally happened to me, I wasn�Śt actually falling. Fast. Cold air rushes over me as I hurtle through the sky. The mysterious black fog surrounding me is so dense that I can�Śt see anything. For a second, I think I can feel water crystals on my skin as I plummet through clouds, but it might just be my imagination. If only it were my imagination. If only everything that�Śs happened to me, all the strange and wonderful and scary encounters, were nothing but a dream�Ś But if it were all a dream, then he would be a dream too. And I wouldn�Śt trade my time with him for anything. Even though it�Śs left me tangled up in this mysterious darkness, crashing toward the earth. I can feel the air getting warmer. Any second now it�Śll be over. I try one last time to save myself, summoning a power I�Śve only recently possessed. But I�Śm falling too fast, and I�Śm disoriented by the inky fog. It�Śs no use. This is it. And then I�Śm flying. Part 1 – The Giant iPhone That Changed My Life Chapter 1 I have only one scar and it�Śs on my neck. It�Śs from the summer after fourth grade, when I was at day camp. We were doing a trust exercise where all the kids are blindfolded and holding hands and walking through the woods. You�Śre not allowed to break the chain, or the counselors tell your family you are, like, incapable of trust. We had been walking through the bushes for just a couple of minutes when I felt something pinch my neck. I screamed. I tried to break free but the boy and girl who were holding my hands didn�Śt let go. The pinch turned into a burning sensation. I begged the counselors to help me, but they said that I was just panicking and that I had to trust them. My neck continued to throb but I kept quiet for the rest of the trust walk. When we were done, I tore off my blindfold and fled to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and saw something in my neck. A stinger. It was hard to pull it out but I managed. That day, I learned that I didn�Śt trust kids or adults. I only trusted myself. I never did return to that camp, but that was because my aunt and uncle had a different plan for me. They�Śre archeologists and they decided that I was old enough to spend my summers with them on digs. Tomorrow is the last day of school at Greeley Academy, and then I will fly to Crete, an island in Greece, to join Uncle Alex and Aunt Sophia for my seventh annual dig. I love spending my summers on location. We will be isolated from civilization, knee-deep in dust and sand and, hopefully, bones. But for some reason, I don�Śt have the excited Christmas Eve feeling I usually get. It dawns on me that when it comes right down to it, I don�Śt want to go to Greece this year. Which is weird, because I�Śm half Greek; my name is Zoe, which means ―life�
in Greek. Though to be honest, I�Śve never really been all that interested in Greek culture. When I read about ancient Greece, it seems like a giant high school, like Greeley Academy, without indoor plumbing and squash courts. It was the first civilization to play games, and I hate games! Okay, ―hate�
is a strong word, and I might be burnt out from another rah-rah year at Greeley, where football rules. But sports seem so juvenile to me. In one of my research books there was a quote from an ancient Egyptian priest: ―Solon, Solon, you Greeks are all children.�
I hear you, priest. When you think Greece, you also think Greek mythology. Yawn. Myths don�Śt do it for me. I don�Śt enjoy the popcorn superhero movies, and if you ask me, those Greek myths are just as preposterous. The way the ancient Greeks worshipped gods reminds me of the girls in my dorm who talk about Gossip Girl and other silly CW shows as if they actually know the actors�"who are all, like, twenty-five years old and not even our age to begin with. And I think this is what it must have been like to live in ancient Greece: people believing in superhumans and talking about them as if they�Śre a part of real life. I mean, come on. Wasn�Śt Homer�Śs Odyssey to them what those gossip blogs are to kids now? I know, I know. Greek people don�Śt believe in those myths anymore, and I�Śm probably just jittery about reuniting with my family and being in a new place. So I shouldn�Śt be freaking out. I don�Śt want to be freaking out. But it�Śs too late. I�Śm in full freak-out mode: biting my nails, rubbing the scar on my neck and watching the boys in the quad kick around a hacky sack. CeeCee, my roommate, hates when I get like this, especially when she�Śs in the middle of telling a very important story. ―Zoe, did you even hear what I just said?�
―I�Śm listening. You were talking about what�Śs-his-name�Śs Facebook status.�
My little trick works and CeeCee resumes babbling about what�Śs-his-name�Śs Facebook status and packing her bikinis�"and Facebook updating about her bikinis�"as she prepares to leave for Martha�Śs Vineyard. ―So what should I do?�
she asks. ―What? Sorry, I missed what you just said.�
―Never mind, Zoe. You�Śre already in Geek Land. I get it.�
―Not Geek Land. Greece Land.�
―At least you�Śre finally going someplace cool.�
I�Śm surprised that she�Śs willing to talk about my dig. We�Śve been roommates at Greeley since seventh grade, so we know each other pretty well. CeeCee is ―grossed out�
by archeology. In the beginning, she thought it was like in the movies, where you dodge huge boulders while running down dirt paths and Shia LeBeouf scoops you into his arms and you save the world from itself. The more I tell her about my summer jobs�"the painstaking hours of dusting walls, the long days without anyone remotely resembling Shia LeBeouf, and the reality that the scariest beast you ever actually encounter is a National Geographic photographer on deadline�" the less she wants to know about any of it. I once mentioned to her that my aunt had discovered a pair of earrings at least a thousand years old, and her only question was regarding potential knock-offs at Forever 21. Sigh. ―You do know I mean Greece the place and not Grease the movie, right Cee?�
She throws a bikini top at me. Gross. ―Well yeah. They go to Greece in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.�
I give the blank stare, my trademark blank stare that I use to tell teenagers I am not like them. I don�Śt know the latest chick flick or the rap song that all the boys in Harris Hall were singing at lunch. I�Śm out of it. Happily out of it. I prefer books. ―You know the movie, Zoe, with the girls and they go to Greece and the one is like you, except she has a love life.�
―Aaaah. That one.�
―Well, anyway. Greece looks fun. You totally have to send me pictures.�
―Tombs aren�Śt really photogenic.�
She zips her suitcase shut. ―Why can�Śt you ever just be excited about anything? You moan and groan about wanting to go in the dirt all year, and now you�Śre going and you�Śre like �eh.�Ś�
―Because I�Śm not like you. I don�Śt get excited forty times a day and feel the need to announce my excitement online.�
―You�Śre such a dork.�
―Thank you, Cee.�
Since it�Śs the last day of junior year, I decide to try to speak her language. I�Śm pretty fluent in teen-speak when I want to be. ―I�Śm actually kind of wigged out about Greece.�
―Wigged out? Um, okay, Mom. Who says �wigged out�Ś?�
So much for fluency. ―Well,�
I swallow. ―I have a funny feeling, like I won�Śt like it there or something.�
―Are you kidding? I listen to you go on about the most boring pyramid-building stuff and finally you�Śre going to, like, the land of all those hot gods running around in togas.�
―Um, those �hot gods�Ś are fictional, CeeCee. As in they don�Śt exist,�
I say, shaking my head. ―Maybe I won�Śt go. Maybe I�Śll just�Śmaybe I�Śll go with you to Martha�Śs Vineyard or something.�
I try to picture a summer on the Vineyard. We�Śd go to the beach every day. CeeCee would fall in love four times a week�Ś I look up and see that CeeCee has resumed playing with her phone. She�Śs probably texting one of her friends in a panic about her dorky roommate threatening to cramp her style in Prep Land. ―You�Śre being all drama, Zoe. You�Śre going to Greece and you know it. It�Śs your destiny and stuff.�
The light shifts. Shadows fall on our adjoined mahogany desks. I liked living in this room and suddenly I feel warm with affection for our view, for our school, for all the parties I didn�Śt go to, for all the nights I spent at this desk reading and writing instead. I get the chills. Nightfall is so dramatic this time of year. I don�Śt like the word ―destiny.�
It unnerves me somehow. I hear ―destiny�
and I think ―doom.�
CeeCee swipes the bikini top off my side of the desk and props herself up on the windowsill. Uh oh. She is going into serious mode. ―It�Śs okay, Zoe. I know what this is really about. You�Śre afraid to fly because of your parents. It�Śs totally normal to feel that way.�
I�Śm too tired to tell her that she�Śs wrong. I�Śm not afraid to fly. It doesn�Śt make any sense but I don’t have a phobia of airplanes. I just let people think that I do because it makes me seem normal. If your parents died in an airplane crash, wouldn�Śt you be afraid to fly? I wish I wasn�Śt so different from everyone. In some ways, life would be easier if I loved Gossip Girl and struggled with a fear of flying overseas. People would ―get�
me. Sometimes I worry that I don�Śt even get me. ―Want to go watch Teen Mom?�
CeeCee asks me. ―Sure.�
―For real?�
I nod. I always avoid this kind of stuff at Greeley. But suddenly I find myself following CeeCee down the hall and down the stairs and into the common room. The show has already started by the time we walk in, which means that I am spared the what-is- she-doing-here looks I get on the rare occasion that I do join in. Junior year would have been easier for me if I�Śd hung out more. But I say that at the end of every year. I�Śve always been this way. I can only get into something when I know it�Śs about to end. I hit the dance floor during the last five minutes of every dance and I usually don�Śt ever come into the common room until whatever silly show everyone loves is about to roll credits. I sit in the back and wrap my arms around my legs and rock a little. Brrr. Every single window is open and the cross breeze is intensifying. Nobody seems to be chilled but me. I could cry, awash with the sense that I will never be here again, that the wind is coming for me. Stop it, Zoe. You�Śre being lame. Next year you�Śll be in a dorm just like this one. And if you cry, everyone will stare at you. I let go of my legs and try to sit normally, whatever that means, as I wait for the strange bee-stung feeling to pass. In some weird way, when I later look back on that final night in the Greeley common room, I�Śll wonder if I had a premonition about what was coming, if I knew somehow that I really would meet my destiny in Greece. Chapter 2 We�Śve been trapped on the tarmac at Heraklion Airport in Crete for one hour and six minutes. That�Śs not a long time. But when you�Śve been traveling for twenty-two hours, it hurts. Everyone does the same thing when they�Śre grounded in a plane: They talk on the phone and text the people they love. Why do these people have so much to say when we�Śve all been on the same plane for so many hours? The only person, besides me, who isn�Śt on the phone is an old man three seats over from me. I wonder if he lives in America, like me, or if he lives here in Greece. I would wonder if he�Śs wondering why I�Śm not on the phone either, but like most men in the world, he doesn�Śt know I�Śm alive. I�Śm not ugly or anything. I just have better things to do than dye my hair blond or pore over shirts at Forever21.com. I have dark, naturally curly hair. Sometimes I look like a Greek goddess with my dark tendrils, but most of the time I look like a ―before�
picture. I�Śve always had this feeling that I�Śll look my best when I�Śm older, like one day I�Śll wake up and find that my nose fits my face and that my cowlick surrendered. But I�Śll be so busy with work that I won�Śt even realize it. That�Śs when I�Śll fall in love. The woman next to me elbows me sharply. It was an accident, but I get it. People are really uncomfortable with silence in close situations like this. I have to do something, so I log on to Facebook. CeeCee Banks just landed in MVeee and already landed fun for tonite! Attached to her update is a Hipstamatic photo of CeeCee with some guy with shaggy blond hair and a polo shirt. They�Śve already friended each other. I don�Śt know how she does it. But I try not to take it all too seriously. If I know anything about CeeCee�Śs summers on ―MVeee,�
it�Śs that the romances from late June never last long enough to make it into her description of her summer come September. And who knows? Maybe this will be the summer that I have a cute boyfriend to talk about late at night. When the flight attendant tells us we are finally free to move about the cabin and disembark, chaos ensues. The woman next to me seems to think that if she drops her purse on my feet, she will get off the plane before me. As I shuffle down the aisle, careful not to bump Old Man No Phone when he cuts in front of me, I feel optimistic. My Greece won�Śt be about games and myths and silliness. My Greece will be about philosophers and playwrights and people who were too busy building ideas and temples to obsess over what other people think of them. This really is my homeland in a way. Crete is the birthplace of science and I got a solid A in physics this year. I try not to smile because I don�Śt want to seem dorky, but the craziest thought zips through my head. It�Śs too bad Aristotle is dead. I feel like we could have connected, almost as instantly as CeeCee and her shaggy summer boyfriend. I feel silly for thinking that, but then again, it�Śs not like I�Śm that deluded. It�Śs not like I�Śm imagining I could have hooked up with one of those toga-clad make-believe gods. Better to crush on someone who once lived than someone dreamed up by desperate superstitious people. I text Uncle Alex: Walking. Skipping actually, but nobody has to know. It�Śs always easy to spot Uncle Alex and Aunt Sophia at an airport. You look for the most garish, beaten-up van you can find. Then you look for the middle-age couple in matching khaki getups. They look like they�Śre going to a costume party as Mr. and Mrs. Indiana Jones. I walk over to the van and climb in the back. Alex is driving and Sophia is on the phone coordinating the arrival of an intern. They have a nice way of sensing when I want to be left alone. It�Śs wonderful to just kick back in the van and look out the window and get to know my summer home. From the outside, Heraklion Airport actually looks like an ancient coliseum, as imagined by the architects who build theme parks. And as we venture into the surrounding city, I get the nervous sensation I get every time I arrive at a dig. I remember my first dig in Hawaii, landing and being so disturbed by the fast-food chains. Alex and Sophia wanted to know why I was being so quiet and I said that, from the sky, Maui looked wild with mountains and lush grass, but all that I saw must have been an illusion. They told me to close my eyes and wait. And I did; I was exhausted. When they woke me up, I could barely speak�"volcanoes, wild palm trees and sun so hot it felt like you could hold it in your hands. At the edge of the dig site, we pull up to a roadblock. A man with a clipboard and a long, skinny beard approaches the car. I know by now who this guy is; he�Śs a guard. Usually, we dig on protected lands, places where tourists aren�Śt allowed to go and locals avoid because they respect their history and they don�Śt want to build a house or a Taco Bell there. As my aunt and uncle small-talk with the clipboard guy, I look up at the tall grass waving ahead in the distance and I feel like a runner about to reach the finish line. I am so focused on the road ahead that when my uncle shifts the clunky van into gear, I fall back. Aunt Sophia and Uncle Alex share a little laugh, and then something strange happens. Aunt Sophia squeezes his hand. They never hold hands, at least not in front of me. A wave of loneliness sweeps over me. I gaze out the window and take in the new land. The trees all look thirsty but stubborn, like if you sprayed them with a hose, the water would come splashing back at you. They are jagged and enormous. If I were a little kid, I would be having nightmares tonight. It�Śs all just so rambling and disorganized. I spot a patch of electric green grass, almost like the area rug in the common room at school. And why? It makes no sense. Walls of rock spring out of nowhere and I grow dizzy. In a place like this, how do you even know where to begin digging? ―What do you think, Zoe?�
Alex asks. ―It�Śs wild.�
―You have to be very careful here,�
Sophia says. ―These bushes, most of them have thorns.�
―I can tell.�
―And you can�Śt go wandering off into the valleys. The paths are not well marked.�
―I know. Because tourists aren�Śt allowed.�
Aunt Sophia catches my eye in the rearview mirror and smiles. ―Is there anything you don’t know, Zoe?�
―No. Obviously I know everything.�
What a stupid thing to say: ―I know everything.�
There is so much I don�Śt know. I don�Śt know where I�Śll go to college. Heck, I don�Śt even know what I�Śll write my admissions essay about. It�Śs irrational of me to blush, but I do, because thinking about college makes me think about the ridiculous essay I�Śd started writing the other night. One of my dream schools demanded that all prospective students answer this question in the form of an essay: Who are you and what makes you different from everyone you know? Applications aren�Śt due for a long time, but I�Śm really excited about college and I really didn�Śt want to go to the Junior Jam on the West Lawn, so I sat on my bed in the empty dorm trying to answer that question. I started out writing about archeology (what else?) and then my dislike of Facebook until soon enough I�Śd managed to write the dorkiest sentence of all time: Feelings are just plain not as lasting as stuff. You can’t dig up love that’s 2,000 years old. But you can dig up a hunk of clay. I cringe just thinking about it. I couldn�Śt even get a job writing birthday messages for a greeting card company. ―Earth to Zoe.�
And then, in a flash, I forget all about my essay. We have arrived at the dig. This is my favorite part of summer. The tents are up. Metal bowls of hummus and carrots are catching sun and blinding me, and the yellow-T-shirt-clad volunteers are buzzing about, transporting pickaxes, blueprints, water jugs. I am home. Aunt Sophia turns and smiles at me. ―Zoe, we have some very exciting news.�
I look at her. Then I look at her hand, still locked in Uncle Alex�Śs. I panic. I�Śm always afraid they might have a baby. It�Śs not that I don�Śt like kids or anything. But a baby can�Śt go on a dig, right? I swallow. Sophia laughs. ―Relax. I�Śm not pregnant.�
―So what is it?�
She turns away from me and looks ahead at the base camp, which I now realize has an energy that�Śs different from what I�Śve experienced on past digs. One of the volunteers is gasping and waving her arms, as if she�Śs witnessed some kind of miracle. ―Guys, seriously. What�Śs the news?�
Uncle Alex breaks away from Sophia and grabs his keys. He turns and looks at me. ―You�Śll see.�
Chapter 3 It must be a hundred degrees in the tent when I wake up the next morning, covered in sweat. I love that first morning at a new site. I�Śm disoriented but safe. I�Śm groggy and jet-lagged and there�Śs that wonderful moment when it�Śs unclear where in the world I am or how I got here. Naturally, Aunt Sophia says that is no excuse for being late. But she should know by now that this is the only day of the summer that I get all girly. It�Śs like the first day of school. And given that this dig is pretty much the biggest dig of my life and theirs, I think I�Śm allowed. They came here hoping to unearth an ancient village, but what they found was an ancient temple. I haven�Śt seen it yet, but everyone at dinner last night used the same adjectives: mind-blowing, jaw-dropping, bigger than the White House, larger than life. Anytime I�Śm about to get my mind blown and feel my jaw drop, I�Śd like to look my best. And okay, this isn�Śt just about the giant temple. Much as I hate to admit it, this is also about boys.I�Śm finally seventeen. I�Śm going to be a senior. So if there was ever a summer when I might actually have a little romantic adventure, this would be the one. And the adventure is more likely to happen if I�Śm wearing something cute. The college students were off camping last night, so I didn�Śt meet any of them. I�Śve never had a summer boyfriend, but Alex and Sophia keep saying that this year�Śs crop of students is really special. And two of these special individuals are boys. I mean, you never know. Maybe the discovery of the temple is some kind of omen. Maybe this is the summer that everything comes together. And maybe white pants are the key. On a rare excursion to the mall in town near Greeley, I let CeeCee pick out clothes for me. They�Śre impractical and kind of silly, but maybe that�Śs a good thing. I slip on my new white cargo pants. I�Śve never owned white pants before, and they�Śre crisp and tighter than my khakis. The tank top she selected looks about three sizes too small, but once I layer it with a tan linen shirt, I feel a little more like me. I flip my hair and rub straightening gel into my scalp, through the cowlick and down to the ends. There�Śs no mirror in the tent, so I grab my iPhone and snap a picture of myself. The mascara I put on makes me look kind of clownish, but at the same time, I feel more sophisticated. Good enough for Aristotle�Śmaybe. It�Śs my bad luck that Aunt Sophia happens to be passing the moment I exit the tent. She stops walking. Her eyes bulge. ―Zoe, where is the party?�
―Stop it.�
―White pants? Are you kidding?�
―They�Śre cotton. Anything will wash out.�
She shakes her head and approaches me. She whispers, ―You�Śre wasting your time. The college students aren�Śt back from their night away. No boys for you just yet, Zoe.�
My cheeks flare up and I want to go change immediately. Am I that obvious? I look around. Everyone else is in dark pants. I could kill CeeCee. Hanging my head, I start back into my tent, but Uncle Alex intercepts me. ―Come on, Zoe.�
―I have to change.�
―No you don�Śt. But take off the tag. Don�Śt want to litter in the largest ancient temple discovered in the last hundred years.�
I rip off the tag and toss it in the trash. Forget boys. History is here now. I don�Śt understand where all this sand came from. We�Śve been plowing and huffing and puffing and it feels like we�Śre not getting anywhere. Walking through the sand feels like walking through snow in stilettos. ―Okay, won�Śt be long now,�
Uncle Alex says. ―You said that an hour ago.�
―Nonsense. An hour ago you were having a fashion show.�
Uncle Alex motions for me to grab a branch to steady myself as I follow him over a large, lopsided rock. When I land on the other side of the rock, I see it for the first time. The site. For a moment there are no words. Nobody was exaggerating and my mind is blown and my eyes are full and my jaw is somewhere beneath my boots. ―Aren�Śt you going to say something?�
―Wow.�
But ―wow�
doesn�Śt cut it. The massive beige block is the most daunting thing I�Śve ever seen. I want to run down the hill and explore every inch, but I also want to stand here and keep taking it in because, from afar, it�Śs astounding. It�Śs the definition of ancient. ―One thousand BC,�
Uncle Alex says softly. ―The oldest Hellenic temple ever discovered. Until now, everyone thought Greek temples were built no earlier than the sixth century. It upsets the entire historical record.�
He looks like he might cry, and I don�Śt blame him. My eyes are welling up too. Suddenly, I have to get closer right now. Only I forgot the worst thing about adults. It�Śs like they have a sixth sense and can tell exactly when you desperately want to do something�"and then they have to block you from doing it by giving you a lecture. Here we go. ―Number one: No iPhone.�
―No iPhone.�
Uncle Alex has a thing against iPhones. He�Śs convinced that I photograph every single precious artifact I cross paths with and that I use a flash and that the flash destroys the integrity of their findings. So two years ago, he initiated a strict policy: No smart phones on site. ―Number two: �No entry�Ś means no entry. You obey all red tape. Understood?�
―As always.�
―Good. Number three: Take your time hiking down. The sand is very malleable and I don�Śt want you falling and spraining an ankle.�
―Uncle Alex, I�Śm fine.�
―And be sure to drink the water in your pack. I don�Śt want you getting dehydrated.�
―I don�Śt have water in my pack.�
He smirks. I unzip my backpack to find two bottles of water, granola bars and single-serving packs of almonds and macadamia nuts. I groan. ―I�Śm seventeen years old, Uncle Alex. I love Aunt Sophia but sometimes she treats me like a baby.�
He unzips his own backpack, revealing a similar bounty of snacks, ―Me too, kiddo. Now then, off you go.�
I�Śm not a hugger, but I throw my arms around him. ―Thank you, Uncle Alex.�
―Have fun,�
he tells me. I set off at a quick pace. Nobody can see me so I let myself smile broadly. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. And though I would never admit it, I�Śm grateful for my aunt�Śs snack attack. I�Śm also grateful that Alex and Sophia are the kind of guardians who look the other way. They know me. They know I have my iPhone. In fact, it was bulging out of my pocket as I stood there promising I didn�Śt have it. They also know that I never saw a piece of red tape I didn�Śt want to cross. But they trust me. They know that�" ―Whoa!�
I slip and land flat on my back. The sandbank was steeper than I realized. I lie there a minute and stare at the jarringly blue sky. I can�Śt help but grin. Greece is growing on me, with its tricky terrain, its startling color scheme and up there, way to the left, a mountain that looks like something out of one of those mythology cartoon books you get when you�Śre a little kid. I can understand how the ancient people were where I am now, flat on their backs, studying the sharp lines of the rock, the impossibly opaque clouds, and believing that gods were up there, ethereal yet tangible all at once.―Greece,�
I say, even though no one is around to hear me. ―I love you.�
―I love you too.�
I hear him before I see him. His voice is husky and close. I bolt upright and scan the area but there�Śs no one around. Then a few palm fronds swish forward, confirming that I�Śm not alone. I brush my hair out of my eyes, looking for him. Any second now, he will appear. Whoever he is. Chapter 4 Darren has shaggy brown hair and an unruly beard that makes him look older than the Columbia junior archeology major he is. Pulling me up from the sand, he grins and tells me that my aunt sent him to help me with the excavation. ―I don�Śt need anyone�Śs help,�
I tell him, brushing myself off. ―Just because you�Śre related to the two greatest working archeologists in the world doesn�Śt make you Lara Croft.�
―I know my way around a dig site,�
I retort. ―I�Śve spent the past six summers doing this. I�Śve got more experience than you do.�
He stops and eyes me. ―You know, you�Śre kinda cute when you get defensive.�
―I�Śm not being defensive,�
I hiss, though I can feel the color rush to my cheeks. ―There you go again,�
he says and winks at me. I hate Columbia Darren. And not in the way girls hate boys because they like them. When he first said the ―L�
word, it seemed like one of those magic moments. What a story to tell CeeCee: I have a boyfriend! He�Śs older! The first words he ever said to me were ―I love you!�
But everything he�Śs said since then has been semi-obnoxious. I will never fall in love. At least not this summer, anyway. I rush off toward the excavation site with Darren following close behind me. I walk as fast as possible without actually breaking into a run. ―Hey!�
he calls out after me. ―Your aunt said you have water.�
―I do,�
I reply without turning around. ―Well I�Śm really thirsty.�
With a big, annoyed sigh, I reach into my backpack. One of the waters is dented from the fall. Perfect. He takes off his stupid hat, which looks like it came from a gift shop at the American Museum of Natural History, and dumps the bottle over his head. I guess I�Śm supposed to swoon or something. ―Are you all right?�
he asks. ―I�Śm just hungry. And a little dehydrated.�
Sheepishly, he offers me the mostly empty bottle. Here we are, standing at the foot of the temple. We are the only two people in this section. Isn�Śt this what romance is all about? If CeeCee were in my shoes right now, she would be enthralled with him, take all his little jabs as playful attempts at flirting. ―So what else are you into�Śbesides this?�
he asks. ―Besides archeology?�
There�Śs a nervous sincerity in his eyes that wins me over for a second. Throw him a bone, I tell myself. Be normal. ―Well, I�Śm obsessed with Sex and the City.�
It�Śs a lie. But CeeCee is obsessed, so I can hold my own in a conversation about it. ―You are?�
I shrug. The heat is getting to me. I want to go into the temple. I feel dizzy and exhausted. Why is it so hard to talk to boys? I mean, it�Śs hard to talk to girls too, which is probably why I don�Śt exactly have a long list of close friends. But it just seems like kids are so quick to put you in a little box. Then again, I�Śm not being myself either. I want to run. Aristotle would be easier to talk to than Columbia Darren. ―Why are you so surprised?�
I ask. He shrugs and slips on his sunglasses. I can�Śt see his eyes anymore. ―You just seemed different, I guess. Whatever. You wanna go in?�
I let him lead the way into the temple, even though I should be leading because I�Śve studied the map. Boys ruin everything. Here I am, in the coolest place I�Śve ever been�" marveling at the awesomely high ceilings of the grand entrance and on my way to help uncover ancient inscriptions on these giant fragile walls�" feeling overwhelmed by the sheer scope of it all, and yet I�Śm in a funk and I have no one to blame but myself. Why did I tell Darren that I love a show I don�Śt love? Why can�Śt I just be myself with boys? I could have told him that I subscribe to Nature magazine, that I�Śm obsessed with the Mayans. I could have been myself. I don�Śt know who�Śs worse, me or him. ―You want to check out that alcove where the pros are going to be scraping later?�
―Sure,�
I say. ―But I�Śve just got to scram for a second.�
He laughs. Everyone knows what it means when you say you have to scram. ―Scram�
is code for pee. ―I can wait,�
he says. ―I don�Śt want you to get lost trying to catch up to me. This place is like a maze.�
―That�Śs okay. I�Śm good at mazes.�
―Are you sure? There�Śs no rush.�
―Seriously, go on ahead. I�Śll find you.�
He starts crossing the cavernous marble room at a rapid pace and I wonder if something is wrong with me. Why did I just lie to him about having to go to the bathroom so that he would leave me alone? If I were a normal girl, I would call out after him and run into his arms. Instead I just watch him go. CeeCee says that I make boys insecure, that I put myself on a pedestal where nobody can reach me. Then again, do I want smug, shaggy-haired Darren to reach me? Doesn�Śt matter. He�Śs gone. I head toward a stone entryway cordoned off by red tape. Crossing the ancient space, I feel tiny and small. But I also feel excited. I strap a headlight around my head. I�Śm about to crawl on all fours through a small, unexplored tunnel, breaking all the rules of the site. Wow, the lengths I�Śll go to in order to avoid intimacy. I�Śve been crawling for ten minutes when the bulb in my headlight pops. Suddenly I�Śm alone in the dark. ―Darren?�
I call out. ―Darren?!�
No answer. Wherever Darren is in the temple, he�Śs nowhere near me. The only company I have is a huge and terrifying darkness. And with no space to turn around and head back to the great room, I have no choice but to go forward, blind, alone, like some kind of an animal, minus the self-preservation instincts that would have stopped me from being here in the first place. I swallow. I murmur: ―Help.�
Chapter 5 Calm down. You�Śve been training your whole life for a moment like this, I tell myself. I mean, sure, I�Śm on all fours in a dark labyrinth with more twists and turns than my frizzy hair on a hot summer day. But this maze is no different from the mazes on restaurant placemats that I tried to master with crayons when I was a kid. A lot of kids just started with the crayon pressed to the paper before they�Śd studied the map. But I wasn�Śt like that. I would analyze the map to the best of my ability. I would use my finger to trace out one path, and then, finding that it led to a dead end, I would start again. I close my eyes. Pretend you�Śre a crayon. Be still. I take a deep breath. But my nostrils clog with dust and I cough. An echo! Yes! There is definitely an open space nearby. I just have to keep making noise and follow my sense of sound. Must. Make. Noise. But what does one talk to oneself about in a dark tunnel? Well, this one decides to sing. Off-key. And loud. I don�Śt even really like Rihanna�Śs ―Umbrella,�
but CeeCee has this nervous habit of chanting those infectious (in the bad way, like they infect you) lyrics whenever she�Śs about to see a guy she likes or take an English test. Singing a pop song makes me feel like nothing has changed, like I�Śm back in the dorm begging CeeCee to stop singing or to sing a different song, like I can survive anything. I sense a shift in light and I pause. I take another deep breath and belt out the next lyrics. Yes! The warbled lyrics are bouncing back at me. I reach forward and feel for the wall and there it is, to the right, the opening. I crawl through it in a rush of relief, shuffling toward freedom, my white cotton pants catching on every tiny pebble in my way. I am alive. I will live. When I emerge from the narrow tunnel, I find myself standing in a large empty room with ceilings at least twenty feet high. If there�Śs one thing I�Śve learned from going on digs and constantly breaking the rules, it�Śs that you can always tell when you�Śre the first person on site. When people come in, they move the air around; they leave footprints and floodlights. Not here. Nobody has been in this room yet. Wondering what used to go on in this room, I run my hands along the walls. It is usually the first thing I do in any new place. The clues are often hidden beneath layers of dust. Sometimes there are drawings or epithets or carvings. Sometimes my finger dips into a groove and then I start dusting and eventually break through the cakey buildup to uncover a drawer. And sometimes, when pried open, the drawer turns out to be a casket with a sarcophagus inside. I always cry a little when we find tombs. Once, Uncle Alex found a tiny slingshot-type toy and placed it in my gloved hands. ―This belonged to the little boy in here,�
he said. But after twenty minutes of rubbing the wall surrounding the tunnel, I have found nothing, which is puzzling. Something had to have happened in this room. Nobody builds a temple and includes a giant room for nothing, do they? The guidance counselors at Greeley say that every single one of us is special, even if we haven�Śt figured out why yet. Most kids roll their eyes at this statement, and I�Śve never told anyone that hearing this always makes me feel good. I like the idea that there is neither a useless nor a dull room, and I sit down to give the room a chance to show itself, the way the counselors do with kids. And�Śthere it is. The room is special. The wall directly across from the tunnel entrance does not reach all the way up to the crusty ceiling. It stops about a foot short. There must be another, hidden room behind it. I hunt around for an entrance, but it quickly becomes clear that the only way to access the hidden room is to get over the wall. I have some rope in my backpack, but without anything to attach it to, it won�Śt do me any good. I�Śm going to have climb up this twenty-foot wall without ropes, or hooks or anything. I step forward, exhaling deeply. This isn�Śt like the fake mountain climbing I do in gym class where I�Śm tied to a rope and, if anything goes wrong, I fall onto a vinyl-encased mattress. This is the real deal, and my backpack full of granola bars and water bottles won�Śt do much to cushion a fall.Scanning for a good handhold among the craggy rock, I hook my boot into the wall and start the ascent. For a moment it seems as if it�Śs going to be easy. Climbing this wall is not at all like climbing a wall in the gymnasium at school. I don�Śt hear the cool girls gossiping at the nearby volleyball net and I don�Śt flinch thinking that I�Śm about to get walloped on the head by a boy�Śs basketball. There are no teachers and no kids and no humans here to see me scaling it. But then, when I�Śm almost to the top, the wall abruptly smooths out and I can�Śt find another handhold. I�Śm trapped. I run my free hand along the face of the rock in desperation. It�Śs dark and I have to rely on touch to find where to grip. My left leg starts to shake, so I rotate my foot to flatten my hips and distribute more of my weight to my right leg. Even so, how long can I stay up here? For a second I think about giving up. If I backtrack down the wall, I might make it to the ground with just a twisted ankle or sprained knee�Ś. But the thought of the hidden room directly behind me, unseen by anyone in three thousand years, spurs me on. Come on, Zoe, I urge. Gathering all my strength and courage, I bend my knees and then push off with my left leg, springing toward the top of the wall. It�Śs a crazy, risky, one-armed leap, and panic hits me when I feel the dust beneath the fingers of my right hand�"I�Śm not going to make it!�"but then my hand is gripping the top of the stone wall and I�Śm suspended by one arm, my shoulders and back muscles aching. Quickly, I swing my other arm up and pull myself onto the top of the wall. I�Śm gasping and tears are streaming down my eyes with fear and relief. What was I thinking, trying a move like that? At least descending the other side is easier. Within a minute, I climb down without incident and drop safely into the mystery room. I�Śm still so rattled from the climb up that I don�Śt even react when an enormous spider scurries over my boots and onto the dusty floor. The Greek word for spider is arachnid. I read about the origin of the spider on the plane. Basically, the goddess Athena could be very jealous. So when this girl Arachne was telling everyone that she was great at crafting tapestries, Athena ran down from her little palace in the sky and challenged the girl to a weaving contest. When Athena won, she was still mad at the earthling, so she turned her into a spider so that she�Śd be running scared and weaving for the rest of her life. I guess the moral of that story is, basically, you can�Śt win with the gods. As the spider scurries away, I glance around to see if it has any friends. Hopefully I didn�Śt just go through all of that to land in a spider nest. That�Śs when I see it. In the corner, a giant, seven-foot-tall iPhone leans against a wall. I blink. Huh? Chapter 6 I know the Greeks contributed a lot to society, with all their inventions and philosophies and sports. But I�Śm pretty sure that Apple wasn�Śt around in 1000 BC, so what could explain a giant black iPhone, angled against the wall like a full-length mirror in a dorm room? My imagination takes off. Maybe this wasn�Śt a temple. Maybe it was a giant�Śs storage unit. Or maybe this is some kind of hoax my uncle pulled as a way to teach me to leave my phone behind. It�Śs also possible that the crew put this immovable block of glass and graphite here as a practical joke on my uncle. Or maybe it�Śs not an iPhone at all. The closer I get to it, the more it looks to be made of some kind of smooth stone, like pure and unveined black marble. But as I squat to examine it closer, I spot the signature circular indentation at the bottom of every iPhone. I run my hand over the circle and it�Śs a bizarre sensation, feeling something so familiar in such an unfamiliar place. I leap back, suddenly scared. The iPhone thingy is not coated in dust. How can that be? It�Śs as brand-new as any phone fresh out of the shiny white cardboard box. Seeing myself reflected in the dark screen, I feel like a ghost. And I will be a ghost soon because my aunt and uncle will be furious with me when they find out that I just touched something foreign without gloves. My fingerprints are now on that artifact. An archeology site is kind of like a crime scene. You aren�Śt supposed to go rubbing your DNA all over everything you see. This time, when the spider flutters near my boot, I scream. Top of my lungs. A full-blown girly-girl-who�Śs-scared-of-spiders kind of scream. Nobody hears me. I am on my feet, running as hard as I can toward the wall. I am a bad girl, disobedient and arrogant. God, what is wrong with me? And how will I climb back up the wall in this condition, a sweaty nervous wreck? As I swipe my cowlick off my forehead, I see something shimmering and small on the ground. It looks like a coin. I bend down to pick it up, only to shake my head with disappointment. This isn�Śt a coin. It�Śs made out of stone, not metal, and it has a slightly luminous glow to it. The bottom is rounded while the top is flat. It�Śs also dense. So dense that it feels condensed, as if the sum of the parts is infinitely greater than the whole and about to explode at any moment. When I hold it between my two pointer fingers, I marvel at its fat round bottom�Śjust the right size and dimension to fit into the concave circle on the bottom of that big iPhone over there. Why not? I think. I already got my fingerprints on the thing; what�Śs one more trespass? I lean down and press the obolus into the circle, smiling as it clicks into place. Presto! It�Śs always fun when things fit together. I�Śm about to take off my backpack and grab my phone when the wind hits my neck. Wind? That�Śs impossible. I�Śm indoors. I turn around. No. It can�Śt be�Ś A wall of water and lighting and wind and god knows what else is charging at me at full speed. It�Śs as if a hurricane appeared out of nowhere to engulf me I scream. Black out. And then, just like that, I am coughing. Curled on my side, I clench my fists and fight for air. My eyes sting so much I can�Śt open them. But when I touch my face, I realize that I�Śm not wet at all, which makes no sense, given the tidal wave that hit me. I feel the ground beneath me, and it�Śs bone-dry too. I must have been knocked out for an hour, maybe more, for everything to have dried. I sniff the air, my other senses coming alive while my eyes continue to sting. Something smells different. I could swear that my nostrils are picking up on turpentine or paint, but that�Śs ridiculous. Maybe I got a concussion, I reason. I feel my head for a bump but can�Śt find one. Still, you don�Śt need a physical injury to have a concussion; I know that much. And everything is going to be fine anyway because I can hear a couple of men talking and their voices are clear enough that I know they can�Śt be that far away. I will soon be safe, the medical examiner checking me out, my uncle chastising me for getting caught in a�Ś Tempest? Windstorm? Rogue wave beneath sea level? I sit up. The last thing I can remember is the wall of water and light, the way it came after me, almost as if it was aiming for me. I laugh because it�Śs so silly to think of nature, which we all know to be indifferent, as having a grudge against a nosy girl. Clearly, whatever happened�"a pipe bursting, a dam breaking�"was not directed at me. I feel my eyes start to cool and, with relief, blink them open. The giant iPhone is gone, undoubtedly swept away in the storm. In its place, the coin sits there, unscathed, as dry as my hair. I grab it and stuff it into the back pocket of my filthy white pants and then grope in my backpack for my phone. Miraculously, my water-resistant backpack has proven to be waterproof. All my things are safe, dry and functioning. I immediately feel a little better, good enough to stand up and get my bearings. How did people manage their emotions before smartphones? I mean, I was never one of those kids who lugged around a teddy bear, even after losing my parents. In general, I don�Śt have a lot of attachment to objects. It�Śs always seemed silly to me the way girls at school horde Slinky bracelets or jerseys, as if those objects actually do anything. But a phone is functional. It�Śs a connection to civilization, and at a time like this, I�Śm grateful to find mine unscathed and powered up. No service, of course, but that�Śs probably for the best. Calling my aunt from an off-limits room accessible only via a labyrinth would only get me into more trouble. Just as I�Śm about to head back to the wall, my eyes start watering again. I see my shadow cast on the freshly cleaned floor. The water has really done a number on this room. It looks almost�Śnew. I stand there like a tourist, marveling at the clean, polished floor. Maybe I�Śm not alone. Maybe the crew installed temporary lights above that were altering the appearance of the space. I feel a sneeze coming on and turn my head away. But the sneeze dies the moment I see the door. It is across the room, in the middle of the wall that didn�Śt reach the ceiling. I shake my head in automatic denial. That�Śs not right. Had there been a doorway, I wouldn�Śt have scaled the wall. I would have walked in upright, like a normal person. And the doorway itself is confounding. It isn�Śt a jagged-edged hole in the wall�"collateral damage from the indoor water park. Its edges are carved and painted. I run my hand along the beam. Someone built this doorway with love. How had I missed that door? Maybe I had been hungrier than I realized. I do get kind of light-headed when I don�Śt snack. ―�ó�Ż�Ś�Ą�Ą!�
I smile when I hear the Greek word for ―help.�
Darren must have followed me after all and ended up getting trapped. His attempt at Greek is bad, like CeeCee when she tries to speak French with her au pair on Skype. And whoever Darren is with, the one who�Śs babbling now, well, he isn�Śt all that masterful at Greek either. ―Coming, Darren!�
I shout. I run through the door toward the voices. Nope. That�Śs not Darren and those two men aren�Śt archeologists. From the look of the flimsy wooden scaffolding they�Śre standing on and the old-school stone hammers in their hands, they must be local stonemasons. They�Śre dressed strangely, with a large woolen rectangle draped fashionably around their bodies. But I don�Śt bother thinking too much about their weird taste in clothing; all I know is they are definitely not part of my aunt and uncle�Śs crew, and I am seething. It�Śs all coming together now, in the worst possible way. See, there have been whispers about the possibility of the government seizing the site and transforming it into some kind of cheesy tourist attraction where you pick up T-shirts that say i went to ancient greece and all i got was this lousy t-shirt. And like any archeologist, I�Śm passionate about historical preservation and I can�Śt stand to see humans show so little respect for the humans who came before them and worked so hard. What I do next is pure instinct. I need the destruction of this temple�" probably sold to the public as ―reconstruction�
�"on record. With my iPhone I snap a few discreet shots of the stonemasons, the scaffolding, the horror of the way they�Śre just banging at the walls, as if the walls aren�Śt precious. No doubt they caused the flood. They probably brought in some high-powered hose meant for putting out fires. Disgusting. The flash is on silent and the stonemasons are so engrossed in their conversation that they don�Śt notice me. I�Śll show these pictures to my aunt and uncle, and together we�Śll put a stop to this mess. And then I won�Śt get in trouble for wandering off. I found an ancient obolus, survived a flash flood and captured the corporate raid on camera. Not bad for day one! My head is buried in my phone, which is why I almost walk into a giant wooden thing. I recognize it immediately as the model of an ancient Greek crane. A really accurate model. So accurate, in fact, that a less astute person might mistake it for the real deal. But that�Śs impossible, I tell myself, as I shuffle through the great room I�Śd been in with Darren just hours ago. I don�Śt want to think what I�Śm thinking. I don�Śt want to be so keenly aware that something is really off. The room looks brand-new, as if had been built only days ago. The spot where Darren and I had stood, the spot with layers of earth caked on it�"it looks entirely different now. I touch the wall and my hand comes away clean. A chill creeps through my spine and the image of the wooden crane pops into my head. I lean into the wall and swear that I catch that paint smell again, stronger than the scent I�Śd picked up on when I�Śd first come to. My heart is beginning to race. I hear footsteps. The stonemasons have descended from the scaffolding, the scaffolding that also appears alarmingly, inconceivably brand-new and yet ancient. I slip my phone into my pocket and start down a long hallway, trying not to notice the mysteries accosting my senses: the gluey odor of fresh wet mortar in an ancient ruin, the blinding shine of recently buffed walls in a room thousands of years old and something in the air that can only be called purity. I don�Śt want to admit it to myself, but it doesn�Śt feel like a storm passed through this room. And if the wall of water hadn�Śt passed through this enormous space, how had it reached me? I am holding my phone so tight in my pocket that my knuckles are starting to ache. I have to get out of here as soon as possible. As my stomach rumbles, another theory blazes through my consciousness. There could be some kind of charity gala. That would explain everything. The ―ancient�
tools are just props. The giant iPhone has been relocated. Maybe Apple is even sponsoring the event. Naturally, what I�Śd mistaken for a wall of water was a cleaning crew. I can be pretty good at convincing myself of things when I need to be. By the time I reach the temple doorway, I feel confident that I will pass through it to find a catering truck and a bunch of cranky waiters sneaking cigarettes. I blow my cowlick out of my eye, turn the corner, and exit through the doorway. A hot wind blows my hair right back over my eyes. This time, I don�Śt brush it away. I�Śm happy to be blinded. I just caught a glimpse of the world awaiting me, and I am in no rush to see it more clearly. Chapter 7 The sandbanks are gone. The dry dusty hills are gone. Even the dirt pathway is gone. Now it�Śs all grassy hills lush with flora, olive trees and pine trees. Everything is green and bright, bursting with life. I stare at all this foliage in bloom and feel disoriented and lonely, as if I�Śm at a Greeley formal when all the couples sway to Usher�Śs ―U Got It Bad�
while I stand drowning in other people�Śs puppy love. I know what it is to feel outcast from my peers, but feeling outcast from my surroundings is a new sensation. The world has flipped upside down. It�Śs so lush that I half expect Adam and Eve to pass by, hand in hand, their private parts covered by fig leaves. Everyone knows that Greece doesn�Śt look like this, even CeeCee! I pull the obolus out of my back pocket and nervously rub it between my fingers as I struggle to make sense of what is going on. How long have I been unconscious? Even if it were for an entire day, though, it still wouldn�Śt explain the magnitude of the change in landscape. Straining my eyes, I peer out over the valley, searching for the camp, but there�Śs no sign of it. Whatever freak climactic event tore through the temple and knocked me out must also have washed away the camp. The tents, the stakes, the sawhorses, all of it�"gone. Not to mention the people. The people! Suddenly I imagine a giant tidal wave carrying off a struggling Uncle Alex and Aunt Sophia and the crew and I start to panic. Be strong, Zoe, I tell myself. Be positive, like the field hockey players or that sophomore with the braces who�Śs always smiling and asking girls out. Good things do happen. It�Śs then that I notice a thin wisp of smoke rising way off in the distance. What a relief. That must be where everyone from the dig site went for cover. It�Śs the perfect spot: deep inland, on a slope in the valley so it�Śs safe from runoff. I bet Uncle Alex and Aunt Sophia are there now, interrogating Darren about why he left me behind. I set off downhill at a fast pace. I�Śve never been much of a runner, but within a few strides I feel like I�Śm flying. The ground almost seems to push me forward, supporting my thumping feet the way the spongy track at Greeley does. It�Śs an amazing feeling. For the first time in my life I�Śm starting to understand the phrase ―runner�Śs high.�
After a few minutes, I take a break to drink some water. When I look behind me at the temple, I am astounded. How fast have I been running? I�Śve crossed so much land that I could have outpaced Greeley�Śs varsity track team. In fact, I could have sworn that I saw a low-flying bird lagging behind me in my peripheral vision. I had better start walking, I reason, because my senses are going wonky in the heat. Pushing through the brush, I notice that the ground still feels spongy and supportive, even though I�Śm not pounding on it. And I�Śm still making huge strides, as if I�Śm racing along on a moving sidewalk at the airport. After half an hour of power walking, I take another break, this time to eat. I pull a granola bar out of my backpack and unwrap it. The packaging looks incredibly iridescent and metallic in contrast to all this natural greenery. I plop down in the dirt and take a bite, laughing at myself for admiring a granola bar wrapper. It�Śs official, I think. I really am going nuts. I should start marking my progress in case I get even more delusional. I finish the granola bar and fold the wrapper into a tiny red and silver triangle, as if it�Śs a note I�Śm going to pass in class. I tuck the shiny triangle into the base of an olive tree. Only a sliver of it juts out, which will be just enough of a lamppost for me if I come back this way. I stand up and notice a set of animal tracks that look like they were made by a kangaroo, because each set has only two hoof prints, and I don�Śt know of any other animals besides kangaroos that walk on their hind legs. Only Greece doesn�Śt have kangaroos, of course. Sunstroke, Zoe. Sunstroke. And then I hear a branch snap. I freeze. It�Śs the kind of noise that could only be caused by a person. I whip my head around searchingly. Is someone here? ―Hello!�
No response. ―It�Śs Zoe! I�Śm with the dig!�
Silence. Okay, enough walking. I am getting out of here. I break into a full sprint, running so fast that I can feel wind blowing against my face where before there was no breeze. A few minutes later, I finally arrive at the source of the smoke. Strangely, though, the fire is not the center of an impromptu meeting point, but more like the center of an impromptu village. Instead of Uncle Alex and Aunt Sophia and Darren and the rest of the crew huddled around a makeshift signal fire, there are about thirty clay huts. I see a woman wearing a toga enter one of the huts. A man follows behind her, similarly dressed. I keep walking, trying not to think about the risky fashion choices these villagers are making, as more and more people dressed in togas appear. I tie my hair back and make haste for the�Ś festival? Yes, it must be a festival. I look around hopefully for a sign or an information booth. Then I feel something brush my leg, and I turn around just as an animal on its hind legs races past me. Okay, Zoe, that was no kangaroo. That was an upright goat. And did it�Śwas it talking? Chapter 8 Two years ago, Uncle Alex and Aunt Sophia took me to New York City for Thanksgiving. We stayed at their friends�Ś apartment downtown in the West Village. One night, I was sleeping on the pullout sofa when Aunt Sophia suddenly appeared, whispering, ―Zoe. Wake up. Something wonderful has happened.�
That�Śs an exciting thing to hear at any time, but especially in New York City in the middle of the night. I slipped on my parka and stepped into my boots and followed Aunt Sophia down four flights of stairs. ―What happened? What happened?�
I asked. ―No, no,�
she said. ―You must see with your own eyes to believe.�
Part of me expected a celebrity to be passed out on the stoop or something. Then again, Aunt Sophia and Uncle Alex aren�Śt exactly the best at knowing about that stuff, so it was sort of a silly notion. It seemed like we would never reach the foyer, but when we did, I stopped dead in my tracks. Parked right outside the building was a vintage 1940-something Studebaker. I�Śm not a gearhead, but Uncle Alex, who seems to know everything about everything (aside from celebrities), is obsessed with cars. ―Did Uncle Alex see this?�
―Are you kidding? He�Śs the one who found it. Come on, Zoe.�
She pushed the heavy door open and I ran out onto the stoop. It was stunning. Bright lights lit the sky. Cars like the Studebaker lined the entire block. Snow was on the ground even though the temperature had been in the fifties that afternoon. ―Aunt Sophia, I don�Śt understand.�
―It�Śs simple. We traveled back in time.�
Uncle Alex whistled, ―Zoe! Come see this one!�
He was standing beside a mint green station wagon. I clomped through the snow, still confused, and looked up at the neighboring buildings. They were all different now, all old-fashioned. Our hosts had shown us pictures of what the neighborhood looked like years ago, and here I was, walking through the neighborhood in those black-and-white photographs. Only it was real. Colors abounded. Cars were definitely more flamboyant in that period. ―Is this a dream?�
I said. Uncle Alex laughed. ―Where�Śs that silly phone you always carry?�
I reached for my iPhone but it wasn�Śt there. ―Okay. Now I know this is a dream because otherwise I would have my phone.�
―It doesn�Śt matter,�
he said. ―Sometimes it�Śs more fun to have memories than pictures.�
―Uncle Alex, what is all this?�
Aunt Sophia approached then, throwing an arm around me. ―You mean you don�Śt believe in time travel.�
―Um, no.�
―Funny, you like to watch old movies so much, and yet you�Śre the last one to know when you�Śre on a film set.�
I took it all in again. Upon closer examination, the fronts of the buildings were facades. The snow wasn�Śt melting because it wasn�Śt actually snow. The cars were real, but so were the headset-wearing guards on the corner. We all huddled together laughing, listening to Uncle Alex tell us more than we wanted to know about cars. I wasn�Śt a little kid or anything. I mean, it wasn�Śt that long ago. But I remember feeling that I must be very naive, because for a split second on Charles Street, I believed that my aunt and uncle and I had traveled through time. And apparently, they are playing that film set joke on me again. I look around for the makeup guy responsible for the talking ―goat�
�"whoever is in that costume must be roasting in this heat. That�Śs when I realize that there is no one wearing a headset, no director�Śs chairs, no giant klieg lights. Okay, then it�Śs an ancient Greece festival, as I�Śd first guessed, I reassure myself. And the goat�Śthat must be some kind of remote-controlled toy to lend mythical ―authenticity.�
For the record, authentic is the key word here. Everyone is dressed in weird, dirty togas. And as for the children, they run wild�"no shoes, no nannies chasing them, no parents hovering. I search for a banner or a sign reading welcome to classical times! (PARKING VALIDATION AVAILABLE AT ENTRY POINT), but find nothing. That�Śs because these people are really hard-core and passionate about their fun, I tell myself. That would explain why a mother is dragging a large jug of water into what appears to be her kitchen. And why men are trading hunks of meat for scraps of wool. Nearby, a few women stand in a circle talking. I try to eavesdrop, but they aren�Śt speaking my kind of Greek. Like the stonemasons in the temple, they speak in sentences peppered by ancient words that throw me off. If there�Śs one skill I�Śve picked up on my excursions with Aunt Sophia and Uncle Alex, it�Śs navigation. It�Śs more than just a sense of direction; it�Śs a sense of people. If you�Śre lost or disoriented, you have to be cautious about who you approach for help. A very old woman smiles at me. Her thick gray hair is tied back with a piece of straw, something I thought women stopped doing once mirrors were invented. But her smile is open, her teeth crooked, as if they all dream of fleeing her mouth and running in different directions. She nods. I wipe my hands on my shirt and cross the dirt road. Here goes nothing. ―Hello,�
I say. She furrows her brow with confusion. Seriously? Everyone knows what ―hello�
means, even if they don�Śt speak English. Okay, let�Śs try this again. I make like a game show hostess and direct her eyes toward the activity in the street, the wild children chasing each other, the men clapping and carrying on in song. ―Is this a celebration for the discovery of the temple?�
I ask in my best Greek, grateful for the first time for the lessons Aunt Sophia forced on me each summer. ―Discovery?�
asks the woman in Greek, turning to look where I�Śm pointing. The wind shifts and carries her scent right into my nostrils. Whoa. You�Śd think they would make an authenticity exception for deodorant. ―I am with the team that discovered the temple,�
I say slowly with a smile. The woman shakes her head and gathers her shawl. It occurs to me that there might be other nearby temples, so once again I point. This time she doesn�Śt turn her head. She only stares at me. It�Śs the way some of the girls at school look at me when I talk about what I did on my summer vacation, as if I�Śm speaking in tongues. ―The temple has not been discovered,�
the old woman says. ―The temple has just been built.�
She shakes her head, having grown bored of me, and shuffles away toward her friends. What happens next is no different from what happens at school. The lady is telling her friends about me and they�Śre laughing and whispering. So rude, right? I sigh. Some kid bumps into me and keeps going and it�Śs all I can do to not run after him and make him apologize. Deep breaths, Zoe. You�Śre grumpy and thirsty and you�Śve never had a concussion before, so go easy on yourself and the people around you. I look back at the temple in the distance for some reassurance, but seeing it sparkle like a McMansion only upsets me even more. Just been built. That can�Śt be true. If that were true, then it would have to be 1000 BC. And that�Śs impossible because we all know that it�Śs the 21st century AD. Right? In eighth grade, our history class took a field trip to a living history museum where actors pretended to be pilgrims. If you asked them about TV shows, they asked you, in colonial English, what a television set was. It was a really fun field trip and I was impressed by the way the actors held their ground. A couple of the sarcastic boys tried to break them. They asked them what they were really having for dinner over and over again, but the actors didn�Śt break character. Thinking about the field trip helps me to stay calm. All I need to do is find a gift shop. That�Śs the one question that anyone employed by a living history museum will answer honestly. I hear laughing. Three young boys are roughhousing in a nearby alley. The boy with shaggy brown hair never seems to get a chance to kick the rock. I decide that Shaggy will be my tour guide. I smile at him with my best American-tourist grin and wait for him to notice me. He catches my eye and quickly turns his head, as if I could only have been looking at someone behind him. We laugh. He�Śs a good kid. He will surely direct me to the gift shop. Everything is finally going to be all right. I start toward the alley and am just about to introduce myself when a blaring alarm erupts. I clap my hands over my ears and wince. Ouch. I realize that alarms are necessary, but do they have to be that loud? I whip my head around to make sure I�Śm not in the way of an ambulance. Instead of an ambulance, I see a crowd, all eyes on some sort of event. I look back to the boy in the alley to gauge his reaction, but he and his friends have taken off. The dust is still settling and the toy rock skids across the dirt. That obnoxious alarm sounds again and I cover my ears. Nobody else seems that bowled over by it. Are my ears playing tricks on me now too? Because I�Śve never heard a sound like this. And it�Śs becoming clear to me that the unbearably high-pitched wail isn�Śt coming from a machine. No, this noise is coming from�Śa person. I maneuver my way into the crowd, following the sound of the scream. Two big guys stand in the center, brandishing weapons. Frankly, they look like your standard bad guys in a school play: grizzly beards, heavy clubs, gladiator sandals and gnarly grimaces. They�Śre the kind of guys I expect to gang up on someone. But what I don�Śt expect is their victim. It�Śs a little girl. She is darting to and fro, dodging every swing of their clubs at the last second, fighting for her life. She moves with the finesse of a ballerina. It�Śs incredible�"and horrible�"to watch. How long until she makes a mistake and those goons catch her? With an earsplitting scream, she spirals up into the air in a somersault and easily lands on her feet. Okay, that�Śs not a little girl, I realize. That�Śs a woman. But she�Śs no bigger than a little girl, barely three feet tall, with shimmering bendy arms and quick tiny heels. That elfin grin, those larger-than-life disproportionately round eyes�"I�Śve read enough Greek mythology in my day to know what she is. A nymph. Chapter 9 Like any well-adjusted person who knows the difference between real life and fantasy, I realize that nymphs are the stuff of legend. They don�Śt actually exist. Maybe somebody should tell her that. Because she looks very real right now as the men keep swinging their clubs at her. I glance around the crowd, looking for an explanation, or at least some confirmation that I�Śm not hallucinating, but all I see are distressed expressions. Those boys from the alley are jumping up and down as if they want to interfere but can�Śt. If this is all for viewing pleasure, why doesn�Śt anyone look happy? ―Why doesn�Śt anyone do anything?�
I say to the man beside me. He shrugs. At this point I don�Śt know if it�Śs because my Greek is so bad or because this kind of thing happens every day. I think of the playground in sixth grade, the way everyone would stand around and watch a kid get ganged up on, afraid to compromise the natural order of the schoolyard. It may be because of the concussion or the heat or both, but something clicks in me. I step forward. ―Stop it!�
I shout. The men with the clubs pause, obviously bewildered. They turn and look at me. I am close enough to smell the sweat and the dirt on them. But I�Śm not backing down. The crowd hushes. A few laugh�"that nervous giggle that you usually hear at funerals. Is this my funeral? The bigger one wipes his mouth with his arm. The saliva glistens on his forearm. The smaller one reaches into a leather pouch tied to his belt and removes a wicked-looking piece of sharpened stone. He rotates it threateningly in his hand while eyeing me. ―Let her go,�
I say. The men exchange a look. The nymph whinnies. The larger man laughs and waves me off, dismissing me with a turn of his back. The nymph blinks, her eyes shining with tears, and teeters backward, shaking her tiny head. This is the end for her, and you can see that she knows it. Nearby, a woman puts her hand over her daughter�Śs eyes. I have nobody here to protect me, and I don�Śt want to get beaten down too, but this has to stop. I clench my fists, take a deep breath, squish my toes in my boots and stare into the ever-shrinking gap of space between the bearded men and the nymph, and I scream. ―Noooooo!�
I fall backward, as if knocked over by the jolt of my own voice. But when I reopen my eyes, everyone is off balance. The earth is shaking. I hear screams. And then the deep rumbling of the earth beneath us. Is this an earthquake? No. This isn�Śt an ordinary geological event. I blink and stare at the shaking, spasming ground in amazement. The earth splits apart. Heavy chunks of rock fly, as light and swift as ash from a volcano, sailing as high as fireworks, until gravity gets the best of them. This can�Śt be happening. This isn�Śt something we�Śve ever studied in science class. This is what we read about in books when we�Śre supposed to be reading about earthquakes. This. Is. Magic. As earth and stones continue to spew into the air, people panic and flee for cover. I just sit there in awe, motionless, as a chasm rips open in the ground and a rock wall comes bursting out of it. The wall erupts from the ground as forcefully as a rocket plunging into the sky. It is about eight feet tall, twelve feet long, and it perfectly separates the nymph from the bearded men. The rumbling of the earth stops, and there is only stunned silence. I feel someone�Śs eyes on me. The nymph. I look at her and she smiles. Her smile says thank you. I rise to my feet. Thank you? For what? Everyone is cheering now, celebrating and shouting as the bearded men flee down the alley. Shaggy and his friends chase them, pelting them with rocks. The men keep running. Wimps. All the people who had averted their eyes before are now surrounding me. They paw at my hair and run their hands over my arms, dropping to their knees in prayer. Two little boys run over to me. A vendor, who only moments ago had slapped away the boys as if they were gnats at a picnic, had handed them baskets piled with figs and pointed them in my direction. He kisses his hands and looks to the sun and bows his head. I murmur in protest of all this devotion. I shake off the women, their eyes wet with tears. Have you ever been to a bat mitzvah and seen the girl hoisted in a chair, high above the crowd? And everyone gathers around and claps and dances in her honor? Yeah, well, that�Śs a cute ritual and all, but this is on a whole other level. These people, strangers, are not treating me like a girl who�Śs becoming a woman. They are treating me like a god. A gray-haired man on his knees cries out to the heavens and careens forward, fighting for an entry into the inner circle at my feet. Three of his fingers graze my left pinkie toe, then he recedes from the crowd, kissing those three fingers, protecting them from anyone who comes close. Is this what it�Śs like to be Lady Gaga? As the crowd continues to swarm me, I shake my head and back away. The reality of what has happened today suddenly crashes in on me from every direction, all at once, a million little waves. Somehow I have ended up in ancient Greece, three thousand years back in time. And as if that weren�Śt hard enough to comprehend, it seems that I also just willed the earth to split open. Time travel. Magic. And�"can�Śt say I saw this one coming either�" peacocks. Suddenly dozens of the beautiful birds appear, racing from over the hill and into the village center. Like synchronized swimmers, they line up and, in unison, spread their wings, almost curtsying for me. The iridescence is nearly blinding. So many eyes, encapsulated rainbows, and all of them, every one, focused on me. Shaking my head, I back away from the peacocks and their mysterious, concerted gaze. There is something vaguely sinister to their attention. What do they want from me? Before I know what I�Śm doing, I have extracted myself from the villagers�Ś reverential arms and have started sprinting toward the forest. The peacocks squawk behind me in pursuit, but they�Śre no match for my speed. I lose them at the edge of the tree line and plunge into the forest. Finally, I�Śm free. Now what? Chapter 10 I rub the scar on my neck, remembering the day I got that bee sting. I learned to trust myself then, and my confidence in my instincts has rarely wavered since; it�Śs certainly been stronger than my confidence in my social skills or my hairstyling abilities. But now what? How can I trust myself when I don�Śt understand what is happening in my own body? Somehow I magically caused that wall to crash through the earth�Śs crust. Which sounds crazy. Which is crazy, I correct. And sitting here now on the edge of a mysterious forest, unsure of where I am or, for that matter, what I am, I realize that I don�Śt trust myself anymore. That�Śs when I start sobbing. I�Śm not one of those girls who cries pretty, the way girls in movies do. My eyelids get fat right away and my ribs tighten, as if they�Śre pushing their way up to my head. I shake back and forth like a toddler and I get the hiccups within a few seconds. Then I bury my head in my knees, as if trying to make myself small enough to fit in a suitcase. That�Śs why I don�Śt see her coming. When I lift my head up for air, the nymph is sitting right in front of me. Naturally, I shriek. For a moment I had let myself hope that all of this was sunstroke-induced hysterical delusion. ―Why are you crying?�
the nymph asks me. ―I�Śm not,�
I say. ―I just got pollen stuck in my eyes.�
―Of course you did.�
―Great, a sarcastic nymph,�
I mumble. ―I am Creusa,�
she says. ―And you are�Ś�
―Zoe.�
―Well, Zoe. This isn�Śt a very safe place for us to cry.�
It feels so good to hear someone say my name, finally, that I find myself smiling at her. She stands up, but it isn�Śt the way you and I stand up. She just springs up, like a marionette. She extends her hand, but it isn�Śt like any hand I�Śve ever seen. It�Śs Easter-egg pink and translucent, like a long slender balloon filled with fireflies. I am afraid to touch it. ―It�Śs okay, Zoe. I won�Śt break.�
Surprisingly, she�Śs right. I put my human hand in her balloon hand, which has a much firmer grip than I expected. She helps me up on my feet. We�Śre walking now. Well, I�Śm walking and she�Śs prancing. ―Where are we going?�
―Someplace safe.�
I picture my dorm room at Greeley and my tent at camp and all the places I would rather be heading right now. ―Don�Śt worry. Those men won�Śt follow us. They know better than to travel into the Kocaba forest.�
―The what?�
―The Kocaba,�
she says. ―It�Śs where all those that are not human make their home.�
―Terrific,�
I say, all deadpan. ―I�Śm sure I�Śll fit right in.�
―Of course you will,�
she says, smiling. Creusa seems remarkably calm for someone who just moments ago almost lost her life. With a shudder, I recall the vicious glint in the eye of the smaller one as he toyed with the wicked-looking sharpened stone. ―So, um, are you okay? You must be pretty shaken up.�
She laughs. ―Shaken up? I am ecstatic! What an honor to be saved by you. Zoe, I prayed that you would intervene. The moment I first saw you, I believed that you were one of them.�
―One of who?�
She looks at me the way CeeCee looks at me when I don�Śt know who a famous teen mother is. ―The gods.�
―Wait�Śthe gods?�
―Of course I didn�Śt understand how it could be. Everyone knows that there are only six goddesses and six gods. But then I realized, who am I to question the workings of the gods? If a seventh goddess should appear, it is not my place to wonder. Only to show reverence and sweet gratitude for your mercy.�
―Creusa. I�Śm not�"�
―Please, before you say anything else,�
she interrupts. ―I have a confession to make.�
She�Śs starting to remind me of a nervous freshman girl, the way she can�Śt stay on topic. For someone who looks so exotic and otherworldly, at the end of the day, she acts like a Greeley girl venting about some exclusionary trauma with the lacrosse clique. Creusa locks her little arms and looks down sheepishly. The word ―confession�
makes me nervous. ―What is it?�
I ask. She shakes her head rapidly, shamefully. Sparkles fly from her hair and dissipate. ―Creusa, tell me.�
―No. No I can�Śt.�
―Yes you can. You have to, okay? I think I�Śm going crazy here.�
―But�ŚI�Śm afraid. You won�Śt punish me for my impudence?�
I grab her shoulders, and by some miracle they don�Śt burst apart into pixie dust. ―Creusa, I won�Śt punish you. Now tell me.�
Biting her lower lip, she reaches into the tiny satchel strapped over her shoulder and slowly rifles around inside. For such a tiny satchel, the search seems to be taking a long time. I can feel myself getting impatient. I mean, the key to unlocking all the mysteries could be in that satchel. Maybe she has a letter from my uncle. Maybe she has a plane ticket to modern-day Earth. Maybe she has magic fairy powers and my aunt and uncle are going to materialize before my very eyes. Instead, she hands me my granola bar wrapper, still tightly folded in a shiny red and silver triangle. ―I stole your treasure. Do you forgive me? �Stole�Ś isn�Śt the right word. I knew it was of value and worried when I found it just lying there. And then when those men attacked and I saw you in your unusual garb, I hoped that it was yours. I know how possessive the gods are about their belongings. Oh, Zoe, can you ever forgive me?�
All this heartache for a discarded wrapper is dizzying. ―Of course I can, Creusa.�
She does a backflip and lands smiling like a cheerleader, except she isn�Śt annoying like real-life cheerleaders. And then she walks up to a tree, hunches over slightly and races like a squirrel, up and down the trunk, three times. The expression on her face changes to one of serious focus, as if she�Śs trying to remember something. ―Do you need help with something?�
I ask her. She looks at me curiously. ―Only nymphs can run the code,�
she says. ―That�Śs why only nymphs can come into the vale and people can only enter with an invitation from a nymph.�
She slaps a hand over her mouth. ―Silly me. You are a goddess. Of course you can run the code.�
Before I can explain again that I�Śm not a goddess, the trunk of the tree pops open, sending Creusa flying onto a bed of pine needles. She sits up and asks, ―Shall we?�
―You first.�
She looks me over thoughtfully. ―I don�Śt mean to speak out of turn, but it would be wise to pack your treasure in your sack. I wouldn�Śt want you to lose it.�
―My treasure?�
She points at the granola bar wrapper in my hand. ―Right,�
I say. So this is just another day in the life of your average goddess: magical granola bar wrapper management and nymph worship. But as I bury the wrapper in the bag, my amusement gives way to sadness. On a certain level, Creusa is right; that wrapper is a treasure to me. I intended to pick it up on my way back to the temple, on my way back home. I feel farther from home than I ever have in my entire life. My eyes start to burn, tears threatening to flow down my flushed cheeks. Creusa flutters over and bows at my feet. ―Please,�
I say. ―I�Śm only going in if you promise me you�Śll stop bowing. I can�Śt have you or anyone worshipping me. It just�Śit makes me really uncomfortable, you know?�
Her face lights up. ―You are nothing like the other goddesses.�
Naturally, even in never-never land, I have to be an outcast who can�Śt seem to fit in. I follow Creusa into the tree trunk and enter the vale. The bark swings closed behind me, shutting us in. Chapter 11 I don�Śt know what to expect when entering the vale of the nymphs, but the first thing that comes to mind is the board game I used to play as a toddler, Candy Land. Suddenly I�Śm in a world of soft edges and bright happy colors. Exiting the tree, we walk down a winding staircase with no stairs, just plush, spongy bright orange ramps that curl farther and farther down. We pass turquoise waterfalls and what can be best described as lightning bushes, literally bolts of lightning interlocked, twinkling in the inconsistent way that Christmas tree lights flicker when a few of the bulbs are broken. By the time we reach the main atrium, as sprawling as a casino�"minus the cigarettes and the slot machines�"Creusa�Śs patience for my awe is wearing a little thin. ―Wow, the colors,�
I repeat, shaking my head in amazement. ―Zoe, you really don�Śt have to do that. It�Śs very polite, but�"�
―Polite? I�Śm serious. This is spectacular.�
―It�Śs no Mount Olympus.�
―Creusa, I�Śve never been to Mount Olympus.�
―Of course you have. All gods live on Mount Olympus.�
―I�Śm not a god,�
I say. ―I�Śve been trying to tell you that.�
―But you moved the earth.�
―Yeah but�ŚI don�Śt really know how it happened. Or why. It was a total fluke.�
Her shoulders sink. ―I�Śm sorry,�
I say. ―I�Śm just a person. Nothing special.�
But she only turns away. ―I said I�Śm sorry, Creusa.�
She sets off without me, and I feel a flash of panic. I need to find a way to get back home, and right now Creusa, as strange as she might be, is my only hope. At least she knows how this mysterious world works. And besides, as cute as the vale might be, I�Śm not up for being abandoned in this pastel, environmentally friendly, health food version of Candy Land. So I hurry after her, catching up in a few swift strides. As we walk together, the passing nymphs bow as if I�Śm Kate Middleton. ―Listen, Creusa, I really need to come up with a plan to get home, and quickly, so if you could tell me where we�Śre going and what we�Śre doing that would be great.�
She spins around and crosses her arms. Her face flares red, then orange. ―You know something, Zoe? Now I�Śm surer than ever that you are a goddess. You are woefully impatient.�
―Impatience isn�Śt exclusive to gods, Creusa. I�Śm a teenager. We kind of wrote the book on being impatient.�
―What�Śs a book?�
―Never mind.�
We veer onto a spongy vivid green path. At the end of the path, Creusa pushes a purple bush aside. ―Wait,�
she says, releasing the bush. It snaps back, knocking her on her little pink butt. She springs up again. ―Before we go any farther, I want you to know that I am not selfish. I didn�Śt bring you here just because I thought you might be of use to me. But I hoped�"�
―Creusa, if you need help, I�Śll do whatever I can.�
And with that, she slithers under the purple bush. I push my way through and see the problem. There has been some kind of rocky avalanche in this pasture. Nymphs are buzzing about, frenetic. Two fly at the two largest boulders, trying to roll them aside, only to bounce back and into the purple bushes. ―This is our garden,�
Creusa says. ―Without these berries we can�Śt live.�
I shake my head sadly. I know what she is asking. And I also know that I can�Śt do it. ―I�Śm sorry, Creusa. Even though I�Śm bigger than you, I�Śm still not strong enough to lift those boulders.�
―Of course you can�Śt lift them. I can tell by your breathing that you don�Śt challenge yourself physically often enough.�
―Uh gee, thanks.�
―But you do have the power to move the boulders. You saved me earlier. Now use your goddess powers, please, to save my kin.�
I can see all of the nymphs�Ś wide, watery eyes fixed hopefully on me. But I�Śm not a goddess. I wish I had the power to just will the boulders off their crops and I hate that I will disappoint them. I don�Śt want to seal their fate. It�Śs a shame, really, that part of the pasture is unmanageable, rocky and barren. What a waste. The nymphs have worked wonders with the area that was fertile, only to now have it cramped by boulders. Mind you, the entire ―field�
is no larger than the common room at Greeley. Why did the boulders have to crush the only useful area of this field? Imagine being that small and vulnerable and you build this whole world and nature just drops a boulder on it. Where will they go now? ―Yes!�
Before I can figure out why everyone is squealing, a bevy of nymphs is buzzing about me, like non-stinging bees, giddily swirling and touching me. Loyal Creusa grabs my hand and swats the nymphs off. ―She doesn�Śt want all of you all over her! Just say thank you and keep your distance.�
As it happens, nymphs follow directions much better than humans. They comply immediately, and Creusa yanks my hand and leads me away. ―I don�Śt get it. Why is everyone celebrating? The boulders are still there.�
I shake my head. ―I told you I�Śm not a goddess.�
She stops and says, ―Did you not see?�
I follow her gaze to the mini-pasture. Sure enough, the boulders are still there. But there is something different about this picture. The ragged rocky soil is gone, replaced by fertile dirt. Already, the nymphs are transplanting their seeds. My lower lip starts to shake. Did I just do that? Creusa squeezes my hand. ―You must go to Mount Olympus, Zoe. Where the gods live.�
―And do what?�
―Visit the Oracle. She waits at the foot of Olympus. She will reveal your fate to you.�
―I don�Śt care about my fate,�
I say. Watching the nymphs work the Candy Land crops together reminds me of my aunt and uncle, of the dig where Darren and the others are probably in line right now at the catering truck. ―I just want to know how to get home.�
Creusa must sense my homesickness, because she doesn�Śt bite my head off or start in again about my being a goddess. She speaks very plainly, like a friend who stays calm when you�Śre losing your ground: ―Then find the Oracle, Zoe. She holds the answers to all of our questions.�
I nod without speaking, watching as live nymphs with beating hearts plant seeds in the earth�"earth that I just magically transformed from rocky ground into lush soil. A few minutes ago I wondered if I did that. But now my doubts have popped like balloons. I can only compare this feeling to one I had the day of the bee sting. I am different now. It�Śs as if a focus deep within me that existed all along, sleeping but real, has awakened. I�Śm not afraid anymore; I�Śm determined. I look down into Creusa�Śs wide bright eyes. ―Okay,�
I tell her, ―I�Śll find the Oracle.�
She smiles. ―But is there somewhere I could, um, pee before I leave for Mount Olympus?�
Part Two The First And Last Time I Go Skinny-Dipping Chapter 12 Creusa and I have gotten so far from the nymph-tree that we can�Śt even see it anymore. I know that it is about time for her to leave. And while I understand that I have to journey to Mount Olympus on my own, I�Śm scared and longing for the Greece I once knew, the familiar one that�Śs all sandbanks and expansive dry vistas and camera-wielding tourists and rickety ancient temples, everything old, everything fading and delicate and spread out. The Greece of 1000 BC is just, frankly, way too woodsy for my taste. ―Now remember, you must practice every day as you travel.�
―Practice what?�
―Your powers.�
―No, no. They�Śre just reactionary.�
She squints at me, not comprehending. ―I mean, so far, they only work under stress. Trying to save your life. Trying to save your field. Like a fire alarm that only goes off when there�Śs smoke.�
Creusa furrows her incandescent brow. That�Śs a bad analogy, Zoe. You traveled back in time. Remember? ―I mean,�
I say, trying again, ―I can�Śt just decide to make something happen.�
―That�Śs why you need to practice.�
―No, what I need is to get home.�
―Zoe, you must respect your gifts. If you don�Śt respect your gifts, the other gods are bound to be angry with you. You won�Śt control your powers if you don�Śt honor them with practice. The gods don�Śt just sit around. They do things.�
I�Śm still not used to the god talk, and on top of that, I�Śm stung by the criticism. I�Śve never been accused of being lazy before. ―Power is a gift,�
she tells me. ―And practice is a thank-you note.�
―That�Śs so incredibly lame,�
I say, and we both burst out laughing. ―Time for you to go,�
Creusa says a moment later, and I nod sadly. We try to hug but it�Śs an awkward embrace. She�Śs so little and seemingly breakable. It�Śs like bending over and hugging a tea set. ―I don�Śt understand how to practice.�
―Make things.�
―Like what?�
―What do you like?�
I have no idea how to answer her. I can�Śt say archeology, The Simpsons or Mayan civilization. ―Well I, for one, like hearts,�
she says. I can�Śt help but smile. I mean, hearts are exactly what you would expect a nymph to like. ―Make hearts,�
Creusa says. ―You can make them out of rocks and out of dirt and out of clay.�
It�Śs amazing to me that I�Śm not annoyed by Creusa. I can�Śt relate to the girls at school who wear charm bracelets with hearts jangling, or even worse, heart-shaped earrings. I mean, come on. How cheesy can you get? But coming from Creusa, it all sounds kind of earnest and sweet. ―I will fill the forest with hearts,�
I tell her. ―Oh no you won�Śt. Remember, you must be discreet. Don�Śt talk to strangers. Don�Śt even look at strangers. And above all, do not let anyone see you practicing. Do you promise?�
―I promise.�
She hops toward the nearest tree and races up to the topmost branches. Shielding her eyes, she gazes out. Then she scuttles back down to the ground and faces me. ―We are alone. Try.�
I stare blankly. ―Well goodness, Zoe, you�Śre not going to turn me into a heart. Focus on something else.�
She swipes a rock from the ground. It�Śs about the size and color of a baked potato. Creusa holds out the rock and stares expectantly at me. I sigh. This all seems so ridiculous. I mean, I don�Śt have a magic wand or a goofy coat. I never even read the Harry Potter books. ―Try,�
Creusa says. ―I am.�
―Try harder.�
So I do. I put my hands on my hips and I bug out my eyes and glare at that rock like it�Śs my worst enemy. Creusa giggles. ―Thanks. That�Śs really supportive.�
―I am sorry, Zoe. I mean no harm. But you are not a spiteful goddess. You will have no success with your powers if you always operate from such a dark place in your soul.�
―So what am I supposed to do? Hug the rock?�
―Just think of someone you love.�
―Someone I love.�
―Yes, think of all the love in you, your truest and deepest spirit. And then command in a happy way.�
―Okay.�
I think of Aunt Sophia and Uncle Alex and my parents but it�Śs not the kind of love Creusa means, and I know it. She has mistaken me for someone who wears charm bracelets and has seven BFFs. And now I�Śll never get out of here because I�Śm not a googly-eyed nymph who�Śs superconnected to the universe and made of sparkles and hearts. I�Śm a loner. I close my eyes and think of the ogres who made an attempt on her life. I imagine I can hear them rustling through the forest, gunning for us, closer every second. Oh, how I�Śd like to break them into�" ―Hooray!�
I open my eyes but there�Śs no heart to be found. The rock has just exploded. ―Don�Śt be sad,�
she says. ―It will take time to make perfect hearts. What matters most is that you know now that you can use your powers whether or not you or anyone else is in danger. You will be safe now. I just know it!�
I don�Śt have the heart�"no pun intended�"to lie to her, so we hug and then she heads back to the vale of the nymphs and I head deeper into the forest. To what? I don�Śt know. It feels like a bad omen, starting a journey with a big fat lie. Creusa might be the last person I ever see, and she�Śs not even a person. Practicing my powers reminds me of that time, in seventh grade, when I decided that since I didn�Śt fit in and couldn�Śt seem to make friends, I must be some kind of musical genius. So I signed up for band and chose the flute. I practiced with gusto. My lips got chapped and my fingers grew calloused and my neck ached from straining to the side for at least two hours every single day. And yet the more I practiced the flute, the worse I sounded. It was my first experience in life of being really bad at something. I hike all morning, taking breaks every half hour to practice my powers, and I never manage to make a single heart. I grab a new rock to try again. Remembering Creusa�Śs advice, I close my eyes and try to think happy thoughts�"whatever those are. I picture little pink cartoon hearts floating in the air like emoticons, but when I peek with one eye, the rock remains unchanged. Okay, try harder, I tell myself, and shut both eyes again. Happier, Zoe. I imagine swirling cotton candy and ponies and flowers and whatever else girls are supposed to like. I hear a crack. Excited, I open my eyes. The rock has broken in half. With a sigh, I toss the halves aside and sit on a fallen log. I remember now how it took me three months to summon the courage to approach our bandleader, Mr. Cullerman, and tell him that I had lost my flute on a bus. A lie, of course, but I didn�Śt want him to think that I was a quitter. In reply, Mr. Cullerman simply walked over to the closet and unlocked the door with the keys that were always attached to his belt, reached inside and pulled out a new flute. So I did what any eleven-year-old liar does. I booked it for the hallway and ran all the way back to my room. A few months later, I was lugging books back from the library when Mr. Cullerman appeared on the main quad. There�Śs no way to run away on the main quad. As we got closer, I shifted my books uncomfortably, nearly dropping them. ―Hi, Mr. Cullerman.�
He didn�Śt stop walking. He just tipped his hat. ―Hello, girl who hates to play the flute.�
For weeks, I couldn�Śt get his words out of my head. He had made such sense of it all. Why couldn�Śt I just accept that I simply did not and would never like the flute? And that it wasn�Śt worth tormenting myself just for a sense of belonging in the band? I chuckle now thinking about all those misguided hours in the basement of the music hall. I never had a passion for music and I�Śd been too young to understand that the kids in the band were tight with each other because they all shared the same passion for music, resin and those flimsy metal music stands. I smile at a rock. It�Śs the prettiest one I�Śve seen today, almost pearl blue. I don�Śt close my eyes this time. I just ask the rock to transform into what it�Śs meant to be, a heart. It�Śs the first time I actually see my powers in action since the havoc in the town square. It�Śs as if a million tiny invisible jackhammers are at work as the rock splinters. Then, lightning fast, invisible stonemasons begin shaving and sanding the edges so that they�Śre round. At last, their work is done. I pick up the heart. It�Śs absolutely perfect. This one I won�Śt break, I tell myself, and I tuck it into my pocket, next to the obolus. I should be content with my progress and take a break from my powers, but that�Śs the problem with success. It makes you want to keep going, to try even harder things. And why should this pretty little heart be hidden away in my pocket anyway? It�Śs like a charm. What�Śs a charm without a necklace on which to hang? And really, if I can make rocks explode, if I can make a huge wall surge up from the center of the earth, well, why not try for a little hunk of silver? I�Śm not trying to get rich or anything; I just need a tiny little block of silver to meld into a single strand. No big whoop, right? As Julia Roberts says in Pretty Woman, ―Big mistake. Big. Huge.�
Chapter 12 I�Śm trapped. I try to move but nothing happens. Even my fingers are stuck. My entire body is pinned beneath a heavy blanket of damp, caked soil. I can�Śt open my eyes because the dirt has plastered my eyelashes to my cheeks. Obviously I can�Śt open my mouth to scream for help. Not that there�Śs anyone around to help me. Imagine, seconds ago, I was starting to believe that I really might be some kind of powerful goddess, and now I�Śm trapped underground, breathing through my nose and quivering like a felled fawn. Too panicked to focus and unsure if the trickling sound I hear in my ears is the approach of, heaven forbid, worms, I know that I have no one to blame but myself for my inevitable death. I never should have believed that I was a superhero or anything like that. After all, I don�Śt even know where my powers come from, and what kind of a superhero doesn�Śt know her own origin story? Superman didn�Śt just wake up one day in a magical unitard, and Catwoman isn�Śt just some girl who got dressed up as a cute cat one Halloween and realized she would always land on her feet. I can�Śt control these powers if I don�Śt know why I have them! I start to cry and then the fear hits me again and I part my lips and yell into the dirt. The sound disappears into the soil, hollowing out a tiny hole before a pile of loosened dirt falls back into my mouth. I gag with disgust. I�Śm not trying that again, I tell myself�"only to realize seconds later that it could be my way out. If I was able to push the dirt with the force of a scream, imagine what I can do if I purse my lips and blow. I exhale a stream of air between my lips, and a handful of dirt loosens and blows aside. I�Śve carved out enough room so that I can almost move my neck�Śbut for all I know, I�Śm under hundreds of feet of soil. At this rate it could take me days to dig my way out, maybe even weeks. Oh god, where is Creusa? Where is anyone? I�Śll never get out of here on my own! The panic sets in again, and the particles of dirt begin a slow landslide back onto my face. Think, Zoe. Okay. When I first conjured the silver to come up, I was immediately blown back by a huge black wall of dirt. So all this earth trapping me now was summoned by me alone. No one else did it. Which means�ŚI don�Śt need anyone else to get rid of it for me. If I have the power to do it, then I should have the equal power to un do it. I imagine that I have giant lungs, and I take a deep breath and blow as hard as I can, ignoring the specks of dirt trickling into my mouth. There is a rush of sound like a car passing way too fast on the highway and then a loud, jarring burst, and the mound of dirt is blown away. I scramble up, coughing, and watch as the dirt fans out in a massive hundred-foot-radius blast. I inhale the fresh air, wiping the dirt from my mouth. Wow. Creusa is right. I really should learn how my powers work. I don�Śt know if I just dug myself out with sheer will or if my lungs have some kind of new magical force. Spying a leaf on the ground, I take a deep breath and blow at it as hard as I can. The leaf just sits there. Again I stare at it, but this time I imagine the leaf flying away from me. And the moment I do, a little carpet of dirt beneath the leaf lifts it up and carries it off. Okay, universe. I get it. I control dirt and rocks and soil�Śbut that�Śs it. No superbreath here. I�Śm still the same girl who can barely blow up a balloon or put out seventeen candles on a cake. I�Śm still me. Or am I? The frustration over not knowing where my powers come from is really getting to me. Why can I suddenly manipulate earth? There has to be a reason. I�Śm willing to concede that magic exists�"I did just party with a nymph�"but why can I do it? Why not those villagers? What makes me so special all of a sudden? I�Śve never been special before. Not unless you call being an outcast special. Hang on, I think, brushing aside some dirt to reveal the small silver bar that caused the underground volcano of dirt. Not bad, Zoe. I hold it in my palm, admiring the weight of it. Just as I�Śm preparing to use my powers and sculpt the silver into a necklace, I catch my reflection in the metal. I gasp in shock. My face is covered in dirt. And above it, my hair looks filthy and knotted into crazy curls. It�Śs a warbled view and I can�Śt look away, but I had better stop staring or I�Śm going to turn into some kind of narcissist. There are two versions of the Narcissus story. In both versions, Narcissus is a hunter who people just worship because of how hot he is. And he goes around treating everyone in this arrogant, dismissive manner. He looks down on them because they aren�Śt as good-looking. In one version, this goddess Nemesis is just fed up with Narcissus, so she draws him toward a lake. Narcissus sees his reflection in the water and is so taken with his beauty that he can do nothing but stare at his face in the water, unable to eat or drink, until he eventually dies. In the other version, Narcissus commits suicide because he�Śs devastated by the realization that he can never fully connect with the stunning beauty he sees in the water because, well, it�Śs him. I�Śve always preferred the version where he sort of dehydrates and starves to death. It makes more sense to me. After all, that�Śs what I see happening every day in the girls�Ś bathroom at Greeley. All the girls in my dorm�"the jocky ones who are always in sneakers, the hipster ones with earbuds permanently in their ears, the preppy popular girls who brandish flatirons morning, noon and night�"they all stand in the bathroom and lean over the sinks and study themselves in the mirror. It doesn�Śt matter who the girl is, even Patricia Something oro ther, who�Śs always putting up flyers about starving children and human trafficking and won�Śt drink the milk in the cafeteria because of cows�Ś rights, well, she�Śs just as passionate about zit cream as Victoria Whatserface, whose vanity case is bigger than my duffel bag. Anyway, almost all the girls who don�Śt socialize outside the bathroom seem to speak the same language in the bathroom. Only I can�Śt speak the language, and I don�Śt want to. I just want to sneak in with my toothbrush, toothpaste and the other bare essentials and sneak out. And you couldn�Śt pay me to stare at myself for an hour every morning and an hour every night. And this is why I don�Śt understand the ancient Greeks. Why is Narcissus a boy when there is no creature on earth more narcissistic than a junior girl at Greeley who subscribes to Allure and treats her face like a science experiment/canvas? ―Duh,�
CeeCee said when I asked her one time. ―It�Śs not narcissism. It�Śs the opposite. We�Śre all in there obsessing because we don’t like what we see.�
―That can�Śt be true. You won�Śt watch Planet Earth for more than five seconds because you think it�Śs boring.�
―It is boring.�
―Nobody looks at something they don�Śt think is beautiful.�
CeeCee stuffed her hairbrush into her bucket of products. ―Zoe, this is why I can�Śt blame everyone for thinking you�Śre a cocky snob.�
I blushed. ―You�Śre obviously, like, in love with the way you look because you�Śre the only person I know who�Śs never trying to change it.�
I couldn�Śt think of anything to say to her as she set off to the bathroom for her nightly rituals. But she was so wrong. I worry constantly about my cowlick, about my smile, which seems too big for my face. But my problems aren�Śt solvable with makeup or gooey French creams. I mean, you can�Śt make your mouth smaller, even if you live in Orange County! I guess I�Śve always had a laissez-faire attitude and thought of myself as the peach pie on the dessert table: Everyone goes for the brownies and the ice cream, but only one kid likes peach cobbler. I need only one boy to like me, not hundreds of them. A peacock screams in the distance, jarring me out of my thoughts of Greeley and CeeCee and a world that already seems millions of miles away. I feel something slippery in my hands and look down to see that I�Śve carelessly melted the silver bar down into a kind of Silly Putty. I rub my palms together and roll out the silver into a long, skinny strand. My necklace chain! I take the heart-shaped charm out of my pocket and string it through and then pull it over my head and rest it against my neck. I would give anything to look in a mirror right now and see the first necklace I�Śve ever owned. Okay, maybe I could stand to be just a little more narcissistic. I reach into my back pocket, pull out the obolus and hold it in front of my face. But while it�Śs luminescent, it proves not to be reflective, so I stuff the faintly glowing coin back into my pocket. That�Śs when I remember my iPhone. I had completely forgotten about it in all the strangeness of the day�Śs events. I take the phone out of my backpack and turn it on. I can�Śt help but stare longingly at the screen for a moment, waiting for a text message or a voice mail alert to pop up. Of course I know that there�Śs no reception to be had�"there are no satellites yet, or cell phone towers, or whatever other technological stuff you need to make a cell phone call work. Oh well, at least the camera still functions. I snap a couple photographs of me in my necklace, admiring my handiwork, and then I quickly switch off the phone. I don�Śt know how long it�Śs going to take to reach the Oracle and get home, so I vow to conserve my battery and only use the phone for emergencies. A peacock cries out, this time from a different direction, and then a sudden wind blows through the trees. The red velveteen leaves scatter and dance, revealing a lake behind a copse of trees. Without thinking, I run for the shore of the lake, tossing aside my backpack, then tearing off my boots and feeling the push of the bare earth beneath my feet, propelling me forward. So that�Śs how I got to the village so fast: the earth was boosting me onward with each stride. And then I am by the lake, staring out at the crystal clear surface. The water looks stunningly pure, and I ache to climb in and scrub off all this caked-on dirt. I glance around, searching for a sign of danger. But there is nothing in sight. Only trees and ferns and wildflowers. I listen for any sounds of approaching creatures, but suddenly the forest is silent. Eerily silent. Chapter 14 I�Śve never been skinny-dipping. As I nervously pull my top over my head and look around for the fifth time to make sure that I�Śm alone, it dawns on me that even though I�Śm buck naked on a beach and about to get into the water, I can�Śt really call this ―skinny-dipping�
because skinny-dipping only counts if you�Śre with at least one other person. Imagine if Columbia Darren had followed me into the room. Imagine if he had been like the leading man in a romantic comedy who won�Śt take no for an answer and pursues the girl even as she flips her hair at him and sets off on her own. I dip a toe in the lake. Cold. I stare at the disarmingly blue and clean surface of the water and think that I have to stop beating myself up about silly, smug Darren. So what if I�Śve never gone skinny-dipping or I don�Śt have a boyfriend? I have powers! I can walk on water! Well, sort of. I focus a few feet ahead of me and picture a giant lily pad made of stone. Slowly, one rises up from beneath the water. Ta-da! The only thing more fun than one stone lily pad is two, so I conjure up another and I leap onto it. And then another, just because I�Śm alone in another time. And now one more because I have no idea if I�Śll ever make it back to modern times. And another because even though I am rational enough to understand that my phone gets no reception, its silence still breaks my heart a little, the idea of nobody looking for me, nobody wondering, nobody calling. Creusa is right. The powers really work better when you�Śre thinking good thoughts. As I�Śm standing on a stone lily pad feeling sorry for myself, the rock suddenly dissolves and I fall feet-first into the water. I come up for air and summon a new stone lily pad, this one three times as big, shaped like a swimming pool raft. I lie down on the stone raft and stare up at the bright sky. Soon, I am thinking about Greeley again. As bizarre as everything has been today, maybe the strangest thing is finding myself yearning for school. I would do anything to return to the world I know, where people don�Śt wear togas and speak in dead languages. Instead I am stuck here, completely and utterly alone. At least, I used to be alone. From the shore comes a throaty growl. I jerk up into a sitting position and spot something watching me. What is it? It has a general human form, with arms and legs, and stands about five feet tall. But even from out here, I can see how inhuman the creature truly is: a pug nose that belongs on a wild hog, enormous flapping donkey ears brushing its shoulders, and a short tail that whips behind. It runs as if on hot coals, its spindly legs lifting rapidly, trot, trot, trot, until it reaches its destination. My clothing. ―No!�
It must be at least part human because it does what any punk would do in this situation. After grabbing my clothes, it flashes me a grin full of crooked pink teeth and takes off, knees bouncing into its chest. I dive off my little raft, which disintegrates back into the water, and swim toward shore as fast as I can. My power over earth gives me no boost in the water, however, and by the time I stagger onto shore, the creature is far gone. Out of breath and shivering, I hunch over with frustration. I�Śve never felt more vulnerable in my life. The sun will be setting soon, and in time I�Śll be trapped in the dark, wearing nothing but a necklace. And all because I wanted to go skinny-dipping, when everyone knows it doesn�Śt count if you�Śre alone. There�Śs a rustle in the trees and I expect the punk beast to lunge at me, growling. What emerges, however, is very different. It�Śs not a beast at all. It�Śs the cutest boy I�Śve ever seen in my life. I turn to stone as my legs turn to jelly. I thought boys like this existed only in magazines, airbrushed. Everything about him is gold. There�Śs his skin, pure honey flickering under his cape�"a cape? Really? And his hair, wavy and yellow with streaks of sunlit gold. Where did he come from? And what does he have in his arms? It looks like�Śmy clothes? That�Śs when I remember that I am naked. Omigod. I squeal and he quickly covers his eyes with one hand. ―Don�Śt worry,�
he says. ―I didn�Śt see anything.�
Right away I know he�Śs different from the boys I�Śve met before. The self-deprecating part of me that would make some crack about there being nothing to see is quiet for once. ―Where are you?�
he asks, trying to walk toward me with his eyes closed. ―Turn left or you�Śll go into the water,�
I say. ―Thanks.�
―You can just drop them where you are, you know. You don�Śt have to bring them all the way to me.�
―I really can�Śt see anything. I promise,�
he says. ―Okay, then. A little to the right.�
He steps to the right. I never even look at the jocks at school. Maybe I�Śm biased, but I always assume that if a guy�Śs calves are cut like that, he�Śll probably study rocks for jocks on a football scholarship in college and be bald and depressed by the age of thirty-five. But this guy doesn�Śt have the trademark impatience of the jocks at school. Yet, wow. He does have those calves. ―Am I getting there?�
He�Śs standing only a foot away from me now. I step back. I�Śve never felt so naked. ―Yes.�
I see goose bumps pop up on his arms at the sound of my voice and I bite my lip as he crouches down and lays my clothes on the backpack. ―You go ahead and cover up and I�Śll be over there.�
He�Śs still covering his eyes as he crosses the beach, finagling his way behind a tree. As I dress, I keep my eyes on him. I may not know where I am or why I can summon blocks of silver from the core of the earth, but I do know one thing. I will forever thank god that Darren didn�Śt follow me into that tunnel. And I need to learn how to dress faster. Chapter 15 I don�Śt remember my parents very well, but I do remember the story of how my parents met. I�Śve heard it dozens of time from Aunt Sophia and Uncle Alex. My mother had just graduated from college with a degree in philosophy and taken a summer job at a restaurant on an island in the Caribbean. My father was there too, studying to become a veterinarian. One night, near the end of the summer, my dad went with some friends to the restaurant where my mom worked. They didn�Śt talk. She didn�Śt even notice him. But when he left with his friends from school, he told them that he was going to marry the waitress. His friends laughed him off, but he insisted that he had never been surer of anything in his life. So for the rest of the week, he kept coming to the restaurant, day after day, trying to talk to her. But my mom wasn�Śt interested in a summer fling. On her last night on the island, he pleaded with her to stay, or to tell him where she was going, but she said no. She was too young. She didn�Śt want to date until she had a career. So he fell into a funk. She was leaving, and he had no way to find her. This was before cell phones and Facebook and all the rest, when flying away truly meant flying away. The next morning, as her plane was readying for takeoff, my father barged onto the tarmac and stood beside the plane, waving his arms. He couldn�Śt let her go. My mother was watching from the window, and she yelled out to the flight attendant to open the door. Then she walked right off that plane and into his arms. And that�Śs where they had their first kiss. It�Śs the kind of story that�Śs great if it�Śs not about your own parents. Most people�Śs parents meet at work or something and they go on a few dates and that�Śs that. My parents got married one week after they met. One week! So in some way, I blame them for my awkwardness with boys. I�Śm burdened with this yearning for romance and magic. ―Okay,�
I say. ―I�Śm dressed. You can turn around now.�
When he does, he�Śs even better than I remembered. I wish I had the power to hit pause and stare at him, his billowy cloak, his blond tendrils climbing about his head. He�Śs what CeeCee would call a 10. ―Satyrs are the worst,�
he says. ―Right. Satyrs.�
―Are you okay?�
―Oh I am now,�
Lame, Zoe. That was lame. ―I can�Śt thank you enough. I was starting to think I�Śd freeze to death.�
Stop being so dramatic, Zoe! ―Nah,�
he says and smiles. ―You seem like someone with a few tricks up her sleeve.�
―Well, this is true. But it�Śs also easier if you have a sleeve in which to store your tricks.�
He laughs. I made him laugh. He thinks I�Śm funny! Oh no, I�Śm turning into CeeCee. ―So, you�Śre traveling alone?�
he asks. I shrug. Maybe I jumped the gun. Not two minutes in and he�Śs asking me where my clique is. Maybe boys this cute on the outside really can�Śt be that good on the inside. ―Who are you with?�
I ask. ―I�Śm like you,�
he says, laughing. ―Going solo.�
I want to ask him if he�Śs ever read the Roald Dahl book called Going Solo and then I remember that it�Śs thousands of years before that book will be published. Time travel is exhausting. Instead I say something lame and touristy: ―Are you going anywhere in particular?�
I may as well have leered at him and asked what his sign was. But there�Śs not an ounce of judgment in him. He�Śs just listening to me, taking me in. ―I�Śm just out for the day. Hunting, traveling.�
I nod. ―You�Śre welcome to join me,�
he offers. ―Oh thanks, I�Śm fine.�
―Are you sure? Because, you know, satyrs aren�Śt the worst of it out here. They�Śre downright nice compared with some of the other little devils in this part of the woods.�
―Oh yeah, I know,�
I say, cringing at my reply. I sound like a Greeley girl pretending she�Śs one of those girls from The Hills. ―I so know.�
―I guess you can take care of yourself all right,�
he says. I glance at him, scanning his expression. Did he somehow see me using my powers before? Creusa warned me not to let anyone know about them. She also warned me not to trust anyone I met on the way to the Oracle, and here I am falling all over a stranger. But then, she didn�Śt mention guys like this running around. I wonder where he goes to school. Maybe he�Śs an intern who traveled through time as well. But I don�Śt really believe that. He has an old soul. There�Śs a wisdom in his eyes, a calmness and patience I thought was reserved for people over the age of forty, people with experience, people who grew up without the Internet, people who know what it�Śs like to pick up a phone without seeing the caller�Śs name identified on a screen. And honestly, archeology interns don�Śt look this good. He leans in and says, ―Uh-oh. I think you might have gotten a sunburn. Your cheeks are really red.�
―No,�
I say. I can�Śt believe I�Śm blushing. Oh, come on, face. Be cool! ―I�Śm just flushed from the swim. And, uh, thirsty.�
―Well, in that case, join me for a drink at the cantina?�
―The cantina? Sure! Why not.�
And as I follow this mystery man into the woods, I spin rationalizations. Creusa warned me not to trust anyone, but just because I�Śm going with him doesn�Śt mean I trust him. I�Śm just going along so as not to raise suspicions. I mean, wouldn�Śt it be more dangerous for me to admit that I don�Śt know what the cantina is, thus outing myself as a time-zone foreigner? I can hear CeeCee�Śs voice in the back of my head, reminding me of the rules of dating: If you really like a boy, Zoe, you say no when he asks you to hang out. And if he asks you a second time, it means that he likes you as much as you like him and you say yes. Let�Śs just hope that still applies in ancient Greece. Chapters 16 There�Śs that moment in a conversation with a stranger when you�Śve exchanged too many words to ask their name. Asking it would cause a hiccup in the flow of conversation. So when the host at the cantina hops off his stool as we approach and says, ―Blondie and Curly, you need a table?�
I go with it. ―After you, Blondie,�
I say. He smiles. ―A table would be great.�
The cantina is essentially a shack held up by a few tree trunks, like some bar that couldn�Śt decide if it wanted to be Caribbean- or tiki- themed. The host is an equally wondrous sight. Unlike the skinny nymphs at the vale or the wiry satyr in the forest, this creature is shaped like a snowman. He looks like he lives on onion rings and bowls of kettle corn and might float away at any moment. He escorts us to a tree stump, with two smaller tree stumps serving as chairs. It�Śs like sitting at a kids�Ś table at a preschool. But Blondie�Śs acting like this is perfectly normal, so I play right along. ―What a funny little nymph,�
I say. ―Nymph?�
―The host.�
―No, that�Śs a cartawall.�
―A cartwheel?�
―Cartawall. You know, they live in the underground hovels.�
My eyes bulge. Oh no. Could I have upended a family of cartawalls when I used my powers to pull the silver to the surface? ―What�Śs wrong? Now you look pale. You need something to drink.�
Blondie motions to the bar, where a polar bear pours drinks. Oh wait. This is Greece; that can�Śt be a polar bear. But the beast is jovial and white, with powdery limbs that could be foraged from snowbanks at Greeley. It�Śs yammering with some sort of giant elf at the bar, and when it laughs, its teeth are revealed to be soft and rounded, very un-bearlike. I should really stop staring, I remind myself. But how can I stop staring? Where I come from, polar bears don�Śt tend bar and laugh out loud. ―They�Śre my favorite too, the duttspots.�
―They look like polar bears.�
Just as he�Śs about to ask what I mean by ―polar bears,�
a loud, charged-up collection of cartawalls enters, and for the moment it�Śs impossible to hear anything except their squawking and cheering. Wow, they�Śre an unruly bunch. Then, alongside our table appears the forest�Śs answer to a worn-down waitress at a diner on a desolate strip of Route 66. She�Śs spindly, like a spider, with multiple long arms decked with bangles. Yet you can�Śt call her a spider because, well, for one thing, she�Śs about five foot eight. And for another thing, she has a face. Although, to be honest, it�Śs a face that would be more at home on a cat. She�Śs whisking tray after tray our way but none of them has our order. I would think life as a waitress would be easier with extra arms but apparently not. ―That�Śs us,�
he says and I�Śm smitten with his manner. A lot of guys would have gotten rude and impatient waiting for their drinks. We take our goblets from the correct tray and the spider waitress makes a little clicking sound in the back of her throat. Blondie reaches into his cape to pay. I remember the obolus coin thingy from the temple. ―Let me help,�
I say, I reaching for it. But before I can retrieve it, Blondie says, ―No, I got it,�
and lays two square coins in the palm of the waitress�Śs hand. They look nothing like my obolus, and I sigh. My obolus isn�Śt commerce, at least not in this joint. I drink my hot pink foam and he drinks his hot pink foam and we both sit here, the only two full-blown humans in the whole place, with our matching pink mustaches, grinning at each other. I�Śm almost relieved that it�Śs too loud to talk much, because frankly, I�Śm running out of words. A fight breaks out behind me, and Blondie wipes away his pink mustache and leaps into action. He pulls the two cartawalls apart. ―Gentlemen,�
he says. The room quiets. Maybe he�Śs a cop or something. Or maybe it�Śs just the fact that he�Śs so handsome. Or, you know, maybe it�Śs the fact that he�Śs a human. ―Whatever the problem is, you don�Śt really want to solve it by spilling drinks all over the cantina.�
―Oh,�
the smaller, older-looking cartawall barks. ―You humans think you know everything, huh?�
The even smaller, friskier one chimes in, having now sided with his enemy of only seconds ago. ―Yeah. Just like a typical human. No fur on you and you think you�Śre so superior.�
A crowd is gathering and Blondie and I are definitely in the minority. He raises his hands and says, ―I didn�Śt say that.�
Smaller elbows Even Smaller in a jostling, football-player sort of way. ―Did you hear that? He didn�Śt say that.�
―They�Śre all the same. Think they can just do what they want when they want.�
―What they want when they want.�
I look at Blondie. I�Śm scared. I can feel a duttspot standing over me, breathing down on my head unabashedly. I say, ―Maybe we should go.�
But Blondie puts two fingers into his mouth and whistles. I shouldn�Śt be surprised that he knows how to do that. It takes a minute, but pretty soon the joint has gone quiet. ―Can I say one thing, just one thing?�
Someone throws something resembling a napkin at him. There is laughter but they�Śre going to give him the floor. He�Śs got that kind of sway. ―Look, I know you�Śre all upset.�
This is met with cheers, which is fine with me, because the more time he spends addressing the crowd, the more time I�Śm socially permitted to just soak him in. ―And I don�Śt blame you. We�Śre a tough bunch, humans. We are.�
Now Smaller and Even Smaller are nodding and it all sounds like some sci-fi version of a daytime talk show involving paternity tests and security guards. But all I can think is, Wow, Blondie has a great nose. ―We don�Śt think before we act.�
The screaming escalates and, my god, he�Śs got charisma. ―We can be blind.�
He pauses until the applause dies out. I picture us saving the world together and I look around hoping that nobody is watching me and reading my cheesy thoughts. ―We follow orders too easily and nobody ever accused us of thinking for ourselves on a regular basis.�
I sip the pink foam to stop myself from jumping out of my seat and throwing my arms around him. ―But we�Śre just trying to get by, just like you. And we all make mistakes.�
This time there�Śs no unanimous reaction. The creatures are arguing and Blondie�Śs playing captain of the debate team and I�Śm resting my elbows on the table and my chin in the palm of my hands like some girl in a 1950s soda shop hoping for the boy to get bored with politics and come back to the table. Then I feel something in my ear. ―He�Śs pretty cute.�
I startle and turn. It�Śs the waitress. I swallow. ―Um, yeah. I guess.�
She moves her oblong head even closer, narrowing her pupil-less eyes. ―Tell me, does your boyfriend know what you are?�
―He�Śs not my�Śboyfriend.�
―Oh, I see. Just a human you picked up on your way back from town?�
she whispers. I don�Śt say anything. I take my hands off the table and grip the straps of my backpack, trying to lift it without her noticing. She leans in closer. I can smell something foul and musky on her breath. ―I heard about what you did. How long do you think you can keep pretending to be human too? How long before he figures out what you really are.�
She grins. ―How long before they come after you?�
And I shouldn�Śt be surprised that our first date ends with me knocking a chair over and running as fast as I can out the door and into the woods and toward god only knows what. A few hours later, I can still taste the pink foam. I�Śm lonelier than I was when I started out, because now I know what it�Śs like to be here with Blondie. Every branch that rustles causes me to flinch and panic. I�Śm so lost now. Does Blondie know about me? Do I know about me? How do rumors spread so fast in a land without iPhones and mass media? And who could ever want Creusa dead? And why didn�Śt Blondie run after me? Maybe that waitress told him all about me and he�Śs horrified and scared. I kick at the leaves. Not fair. This is just plain, across the board, totally not fair. Again and again I tell myself to relax. Don�Śt let some random waitress get to you, Zoe. You�Śre a human. Blondie hasn�Śt chased you down because he�Śs a boy and boys are impossible to predict. Anyway, a guy like that probably meets girls all the time. Maybe he just forgot about you. I�Śm probably taking this all too seriously, I think to myself. I mean, we did only just meet. I hear another noise and look back but there�Śs no one there. Blondie isn�Śt running through the forest to find me. I smile sadly and wrap my arms around my chest. I don�Śt even know his name. I growl in frustration. Unanswered questions do not a satisfying travel companion make. And the farther from the cantina I get, the more sour and insecure I feel. He hasn�Śt run after me. (Or maybe he tried and couldn�Śt find me.) He�Śs not going to find me. (Well, not tonight, but maybe someday.) If I�Śd just said yes to his first offer to travel together, then we would have gone hunting and avoided the cantina and we might even be together right now. There�Śs no rationalizing my way out of that one and I plop onto the ground. I�Śll never be able to sleep like this, exposed to the world. I would give anything in my possession for a sleeping bag, a pillow. But they don�Śt have those in 1000 BC, so instead I close my eyes and picture myself in a safe place, a warm place. I hear the earth vibrating but I don�Śt open my eyes. Trust yourself, Zoe. Picture yourself hidden away. The dirt is moving faster. I can hear it and specks of it fly at my arms, at my face. Keep picturing yourself safe. Forget about Blondie for now and just focus on making it through the night alive, and by the time you open your eyes, you might be okay. The dirt has settled and it�Śs very quiet, and when I open my eyes, I find that I�Śve magically constructed a little hut, made entirely of dirt. I lie down, alone, in the mini-home I�Śm not sure how I made. I�Śd like to be the kind of girl who can focus on the good�"hey, I built a freaking hut out of dirt without lifting a finger!�"but of course when I�Śm curled up, all I can do is obsess over Blondie. Maybe he didn�Śt even like me. I mean, he didn�Śt ask me my name. And honestly, what am I thinking liking him? The stunningly handsome golden guy is just so not my type. I usually like geeky guys. And why do I assume he rescued my clothes because he had a crush on me? Any decent guy would do that for a girl no matter what she looked like. But then I remember the yearning in his eyes when he asked me to go to the cantina with him. Ah, Zoe, believe in yourself. This boy is different. I smile. I�Śm not going to talk myself out of my gut feeling. So what if he is, say, a member of some ancient Greek community service organization that sends hot guys into the woods to protect girls from their own dorky, irresponsible impulses? He found me and I found him and we clicked. Nobody can take that away from me. And I won�Śt take it away from myself. I imagine hunting with him, swimming with him, sitting in the dining hall at Greeley with him picking at nasty mashed potatoes together, holding hands on an airplane with him before takeoff. Everything looks more fun with him in the picture. Going to sleep, I try to will myself to dream about him because I�Śll probably never see him again. And I can�Śt help but smile. I want to see him again. That�Śs a feeling I�Śve never had about a boy. Maybe we aren�Śt getting married in a week, like my parents did, and maybe he�Śs not as perfect as I�Śve built him up to be in my head�"that cape he wears really is kind of silly�"but I want to know him better, and it�Śs the first time I�Śve ever fallen asleep feeling that way about someone. And it�Śs funny that all these creatures and people seem to think I�Śm some sort of goddess, because, if anything, since meeting Blondie I�Śve never felt more utterly and pathetically human in my life. After all, here I am, staring up at the sky that I can�Śt see, begging, ―Please god, let me see him again.�
Chapter 17 I can�Śt explain it, but when I wake up and will the dirt walls to fall down and I see the sun blazing through the trees, I know that I�Śve made it through the night, that I�Śll make it to the Oracle, that I�Śll be home soon. I stretch and yawn and let the last-day-of-school feeling wash over me. I survived. I had a date! And now it�Śs time to face facts and put Blondie in the past and focus on getting home. Home. It�Śs weird knowing that I�Śm really going to be home soon. I�Śm going to be back at the dig site, slapping on sunscreen and daydreaming about my date with Blondie. Will I have to mention him to the Oracle? Probably. I mean, I�Śm sure I have to tell the Oracle all about my time here. That�Śs got to be part of the deal for getting home, right? Like when you go on a field trip to the museum when you�Śre a little kid and your teacher gives you a quiz the next day. I�Śd be an idiot if I didn�Śt prepare. I look around to make sure that I�Śm alone, and then start to practice my speech to the Oracle. ―Hi, Oracle...�
I clear my throat. Lame start. ―Oracle, I have learned a great deal in my time here. I understand now that my, um, thoughts are powerful. And I promise that when I get home, I�Śm gonna be a more glass-is-half-full kind of girl that way, you know?�
In my imagination, the Oracle nods. ―Because I get it, you know, that life is what you make of it. Like last night, I tossed and turned and practically had a panic attack because I thought �they�Ś were coming for me. Only it wasn�Śt about �them.�Ś It was about me letting my fears get the best of me. It�Śs a total waste of time to obsess over stuff that�Śs not even, you know, real.�
In my imagination, the Oracle smiles broadly. The Oracle looks like one of those giant metallic suns that hippie chicks hang over their beds, a big, moony-yellow, soft round face. The Oracle is very impressed with me, so I go on. ―And mainly, what I�Śve learned is that the world is not out to get me. I, Zoe Calder, will stop seeing everything as so horrible�"never seeing Blondie again, assuming a nasty waitress is telling the truth�"and will start to see the light. I mean, even though I�Śll never see Blondie again, I�Śm grateful that I got to meet him. So thank you, Oracle. I�Śm ready now.�
And in my imagination, the Oracle extends a hand, a hand composed of stardust and fireflies, and when I touch it, everything zooms out. Then I�Śm back in the temple and Columbia Darren is telling me what big trouble I�Śm in, but I�Śm not freaking out, because I�Śve learned that freaking out is a waste of time. Or is it? I gasp. I�Śve been so caught up in my imaginary meeting with the Oracle that I�Śve lost track of my own two feet, my very real feet that now stand at the edge of a very real chasm. Relax, Zoe. You caught yourself just in time. You didn�Śt step into the void. Across the chasm, I see the base of a mountain, ringed by a stone temple. It�Śs Mount Olympus. And it�Śs also the definition of ―so close but so far away,�
because if I take one step toward it, I will die immediately. Why didn�Śt Creusa tell me there were random Grand Canyons in the forest? Maybe she�Śs never been this far. Maybe I�Śve been daydreaming so much that I�Śve gone the wrong way. I walk along the edge and confirm my worst suspicion. There is no quaint thatched bridge in the vicinity. No sign that reads mount olympus this way. turn left for the tram (arrivals every fifteen minutes on the hour). I hear rustling in the distance and glance around nervously, remembering what Blondie said yesterday about there being creatures infinitely scarier than the prankster satyr. It seems he wasn�Śt just saying that to get me to join him, because from out of the bushes stalks a pack of huge two-headed wild dogs. All at once, they sniff the air and turn toward me. Even from far away I can see their twin pairs of jaws snap open and shut with expectation. Shaking, I take a step closer to the edge of the chasm, realizing that I�Śve inadvertently trapped myself. The dogs have set off at a run toward me and I have less than a minute, maybe half a minute, to do something. But what? I can�Śt scale down into the canyon. It�Śs a two-hundred-foot drop at least. I can�Śt even see the bottom. Maybe there is no bottom. For the first time, it hits me that I might die here. Alone, in the past, killed by impossible, vicious creatures. My speech about positive thinking? What bunk. I didn�Śt really believe it then and I don�Śt believe it now, because life is annoying. You meet a guy and you have to run away from him, and you can�Śt make it to the Oracle because of a giant chasm and wild dogs, and there�Śs no way to think my way out of this one. I can smell fur and saliva, I swear that I can. The dogs are approaching fast. They�Śre close enough that I can make out their yellow eyes. And the scary hump of muscle along their backs and upper shoulders. Each head has a set of razor-sharp teeth, and as the dogs get closer, snarling and drooling with anticipation, I can�Śt look at them anymore or I�Śll freeze and be eaten alive. Instead, I look behind me, desperately searching for some way across the wide spanning chasm. I hear a crumbling sound, and then I watch as a gray stone step detaches from the side and hovers a foot away from the precipice. It�Śs heavier and clumsier-looking than the stone lily pads I made at the lake, but I�Śm hardly in a position to be choosy. Gingerly, I step onto the stone. The dogs slow down as they near the edge, glancing at one another as if to assess whether this is a threat. I think about myself suspended hundreds of feet above a chasm and my mind flashes to the moment in the lake when the stones crumbled and�" No, no! Don�Śt think about that now, Zoe. Focus. And bam! Another stone step appears. This time I jump because the dogs are barking now. They�Śve realized I�Śm fleeing and they won�Śt let me go so easily. I�Śm only a few feet into the chasm, jittery on the rock that might split apart. If only this were like the rope bridges in the photos that Greeley kids post after they go to Costa Rica. Those bridges have railings and those kids have harnesses, and if I look down�" no, don�Śt look down. Look forward. The alpha dog clenches its two sets of jaws and it paws at the air, sizing up the distance between us. I have to move fast. My powers aren�Śt as potent when I move fast, but what can I do? The next stone step appears, thinner than the first two, and I�Śm on it and it�Śs weak, but before I can panic, I�Śm onto the next one. And just as I�Śm thinking I�Śm far enough away from the edge so that the pack can�Śt possibly get to me, the alpha dog lets out a bloodcurdling howl. Then it jumps onto the first stone. With a scream, I lunge for the next step. I�Śm making them as fast as I can, but I can�Śt break them and make them at the same time, so I try to make them skinny enough to slow down the dog�Śs pursuit. It�Śs a nerve-racking chase and all I can think of as I�Śm staggering across the canyon is, Not like this. I will not go out chased by a dog. And then I�Śm two stones away from the other side of the chasm, and once I�Śm safely there, I can smash the remaining stones to bits and the dog will fall into the nothingness. I summon the final hovering stone step and hop onto it with triumph, knowing that I�Śm close enough to steady land to finally make it. Only I failed to consider that the dog can jump much farther than I can, and with horror I see it lunge from the step and straight for me. It�Śs in the air, all teeth and claws extended, ready to slam me onto the other side and tear me in half. Instinctively I turn away, covering my head with my arms to protect myself from the lunging beast. My eyes are squeezed tight and my breathing has stopped. So this is how I die. Crack! I feel a blast of heat blaze past me, and when I open my eyes, the dog is yelping, as if it�Śs been sucker punched, and tumbling down into the abyss, away, away. But the problem is, so are the stone steps. As I start to fall, I snatch out wildly and just manage to grab on to an exposed tree root. My feet are dangling into nothingness, and across the chasm the other dogs have receded because they know they have won. I can�Śt hold on to this root forever and my backpack is too heavy and my mind is thwarted by the obliterating fear that any second I will lose my grip. I can�Śt focus to use my powers; all I can do is gaze down in horror, seeing nothing, seeing my life, everything I did and everything I didn�Śt do�ŚAnd I should have been looking up, because when I do, I see it there, waiting to save me. A hand. I grab it and he lifts me up easily. It�Śs a swift and serene reemergence, like coming up from the water after a dive. As I hunch to catch my breath, I feel that same hand squeezing my shoulder, a gentle and deliberate touch that feels like home. ―Curly,�
he says. ―I�Śm going to ask you one more time. You want some company?�
He�Śs even cuter than I remembered, my Blondie, and it�Śs the easiest and truest word I�Śve ever said in my life: ―Yes.�
Chapter 18 It begins with me telling one lie after another. When he asks how I made it across the chasm, I tell him there was a bridge that collapsed. When he asks why I fled the cantina, I tell him I felt sick to my stomach. When he asks where I spent the night, I tell him I went home to my parents. And that�Śs a double lie that sits particularly badly in my gut. The worst part is that he seems to believe all of it, and the best part is that he doesn�Śt ask me if I�Śm a goddess, which tells me that the waitress must have refrained from saying anything. Thank you, weird spider waitress. We�Śre on different planets, Blondie and I, because he gets to tell the truth. He tells me that he figured I took off and went hunting and then went home. He tells me that he stayed in the cantina because he loves that kind of debate. He says that he�Śs been bored with his friends and that it�Śs always refreshing to go to the woods and hang out around the creatures that live such a different life. I�Śm forced to lie and he�Śs allowed to be truthful and it doesn�Śt seem fair, but then again, it might be for the best. After all, CeeCee says that the best relationships always start with a little secrecy, that you don�Śt have to reveal everything in the beginning. To this day, for instance, she won�Śt tell me exactly what happened last April when she was involved�"I think�"with the class mute, Anton Baird. Literally, he doesn�Śt speak. Ever. Anyway, all I know is this: CeeCee and Anton, who also never tweets or Facebooks, were alone in the infirmary for a day. She had chicken pox. He had�Śsomething. In the week that followed, CeeCee turned into Anton 2.0. She didn�Śt talk. Or tweet. Or Facebook. And then, for no apparent reason, she returned to normal CeeCee. She won�Śt ever talk about Anton or what happened. Part of me thinks that they were in love, even if only for a few days, even if they didn�Śt say a word to each other, that they forged some bond in their silent time together. Of course, it�Śs not easy to tell stories to Blondie. I can�Śt say that I�Śm in school, so when he asks what Greeley is, I have to say that it�Śs a village. Naturally, I can�Śt mention Twitter or Facebook, so I put them both under the ―village meeting�
umbrella. And in this way, talking to Blondie is an exciting exercise, like ice-skating on a frozen pond. Sure, an indoor man-made rink is smoother, but on a pond, you have to have your wits about you and avoid the cracks and natural bumps on the surface. ―Let me ask you something, Curly.�
Oh, yes. Those are officially our names now, Curly and Blondie. Every time he calls me Curly, I smile, even though there�Śs nothing cute or sexy about the name. No girl wants to be a Stooge. ―Go right ahead, Blondie.�
―Does CeeCee care a lot about what other people think?�
―Why do you ask?�
―Well�Ś�
I love the way he says ―well.�
He�Śs like my sophomore English teacher, Mr. Blake, the best listener I�Śve ever known. His ―well�
isn�Śt like the ―well�
I�Śve heard from so many other people. It�Śs an actual well, deep and full of freshwater and space where his thoughts percolate and float. Oh lord, Zoe. Cool it already. Just listen to him and stop making lame metaphors! ―Maybe she found herself caring about what Anton thought of her. Maybe, sitting there with him, away from her friends, she suddenly wanted his approval.�
―You mean maybe she liked him?�
―Is that how you feel when you�Śre interested in someone?�
―I don�Śt know,�
I say. ―I�Śm never really interested in anyone.�
He trips and stumbles on a rock. I�Śm relieved. So he�Śs not perfect. ―Well, maybe she wanted Anton to like her,�
I say. ―Do you think he did?�
―I don�Śt see how he could, really. I don�Śt think she knows what most of the words in his essays even mean.�
―Essays?�
he says. I�Śve slipped up. ―Sorry,�
I say. ―Local vernacular, um, we talk funny in my village. Kind of, you know, a whole little language that�Śs just for us. Anyway, I feel bad bashing CeeCee. She really is a good person underneath it all.�
―You�Śre not bashing her. You just can�Śt relate to her. Believe me, I know the difference.�
I look at him. He raises his eyebrows. Every time he�Śs about to share something personal, he shies away. ―So it happens with you?�
I ask encouragingly. He shrugs. ―Around here�"well, not right here, but where I live�" people are ridiculous about keeping tabs on each other. Judging people, prying into their lives. It�Śs like everyone�Śs life is their business, like�Ś�
I smile. ―Like all people care about is the social network?�
He makes two fists and bends toward me. ―Yes! That�Śs exactly what I�Śm talking about, the social network. Nice.�
Don�Śt get cocky, Zoe. Any girl from the future would have whipped out that phrase. ―Well, it�Śs like that where I live too,�
I say. ―Half the time, you can�Śt tell if anyone does anything because they want to or because they want other people to know that they did it. People just aren�Śt genuine. And it gets to a point where you can�Śt get mad at them for it because you know that most of them, they�Śve lost sight of their own motivations. They don�Śt know whether or not they really, truly believe in what they do. They just know that they want people to know what they do.�
―Wow,�
he says. ―Are you sure you�Śre not from around here?�
We laugh and fall into one of our lulls. The lulls are as enjoyable as the conversations. We move easily together somehow, as if we�Śre joined but we�Śre not. We�Śre not even holding hands. A spasm of worry flurries through me: What if Ancient Greece is as bad as Greeley? But that�Śs not possible. After all, there�Śs no boy like Blondie at Greeley. So already this place is nothing like Greeley. Then again, Blondie seems to feel as alienated as I do. ―Hey, are you thirsty?�
he asks. ―Yes.�
He leads the way to a brook and we sit down together and for a moment we just listen to the water roll over the rocks. My cowlick blows over my eyes and I�Śd forgotten I even have a cowlick. Around Blondie, I feel so put together, as if every little molecule and follicle is in its place. ―So,�
he says, and immediately I have a bad feeling. ―I think I know why you left me back at the cantina.�
I nod. Oh god! I�Śm sweating and I�Śm scared and my voice vanishes. I want to run and I want to stay and I want to disappear and I want to confess and I want to go back to twenty seconds ago when we were pretending I never ran out on him. But instead I just push the cowlick out of my eyes and try to sound surprised. ―I told you, my stomach.�
―Maybe,�
he says, so gently that I might crack. ―Or maybe you thought I was being obnoxious, sticking my nose where it doesn�Śt belong.�
Relief washes over me. ―Not at all. You were so right. I mean, if you didn�Śt speak up, they would have started a huge brawl.�
―It�Śs okay if you think I was wrong,�
he says. Okay, it�Śs official, he is the cutest boy of all time. ―See, my friends think I come on a little strong sometimes.�
―Well, I don�Śt think so. I think you come on just right.�
Oh no. Did I really say something that dorky? I beg you, cheeks, please, please don�Śt blush. I will pay you not to turn red. I will give you millions of dollars if we�Śre ever back in the land of American currency. He picks at the grass. I can�Śt tell whether he�Śs bashful or bored. He doesn�Śt look at me. ―Thanks, Curly.�
And now there�Śs nothing to say and I�Śm worried I screwed it all up. If CeeCee were bearing witness to this disaster, she�Śd go into Sex and the City mode and say that he likes the opinionated Miranda type of girl, and that I�Śm being way too Charlotte with my pleasant platitudes. But I can�Śt be myself because to be myself would be to reveal myself and to reveal myself would be to endanger myself. But if I�Śm not myself, there�Śs no way he�Śll stay interested in me�Śand if he does stay interested in me when I�Śm acting all blasé and evasive, then I won�Śt stay into him because I�Śll know that he likes Charlottes�"and if there�Śs one thing I know even though I never watched the show that much, it�Śs that I am not a Charlotte! For the zillionth time, breathe, Zoe. Breathe. And girl up already and change the subject. ―So what exactly is going on with your friends?�
He sighs and says, ―I dunno. I guess I just need to get away sometimes.�
I can�Śt think of a clever comeback and I�Śm not allowed to tell him that I want to know when he lost his first tooth and what his best friend�Śs middle name is and every other irrelevant detail about him. Tell me everything, Blondie. Every single thing. ―Well,�
he says. ―I notice you didn�Śt get involved back there.�
―In the cantina?�
―You just stayed out of it.�
―I�Śm not really a bar-brawl kind of girl.�
―No? You seem like you could get a little feisty. If you had to,�
he says, smiling. ―Well then, you�Śd better hope I don�Śt have to.�
He laughs and tilts his head. Does he know how cute he looks when he does that? ―You�Śre hysterical, Curly.�
―Well,�
I say, ―lately I�Śve sort of had to have a sense of humor about things.�
―You want to tell me why?�
I tuck my hair behind my ear and shake my head and look down at the water. I wish Creusa would appear out of nowhere. I need a friend. I don�Śt know what to do. And then I realize that if Creusa were here, she would start bowing and fluttering and Blondie would know who I was. ―So if you hung out with your friends today, what would you be doing?�
I ask. ―The usual, I guess.�
I nod. He clearly doesn�Śt want to talk about his friends. Does that mean he doesn�Śt want me to meet them? Is he embarrassed of me? ―What�Śs �the usual�Ś?�
But he studies me and he�Śs not going to answer my question, is he? Does he know? No. He couldn�Śt know. Here it comes. ―Can I ask you something?�
I nod. I swallow. ―How did you cross the chasm?�
My heart skips. I know people say that happens, but in all seriousness, my heart skips. ―I told you. There was a bridge. And it, you know, it collapsed. Right before you got there.�
He looks at the water and I look down at my formerly white pants. The more time we spend together, the harder it is to lie. I don�Śt want to lie anymore. I want to tell him the truth, but I can�Śt. I want to tell him about school, about my aunt and uncle, about my parents�Ś accident, about the dig and how I got here. But I can�Śt. I don�Śt understand how I can feel close to him when 99 percent of what I�Śve told him is untrue. And that�Śs why I have to leave him. There�Śs just no other way, because no matter how cute and smart and fun to talk to he is, I�Śm in the Kocaba forest and I�Śm not supposed to trust a stranger. ―So,�
he says. ―You said you were headed to the Oracle.�
―Do you want to join me?�
I blurt out. �
Yes,�
he says. We walk in silence for a bit, and it occurs to me that I know I�Śm quiet because I don�Śt want to tell more lies. But why is he so quiet all of a sudden? Something inside me knows that I�Śll understand soon, but it won�Śt be all that soon. We�Śre only just getting started. Chapter 19 When we arrive at the Oracle�Śs palace at the foot of Mount Olympus, we just stand there for a moment and take it in, the open windows and the doves that float from sill to sill. ―Well,�
he begins. ―Shall we?�
I shake my head no. ―I�Śm going in alone.�
―Why can�Śt I go with you?�
―You just can�Śt.�
―But I can help you.�
―No,�
I say. I have to get out of here before I start to become really aware that going to the Oracle means leaving Blondie�"forever. ―I have to go. I just do, Blondie. But I�Śll be right back.�
It�Śs the worst lie that I�Śve told. But if the Oracle asks me about my powers, I can�Śt reveal them with Blondie watching. Lies really are a trap, more so than I ever realized. Inside the temple, I�Śm shocked by all the action. It�Śs like Grand Central at Thanksgiving and I�Śm bookended by creatures with spindly flamingo legs and heavy gorilla-like upper bodies. I marvel at their ability to stand upright and I try not to stare. A black and white hopping creature with a pouch, like the child of a kangaroo and a raccoon, is making way for me. It yanks a scroll out of its pouch and waves it at me. It seems to be telling me that it�Śs my turn to see the Oracle, and as I follow the beast through the creeping indoor fog�"what is it with time travel and indoor weather systems�"I pretend that Blondie is close by my side. The roo-coon scurries off without a word and I cough. The fog is even worse in here and I�Śm on my knees, choking. I bow my head. Instantaneously, the fog lifts and my lungs are clear and I look up. There she is, the Oracle, in all her smug glory. She�Śs on a throne, her long legs crossed. My god, she must be eight feet tall. Next to her, I feel like a Bratz doll. ―Thank you for bowing, Traveler.�
Aah, the fog was a mere ploy. Typical. Tall girls, in my experience, are always trying to make short girls feel shorter. ―I was told to ask you for help,�
I say. ―That you could answer my question.�
The Oracle blinks her hooded eyelids at me. ―And what question do you bring me, Traveler?�
―How do I get back home?�
The Oracle huffs. ―That is not the question.�
―I don�Śt understand. Creusa said�"�
―You are misguided. Your destiny is not at home.�
―But my family and friends and my life are all at home.�
―Your destiny is greater than such things.�
―Look, I�Śm exhausted. And I�Śm lost and I don�Śt need a lecture on self-esteem or a pick-me-up talk about how special I am. I just want to go home!�
The fog erupts and I sink to my knees. I can�Śt breathe. I�Śm choking. I raise my arms and wave them in the air. The fog lifts. I won�Śt be exploding again. Of that much I�Śm sure. ―It is difficult to see your home. You have come from a land far away, shrouded in strangeness,�
she says. Then it hits me. The Oracle is a fraud. It�Śs why she won�Śt answer my question. Because she doesn�Śt know the answer. How could I have been so naive? To think some gassed-up ladylegs would know how to get me to the future. Just as I�Śm about to thank her for nothing and skulk out of the hall, she calls out, ―When your parents were carried away in the body of a great bird, they left a child of destiny to wander without guidance.�
―Wait�Ścarried away by a bird? How did you�Ś�
How could the Oracle know about my parents�Ś plane crash? Or was she just making it up? Maybe people are routinely carried away by giant birds in 1000 BC. ―I do not see your world clearly. But it is of no matter. I speak of the great order of things. The balance that must be maintained.�
―What does that have to do with me?�
―It is tied to your destiny. There is no evading it.�
She opens her mouth and I can see her many, narrow teeth. ―And your destiny is not met without trials.�
―With all due respect, um, Oracle, I have been through trials. Okay? I�Śm lost. I�Śve been wandering for days and my clothes got stolen by a creep and I was chased by vicious dogs. It hasn�Śt exactly been a picnic.�
I brace myself for fog, but the air remains clear. She looks at me with a sneer. ―You have been through hardships. Now you will endure trials.�
―But what if I don�Śt want to?�
―You are destined for one true thing, Traveler. Do not resist your fate.�
―I don�Śt care about my fate. I just want to go home!�
―It is Mount Olympus that awaits your step now.�
―Come on, not this again,�
I grumble. ―Do not mock the lair of the gods!�
she shouts. Breathe, Zoe. You can�Śt antagonize the Oracle; that will get you nowhere. I drop to my knees and go into pleading mode. ―With all due respect, I�Śm not a god.�
―So you think your powers over the earth are earthly?�
I flush. She knows about my powers. ―Your powers are your sole hope, Traveler. Only a god may ascend to Mount Olympus.�
―And what if I�Śm not a god? What if I can�Śt make it to the top?�
―Then you die.�
I don�Śt know which comes first, the thunder or the mob of creatures. But suddenly, the Oracle has risen and fled her throne and the roo-coons and the gorilla-mingos are all flocking into the temple as if World War III is beginning outside. I start to run, but the Oracle raises a wiry fist at me and shouts, ―No! You must face it! Alone!�
So I fight my way through the crowd, shoving against the tide of terrified rainbow-colored animals, until I make it out of the temple. And there he is, waiting for me. ―Are you okay?�
Blondie asks. ―What did the Oracle say?�
Before I can answer him, a giant shadow appears, edging around the side of the mountain. My God. It�Śs no wonder all the creatures fled. What else can you do when you see a Hydra coming? It�Śs almost fifteen feet tall, with a muscular reptilian body supporting five swaying heads, each one of which is capable of giving me nightmares for weeks. Blondie grabs my arm. ―Curly, let me help.�
―No! You have to get out of here. Now!�
―I can�Śt leave you here by yourself.�
―If you stay, you�Śll be killed!�
I shout. It�Śs bad enough I have to face a living nightmare; I�Śm not about to watch the boy of my dreams get eaten by it.―I won�Śt be killed. I can help you.�
―Just go!�
I shout, as the Hydra stamps dangerously closer. ―The Oracle says I have to do this myself.�
He hesitates. His grip on my arm loosens. Two of the five heads let out a sickening screech, and I almost turn and run myself. ―Please, you have to go now.�
I push his arm away. He may be the captain of the football/debate/teen model club, but even he seems to know when he�Śs outmatched by a giant five-headed monster. The moment he�Śs gone, I turn to face the Hydra. At the sight of it bearing down on me, my adrenaline surges, the way it does when moms lift cars to save their babies. I take it all in, this enormous monster, this thing that�Śs supposed to exist only in legend: the five heads, bulbous and oily and moss green; and the eyes, bulging and wet with muck; and the pupils, expanding and retracting, expanding and retracting. I remember the books of myths I read as a kid and there�Śs something almost comforting in seeing that the Hydra looks exactly as it was depicted in the storybooks. It advances with surprising speed, and before I even realize what is happening, one of the heads lunges at me. I dodge instinctively, ducking out of reach, and as I�Śm rolling across the ground toward its body, I get hit with a powerful scent. I smell rotten eggs. I smell hatred. I smell death. A second head lunges at me and I barely dodge this one. I won�Śt last long without a weapon, so I open my hand and command a rock to fly into it and sharpen on its journey into my hand. The blade is sharp. I�Śve never stabbed anyone, I�Śve never wielded a weapon, and my eyes grow full as the sheer scope of my powers becomes clear to me. I can kill. The Hydra lurches forward and I scream as I swipe the rock-knife through one of the thick, meaty necks. The monster squeals and the severed head drops to the dusty ground, oozing blood and greenish bile. Victory only lasts a few seconds, however, since, despite all the books I�Śve read and movies I�Śve seen, I seem to have forgotten the most essential truth about multiheaded Hydras. Cut off one head and another grows back with a friend in tow. It�Śs like trying to pluck eyebrow hairs. The Hydra stretches up and all six heads are now high above me, eyes hungering for my blood. I teeter and drop my knife. I can�Śt defeat it this way. The felled head is slowing to its death a few inches away and just behind it I see them: boulders. The Hydra lunges at me with its largest head and I dive, sliding toward the boulders and sending one at the largest head. I�Śve never tried to lift a rock this big with my powers, and I watch with relief as the boulder smashes against the side of the Hydra. It�Śs a direct hit, and it knocks out the biggest head. Another head is coming at me and I dart out of the way, then fling another boulder at the offending head. It flies even harder�"I�Śm getting the hang of this�"striking the Hydra where the neck joins the head. The eyes pinch with pain and the jaw spasms, as the head struggles uselessly for air with its crushed throat. The four remaining heads let out a deafening roar and I scurry back from the enraged creature, covering my ears. Looking behind me, I realize that the Hydra has trapped me. I am pinned between it and the mountain. The Hydra eyes me with hatred. It rakes the ground with its claws, preparing to charge. I look to the remaining boulders and, concentrating hard, as if lining up a complex four-way billiards shot, I direct them to their flailing targets. Go! The impact knocks me backward. I lie on the ground, unable to move. Silence falls like rain. When I finally open my eyes, Blondie is there. He extends a hand. ―Not too shabby, Curly.�
I�Śm not crazy about goodbyes. On the last day of school, I always avoid the main quad, where people are sobbing as if they�Śre never going to see each other again. It�Śs different from the way I avoid the cliques in day-to-day life. I don�Śt avoid the quad because I don�Śt feel like I�Śm included. I avoid it because if I see all those people hugging and crying, I�Śll start crying too. I�Śm embarrassingly schmaltzy when it comes to send-offs. I even cry at the moment in Dirty Dancing when Baby and Johnny part ways by his beat-up car. No matter how much I have seen the movie and know that it�Śs not really a goodbye�"that Johnny will come back because, hey, he never misses the last dance�"I still choke up. Standing here with Blondie, I have a thousand things I want to ask him, but I can�Śt say much of anything. My emotions are already shot from the battle and I don�Śt want to let him see me cry, so I try to keep it all in. I�Śm bruised head to toe and my fingers are still quivering, as is the rest of me, in large part because I can�Śt believe he came back for me. I�Śve never felt so loved by a boy and I can�Śt look him in the eyes or he might see what I�Śm feeling. And if he sees how hard I�Śve fallen, well, then he really might run. Of course, according to Blondie, the last thing he wants is to run. ―I�Śm coming with you up Mount Olympus,�
he announces. As much as I want nothing more than for him to come along, I have to refuse him. ―You can�Śt come,�
I say. ―I�Śm supposed to do this alone.�
―But I can help protect you.�
―These are my trials,�
I say, shaking my head. ―What if you get hurt on your way up? You�Śll be all alone.�
I look at him, beautiful, earnest Blondie, and imagine the dangers I�Śm about to face. More Hydras? Even nastier creatures? Even if the Oracle had allowed it, I couldn�Śt bring him into that kind of danger. What if I couldn�Śt protect him? What if I failed and he died? Sometimes love really does require sacrifice. I could never live with myself if I put him in that kind of jeopardy. Ever. ―No,�
I say. ―I won�Śt let you get hurt.�
―Tell me your name.�
―Tell me yours.�
―I asked you first.�
He�Śs right and he�Śs here and I want to wrap myself up in him and know him and I might never get the chance. I don�Śt mean to reveal it, but I�Śm powerless and I�Śm headed into oblivion. ―Zoe,�
I say. He reaches forward and gently brushes my cowlick off my face. ―It�Śs really nice to meet you, Zoe.�
I wait as long as I can to answer him, because I don�Śt want to answer him, because when I do answer him, that will be the end and he�Śll go his way and I�Śll go mine. I wish that I could never talk out loud again. I would stand here forever, in silence, just to keep him around me. ―I�Śll remember you,�
I say. ―Forever,�
he says. And then he�Śs gone. Chapter 20 And suddenly I�Śve become one of them, one of those girls with an aching heart, one of those girls I�Śve passed on campus and thought, Wow, what a drama queen. Now I get why they learn to knit or play Angry Birds so much that their fingers go numb. As it turns out, the songs don�Śt lie. Breaking up is hard to do. But what�Śs wrong with me? I didn�Śt even technically ―break up�
with Blondie. I mean, we never kissed, we didn�Śt go skinny-dipping, he didn�Śt actually tell me that he likes me, so why am I feeling like this? And part of me can�Śt help but wonder. Am I so afraid of trekking up Mount Olympus that I�Śm just using Blondie as a distraction because, lord knows, it�Śs much more enjoyable to worry about a boy I barely know than about a mountain full of obstacles. Speaking of obstacles, did I get credit for surviving that trial with the Hydra? I look skyward and shout, ―I better get credit for that!�
My senses are on high alert and I can feel every weak breeze that blows, smell the sap on the trees I can�Śt even identify. Some instinct is kicking in, and I rub the scar on my neck and take a deep breath and stop in my tracks before it even begins, or maybe as it begins. It happens too fast for me to know when it starts. The water comes. You can�Śt call it rain because it doesn�Śt fall in drops. Fist-size blobs of water are crashing around me, growing bigger and bigger with every second and falling sharp like hail. I look at a tree just as a moving box–size burst of water hits it, felling it. The branches fly apart and I duck. As I crouch down, I realize that I�Śm knee-deep in water. A lake is forming already and if I don�Śt do anything, in minutes I�Śll drown. Without any clear sense of why I�Śm doing what I do, I zone in on a boulder and smooth it out so that it�Śs flat, almost like a raft. But the pathetic raft sinks down like an anchor. Nervous and jittery, I huff it to the nearest tree and start to climb. My clothes are soaked to the bone and I haven�Śt shivered like this since I was a child, since that time Uncle Alex and Aunt Sophia took me to Vermont, where I thought their friends had a ―magic driveway.�
Snow fell the first night we arrived and I ran outside in the morning without any shoes on and stood in awe of the driveway. Though my teeth chattered and my lungs felt like blocks of ice, I remained still, awestruck. The driveway was completely clear. Not a single snowflake had managed to stick. ―Zoe,�
my aunt called. ―Come in here and put your boots on or you�Śll catch a cold!�
―No! You come here and see this!�
―What�Śs there to see?�
―Duh,�
I said. ―The driveway is magic.�
She ran outside and took my hand. ―Zoe,�
she said, ―it�Śs not magic. It�Śs just heated. And it�Śs rude to make a fuss out of people�Śs luxuries.�
I thought about that driveway for weeks afterward. What if they could heat the floor of the whole world? Then nobody would ever go skiing or build snowmen. A box of water plops and misses me by an inch. Come on, Zoe, snap out of it. I climb higher and higher on the tree. The water is following me. Oh geez, it’s up to my knees. Maybe I wasn�Śt daydreaming. Maybe I was brainstorming. I�Śm afraid to look down but I do. The water world is gaining on me and this tree doesn�Śt go all the way up the mountain. I see that driveway again and I have my answer. I can freeze the whole forest. I control the earth. I cling to the tree and close my eyes as the water sloshes at the soles of my boots. I concentrate on the soles and imagine that they could spread, which they can�Śt. What I need is a floor, and though it�Śs a long shot, it�Śs all I have. ―Dam.�
There aren�Śt enough words to describe the beauty. Marbled streaks of black crawl through the burgeoning water like dark bolts of lightning. The raging flood is waning as the streaks intertwine and the rocky bolts crash and meld. The sound is so loud that I wince, and within seconds the water is stopped. The boxes of water dissipate on impact and run off into the cracks in the wall of the dam I made�"I made. I must have done something right, because I feel the sun on my cheeks and I look up. The storm has passed. Victorious, I will it all to break, and the water cascades and bubbles down the mountain. I try not to think of anyone who might be hiking, any daring nymphs who might be smothered by an aquatic mudslide. The reality of my powers hits me in a whole new way: I can hurt people, unintentionally. But I must go on. There is a strange lull after the trial of water. I climb the mountain warily, watching everything around me, anticipating the next trial. But for what seems like hours I walk unchallenged. Is this the psychological torture part of the trial? Like when the doctor says to close your eyes and raises the needle and promises it will only hurt for a second and in that moment of anticipation the pain swells endlessly? I feel as though my eyes have been glued shut for eons, waiting for that shot that never comes, that nanosecond of pain. I unzip my pocket and feel around for the obolus I found in the temple. I do this every few minutes, as if stroking the smooth, luminous coin will stop me from drowning in my own anxiety. All I can think about, however, is my next trial. I want it the way the jocks at school want to win, and I catch myself snarling, growling, ―Come on!�
Nothing. Disgusted, I lurch up the mountain and reach for a branch to steady myself. That�Śs when the wind comes. It�Śs like a giant oven mitt, scooping me off my feet. I�Śm airborne and squinting and it feels like my ribs might crack apart at any second. I block the dirt swirling at me for long enough to see what�Śs happening, and in that instant I almost wish I hadn�Śt. I am in a tornado. My powers are useless up here. So what if I can make rocks rise out of the ground? The earth is nothing but fodder for a tornado. There�Śs nothing you can do to survive a tornado except go underground into a basement where cans of peas and candles await you. But I have no such shelter. I�Śm exposed, caught in the clutches of angry tunnel of wind. How do you exhaust the power of a spinning tornado, charged by its own momentum, growing stronger every second? You don�Śt. A tree trunk broadsides me and I am out. Cold. Chapter 21 In my freshman year, we had to take sewing class because of some lawsuit filed by a girl who claimed that Greeley was not preparing us with life skills, the kind of skills you learn in home ec and shop. Shop was fun, but home ec was a disaster. I couldn�Śt seem to replicate the pattern for the dress I was making for my final project. To distract the teacher from my failure, I embellished the dress with beads, feathers, fringe and anything else I could find in the red crates at the front of the room. On our final day in class, we had a mandatory fashion show. (Yes, a few months later some girls discussed suing the school for forcing them to participate in a fashion show. Yawn.) When I put on my dress, which weighed about twenty pounds, I immediately knew I�Śd made an even bigger mistake. The dress was too heavy for the small straps. It fell off and I couldn�Śt walk the makeshift runway. It�Śs the only C on my transcript at Greeley. I cried when I got that C, but now, waking up to find myself still trapped in the growing wind cone, I am more grateful for that C than any of my As. If the tornado is like a dress, I reason, I can weigh it down with boulders and stones and hunks of earth. I summon objects into the spiral, smiling at the plan, but within seconds I realize the flaw: the moment they enter the spiral, I lose control over them. I may be burdening the tornado but I�Śm also inviting projectiles to hurtle themselves at me. With a scream, I duck as a basketball-size stone misses my skull by a millimeter. I have to do something now. I curl up into a ball and focus all my power on the area just outside my body. I have no idea if it will work and if I�Śll ever get out, but it�Śs no time to be timid. Dirt and stone pack themselves tightly against each other until I have formed a thick boulder shell around me. Engulfed in stone, I can�Śt see anything. I move my fingers and all I feel is rock. The only air I can breathe is the little that I entrapped when forming the boulder. If I�Śm inside for too long, I will stop breathing and lose my focus and I won�Śt have the strength to get myself out. But I can�Śt think about that now. I just keep packing on the dirt and the stone, absorbing layer after layer, until eventually I get so heavy that I start to fall. I�Śm too much for the tornado to handle. When I hit the ground, my body jolts from the impact. The inside of a boulder isn�Śt padded and my knees sting and my joints throb. And if I keep rolling like this, I�Śll roll all the way back down the mountain, in which case I�Śll have to fight water and wind again�"and in this condition, bruised and weak and oxygen-deprived, who knows if I�Śll win again? But if I break the rock apart, I might emerge only to crash into a tree or fly, unprotected, right off the mountainside. Better to die trying. I will the boulder to break in half, and at once my legs and arms are flying as I plunge through the air, tumbling and screaming for dear life. When I look up, I recognize where I am. Oh, Zoe. I�Śm exactly where I was when the tornado struck. These really are trials. I dust myself off and forge up the mountain, wondering what comes next�"even though I have a pretty good idea about what to expect. I have the earth as my weapon. I�Śve fought water and wind. It�Śs only a matter of time before I�Śm forced to face the fourth and deadliest element. Fire. I�Śm more than halfway up the mountain when I pause to catch my breath. While the past hour has been uneventful, I know the trial by fire must be coming any minute now. It�Śs been a long journey and I�Śm exhausted. But even if I were just starting out, how does the Oracle expect me to conquer fire? Encasing myself in rock won�Śt help me against a raging firestorm�"it�Śll just cook me. I need a strategy. I think about the television footage I�Śve seen of firefighters battling wild forest fires. They come in droves, camping out on all fronts. I need an ally. I should have had Blondie come with me after all. He might not have helped me complete the trials, but if I�Śm going to fail, why not fail in the company of a gorgeous blond guy who makes me feel giddier than I�Śve ever felt. I plop down on a fallen log and take off my backpack, tearing into a pack of almonds. And this is how my war with fire begins, with my mouth full of nuts and my backpack idling on the ground. I hear it rumbling in the distance and it�Śs coming for me, hot and fast. I whirl up the dirt instinctively, the way you might grab your hair when you�Śre in a panic, but the fire only rises, snaking through the trees. I wish I could knock down the trees one by one; if you take a fire�Śs kindling, it will stop burning, right? But I can�Śt, which isn�Śt fair. But fairness doesn�Śt matter when you have a fire coming at you fast. I run but it follows me. I throw stones but they fly right into it. I build a wall but the fire practically laughs in my face as it leaps and climbs over it, swift as the tail of dragon, deft as a heat-seeking missile. I�Śm running and screaming for help even though there is nobody around. Why do I keep screaming? I make a wake of dirt, hoping it will blow back at the fire. But the dirt is just fuel. Everything is fuel, and my earthen powers are nothing. I will soon be nothing. Fourth grade. Mrs. McClutsky was my teacher. My report on fire began with this sentence: ―Fire is our best friend and our worst enemy.�
Of course these trials were designed for me. Naturally, the only way for me to beat fire will be to make it my ―friend,�
because it�Śs always been so hard for me to make friends. It�Śs not like I�Śm having a party and I want to roast a bunch of chickens. I don�Śt need the fire right now and I don�Śt see how a friendship can be forged if there�Śs no mutual interest or need. I trip and stumble. Come on, Zoe, get out of your head. I waste so much time analyzing my quirks. I�Śm me and so what if I�Śm not Little Miss Friend Maker? I will win this trial only if I focus on what I can do. I control earth. And I stand with my feet firmly on the ground. I�Śm not shaking anymore. I eye the fire and I hold my ground and this earth below me will do as I say when I say. I look at the rising fire without fear and I finally understand something frightening about my newfound power. If I don�Śt like what�Śs happening on earth, I can do away with the actual earth. ―Quake.�
You know in the movies when they show the cop standing breathless, scanning the crowd? And the camera zigs and zags and everything is moving, everyone except him? I am that cop. And while there might not be any people around, I am watching the trees snap, upend. I see exposed roots and cracks in the mountain. The fire almost yelps in pain and I say it again. ―Quake.�
Another one, magnitude 3.6, if I had to guess, and the fire falls into the earth and I�Śve won but I haven�Śt because it�Śs creeping up. No, no. ―Seal!�
And now it�Śs an earthquake in reverse as the grounds careen together, sealing shut. The fire has no oxygen anymore. It�Śs been swallowed by the earth, My earth. I walk easily now. I can�Śt explain exactly how I know that I�Śve passed the trials, but I have, and this is my graduation march. I�Śve shown that I�Śm grateful for my powers, that I�Śm not afraid of them or careless with them. I�Śve won. And I feel like Mother Nature as I step on the freshly sealed earth. I didn�Śt just close it all to kill the fire. I did it to preserve this mountain. I�Śm gazing up at the sky in gratitude and wonderment when suddenly an inky blackness fills the air, thick and obliterating. And as everything disappears into the mysterious darkness, I take another step�Śand my foot finds nothing. I�Śm falling. Impossible because I sealed the earth and commanded all chasms to close. Impossible because I survived the trials. Impossible because I am dropping into nothing, sure to die, in the same manner that my parents did, falling to earth. And then I feel something tugging at my backpack, as if it is being clawed at by something. A giant eagle? I�Śm staring down into blackness as I soar upward, my arms and legs dangling. The grasp on me tightens, some kind of golden feathers cross my abdomen. As I watch the ground recede from view, I remember the premonition from my last night at Greeley, that my destiny and doom would snarl together in Greece. Only I am not dead. I am safe. More than safe, I am flying, soaring above the mountain, carried aloft by an eagle. The blackness is gone now, utterly dispersed, and I am dipping among the clouds and there are no words and no land. Eventually we drop back down, slowing with the descent. Gently I�Śm laid on an electric green lawn at the top of Mount Olympus. Thank you, mystery bird. I turn around expecting to see the giant eagle that rescued me, but there is no eagle. There is only a beautiful, blond-haired boy about my age. ―Blondie?�
He smiles. ―But�Śhow did you get here?�
He shrugs, and in one regal, liquid motion, his cape falls to the floor. And then, like magic, golden wings slowly open and spread behind him. ―You saved me,�
I say, in awe as the truth crashes over me in waves. He carried me at the chasm when the wild dog was coming for me. And he caught me just now as I was falling off the mountain into blackness. All this time, he has been hiding his wings with his cape. He doesn�Śt want anyone to know what he is. Or who he is. ―Tell me your name,�
I say. ―Zeus,�
he says. ―Welcome to Olympus.�
There is no more denial, no more sarcasm; there is only one incredible, staggering truth: There are gods. And my crush is one of them. ―Here are the rules, Zoe,�
he says, while I nod mutely. ―You cannot say that I helped you.�
―Wait, you�Śre Zeus. I mean, Zeus as in Zeus.�
―I don�Śt follow and we don�Śt have time. Listen to me, Zoe. We just met. Do you understand?�
―When you said you were sick of your friends,�
I say, as the neurons fire in my brain, desperate to piece it all together, ―you meant�Ś�
He nods. I nod. Whoa. ―You need to listen me, Zoe. When we get inside, you�Śll be friendly and open to everyone. No matter what they say or�"�
―You tricked me,�
I interrupt him. ―I didn�Śt trick you.�
―You told me you were a human!�
―And you told me there was a bridge.�
―But you knew there wasn�Śt because you�Śre Zeus and you know things like that.�
He shakes his head. ―Zoe, I�Śm sorry. I had to be sure about you before I revealed myself. Okay?�
But I�Śm not reassured. I�Śm scared and confused and back to thinking this all must be part of some concussion-induced dementia, but something in his eyes tells me I�Śm wrong, tells me I�Śm here, truly. I grab his arm as he turns and say, ―Zeus, how long have you been following me?�
There�Śs nothing but blue sky and sunlight and his wings flare and retreat, flare and retreat. I�Śm not afraid to look into his eyes, which is new for me. Most boys either hide their eyes with sunglasses, like silly Columbia Darren, or look at me in a way that makes me nervous. Zeus sees me and I realize that I want him to see me. He kneels down and replies in a whisper, ―From the moment I first saw you in the village, I couldn�Śt stay away from you.�
―You were there?�
―I was in disguise,�
he says. ―Why didn�Śt you tell me?�
He smiles. ―I wanted you to tell me.�
―But I couldn�Śt.�
―Why not?�
―Because I�Ś�
My voice trails off as he steps closer to me. Close enough that I can see that in spite of his name, his notoriety, he�Śs the same guy I�Śve been hanging out with, open and wise. He�Śs just more serious now and he says softly, in a kind tone I didn�Śt think Zeus the big bad god ever employed, ―Trust me.�
There�Śs nothing for me to do but shake my head back and forth like I just woke up from a bad dream. He puts his hands on my shoulders. ―It�Śs okay, Zoe. I know what you can do. I saw you spare the nymph and dredge the silver from the earth. I watched from the cliffs as you defeated the Hydra. You have incredible power.�
―And you�Śre not scared?�
I ask. ―No,�
he says. ―But they are. And it�Śs only because they don�Śt know you yet.�
Does he understand that I am the only person at Greeley who skipped out on orientation mixers my first week because I simply don�Śt like orienting to strangers under stressful circumstances? ―I don�Śt know about this,�
I say. ―It�Śs going to be okay. Relax,�
he says, and he flutters his golden wings, which must be tight from being hidden away all day, and smiles again. ―You�Śre one of us, Zoe. That�Śs all that matters.�
He takes my hand and we walk along the bright, lush summit of Mount Olympus. I am reeling from all that has happened, and the feeling of his warm palm pressed against mine and our fingers interlocked makes me feel even dizzier. But as we approach the main entrance, marked by a massive marble arch, he extracts his hand from mine and says, ―We can�Śt do that in here.�
I nod and let him lead the way inside. If he really is Zeus, then he�Śs in charge. And if the one in charge doesn�Śt want to be seen holding hands with a girl�Śwell, I know enough to realize that alpha guys avoid PDA for one reason and one reason only. Zeus has a girlfriend. Part 3 The Goddess Clique Chapter 22 I have had about three minutes to adjust to the fact that Blondie is Zeus. You know, Zeus, the god of mythology, the domineering old blowhard with the long gray beard and the furrowed brow and the anger issues. This is Zeus? I have so many questions and want to sit down alone with him for hours but he says I have to meet everyone now. ―All of them at once?�
―Is that a problem?�
―It�Śs a little overwhelming. I�Śm more of a one-on-one person.�
―Not here, you�Śre not. Here we�Śre always together.�
Oh, great. Olympus is like a Saturday on campus. If you happen to be the kind of person who feels like reading Jane Goodall under a tree on the main green, you�Śre going to get hit in the head by a Frisbee because wanting to be on your own is somehow an affront to those who prefer to be in a group. My stomach is rumbling with nerves and my cowlick is standing on end and all the while Zeus continues leading me toward his friends, his friends that he doesn�Śt even like. ―If you�Śre nice to them, they�Śll be nice to you,�
he says, and he�Śs seeming dumber by the second. ―Not right away, but, you know, soon.�
―Okay.�
And by ―okay,�
I mean, yeah, right. He leads me to an open garden, surrounded by white marble buildings with alcoves and beautiful mosaic-lined pathways. At the center of the garden stand eleven teenagers, lined up like the cast of a CW drama. They�Śre as chiseled as mannequins. One girl stands a little in front of the group, as if she has to confirm her power, as if her pretty upturned nose and billowy long dark hair don�Śt already confirm it. God, every girl at Greeley would kill to have her straight, frizz-free mane. ―This is Hera,�
Zeus says. ―Hi, Hera.�
She crosses her arms and shifts her body weight, which isn�Śt all that much, onto her left shoe. She looks me up and down and raises an eyebrow and here comes the insult, I can smell it. She huffs, ―Nice pants.�
I try my best to seem unperturbed. ―Thank you.�
I didn�Śt try hard enough and they all laugh and I curse myself for being so solicitous. Wake up, Zoe. When a mean girl insults you, don�Śt thank her. Ugh. Will I ever learn? ―Hera,�
Zeus says. He glares at her. She laughs. ―I�Śm just being funny.�
He motions for her to follow him to one of the pathways to talk in private. She shrugs her annoyingly tiny little shoulder and walks off with him. I hate her. I hate the way she walks. I hate the fact that her face would be more at home on a doll that was discontinued for promoting impossible standards of beauty. And I hate that high buttery voice of hers. I’m just being funny. Ick. I try not to stare at them as they huddle together in private conversation and I desperately fight the urge to run over and hug him and kiss him right then and there. Obviously, Zeus sees right through this cookie-cutter girl and would never in a million years go out with her. A scan of the room reveals that there are five more girls to meet, but maybe, just maybe, he�Śs not attached to anyone. If the others are as rude and transparent as Hera, who�Śs looking me up and down literally nonstop, then I�Śm going to assume he didn�Śt want to hold my hand because he�Śs a shy guy. ―Well, dear,�
Hera says, returning to the center of the garden, with Zeus at her side. ―You must be dying to bathe after your disastrous effort getting up here. Poor thing probably just wants a bath. Am I right?�
I cringe. It�Śs never a good thing when a girl your age calls you ―dear.�
It�Śs a sign of dominance, like on those Animal Planet documentaries when only one female can be the matriarch. In some monkey communities, a mother will actually kick her own daughter out of the group if she becomes pregnant. Girls like Hera don�Śt really have friends; they just have followers. But I try to buck up. I want Zeus to see that I can handle mean girls without getting flustered. ―You know, Hera, that sounds wonderful. I haven�Śt taken a bath since I went skinny-dipping and met Zeus.�
Now they all look at me like I�Śm nuts. ―Skinny-dipping?�
one of them mumbles. Apparently, in 1000 BC there�Śs no such thing as skinny-dipping. It�Śs amazing. When I was alone with Zeus, we had no problems talking in spite of our different vocabularies, but five minutes with this clique and I can�Śt communicate. ―I�Śm sorry,�
I guffaw. ―I�Śm so tired I must not be making sense. You�Śre right. I�Śm a mess.�
―Aw,�
Hera says. ―Don�Śt worry. First impressions aren�Śt everything.�
Jerk. But Zeus, eager to get the introductions rolling again, is moving on to the next person in the lineup, who�Śs clearly the quirky member of the group. He has a shock of red hair and looks like a long-lost royal. If it were 2011, he�Śd be texting nonstop and wearing skinny jeans. ―Hades, I�Śd like you to meet Zoe.�
I extend my hand. He looks at it with disinterest, then runs his hand through his hair and looks away. I�Śve read him wrong. He�Śs not the quirky prankster. He�Śs the snob, the one who can�Śt get through a sentence without referencing his family�Śs ―place�
in the Hamptons or that time they went skiing in Geneva with Jennifer Lopez. The girl beside him reaches out and extends her hand. ―Oh, come on now, new girl. Surely somewhere inside of you, you have a sense of humor.�
I�Śd be stung no matter what, but I�Śm double-stung because of the way Zeus has been telling me all day how funny I am and the way he�Śs not saying that now in front of his little friends. And this goddess rubs me the wrong way too. Her vibe is unreadable. Mostly she seems tired�"very tired, like she would use the ―I�Śm tired�
excuse to cover every mean little thing she ever did. Never trust the tired girls. Hades jabs her and she squeals and he lifts her up and carries her away from the circle. I look at Zeus. ―So now you�Śve met Hades and Persephone. And, well, this is, kind of the way they are lately, you know�Ślike that.�
It�Śs fun seeing this awkward side of Zeus. We both watch Hades and Persephone roll on the grass. ―She seems�Śnice,�
I say. ―Oh, she is. Quite nice.�
But the more we watch them frolic in the high grass, the more I start to worry that I�Śve entered couple zone. Hades and Persephone are clearly together. It�Śs possible that the clique is just a collection of couples. Not that I should be surprised by this. That�Śs how most cliques operate. At Greeley, they�Śve all dated each other at some point. Zeus nudges me. He gestures toward a handsome guy who looks like he spent his day at a regatta. His hair is windblown and his eyes are too blue, especially since they didn�Śt make colored contacts in ancient Greece. ―And this is Poseidon.�
―Of course you are.�
Poseidon doesn�Śt mask the fact that he�Śs puzzled by my reaction. But of all the gods, he�Śs the one who most closely resembles the illustrated books from my childhood. It doesn�Śt take long for his girlfriend to entwine her arm around his. But she�Śs no Hera; she looks smart. If she were at Greeley, she would have big glasses�"not the cool hipster ones, but big awkward old-school glasses. She extends her hand and I take it. Her handshake is firm but welcoming. I�Śm surprised she�Śs clinging to Poseidon, who�Śs a legendary grump, but that�Śs life for you. ―I�Śm Athena.�
―I�Śm Zoe.�
She smiles at me. She seems like someone I might make friends with. ―Can I have my hand back, Zoe?�
―Sorry,�
I say, releasing her. I�Śm really starting to get nervous. I don�Śt know how to act around them. It�Śs bad enough to have to meet all the friends of the guy you like at the same time, but then to have them also be the Greek gods? That�Śs asking a lot of a person. The gods have started talking among themselves, already bored of me, and Zeus whispers, ―You�Śre doing great. Keep going.�
So I smile at the next girl in the receiving line. She�Śs got wild, curly hippie hair and I can picture her whining on a couch about how badly she wants to go to Burning Man and how much she misses her mother�Śs couscous in Marin County or some cool hippie place like that. ―Hi.�
―Artemis,�
she says, as if this is somehow normal, you know, to be the goddess of animals. ―Yes!�
Everyone laughs and I can�Śt even blame them. I am officially acting weird. ―Sorry, I�Śm a little sleep deprived. But it�Śs nice to meet you.�
―We�Śll see,�
she says and tilts her head. ―Anyhow, this is Ares.�
She links her arm through his and I nod. He�Śs stereotypically handsome, like a lacrosse player from Connecticut. If he lived in Los Angeles, he would get a lot of work playing the wolf-in-sheep�Śs-clothing preppie in Lifetime movies, and Artemis probably is the kind of girl who thinks it makes her even more unique and quirky that her boyfriend is so plainly handsome. There�Śs noting subtle about the way she links up with him. She�Śs telling me that Ares is her boyfriend and that if I so much as ask him for directions to the dining hall, I�Śll face her jealous wrath. Zeus practically has to rip apart the next couple. I haven�Śt even met them but am already referring to them as the Jersey Shores. They�Śre both ridiculously tanned, with full dark hair. And she appears to have been the inventor of eyeliner. ―Okay, Zoe. I finally have their attention.�
The guy huffs, ―For what I don�Śt know.�
―To meet our guest, Zoe, of course.�
―Apollo,�
he says. ―Hello.�
The girl is mad-dogging me and I guess I have to be the one to speak first. ―Hi, I�Śm Zoe.�
―Hermes.�
―What? No you�Śre not.�
She pushes her boyfriend away. ―Excuse me?�
―Sorry, I just�ŚI thought you were...you know�Ś�
―Thought I was what?�
―Someone else,�
I reply lamely. I can�Śt say that all the mythology books have gotten it wrong and I�Śm stunned to learn that Hermes is actually a woman. She shrugs me off, shrugs her boyfriend off and sashays over to Hera. Good going, Zoe. Good going, mythology picture books. I look at Zeus and hope that my body language says it all. I hear giggling and then Zeus is on the move, headed straight for Hera. They look like the couple that�Śs going to be fighting all night. But more important, they look like the couple that always gets back together. Hera runs her hand over Zeus�Śs forearm and he pulls away. Maybe they�Śre not together. Maybe they�Śre just brother and sister! Maybe I should stop obsessing and overanalyzing and just smile at him. And look at that. He�Śs beaming at me. ―So, what�Śs next?�
I ask. ―I saved the best for last,�
he says. Suddenly, I feel reconnected with him, reminded of all his good qualities. ―Zoe, I�Śd like you to meet my friend Dio.�
A tall, long-haired boy in a messy toga looks down at me. ―Nice to meet you,�
I say, extending my hand. He doesn�Śt take it. He just stares at me. ―Finally,�
he says. ―I meet the girl who stole my nymph.�
Chapter 23 I shake my head in confusion. ―Your nymph? You mean�Ś Creusa?�
He rolls his eyes. ―I don�Śt know her name. The nymph I ordered my followers to bring to me. The one you then stole from them.�
It�Śs hard to believe that Dio would want to kill a nymph for kicks. His toga is splattered with paint, and if I didn�Śt know any better, I�Śd think he was the pacifist in the bunch. ―I didn�Śt steal her. I saved her,�
I say, trying to sound as lighthearted and friendly as possible while totally disagreeing with him. ―She wasn�Śt yours to save,�
Dio sneers. ―Or yours to take,�
I reply. ―Come on Dio,�
Zeus says, patting his friend on the shoulder. ―This is all just a simple misunderstanding. Zoe�Śs new to the area. She�Śs still figuring things out.�
Dio doesn�Śt seem very appeased by this, but before he says anything else, the squeaky-clean beauty on his arm introduces herself. ―Hi, I�Śm Aphrodite. Ditey to my friends.�
I run through the Greek mythology picture book in my memory and try to remember everything I can about Aphrodite. Love. Beauty. She�Śs like the Victoria�Śs Secret model of the goddesses. What do you say to a girl like that? I am scrambling to improvise and finally blurt out, ―You have amazing highlights.�
Ditey laughs. ―I mean, they�Śre incredible,�
I babble. ―What do you use? Lemon juice? Tea? Honey?�
She looks at me curiously. ―Use?�
―In your hair. For the, uh, highlights.�
Suddenly, her mouth tightens. ―I don�Śt use anything,�
she sniffs. ―You mean that�Śs just natural?�
I must have spinach between my teeth, because Ditey is giving me that condescending stare. Well, look at the good side, I tell myself. If the gods were afraid of you and your powers before, that fear is probably gone by now. Ditey looks at Zeus as if to say, Where did you find this girl? And he tilts his head as if to say, I know what you mean, she’s nuts. The Olympus clique doesn�Śt want anything to do with me. Ditey rolls her eyes, bored of me, and whispers to Dio. I�Śve been here before. Except it�Śs different from Greeley because the gods don�Śt just rule this school; they are this school. All this time we�Śve been in the garden, I haven�Śt seen a single person breeze by. No parents, no teachers, not even a custodian. Everyone who lives up here is standing in front of me, which I guess I should have expected, as everyone knows that only gods live on Mount Olympus. Introductions are over, and everyone walks away from me. Immediately I am reminded of Greeley and its cliques. There are the preps, the wild childs (that�Śs what they call themselves, even though it�Śs bad grammar), the math people (they don�Śt call themselves that, and a lot of them don�Śt even excel at math but rather look as if they do) and the Ones. The Ones are the most powerful. CeeCee is invited in with them occasionally, but she�Śll never really be a member of the Ones because she�Śs not socially ruthless enough. The evidence of this? She keeps me as a friend. Despite attempts by the school to break up the cliques by mashing together different kids during Greeley�Śs ―Annual Collective Weekend,�
it never works. The cliques just reform, stronger than ever. In my experience, a clique is like a ball made of rubber bands. Oh sure, you can sit there and disentangle the bands one by one. But it will take you hours, and when you do eventually separate them, you�Śll find that they are all permanently bent because their time in that ball changed them, fundamentally. They are shaped by the clique and they will never be factory-fresh; the girls with bottomless accounts at J. Crew and blue ribbons in horseback riding will never bend toward the wallflower types who hide in the library drawing pictures of horses. Ares runs off to fetch a leather ball, and as the boys start to play their game, the girls begin a game of their own, the one called Let�Śs Whisper About the New Girl. As always, I stand on my own, grateful only for the fact that the white pants I bought to fit in with people like this are too long and cover my dangerously modern boots. As the boys swat the ball around, I count them again: One two three four five... Zeus makes six. Six boys. Six girls. One me. It doesn�Śt matter if the gods are like the Ones, making up and breaking up within their clique. They�Śre evenly matched, so even if Zeus and Hera aren’t involved right now, they�Śre the only two unattached and so must perpetually be drawn together. I have no place here. An arm sweeps around my shoulder. I look up and it�Śs Zeus. ―You must be tired,�
he says. ―Want to go home?�
―You have no idea.�
He laughs and we head toward one of the marble buildings. ―I�Śm so confused,�
I say, as we walk along the winding mosaic pathway. The tiny stones are brilliantly colored and polished, blues and reds and greens. ―By what?�
―Well�Śnever mind.�
―Look,�
he says and stops. He puts his hands on my shoulders. ―You�Śre safe here. Nobody is going to hurt you. There is a lot to learn, but really, as long as I�Śm here, you�Śre safe. What�Śs that look?�
I glance over at his crew, discreetly watching us. ―I guess I just really understand why you were off by yourself in the woods.�
Finally I�Śve said the right thing. His face breaks into a huge grin. ―Me too, Curly, me too.�
It would be the perfect moment to ask him about Hera, but I can�Śt do it. I�Śll sound psycho and lame. I mean, my first question after meeting his friends can�Śt be of the crazy-jealous nature. It�Śs at that moment that I�Śm reminded that alpha girls like Hera actually can read minds, because suddenly she�Śs standing in front of us, her palms pressed together and her fingertips tapping at her lips. Did she just put on mascara and fluff her hair? Needless to say, Zeus isn�Śt grinning at me or touching my shoulders anymore. ―Z, you�Śre being terribly rude, you know,�
Hera says. She calls him Z. Ugh, shoot me now. ―I�Śm not being rude. Just hang on a second.�
He looks at me. ―I�Śll see you later. Okay?�
Ah, so she is his girlfriend. ―Sure,�
I say. He winks at me. ―Curly.�
Hera reaches for his hand but he pulls away. I make a fool of myself pretending to have missed the little interaction, but Hera knows that I saw it. Her eyes hone in on me. ―Boys are so insensitive, right? Here you are, a mess, your hair scraggly, your skin filthy, your�Śpantaloons dragging and stained. I�Śm sure the last thing you want is some boy looking you up and down.�
I get out one word: ―Um�Ś�
―I�Śm taking him away, sweetie. You can thank me later.�
Zeus goes off with her, looking disturbingly untroubled by the barrage of passive-aggressive insults. I guess all boys, even gods, are kind of dense when it comes to girls like Hera. Once they�Śre gone, I look back at the couple fest on the grass. Apollo grunts, ―Someone has to take care of her or she�Śs just going to stand there staring. Thena?�
I feel like an awkward pre-frosh, my host students arguing over who has to take me to the dining hall. It�Śs a humiliating feeling, going from goddess to nuisance, like an egg you have to babysit for a stupid health class exercise. Athena is plowing my way and for a second I think that maybe I do have a friend. But when I smile, she just continues walking. I follow her anyway, since that�Śs what I guess I am here, a follower. I shouldn�Śt be so surprised. Part of the reason I never liked Greek mythology was that the gods all seemed so unlikable, so impulsive and egotistical. If Zeus is so nice, how does he stand to be around them? Of course it�Śs possible that he�Śs not so nice, that he didn�Śt rescue me, but rather seduced me and enticed me to come up here. And now I�Śm stuck in a vacuous paradise that�Śs not supposed to exist, mind-bendingly far from home. I brush away the scary thought and continue following Athena. As we cross the garden, I spot a small natural pool nearby. The pool seems to be the source of the river that winds its way down Mount Olympus and across the land, reaching as far as the vale of the nymphs, and possibly farther. In the center of the pool sits a pale bluish rock about the size of a man. I can�Śt help but stop and stare. Athena looks at me, looks at the thing and then yanks her sleeves over her hands. ―Are you coming?�
―What is that?�
I ask. ―Oh, don�Śt act like you don�Śt know what that is.�
―But�ŚI don�Śt,�
I reply, confused. ―Why would I know what that is? I�Śve never been here.�
She stares at me, her eyes narrowing, until finally she looks satisfied that I�Śm telling the truth. Then she spins on her heel and walks off, answering me in haughty mid-stride. ―It�Śs nothing. Just a rock. We call it the Petros. Now, are you coming?�
Do I have a choice? Between the togas and the lush, decadent outlay of the mountaintop, I feel like I�Śm at a small college, pledging a sorority, just another freshman rush slogging through the hazing rituals. Oh, if only that were true. Chapter 24 My bedroom is a dungeon. Not literally, mind you, but it�Śs not a suite by any means. Athena is savvy. She moves quickly, pointing out the washroom, the narrow bed, glancing at the minuscule window but not drawing any attention to it. ―Thena, I don�Śt know how to thank you.�
―It�Śs A-thena.�
―I�Śm sorry. I thought I heard someone call you�Ś�
I trail off. She turns sharply. Before she�Śs out the door, she looks down and says, ―There are sandals under the bed, should you like.�
―Oh, thank you, but I�Śm okay.�
Her guard collapses in one fell swoop. ―I�Śm choosy about shoes too. It just doesn�Śt seem like a wise gift, a pair of sandals.�
I think we might be bonding, so I go for it. ―Totally agree. When nobody could possibly know your size.�
―Or your preference.�
―Or the fact that my feet are always cold and I only wear sandals on, like, the hottest day of the year.�
Uh oh. I slipped, and now she�Śs staring at my feet, still hidden by the long pants. ―May I see?�
―My feet are a mess.�
She laughs and it�Śs the kind of laugh that signals irritation. ―I realize that. I�Śm just curious to see your shoes.�
I think of the logo, the modern laces, the steel and plastic pieces, and then I remember the story of Athena and Arachne, the human girl with the loom who made Athena jealous and paid the price for it by spending the rest of her life as a spider. ―I would show you, Athena, but they�Śre so ugly and yours are so beautiful.�
She�Śs got my number; she�Śs not buying it for a second. ―You should rest, Zoe. You don�Śt seem quite fit right now.�
Like a lonely freshman who had thirty-five seconds of conversation with a sophomore who deigned to respond, I lay it on thick. ―Thanks for the talk and thanks for the shoes.�
And she�Śs on her feet and out the door without so much as a goodbye. Because of the desperate, pathetic tone in my voice, I can�Śt even blame her. I�Śm not being myself around these gods and it�Śs a good thing that the way to a man�Śs heart isn�Śt through his friends, because were that the case, my future with Zeus would be positively hopeless. If it�Śs true that I am a god, like kind little Creusa insisted, then shouldn�Śt these other gods welcome me? But now I sound crazy, actually believing that I�Śm a god. Then again, I do have powers... I growl. I need a distraction. Obviously there are no books in here, not in 1000 BC. How is it that I, Little Miss Bookworm, didn�Śt pack a just-in-case-I-travel-through-time-and-need-distraction paperback? I lie on the bed, my arms folded against my chest, and try to figure out my next move. The Oracle said Mount Olympus was waiting for me, but now that I�Śm here, it doesn�Śt even seem to have noticed. If I am ―destined for one true thing,�
as the Oracle told me, I�Śd love to know what it is. Because right now it looks an awful lot like sitting around in a strange room without friends. All that talk about my destiny and my fate and the order of things, and the Oracle can�Śt spare me a single hint? I�Śm in the middle of a real self-pity attack when I hear door open. I sit up. Please god, let it be Zeus. ―Hey, Zoe.�
―Hi, Z,�
I say, relieved, as he appears in the doorway. ―You know,�
he says, his face reddening, ―I actually hate being called �Z.�Ś�
I smile. He likes me. ―Did you get a chance to wash up?�
I stammer and try to climb off the bed but I�Śm moving too fast and I almost fall. ―Um, sort of.�
―Well, if you�Śre busy doing that, I can come back another time.�
―No, I�Śm fine. I�Śm all cleaned up.�
That�Śs right, Zeus. I�Śm actually sort of a slob at heart. Do you still like me?―So it�Śs okay if I come in?�
―Sure.�
He shuts the door and slips out of his cloak. There are those golden wings, folded away. I want to touch them but that would be rude. And I don�Śt want to make him feel like a freak on our first date in Olympus. Oh no. I�Śm calling it a date. ―I have to admit,�
he says, ―I�Śm relieved you�Śre not angry at me.�
―Why would I be angry at you?�
―Well, that wasn�Śt the warmest reception out there.�
―It�Śs okay. I mean, I told you how I�Śm not exactly, you know, a group person.�
―It�Śs not your fault, Zoe. They�Śre just�"I tried to warn you about them but�Ś�
―Yeah, wow. Your friends seem really, um, attached to you.�
―We�Śre just stuck up here together. You know how it is. You mentioned that you�Śve spent time away.�
Yes, Zeus, at a boarding school in Connecticut with around five hundred students and teachers. Not an unreachable palace with twelve spoiled gods and goddesses. ―Look, they�Śre really not as bad as they seem,�
he says. ―Are you trying to convince yourself or are you trying to convince me?�
He looks at me and I can�Śt tell if he�Śs hurt or impressed. I want to tell him that it�Śs simple. He�Śs like the captain of the football team and his friends will never be my friends. But I can�Śt even read his face. Sometimes I think his real power isn�Śt those wings but the power to stop his feelings from appearing on his face. ―You don�Śt have to apologize for your friends,�
I say. ―I�Śm not, really. Hera, she�Śs just a little wary of girls. She argues with everyone. You shouldn�Śt take that personally.�
―The queen bee.�
He takes this in with surprise, clearly never having heard the expression. ―That�Śs a good metaphor.�
―Well, you don�Śt have to worry. I�Śm not going to get all sad because the queen bee thinks I�Śm lame.�
―She doesn�Śt think you�Śre lame.�
―Oh, Zeus, they all think I�Śm lame.�
―That�Śs not true.�
―It�Śs nothing new. Really.�
―They�Śll come around.�
―I don�Śt see it happening.�
He grabs my hand and says, ―I do.�
We�Śve held hands before, but it�Śs different in a bedroom, a locked bedroom. I wish I had put those sandals on. His words ring in my ears, I do. ―You don�Śt have to say that.�
―But I mean it,�
he says. ―They don�Śt know you like I know you.�
Kiss me. Kiss me. KISS. ME. ―Um, do you want me to show you around?�
he asks. ―Sure.�
As we make our way through Olympus, with its sweeping grounds and million-dollar views, I find myself wishing we were just sitting somewhere, because really, I�Śd rather just be looking at him. And his wings, the way they flutter and shimmer�"how do I ignore them? Am I just supposed to act like some guys have wings? We walk for a while, through the gardens, around the temple. My favorite moments are when he thinks we�Śve been caught and we crouch and hide together. He�Śs not like any boy I�Śve ever met. He�Śs a kid at heart and he�Śs not afraid to show it. And it�Śs not like he�Śs immature or something. It�Śs like his boyish fun grew up with him. ―Okay,�
I say, as we pass a field full of purple wildflowers, ―this is going to sound weird but�Ś�
―What?�
―Can I touch them?�
He stares at me. ―Your wings. Can I touch them?�
A fog falls over his face. I�Śve hurt his feelings. ―Are you mad?�
―No. I just�Śbeing with you, one of the reasons it�Śs been so nice is I forget I have them.�
―I�Śm sorry.�
―It�Śs not your fault.�
―It is. I never should have brought it up. I�Śve just, I�Śve never seen anything like it.�
―Well, Zoe,�
he says. ―I�Śve never seen anyone like you. None of us have.�
―What do mean?�
He�Śs walking again and I follow. We�Śre quiet for a few minutes. I�Śm acutely aware that he sidestepped my whole request to touch his wings. Maybe he really doesn�Śt like me. ―No one has appeared with powers in a long time,�
he says quietly. ―Um, except for the twelve of you,�
I reply. He shakes his head. ―We got our powers five hundred years ago, Zoe.�
―Five hundred years ago! That�Śs crazy. You can�Śt be more than seventeen.�
―With power comes immortality.�
―Like a vampire...�
―A what?�
―Never mind. Um, so, you�Śre like�Śfive hundred and seventeen.�
He smiles. ―I never thought of it that way.�
―I hope this doesn�Śt mean you�Śre too old for me,�
I say, and laugh nervously. Oh my god, why did I just say that? I am ready to run off in horror and embarrassment when he pulls two enormous pink leaves off a tree I�Śve never seen in botany books and lays them down. ―Have a seat,�
he says. ―Don�Śt you need to get back?�
I ask, certain that I have scared him away for good. He shakes his head. ―The only place I need to be is here with you.�
So here we are, sitting Indian-style on our leaves, facing each other. I was right. It is a date. Chapter 25 God, he is a fun person to be around, probably because he�Śs so intuitive about what I want. For instance, he takes me to this tiny pond, where perfectly round red fish hop up at random intervals. We play a game of trying to catch the fish. We sit on opposite sides of the little blue pool, clapping our hands together, trying to grasp those fish as they fly, lightning fast, back into the water. The water splashes and we�Śre giggling and I catch a fish and squeal and drop it before I even have a chance to admire its slick, candy-colored surface. I�Śve never needed to do something silly and fun like this so badly in my entire life. ―That�Śs some great timing you have there, Zeus,�
I say with a grin, as he captures one of the little red fish between his hands. ―Well, you�Śre not so bad yourself, Zoe.�
―Well, I�Śm touched, Zeus.�
Yes, we�Śre that couple, the nauseating duo with the perma-grins. And now we�Śre drying off in the sun, lying atop an isolated bank in the grass. The sun is that perfect kind of sun, where you�Śre warm but your eyes don�Śt sting and you don�Śt wish you had sunglasses. It�Śs heaven. For a minute, I worry that I�Śm mistaking the dazzle of Olympus for actual chemistry. This place is jaw-dropping. Maybe I would be happy here with any guy leading me around. I mean, look at this patio on the cliff. It�Śs a view of the world. Who wouldn�Śt be giddy here? As a test, I picture Zeus and me sitting in a dull food court at the mall near school. We�Śd be fine. We�Śd have just as much stuff to talk about. ―Zeus, can I ask you something?�
―Sure.�
―How did you get your powers?�
―It was a long time ago,�
he says. ―Yeah, I know that. But how?�
He shakes off the question. ―It�Śs complicated. I�Śll tell you about it another time.�
He turns to face me. ―What about you?�
―Well, I just got them, I guess. Has it been a week yet? Let�Śs see�Ś day one, nymph defense. Day two, chased by wild two-headed dogs. Day three�Śhonestly, it�Śs hard to keep track,�
I say, and smile. But Zeus doesn�Śt smile back. He seems serious, more serious than I�Śve seen him yet. ―And�Śhow did you get them?�
I shrug. ―They just�Śshowed up,�
I say, squinting at him. ―Why?�
But he doesn�Śt answer me. He just does that guy-not-listening thing and climbs up off the ground. ―Are you okay?�
―You really don�Śt know how you got your powers? Or you won�Śt tell me?�
he says. ―What are you talking about?�
I say. ―Nothing. It�Śs just�Śforget it.�
He sighs. He�Śs bored of me. He�Śs annoyed. I never should have started asking questions about his powers. ―You just don�Śt know what it�Śs like, Zoe. For five hundred years we can do anything we want. No one can stop us. And then one day, without warning, you show up. And suddenly you can do anything too.�
―But I don’t do anything I want,�
I say. ―I�Śm not Dio.�
―Look, my friends aren�Śt jerks. I know you don�Śt like Dio but you can�Śt judge him until you�Śve been up here for five hundred years. And on some level, we must have done something right, because the humans down there, they�Śre all still trying to please us.�
―Zeus, no offense, but you sound kind of smug.�
―I�Śm just defending my friends.�
―Well, can�Śt you admit that maybe Dio�Śs gotten a little out of control if he�Śs ordering little nymphs killed for no reason?�
―He didn�Śt order her to be killed. He ordered her to be captured. And why do you think I was off wandering the forest in disguise in the first place? I was trying to stop it. We�Śre not monsters, Zoe.�
He walks away and it would be so easy to run down the mountain, away from him, just let the earth carry me down. But I owe myself more. I owe us more. ―I�Śm sorry,�
I say. ―I didn�Śt mean to criticize you and your friends. It�Śs just, every time you talk about how close you all are, I feel a little more alone. I mean, when we met, you were talking about how you were bored of them. But up here, it�Śs like you�Śre totally�Ś�
―Different. I know.�
―You do?�
―That�Śs what�Śs so hard about it, Zoe. All these frustrations I�Śve kept inside because I have no one up here to talk about it with. And then I opened up to you and I brought you up here, and of course part of me feels very guilty about that.�
―Maybe I really should go,�
I say. There�Śs silence in the tall grass and it�Śs all my fault. I bit his head off. I�Śm impatient and jealous and I should have read all CeeCee�Śs magazines and learned about how to talk to boys because obviously I don�Śt know how. Zeus is going to walk away from me just like I walked away from Columbia Darren, because that�Śs karma for you. I don�Śt belong anywhere, especially here, in this place that looks like the romance novels in the way back of the school library. Greeley. Aunt Sophia. Uncle Alex. Home. I feel so alone. ―You can�Śt go,�
Zeus says. ―Why not?�
―Because.�
―Because why?�
―Because they won�Śt let you, Zoe. And together, with all their powers, they can do anything.�
They won�Śt let me? My lips start quivering. This is easily the worst, multi-tiered letdown I�Śve ever experienced. Zeus isn�Śt telling me to stay because of him, because he�Śll miss me and wants me close to him. He�Śs telling me to stay because his friends are dangerous. They can do anything they want. They can even kill me. Chapter 26 Zeus reaches forward and grazes my necklace. ―Don�Śt worry. It�Śs not as bad as it sounds,�
he says. ―If worst comes to worst, you could always bribe the goddesses with jewelry, you know.�
I smack him on the arm, grateful that he knew I needed to laugh. He flexes his shoulders and his golden wings unfurl and then he�Śs airborne, zooming up and into a large window. When he comes back, he�Śs carrying a board of some kind and chalk. ―What is that for?�
―Gods and goddesses school is now in session,�
he says with a grin. ―Are you ready for your first lesson?�
He�Śs the most adorable boy ever. ―Let�Śs start with Zeus,�
I say. ―Zeus, god of the sky,�
he says, as seriously and teacherly as he can. ―As you might have noticed, Zeus can fly.�
―Should I be writing this down?�
He grins. ―Zeus also makes very impressive lightning bolts, if I do say so myself.�
―What a modest god is Zeus.�
He laughs. ―Okay, moving on, we have Hera.�
―The nicest girl ever, so sweet, really.�
He points at me and I zip my lip shut. I�Śm so grateful that sarcasm was invented long before modern times. ―Hera�Śs power is over darkness, over nightfall. She can shape and manipulate it.�
―Darkness?�
I had always read that Hera was the goddess of marriage and childbirth. Then again, from what I�Śve seen so far, darkness is a better fit. ―Okay,�
I nod. ―Who else?�
―Well, Persephone has the best powers, if you ask me. She controls the seasons. The seasons are the backbone of everything.�
―I never thought of it that way. But it�Śs true,�
I say, realizing that if summer never came, I would never go on digs, would never have come to Greece, would never have met him. ―She works really hard. Anyway�"�
―Wait. Works hard? There are four seasons. How hard can that be?�
―Look up.�
All I see is what I�Śve already seen, the same placid blue ceiling of sky, the same fluffy harmless clouds. I don�Śt know what I�Śm supposed to be seeing. ―Seasons are always changing,�
Zeus says. ―The first day of summer is the beginning of the end of summer.�
―That�Śs deep.�
―Well, you know, five hundred years.�
Something shifts in me. I worry that I�Śm too young for him even though we�Śre the same age. He�Śs looking around again and I�Śm afraid to ask what he�Śs looking for. This boy isn�Śt a boy. He�Śs a man with five hundred more years of experience than me. That�Śs a long time, and I suddenly feel young and foolish. ―Hey, Zoe.�
―Yes.�
―Um,�
he blushes. ―I can�Śt remember what I was going to say.�
―Happens to me all the time.�
―Really? Because it doesn�Śt happen to me that much.�
I know enough to not say anything in return. He was definitely flirting and it�Śs definitely my moment to savor it and smile, unsure of where to go from here and excited about being so unsure, about caring so much. Maybe being a teenager is like running in place. You could do it for four years, you could do it for five hundred years, but you�Śd never really get anywhere new, you would just stay there forever. We�Śve moved on to the gardens and we�Śre standing under the cover of a plum tree. Zeus is right. Though I don�Śt want to overdo it, I could go on about these plums for centuries. I didn�Śt know plums could be this perfect, firm to the touch but exploding with juice and flavor. They are the definition of ―ripeness.�
At Greeley, all the fruit is either a day old or a day short of being ripe. I almost wish Zeus would walk away for just one minute, because if I put my mind to it and didn�Śt care, I could probably eat ten plums in a row. ―Persephone, she is really amazing with the gardens, right?�
―This isn�Śt even like a plum. Well, it�Śs like a plum, only better.�
―She�Śs spent five hundred years learning exactly how long each season should last in order to maximize the flavor and taste and nutrients of the fruit.�
Grrr. It seems like it�Śs always coming back to the goddesses. If I compliment the fruit, he starts talking about Persephone. I make an observation about the light shifting; he starts droning on about the beautiful layers and complications of Hera�Śs dark side. I marvel at the statue of a man; he tells me that Dio is a genius artist. I mean, can�Śt a girl just eat a plum without hearing about the goddess who made it? ―Does she do that for the humans?�
―What do you think?�
I toss my pit into the bushes. ―I�Śm gonna guess no, because I�Śve never had a plum this good.�
―She would never do that for the humans. She views them as weak and dull. And everyone, everyone�Śs so convinced that if they give anything to humans without asking for a sacrifice, that the humans will become spoiled and destructive.�
―That�Śs kind of snobby.�
―Well, it�Śs not entirely untrue.�
Here we go. I cross my arms. ―Zeus, you know that I’m human.�
He flashes that mischievous smile again, and oh sometimes I wish he wasn�Śt so cute. ―Whatever you say, Zoe.�
He starts walking again. I�Śm torn. I want to tell him about where I come from. I want to show him my iPhone and tell him about the dig and my aunt and uncle as I watch him stretch and spread his wings. If I don�Śt open up to him, we will never really, truly know each other. But how can I? Sure, he can accept me with powers, but that�Śs because he has powers too. But a girl from the future? ―You coming?�
he calls out. Sometimes, there�Śs nothing to do but keep walking. ―So,�
I say. ―You were gonna take a break to talk about the fun stuff. You know, who�Śs with who.�
―I was?�
I laugh and say, ―No, but will you?�
He scans the garden. ―I don�Śt know, it�Śs just not that interesting to me. After five hundred years of breakups and make-ups, you sort of start to lose track.�
I get it. I can�Śt imagine listening to CeeCee talk about boys for five hundred years. But I have to know his history with Hera, and I can�Śt bring myself to ask him outright. ―Oh, come on. You can give me a little juice. Can�Śt you?�
I must have batted my eyelashes just the right way, an obvious miracle, because suddenly I�Śm getting the whole romantic history of the Olympic gods. What an incestuous little group they are! They remind me of the Ones at Greeley. At some point or another, everyone has dated everyone. I lose track of the stories. Somehow, I expected it all to be more interesting because of their powers. But it�Śs just like listening to girls in the bathroom gossip about the latest dramas on campus. And it�Śs nice in a way, because I feel less intimidated. Let�Śs face it. For all their magical powers and their five hundred years of experience, they are, at the end of the day, no different from normal teenagers. I feel closer to Zeus than ever. And then he starts in about Aphrodite�Śs amazing power of emotions, how she sees to it that all humans learn to deal with different feelings, how she intuitively knows how to challenge people. At first, I don�Śt mind that he�Śs gushing over yet another goddess. After all, isn�Śt it a sign that he�Śs a strong man who isn�Śt threatened by powerful women? He didn�Śt run from me when he saw what I could do. Breathe, Zoe. Jealousy is an unattractive quality, and in some ways these girls are just like you. They have powers. But then again, they�Śre really not like me. They�Śve been practicing for five hundred years and he�Śs got me here and doesn�Śt even know where I�Śm from, and yet all he wants to talk about is how incredible these goddesses are. Now he�Śs moved on to Artemis, the hippie chick, and her ―boundless�
creativity with animals. He can�Śt say enough about Artemis and her flair for all things wilderness; how smart she was to create this unison in color between animals and the terrain and to invent hunting. I mean, what have I done with my powers? I saved my own butt�"and Creusa�Śs�"and made a necklace. God, I�Śm so intimidated. When he starts in on Persephone, who reminds me of the environmental fanatics on campus, with their dreadlocks and their unshaven legs, I hit my breaking point. The green-eyed monster bites. Hard. ―Zeus, I get it. Your girlfriends are all really cool. And powerful. And unique. Now maybe you could talk about the boys for once?�
His face falls, ―Sorry. I didn�Śt mean to upset you.�
―You didn�Śt, but you have to admit, you barely talk about the guys.�
―Well, I guess I never get a chance to talk about the girls because�Ś�
His voice trails off. He looks around nervously. ―Anyway, the guys.�
As he talks, we enter an open building with sky blue walls and an indoor waterfall. I tune Zeus out for a moment and feel the cool wind blow in from the enormous windows. A tiny red bird flies in and I can�Śt believe it�Śs just a bird; it could be a spy conjured by Artemis. Creusa was right. Nothing is what it seems. The way Greeley girls analyze four-word text messages as if there is deeper meaning, I now have to accept that no bird is just a bird. No cloud is just a cloud. I reach for his hand and squeeze it because his hand is all I trust. He stops talking and squeezes back. ―Hi, Zoe.�
―Hi, Zeus.�
―Hi, Curly.�
―Hi, Blondie.�
This is it, our first kiss. But we don�Śt kiss. Instead we just hold each other with our eyes, for seconds that span hours. I can see the flecks of gold in his irises and feel his gaze memorizing me. I�Śve kissed boys before. But this is a whole new world. And then, we�Śre on our way again. And as nice as it was, I still wish we had kissed. Chapter 27 Zeus is, shall we say, just a little more critical when it comes to his guy friends. I hear about Hades and how annoying he can be, out of control, acting as if fire is more important than anything, playfully punishing humans, wiping out their homes, asking them to set fires for him. And then Poseidon, well, he�Śs no better, the way he cavalierly strikes up rogue waves, claiming that humans must fear and respect the ocean, when really, what he wants is for them to fear and respect him. If you ask Zeus, Hermes acts like one of the bad boys. She�Śs just a thief at heart. She�Śs that girl who, if you left her in your dorm room for ten minutes, you�Śd come back and your iPod would be gone. And at the same time, you have to deal with her because she�Śll get anywhere faster than you. As the messenger of the gods, she keeps the humans informed of what�Śs happening on Olympus�"the demands of the gods, their pleasure or displeasure. Zeus doesn�Śt have to tell me that there is plenty of power in being a messenger. Hermes is like a super powered gossip girl. Especially since Zeus says she�Śs prone to exaggeration. For example, he tells me that all Dio said was for his followers to capture a nymph. But Hermes went and changed the message and the next thing you know, Creusa is under attack in the village center. Zeus waits for me to say something forgiving about his friend Dio, but I�Śm not ready to let him off the hook for what he did to Creusa. To be honest, I�Śm not really convinced that capturing a nymph is all that much nicer. He still wanted her attacked in public, in front of all these people. It sounds to me like Dio is just as bad as Hermes. When I tell Zeus this, he looks at me and says, ―I wouldn�Śt be so quick to judge the gods, Zoe. Power�Śs not an easy thing to carry. You�Śll see.�
I let it go. This is exactly what I don�Śt understand about cliques. It always seems to turn out that nobody actually really likes each other. But the moment you say anything critical about someone in the clique, the same person who�Śs been trashing them jumps to their defense. ―Zoe, it�Śs not going to be easy for you here. If I sound harsh, it�Śs only because I worry for you. And at the same time, I�Śm frustrated because I worry for my friends.�
―Oh right, like they would ever need protection from me.�
―You know�Śyou can be scary, Zoe.�
―What?!�
I go into defensive mode. I huff and pull back and tear at my cowlick even though it�Śs not being unruly. ―That�Śs the stupidest thing I ever heard. There is absolutely nothing scary about me. I�Śm not the one with a gang to back me up!�
―We�Śre not a gang,�
he snaps, getting exasperated. ―We�Śre friends. We�Śve been together for five hundred years, Zoe.�
―Yeah, you mentioned that. You guys are tight. I get it.�
―So of course it�Śs hard for us to let you in,�
he says, ignoring my sarcasm. ―And on top of that, you won�Śt even tell us where you come from. You just show up one day, a total mystery.�
Something in his words stings and I run my hand over my scar. He said ―us.�
He aligned with them over me. I whimper and he comes to me and he hugs me and I stifle my tears. I can smell him and feel his arms and his warmth but it�Śs no matter because even in his arms I�Śm alone. He pulls away suddenly. I watch as he walks off toward the bushes. ―Hera! Over here!�
he calls out. And now Hera and Persephone and a few of the others approach. The guys have that stupid ball again and they�Śve already got Zeus in a game. This isn�Śt how I wanted the date to end and I don�Śt like the way he changes as soon as his friends appear. He�Śs not telling them what a great time we just had strolling about Olympus. It�Śs like I don�Śt exist. Hera links arms with me and whispers, ―Zeus can be a bit much, right?�
The truth is that I�Śm not sure what to make of anything right now. Maybe he wasn�Śt gazing into my eyes; maybe I�Śm a fool and he�Śs playing me. It�Śs so hard to know what�Śs real around these people because, as I�Śm learning, the only thing scarier and more capricious than teenagers are teenagers who�Śve been teenagers for five hundred years. Hera pats my arm as if as she�Śs the senior varsity captain to my JV with a sprained ankle and a bad attitude. ―Z,�
she says. ―If you�Śre all done with your hosting duties, we�Śre ready to have the meeting now.�
He doesn�Śt look at me, which implies that he really does view our date as some sort of a charity event, a hosting commitment. I don�Śt think things can get any worse, but then Hermes steps in front of me. ―It�Śs time for you to go,�
she says. ―I thought maybe I could go to the meeting�Ś�
She sneers, ―Well, Zoe, if you went to the meeting, we wouldn�Śt be able to talk about you.�
A shiver runs down my spine and she laughs at me, hard. A few of the other gods giggle too. I realize that Zeus is already gone. Hera too. ―Relax,�
Hermes says, and presses her hand against my upper back as she leads me to my quarters. It�Śs all happening too fast. I was wrong to squirrel away with Zeus like that. Now they�Śre all going to meet and decide to burn me on the top of the mountain or just hurl me off the edge into outer space. Will I ever learn to accept the fact that life is all about groups? Here I�Śve been wandering around with a guy who might not even like me, and in doing so, I�Śve alienated the people who control my fate. ―Hermes, if there�Śs any way that I could just go to the meeting for a little while,�
I plead. ―Just to sit in. Just a few minutes even.�
―Why do you want to go so badly?�
―Because I want to talk with all of you. I want to learn about you guys. Get to know you.�
―Seems to us like you wanted to run off with Z.�
We�Śve reached the door and she yanks it open and I step inside, my head hanging like a prisoner�Śs. The door slams shut. Chapter 28 At Greeley, I hate it when the legacies and the seniors act like they�Śre superior just because they�Śve been there longer. I don�Śt buy into that in my real life and I certainly won�Śt do it here. If the gods want to have a meeting and talk about me, then they can have their little meeting. But it doesn�Śt mean that I can�Śt join them. I�Śm powerful, right? I can do whatever I want too. Okay, marble wall, give me a tunnel. The wall gives way slowly, the marble crumbling and turning into itself as it splits apart. I enter the tunnel and I�Śm much less scared this time around�"it�Śs not so frightening when you�Śve built the tunnel yourself. Or maybe I�Śm just becoming a braver person. Suddenly, I hear Zeus through the wall. I stop short. He�Śs not happy. ―Hera, you had no right to use the power of darkness against her.�
―That�Śs not for you to say.�
―It�Śs not part of the trials to send her into a black hole.�
―I did it for the safety of us all. You should be the one to apologize. For using your powers to save a dangerous imposter.�
The peanut gallery explodes in objections, grunts. Or is that just the sound of my heart skipping? ―Silence!�
Zeus shouts, and the room goes quiet. ―She is a god. She is no different from us. We must bring her into our ranks where she rightfully belongs.�
Hera huffs, ―She will never be one of us.�
―You�Śre wrong.�
―Oh really, Z? Then explain something to me. Where do her powers come from?�
―I�Śdon�Śt know,�
Zeus says quietly. ―Exactly. If her powers came from the Petros, as ours do, we would know how to deal with her. How to�Ścontrol her.�
The Petros? Wait, their powers come from that bluish rock? Why didn�Śt Zeus just tell me that? ―But as this girl�Śs powers do not come from the Petros,�
Hera says, getting louder, like a trial lawyer delivering her final remarks, ―then we must treat those powers as a threat. You cannot trust a power if you don�Śt know where it comes from!�
They clap and hoot in agreement, raging and booing me. Zeus is trying to speak but they�Śre shouting over him: ―She could be evil!�
―She could destroy us all!�
―If not from the Petros, then from what?�
Hera must have moved from where she was originally standing, because she sounds closer now, as if she�Śs right on the other side of the wall. ―You see, Zeus. She is too dangerous. Too unpredictable.�
Dangerous? Unpredictable? These words have never been used to describe me. They sound like the names of celebrity perfumes. Hades, whose voice I would recognize anywhere, says, ―Friends, I have no bloodlust in my heart. But if this girl learned how to use Lioste, we would be unable to stop her.�
One of the goddesses cries out: ―She could enslave us!�
Another goddess: ―She could kill us!�
It�Śs an outright town meeting upheaval now, with gasps and shrieks. And there is nothing I can do except say it aloud, ―Lioste,�
wondering what it could mean and how it could terrify a horde of gods. ―Enough!�
shouts Zeus, and the group quiets down again. ―You�Śre all forgetting one thing. She is nothing like us.�
―Well that�Śs what I�Śve been trying to say,�
Hera purrs. I mutter, ―Oh shut it, Hera.�
―She is nothing like us because she comes to us alone,�
he says. ―She has not spent centuries with us, learning together, hiding together, working together. You act as if she is an enemy, but she did not come to Olympus for power. Or revenge. She came here looking for a home.�
Oh, Zeus. You�Śre right and you�Śre wrong and you�Śre choosing me over them and this is not my home�Ś But could it be? He goes on. ―You all look down on the humans when they behave this way, when they gang up on one another. What are we if we do this to one of our own? We would be no better than humans. It is our obligation to set an example. If we cast Zoe aside simply because we don�Śt know her yet, then we cast humanity aside. And for what? Because we were afraid of someone like us? Because she didn�Śt grow up with us? Because she arrives from somewhere else?�
I bring my hand to my necklace. Zeus, you saved me again. But before I can celebrate being accepted by the twelve, Hera clears her throat, and I cringe. ― If her intentions were pure, as you say they are,�
Hera says, ―then she would not hide the source of her powers. She would not hide where she comes from. The girl that you wish to accept as one of us is nothing but a hoarder of secrets.�
―She is�Śprivate,�
Zeus says, but even I can tell that he�Śs lost the argument. ―There is no privacy amongst us,�
Hera crows. Hermes starts to speak, but I can barely hear her. I shift aside some more marble and crawl another ten feet through the tunnel. I make a slim opening in the marble wall and, peering through it, I can see the twelve of them standing by the small natural pool with the Petros. Suddenly, my phone buzzes. Are you serious, universe? I�Śm really gonna get reception here, in a marble tunnel on top of Mount Olympus? But when I pull out my phone, it�Śs still switched off. My pocket continues to vibrate. Tentatively, I reach in. Could it be a bug? Did something nasty crawl in there? I pull out the obolus. It�Śs vibrating and straining itself toward the crack, as if it�Śs magnetized. I stare at it in confusion, as the faint blue light from the obolus casts cool shadows around the small tunnel. What could be drawing it? Is it the gods? But the obolus never reacted to them before. And the only other thing out there is the pool, and it hasn�Śt reacted like that to water either. And then I understand. It�Śs attracted to the Petros in the center of the pool. Only it�Śs not just attracted to it�"it�Śs the same material. The obolus is made from the Petros. I really am just like them, one of the gods. Suddenly, they all start to move away from the pool. They�Śre chatting and murmuring amongst themselves. The meeting is over. Oh no. I have to get back to the room before they find me missing. It�Śs hard to turn around while crouched in the tunnel. I�Śm awkward on my hands and knees and I�Śm huffing and puffing. Surely one of them is headed directly to my room. Hopefully it will be Zeus and he can tell me all about the meeting and I can pretend I didn�Śt hear any of it and he can say all those nice things about me in person and we can run away together and live happily ever after. But if it�Śs not Zeus? I scramble down the tunnel. If I don�Śt get there first, they�Śll know that I snuck out, and I hear someone approaching from the hallway outside. There is a click as a hand turns the lock and, in sheer panic, I fling myself out of the tunnel and onto the floor, and as the door swings open, I command the tunnel to seal shut fast fast now! Hera stands in the doorway, like some sort of human punishment. She looks down at me, crumpled on the floor, sweating and out of breath, and lifts her perfect little nose into the air. ―Sweetie, you look even worse than you did before.�
―Hello, Hera,�
I say, forcing myself to be civil. ―How was the meeting?�
―Oh, never mind that. We�Śre all just so excited you�Śre here. We�Śre going to talk more in the morning.�
I nod. She tilts her head to one side and smiles a big cheerleader smile. ―You know, Zoe, I think we got off on the wrong foot.�
Oh my goddess, she�Śs really gonna try this? ―No, no we didn�Śt,�
I said. ―Oh yes we did,�
she says, entering the room and standing across from me. ―It�Śs my fault. I�Śm sorry. Let�Śs start over. What do you say?�
It�Śs a fascinating thing about being an outsider. Sometimes, even when you know the insiders have said terrible things about you behind your back, you can�Śt help but feel good when they�Śre nice to you in person. To be fair, there�Śs a big part of me that wants to believe that Hera really is good at heart. Hey, I can be mean when I�Śm jealous too. ―It�Śs my fault too,�
I say. ―I should have, um, tried to hang out with everyone.�
She links her arm through mine and her voice becomes as soft as a kindergarten teacher�Śs. ―Now, if I know Z, he probably talked your ear off and didn�Śt so much as offer you a sip to drink?�
―Well, I guess I haven�Śt had anything in a while.�
―Oh, you must come with me, then, you dear parched girl. Z could drive someone nuts with his talking. Talk, talk, talk. He�Śs unreal sometimes.�
―I guess so.�
―Zoe,�
she says. ―It�Śs why all the little human girls turn to mush when he so much as smiles at them. Zeus is afflicted with this terrible, terrible universal pity for all earthly women that he repeatedly mistakes for love.�
She squeezes my forearm and pats my hand. I don�Śt say anything. Chapter 29 Hera�Śs room isn�Śt so much a room as a stage, a performance space. There are no posters on the walls, no books, no gum wrappers on the floor and there�Śs something beautiful but decidedly un-adolescent about it all. How do you live in here? I mean, what happens if you drip hot fudge on the floor? Hera passes me a goblet and when I bring it to my nose and breathe in, I feel better already. I take a sip, looking around the room in awe. The place is bigger than the common room at Greeley, bigger than the senior suites I might never see. It�Śs an apartment, really, and I don�Śt know anyone my age who has her own apartment. So I�Śm standing there gaping at the sheer sprawl of it. There are chaise lounges and drapes everywhere and everything is a perfect shade of white. I believe they call it ecru in online catalogs. I believe they call it the color that flatters Hera�Śs honey-hewed skin. I believe they call it woefully unjust that she gets to live like this and my awe and envy are written all over my face. ―Amazing, right?�
she asks. ―Uh huh.�
It feels like she�Śs laughing at me but I�Śm probably just feeling insecure and out of place, so I tell myself to play it cool. I sip from my goblet, savoring the taste of the sweet tea. A cool breeze flits across my face. God, but the cross ventilation in the room is the stuff of dreams. I�Śve never been anywhere more beautiful or breathable in my entire life. ―Anywhere you want to sit, dear. Just try to keep your feet off the settee.�
I nod agreeably. I have no intention of propping my feet up and putting my modern-looking boots on display. Of course, my attempts to keep my boots hidden only backfire, as Hera instantly notices the way I tuck my feet out of sight behind the settee�"though luckily she misinterprets the reason behind my reluctance. ―Oh don�Śt be embarrassed,�
she tells me. ―Anyone�Śs boots would be filthy after what you�Śve been through.�
She gives me a patronizing smile. It�Śs a smile that could sell beauty products; it says, You’ll never be elegant like me, but if you spend forty dollars on face cream, at least you’ll feel a little better. Don�Śt let her get to you, Zoe. It�Śs ridiculous of Hera to be so bold about her authority. She�Śs my age. But then again, she�Śs been my age for a lot longer than I have. I shiver as the nastiness I just overheard jumps back into my head, the way she wanted me gone, her disgust at my presence here, and it�Śs as if she can read minds, because she appears now like some fawn in a Disney movie: ―Zoe, are you mad at me?�
―I�Śm just�Śupset.�
―You�Śre mad at me,�
she says with a wounded air. ―It�Śs not fair.�
―Not fair? You were pretty hostile, Hera.�
―Holding a grudge is pretty juvenile. If I can get over it, don�Śt you think you should be able to also?�
Ah, the old passing the baton of nastiness. So she�Śs not a jerk for being mean to be, but rather I�Śm a jerk for being hurt. This is why I spend so much time in the library. My heart is beating too fast and I�Śm not good at debating stuff like this. I�Śd rather be discussing archeological ethics. ―Hera, I heard what you said at the meeting.�
―Did you now? And how did that little accident happen?�
―Well, I went�Ś I mean, I was�Ś�
―I think the word you�Śre looking for is eavesdropping.�
She flips her perfectly straight dark hair over her shoulder. ―So you heard what I said and, what? It upset you?�
I swallow. ―A lot.�
―That makes perfect sense, dear.�
Again that annoying ―dear.�
―The reason it makes sense is that we loathe in others what we loathe most in ourselves,�
she says and walks away, as if she�Śs won the battle. Feeling dizzy, I take another sip from the goblet. Then I sit down on the nearest plush lounge chair to try to relax. I must look funny the way I�Śm sitting, upright, my legs crossed at the ankles, my arms crossed and the tea perched awkwardly on my left elbow. So I can�Śt blame her for laughing. ―There is nothing to be nervous about,�
she moons, elegantly sliding onto another lounge chair. She props herself up on her elbow like a girl in one of those misleading TV ads for the casinos in Connecticut, where they are trying to convince you that everyone there is rich, beautiful and incapable of losing. ―I�Śm not nervous.�
―Zoe, we�Śre both guilty of trying to protect the ones we love.�
―Who am I trying to protect?�
―That�Śs just the question I was hoping you�Śd answer.�
―Well�Śhow can I open up to you after you�Śve just made it pretty clear that you don�Śt want anything to do with me.�
―Oh, Zoe. It�Śs adorable to think that you would have that kind of an impact on me.�
Ouch. ―That you would matter so much so instantaneously.�
Double ouch. ―But it�Śs not you I�Śm upset about. You�Śre just an issue that my friends and I have to deal with.�
―I�Śm an issue?�
Damn, she�Śs good. She would rule Greeley if she transferred midyear as a senior. ―Now listen. What you heard in there was our business. It wasn�Śt meant for your ears so it probably sounded terrible to you.�
―It didn�Śt sound good. I can tell you that.�
―But you seem like a very wise little girl.�
Little girl? Ugh. ―So I know that you�Śre wise enough to realize that if a stranger were to appear in your home, you, in turn, would gather with your own friends and try to protect one another.�
―Maybe I�Śd just ask her where she�Śs from first.�
―Okay. Where are you from, Zoe?�
I redden. Somehow I never saw that question coming. I need to take over this conversation now. I look around at the ridiculous opulence of the room and trill, ―Your place is gorgeous.�
―I know.�
I fight back an eye roll. There are a couple of girls at school that do that too. When you pay them a compliment, they don�Śt say ―thank you�
; they say, ―Yes, it is,�
as if your very existence and opinions are superfluous. But maybe I�Śm oversensitive. I take a sip from the goblet. As I move to rest it on the arm of the chair, I �accidentally�Ś spill half the tea on my legs. ―Oh no! I�Śm so sorry,�
I say. ―I spilled tea everywhere.�
―Don�Śt worry. You�Śre not the only clumsy girl in the world,�
she simpers, tossing me a linen napkin. ―And besides, I have more ambrosia.�
I�Śve been corrected and I feel stupid and I lift my glass and she refills it from the impossibly cool and unique little kettle. I�Śd love to be one of those girls with an eye for stuff like that. I wonder if she found it at a flea market in town, and then I remember that it�Śs not an antique, because we�Śre in ancient Greece and it�Śs 1000 BC. Why can�Śt I seem to find my footing? I feel like I�Śm walking along a foggy precipice, about to lose my step at any point. ―You must be so run-down from your travels.�
―Do I look that bad?�
She just tilts her head. ―Well,�
I laugh. ―It�Śs been a rough few days, to say the least.�
I sip some more of the ambrosia. The tiles on the floor look Mexican and it occurs to me that I might be sitting in the origin of fashion and design. Did all styles of the world come from this one place, this one lofty apartment in the clouds? I never get like this, all indulgently philosophical, like one of those hippies who says that you can hear all colors of the rainbow euphonically represented in Led Zeppelin�Śs II if you listen to it while standing on your head with your eyes closed. Maybe it�Śs the combination of ambrosia, butter soft pillows, and heaven-scented air, all helping me to unwind. ―You are an interesting girl,�
Hera says. And she�Śs got me now, because in this state of mind, I�Śd love to talk about me. I want to know how I come off. I want a genie or a mean girl to analyze me and tell me what I am, why I�Śm here. ―What�Śs so interesting about me?�
―You look to the walls and to the floor with this searching, lost gaze when here I sit and yet you don�Śt want to look at me and ask me for answers. It�Śs puzzling, Zoe.�
―I�Śm sorry.�
―You are afraid and insecure. There is nothing to be sorry about.�
―I�Śm not afraid.�
Wait, why didn�Śt I say I�Śm not insecure? ―Then tell me what is wrong.�
I take another sip and look out the large bay window. Trees I can�Śt name dance in the breeze. The branches rise and fall and I can�Śt help but feel like they�Śre telling me to lighten up, to open up. Maybe Hera is right. What�Śs the harm in talking a little? ―Zoe, you are amongst the gods. We are worshipped as the masters of your world. Have you any idea what others would give to sit where you are now? It is silly of you to waste this opportunity for enlightenment just because you�Śre upset over a boy who could never be yours anyhow.�
―Oh, no. This is not about Zeus.�
―I saw the way you were with him. I�Śve seen it a thousand times, you know.�
―You have?�
―Look at him. He�Śs the most beautiful man in the world. And do you know why that is?�
I shake my head. ―Because he�Śs not a man. He�Śs a god. And so often young girls like you mistake his politeness and his charity for something else.�
―He saw me naked, you know,�
I snap. Love is annoying like that. It takes away your sense of humor and self-preservation. Hera doesn�Śt react. Did I actually say that out loud? Oh God. ―I was swimming. In a lake. And when I came out, he was watching me. Then he helped me get my things and he asked me out on a date.�
―A date?�
―Yeah, you know, he asked me to spend the day with him.�
―Because you were lost.�
―Because he liked me.�
She sips her drink and eyes me carefully. ―Why were you wandering around the forest?�
―Just something to do, I guess.�
―Does your family know where you are?�
―My parents are dead.�
Did I just say that out loud too? What�Śs happening to me? ―I�Śm so sorry for your loss,�
she says blithely. ―It happened when I was young. I�Śve had many years to adjust.�
Another safe reveal. I�Śm fine, really, and I take a sip. Hera tilts her head to the side. She makes a sad expression and brings her hand to her heart. ―A loss like that, it must change you,�
she says. ―To have no family.�
―Well, I spend my summers with my aunt and uncle.�
She rises to refill my goblet again. How many goblets of ambrosia have I had so far? But before I can count them, Hera is talking again. ―They�Śre not your parents, though, are they? They can�Śt replace them.�
She sighs. ―My parents are long gone as well. The gods, they�Śre my family now.�
―Aunt Sophia and Uncle Alex are pretty great actually. I mean, they�Śre archeologists so�"�
With great effort, I force myself to rein it in. Archeologists? Are you crazy, Zoe? I don�Śt understand why I�Śm so anxious to talk about myself. I never get like this; I�Śm usually very private. It�Śs a little freaky, this sudden urgency to bring it all back to my story. ―Now, Zoe, if your aunt and uncle�Śwhat did you say their names were?�
―Sophia and Alex,�
I reply. It seems like a safe enough answer. ―Sophia and Alex must be missing you terribly right now. Because you don�Śt seem like the kind of girl who wanders off on her own very often.�
―Well�Ś�
She smiles. She�Śs all teeth and big eyes. It�Śs a fake smile. We learned about those in psychology class last year, how you can tell when a smile is genuine if the eyes crinkle and the gums show. I take another sip of ambrosia. My face feels hot. Wait, what were we just talking about? Oh right. Me! ―Hera, I actually do wander off a lot. But usually I don�Śt go quite this far away.�
―Oh, are you very far from home now?�
―Yeah,�
I laugh, feeling a giggle come on. ―Yeah, you could say that.�
―How far?�
Don�Śt say it, Zoe. You can�Śt say it. ―The farthest you can be from home.�
―You�Śll have to be more specific than that, dear. I�Śm very well traveled.�
With a grin, I slide my feet onto the floor and prepare to blow Hera�Śs high and mighty attitude right out of the water. ―Well, I think I might be a little more well traveled than you, dear. Because I�Śm from the future.�
Chapter 30 Here�Śs what I hoped would happen. I hoped that Hera would roll her eyes and say it�Śs ridiculous and just move on to another subject. But the problem is that she believes me and now I have an open forum to tell my story. And for some reason, I can�Śt help myself. So I�Śm telling her all about what happened, how my uncle uncovered the temple and I snuck off and found the coin and put it on the giant iPhone and then there was a storm and I wound up traveling thousands of years back to now. Hera just nods. So I go on and tell her all about the future, about airplanes and the Internet and Greeley and archeology and cars and TV and she�Śs still just nodding. Does nothing impress this girl? ―Oh my goodness,�
I say. ―In all my rambling I�Śve forgotten to tell you the most important part.�
―What�Śs that, dear?�
―In the future, you don�Śt exist.�
She blinks, startled. For the first time, I seem to have gotten her attention. ―Impossible,�
she says. ―You�Śre just a story. They say the ancient Greeks invented you and the other gods while they were sitting around the fire telling stories.�
She�Śs turning red. ―That�Śs ridiculous. As if humans could ever conjure up anything so interesting.�
―It�Śs true. The gods are just stories to us. Humans rule the future, Hera.�
She shifts in obvious discomfort. I watch her flip her hair over her right shoulder and run her hand through it. For a second, I feel bad for her. I feel like I�Śve just told her there�Śs no Santa Claus. But come on, Zoe. If the positions were reversed, she would be gloating right now, not sympathizing. Hera clears her throat. She sits up straight in her chair and eyes me coolly. ―Well, I don�Śt see how that�Śs possible.�
―That�Śs because up here you look down on humans. You don�Śt see their power.�
She stands up abruptly and crosses the room. ―You�Śre not making sense, dear,�
she says. ―You�Śre tired and confused from the ambrosia. Sitting in the house of a goddess and telling her she doesn�Śt exist�Ś�
―Of course you exist now. But in the future, when you and the others are gone, all that�Śs left are distorted stories.�
I stand up. I have the floor and I have the power and I may not have a clique or the love of Zeus but I have the truth. ―They dress up as you for fun. Or they make jokes about you. Like, there�Śs this movie about a pregnant teenager and she says that you�Śre really pretty and really mean.�
―A �movie�Ś?�
I shake my head. I don�Śt have the patience to explain modern cinema. ―It�Śs too complicated. All I mean is that this thing you have going here, it doesn�Śt last forever. So I wouldn�Śt get too cozy if I were you.�
She laughs and says, ―I think I�Śll take my chances.�
Her ego is like a brick and I want to break it. So I try again. ―Nobody worships you anymore, Hera. Nobody.�
―Then who do they worship?�
―Humans.�
She gasps. ―It�Śs true. Just ask Kim Kardashian. I mean, I don�Śt personally worship her, but a lot of girls do.�
―Is she a goddess?�
―No.�
―She must have some special power.�
―Well, she has nice hair. And she�Śs beautiful, I guess. But they�Śre not special powers. And anyway, that�Śs not the point. The point is that she�Śs who people worship, not you.�
―No human girl is more beautiful than a goddess,�
Hera says, looking me up and down. She leans in for emphasis. ― Ever.�
―Things are different in the future,�
I say with a defiant smile. ―All that worship for the gods gets directed toward humans who are good-looking and have a lot of money.�
―That�Śs disgusting.�
―It is pretty shallow. But it�Śs the truth.�
―It can�Śt be. You have no proof,�
she says. And I feel a little guilty again because her shoulders are slumped and she looks genuinely sad and I�Śm not a mean girl and why did I even start all this in the first place? I sip the ambrosia. I sit back down. ―I didn�Śt mean to upset you.�
―You didn�Śt,�
she says. ―You�Śre confused from your travels. At some point I�Śm sure you hit your head.�
I could carry on, telling her more and more about how irrelevant she and her friends become, but she looks so sad and I don�Śt want to crush her. They always say that people in cliques aren�Śt as mean as they seem, that their cocky attitudes are a cover-up for all their insecurities and that they stick together because, at heart, they�Śre all just afraid to be on their own. I�Śve never really believed that. It�Śs always sounded like a rationalization. But sitting here now, and seeing this goddess so visibly shaken, I know I�Śll never look at cliques the same way ever again. Cliques are sad. It�Śs sad that she�Śs deluded enough to think that Zeus is her boyfriend. It�Śs sad that she thinks any sort of power is permanent. It�Śs sad that she had to be cruel to me before she could be nice to me. Now that she knows I�Śm from the future, she�Śs probably intimidated by me, the way Greeley girls get when the daughter of a famous person or a guy from some castle in Europe arrives at school. I mean, I actually feel sorry for Hera. She probably wants to hitch a ride to the future, or to make me her automatic best friend now that we have a secret. She�Śs just sitting there, not saying a word. ―You can ask me anything. Hera. It�Śs okay. I�Śm an open book.�
―Do you want to go home?�
she says. ―What?�
―I can help you go home,�
she says. ―You clearly don�Śt belong here and you miss your�Śthings. So I�Śll help you.�
I swallow, feeling stupid and kicked aside. I mean, I just told her the secrets of the universe and she wants to send me away? She doesn�Śt want to be my friend? Even if just for a little while? ―I don�Śt know that there really is a way back home,�
I tell her honestly. ―The Oracle told me to come to Olympus and that my destiny was here. She didn�Śt say anything about how to get home.�
―The Oracle�Śs an idiot.�
―Excuse me?�
―Anyone who has real power is up here.�
She flips her hair to the side. ―You said you went through a door in the new temple.�
―Well, sort of. I put the coin into that giant iPhone�"�
―You found a door, Zoe. Maybe they call doors �iPhones�Ś in the future, but in the interest of getting you home, I think it�Śs best we both speak the same language, mmm?�
What is there to say? There is nothing to say. ―Mmm.�
―The door you spoke of in the temple, was it made of a black, luminous material?�
I nod. Hera smiles. ―That door has a twin in the labyrinth here, on Olympus.�
―It does?�
For some reason this news upsets me. ―Do you still have that coin in your possession?�
I nod again. ―Show me.�
I pull the obolus out of my back pocket. Hera takes it from me and holds it up for examination. ―Where did you come from,�
she says quietly to the obolus, weighing it in her palm. ―It�Śs very dense. And heavy. For the Petros,�
she tells me. For a moment, I think she�Śs going to keep it, but then she just smiles and hands it back. ―If you place this in the black door at the center of the labyrinth, it will take you home.�
I swallow, unable to mask my hesitation about the prospect of leaving. Since the moment I arrived, all I�Śve wanted to do was go home, but now I�Śm starting to realize that I don�Śt feel quite done here. ―Home,�
I mumble unenthusiastically. Hera stands and takes the empty goblet from my hand. She carries it over to the marble counter and rests it beside the elegant silver kettle. ―Zoe,�
she says with a sigh. ―I know it�Śs difficult to hear this, but the world is made up of couples. Every entity has its match, its counterpart, its other half. This is how we maintain balance. Here, you see, there are twelve gods�"six couples. An even number. Perfectly proportioned. There is no number thirteen because there is no need for a number thirteen. A number thirteen could only invite chaos and disorder and�"�
―I get it.�
―Good. Then you should be on your way now, shouldn�Śt you, dear?�
―I guess so.�
―The entrance to the labyrinth is by the olive tree grove.�
―Um, okay.�
―Oh! Zoe. I meant to ask�Ś�
―Yes?�
―The Kardashian woman. Is her hair as thick and shiny as mine?�
―Yep.�
Hera swipes her hair over her left shoulder and retreats through one of the doorways. As she disappears from sight, I count them all. There are six doorways in this vast, palatial room�"not seven and not five, but six. All evidence confirms Hera�Śs theory of even numbers and balance, and I sit back on the chair to try to calm down, wishing I was anywhere but here, being toyed with by the gods. Chapter 31 It�Śs still dark when I wake up in my room. My head feels puffy, and when I sit up in bed, I moan. Ambrosia is not for the faint and weary. How much of it did I drink? I shuffle out of bed. I need to find Zeus. I don�Śt know if I should stay or go, and I have so much on my mind, and I just want someone I can talk to, to rest my head on his shoulder. I can�Śt help but laugh at myself. God, when did I become so sappy? But one thing�Śs for sure. My chances of a great romantic life are probably better if I don�Śt look like some kind of greasy-haired, unhygienic mountaineer. Thank god�"not Hera�"for bathrooms. The one in my room reminds me of the bathroom at a bed-and-breakfast in Spain I went to with Aunt Sophia and Uncle Alex. It�Śs very simple, sparse. There�Śs a jug of water, a giant tub and a few confusing metal instruments. I can�Śt help but laugh. Of all the challenges I�Śve faced in this journey, somehow shaving my legs seems like the most difficult one yet. The gods�Ś idea of a razor is a giant and heavy metal thing I can only call a knife. I slip out of my once-upon-a-time white pants and sit on the edge of the tub. There�Śs another jug here with some kind of goop in it. I can only hope and assume that it�Śs soap as I watch it plop and sink into the tub. Once my legs are oiled and covered in the yellowish suds, I pick up the knife. But my hand is shaking. Breathe, Zoe. You have faced monsters of all kinds. Surely, you can steady your hand. But as soon as I manage to steady the blade, my legs start to shake. Distracted, I relax my fingers too much and the blade slips out of my grasp and into the milky water. Now what? If I reach in there, I could accidentally grab the long, sharp end and slice my hand open. But if I don�Śt, then I�Śll leave this room in such a self-conscious state that I�Śll probably act all weird and distant around Zeus. For a few seconds I just sit here, very still, staring into the opaque water, taking stock of it all. And then I start to laugh because I�Śve become so boy crazy that I�Śve actually forgotten about my powers. And not the ones that involve moving mountains and throwing rocks; I mean the powers of my brain. I get out of the tub, pick up another jug of water and empty it into the tub. Now I can see the blade and safely reach for it. The whole debacle has lightened my soul and I shave without so much as a single knick. It�Śs clearly a sign. Usually I screw up and have to dab at my legs with toilet paper because I�Śm in such a rush to get to class. But I�Śve found a new inner peace. I�Śve heard that this sometimes happens to people when they�Śve found their soul mate. And I believe it now. There�Śs not a doubt in my mind when I exit my room, clean and rested, that my entire life has changed. It�Śs late at night but it�Śs not the darkness you might expect in an ancient land without electricity. The air is tinged with a faint blue hue, like the light from a television screen. As I walk across the grounds in the direction of the boys�Ś apartments, I get a nervous chill at the thought of being the only one out here among the empty open-air marble halls. It�Śs okay, Zoe. Soon you�Śll find Zeus and you�Śll never be alone again. I turn the corner and the source of the light comes into view. It�Śs the Petros, giving off its faint blue glow. I think I hear voices coming from somewhere behind the pool and I kneel down, out of sight. I guess I am still a little scarred from what I overheard at their meeting, or else I would just walk right up to whoever is talking. But instead, I keep low to the ground and creep forward, hoping to see who it is before presenting myself. My hair is still damp and I�Śm starting to shiver. Apparently the Petros doesn�Śt give out heat. Ignoring the frantic buzzing of the obolus in my back pocket, I take cover behind a bush and listen. There are two voices, one distinctly male, one female. I hear a couple of words and start shaking my head. It can�Śt be. I pry apart two branches just enough to make out figures, and it�Śs the last two people in this world, in any world, that I want to see together. Zeus and Hera. So they�Śre talking, it�Śs not a big deal, I tell myself. They�Śre friends. They talk all the time. Yeah, sure. But alone, at night, by the romantic glow of a natural pool? Come on Zoe, you�Śre smarter than that. Just look at them. That is not a casual conversation going on. Whatever they�Śre saying to each other is very personal. And suddenly I feel painfully aware of my status, alone in the bushes like some stalker in the night. There�Śs an intimacy between them I haven�Śt seen until now. Or did I just not want to see it? Hera reaches toward him and runs her hands through his hair. He doesn�Śt push her away. Girls like Hera always get what they want eventually. This is all my fault. I let her take me into that den of ambrosia. I stupidly accepted her drink and I drank so much that I confessed everything. Hera�Śs hands are still in his hair. What if she�Śs told him everything? What if she�Śs told him about the future and my pathetic crush on him? He might think I�Śm not half the person he thought I was. She lifts her chin. He doesn�Śt back away. She leans closer and her lips touch his and his wings flutter and I gasp and I�Śm running as fast as I can. I need to get away. I desperately need to get out of here. My tears dry in the wind, salting my cheeks and disappearing into streaks. How could I have been so stupid? I could never get a guy like Zeus. Even if he wasn�Śt a member of the Olympus clique, he�Śd never go for me. Ever. Every few seconds I turn around. He�Śs not chasing me. I kick at the dirt. I don�Śt want to be here anymore. Olympus�Śs beauty only makes me feel worse about everything, brings me this heightened sense of insecurity, of displacement. I walk the rest of the way to the olive tree grove. A hundred feet past the edge of the grove, a single olive tree stands, as if unaware that all the other trees stopped a while back. I go up to the tree and run my hand along its bark. A wind ruffles through the branches and I watch two small green leaves detach and start to fall. They dance and graze each other with ease, like synchronized swimmers, as they slip through the air. I put out my hands. The two leaves land in my hands. And that�Śs all I need to see. It�Śs like the theory of pairs has literally fallen into my hands. Hera was right. There�Śs no place for me here. I leave the solitary olive tree and make way down the slope until I reach the entrance to the labyrinth, feeling a sad peacefulness overtake me. Zeus was never interested in me. And I�Śm so lonely and desperate that I wanted to believe that Hera was, at heart, humane, that there was goodness under all that ecru vitriol. The door to the labyrinth is huge and forbidding, a mammoth piece of iron hinged directly into the side of the mountain. I bring my hand to the large handle. It is my destiny to be alone. There is nothing I can do, ever, to change that, and it�Śs this knowledge that gives me the physical strength to pull and yank until, finally, the thick, iron door opens just enough to let me in. I step inside with one foot. My legs are shaking. I can�Śt seem to bring my other foot in. A big part of me isn�Śt ready to go. And another part isn�Śt sure that I even can go. Hera claimed the door to the future is in the center of the maze. But Hera also tricked me into revealing all my secrets by giving me all that ambrosia. I would be a fool to trust her. But then again, the last thing she would lie about to me would be the way out of here. After all, she wants me gone. I exhale, mustering my courage, and bring my other foot inside. It�Śs dark and hot, and there�Śs no word for the smell that I encounter. I�Śm reminded of the foulest smell I�Śve ever smelled in my life�"the bathroom on a bus on the way home from a field trip to a marsh, that combination of hot dogs and low tide and cheap air freshener. I pinch my nose but the force of the scent is stronger than my fingers and now it�Śs as if those bad hot dogs and satchels of air freshener are being shoved into my mouth. I�Śm coughing and I can�Śt see more than a few feet in front of me in this dark, low-ceilinged vault. This can�Śt be right, I think, the temple was nothing like this, and I start to back out but the door slams shut behind me. I grope for the handle but can�Śt find it. There has to be one, I tell myself, there was a handle on the outside so there has to be a handle on the inside. After all, as I know all too well by now, everything in this world comes in pairs to maintain the natural order. Only as hard as I try, I can�Śt find the handle and I can�Śt take the smell and I�Śm banging on the wall because there is no handle in here. I scale every inch of the wall but there�Śs nothing. My hands are flat, my fingers pulsing. This cannot be. There has to be a handle. Everything comes in pairs. And at once I stop hunting. My spine tingles. I may not be able to see, but I can hear. And the sound that assaults me is a perfect companion to the smell that I can�Śt escape, a coarse and ungodly growl. It sounds like it�Śs coming from the bottom level of hell or the soul of a mother who just lost her firstborn. It�Śs a roar and a call and a threat, and whatever demon made it is in here, in the labyrinth with me. I lunge for the wall, hammering both my hands against it in a panic. But of course it doesn�Śt give. And then it hits me. Zoe, you idiot, you have powers. I laugh with relief. Of course! I can control the earth, remember? And what is this dark, nasty, hot labyrinth made of except black rock? I focus my attention on the wall around the door, willing a tunnel to form, like the one I made to spy on Hera and the others at the meeting. In seconds I�Śll be out of here, and whatever monster made that horrible noise can remain a mystery. Only nothing happens. The wall doesn�Śt move. The rock doesn�Śt bend. What is going on? I try again, concentrating harder. Come on, wall! You�Śre made of earth. Obey me�Ś It doesn�Śt budge. I try another part of the wall, this time placing my hands directly on it. Nothing. My powers. They�Śre�Śgone. Then the growl erupts again, like a horn calling for war. Only it�Śs closer this time. Whatever is making that sound is coming for me. Coming for me fast. I have no other choice. I set off into the labyrinth. And as I run through the dark, stifling maze, listening to the snarls and roars growing closer and closer, I can�Śt help but feel certain that my time has come to an end. I shaved my legs for this? Part 4 Ex-Boyfriends And Other Monsters Chapter 32 It isn�Śt fair. I�Śm not a dumb girl in a horror movie who followed the noise into the basement only to be slaughtered so the girls in the audience can squeal and cling to their boyfriends. I walked in here assuming I could go out the way I came in. Another roar. I run with my arms outstretched so I don�Śt smack into a wall. I�Śm horrified at my lot in life�"Zeus kissing Hera, Zeus was kissing Hera�"and now this. I get trapped. In a labyrinth. Three thousand years before my time. Maybe I am dead already and this is all just some sort of purgatory. But why would I be in purgatory? I�Śm a good person. I run into the ruddy clay wall hands-first and dust blows at my face and sharply I shift, like a boat tacking in strong winds, setting off in a new direction. But the growl is getting closer, and while I can�Śt see in the dark, from the way it�Śs gaining on me, whatever�Śs growling probably can. I know I shouldn�Śt stop but I can�Śt keep going because the smell is swallowing me and the dust is blinding me. I scratch my eyes�"surely my lashes are all gone, not that it matters, as I�Śll be gone soon too. I�Śm coughing and retching and I don�Śt want to slip and I have to run but then it�Śs too late. It�Śs happened. It�Śs here. The Minotaur. Its saturated yellow eyes prove me right�"yellow eyes see at night; that�Śs one of the many advantages that monsters have over young girls who don�Śt follow the rules. But as hateful and huge as its eyes are, they aren�Śt the scariest feature on its face�"if you can call it a face. The worst thing on that face would have to be the mouth, really just an asymmetrical hole bursting with sharp teeth. My strength is fading�"those teeth are too much�"and the Minotaur knows it and flashes something like a mutated smile at me with its off-centered mouth. It bucks its head, showing off its horns, as hard as bone and twisting above its head, rising like spears. Then it snorts through a nose pierced by a thin ring, the breath puffing up its broad, hairy chest. Nothing should be this big, this cruel and this powerful. It could pick up six bodybuilders from Muscle Beach and eat them like jelly beans. As I�Śm backing away, slowly, I can imagine what it sees. The girl who mistook herself for a god, weak, scared, shaven, scented with olive oil goop. Look at her, her curly hair spiraling out in so many directions, untamed. What a mess she is. What a treat. What a fool. Something this massive and smelly and robust shouldn�Śt have a brain, but from the look in its eye, I fear it does. It advances one step toward me but I hold my ground. It stops in its tracks, reconsidering me. A grimace appears on its hideous face. I know it�Śs trying to tell me that I�Śll never escape it, that it�Śs armed with a multitude of ways to horrify me, to beat me. But you know what I�Śm going to tell it? ―Not just yet, demon.�
I fly around a corner, then another corner. It�Śs following me, slowly picking up speed. I notice it�Śs not good at quick changes in position, so I zigzag through the maze as often as I can, but even so, I can feel it getting closer. I turn right, burst along a short corridor, and then realize I�Śm heading toward a dead end. No! I don�Śt have time to double back and there isn�Śt a way out. I�Śm trapped. The sound of the creature snarling in the distance shocks me out of my stupor. I have to do something. Now. I glance toward the eight-foot-high clay wall on my right. It�Śs a long shot, and it probably won�Śt work, but what other choice do I have? I sprint toward the wall, and when I�Śm a few feet away, I jump as high as I can, grabbing on to the wall with my fingers. My nails dig into the clay and I twist and push, springing upward until finally I�Śm on top. The wall is no more than two feet wide and I lie down on my stomach, balancing nervously, my hands at my side. I am trying to catch my breath while also trying not to breathe and then the Minotaur appears at the entrance of the corridor. It thunders forward, searching for me, and I try as hard as I can not to move even a fraction of an inch. If I so much as let one speck of dust fall, it will see me up here, and lord knows it can probably jump. When it reaches the end of the corridor and doesn�Śt find me, it lets out a roar of anger and frustration. But it doesn�Śt leave. It knows I�Śm here, I realize in horror, from the way it�Śs sniffing around. I can hear its nostrils puffing in and out, hunting. It�Śs only a matter of time before the creature finds me up here. Think, Zoe. Do you really want to die like this? Don�Śt you want to see your family? Don�Śt you want to tell CeeCee about all this and maybe give Columbia Darren one more shot, now that you�Śre single again? Oh God, why am I thinking about this stuff now? These cannot be the last thoughts of my short life! I need to get to that giant iPhone door in the center of the labyrinth and�" The iPhone! It has a compass, I remember in a flash. I can use it to orient myself, then find my way to the center. But the iPhone is in my backpack. Which means, I have to somehow get into my backpack without making any noise. The last thing I want to do is alert that thing to my presence. As quietly as possible, I shift my weight onto my hands and slowly push up off the top of the wall until I am kneeling. The Minotaur takes a step, snarling and scuffing along the dark corridor. I pause. It continues to growl, sniffing the ground for my scent. Gingerly, I slip my right shoulder free of the strap and use my free right hand to stabilize the bag on my left shoulder. Then, holding my breath, I reach across and carefully pull the backpack off my shoulder, laying it in front of me. That�Śs when I see that the zipper is shut on the small outside pocket containing the iPhone. There is no way I can unzip the compartment without the Minotaur hearing me. But the compass is my only chance. Opening my backpack could kill me. Not doing it will kill me. All right, Zoe, here goes. It was nice knowing you. I grab the zipper handle and tear it aside like it�Śs a Band-Aid on my arm. As the Minotaur lets out a confused growl, I yank out the iPhone and wake it from sleep, then quickly tap the compass app. The Minotaur spins around and spots me up on top of the wall. Panicking, I rotate the phone until I find north, swinging past it and then returning to it. The creature is bounding toward me, its huge teeth glistening with anticipation, and I set off in a mad dash. What if there is no door? What then? I�Śm running so fast that I forget that I�Śm on top of a labyrinth and I look down just in time to save myself from running off the edge. I brake and take a deep breath, and then I leap across the gap and land safely on the other side. Scrambling to maintain my balance I keep sprinting along the top of the wall, following the guidance of the compass. But I have to slow down each time I have to jump, and the Minotaur is gaining on me, and I need to go left in order to go straight, and then I�Śm careening right to avoid another dead end, and I must have misread the compass because now it says I am supposed to turn right, again, but that would mean I�Śve started backtracking, and I�Śm about to lose it, I can feel the tears coming and I can smell the Minotaur getting closer�Ś And then I see it. Hera was telling the truth. There is a door. For a second I wonder if it will even work. After all, she didn�Śt mention anything about the Minotaur. But there is no other option, it simply has to work, and I jump down from the top of the wall and I�Śm there, I�Śm right there in front of it, facing the doorway to my life, to the present, to the dig. I reach into my pocket for the obolus and I locate the circular indentation on the door, where the coin fits perfectly. I can go now. I should go now. But I hesitate, and it�Śs a good thing that I do, because the next thing I hear is my name being called out. ―Zoe!�
It�Śs Zeus. He�Śs here. In the maze. He�Śs come for me. Chapter 33 I don�Śt answer him. I think of him and I see it all again: the way Hera took his face in her hands, brought her lips to his. He doesn�Śt love you, Zoe. He was just being nice. You�Śre number thirteen, remember? You�Śre not supposed to be here. You never were. He kissed her, not you. Would he have kissed her back if he didn�Śt love her? ―Zoe!�
he calls again, and the Minotaur stops chasing me and roars with bloodlust. It turns and takes off after the sound of Zeus�Śs voice. What if the Minotaur kills him? It would be all my fault. I can�Śt let him die. Whether he loves me or not, I have to save him. I start running back through the labyrinth, trying to get to Zeus before the Minotaur reaches him. It�Śs a desperate sprint and I�Śm running into walls and doubling back out of corridors and suddenly he�Śs not responding to my calls anymore; it�Śs like I�Śm in some darker version of Titanic where Jack doesn�Śt call back to Rose, where I just run, blindly, through a dark and deadly maze. I hear a roar of triumph and my heart skips a beat. If I don�Śt find him now, he�Śll be gone forever and then I�Śll never have the chance to tell him how I felt the first time we met, how I felt when I heard him defending me to his friends, how it felt when I was in his arms, soaring to safety, to unknown places in the sky. ―Zeus!�
―Zoe.�
His answer is all I need and I run faster than I ever knew I could and then I�Śm there, beside him again. Only he isn�Śt the god I�Śve known. His wings have wilted and shrunk. They flap listlessly, dangling at his back. ―You�Śre here,�
I say. ―I couldn�Śt let you go.�
My arms quiver. How badly I want to hug him, to hold him. But then I think of Hera and my arms fall to my side. ―I can�Śt stay in Olympus,�
I say. ―Yes you can.�
―There�Śs nothing for me here.�
―I�Śm here.�
―So is Hera.�
He takes my hands. I look down at our interlocked fingers and he squeezes and I look up at him and he speaks, softly, firmly, ―It�Śs over.�
―How can it be over?�
―Because of you.�
―But I saw you, Zeus. I saw you kissing her.�
He lets go of me and for a moment I�Śm scared that he�Śs letting go of me in more ways than one. ―Zoe, I was kissing her because I had just ended it and she was upset.�
―And you seal the end with a kiss?�
―She was desperate.�
―She almost killed me.�
―Forget about her.�
―She sicked that beast on me.�
―She also told you about the door.�
I throw my hands in the air. Boys are infuriating. I�Śm reminded of why I stayed away from them for so long. ―Zoe, please just listen to me. Hera doesn�Śt matter anymore. This is about us. I came here to find you because you’re what matters. Why is it so hard for you to believe that I�Śm infatuated with you?�
I can�Śt believe this. Zeus is telling me he�Śs infatuated with me. It�Śs really possible. It�Śs not a daydream and it�Śs not just me trying to convince myself that I like someone who I don�Śt like. At last, my heart is open. And I�Śm probably about to die. Him too, for that matter. ―You know,�
he says, ―now might be a good time for you to say that you like me too.�
―Oh, come on. Look at you. You probably assumed I liked you the second I laid eyes on you.�
He shakes his head. ―You really don�Śt see how wonderful you are. Do you?�
I don�Śt. I�Śm afraid to. I�Śm more afraid of Zeus�Śs intensity than the Minotaur, which is still raging somewhere in the maze, hunting for us. I desperately want to change. I want to be brave. ―Well, I�Śm not so wonderful that you didn�Śt want just one last kiss with Hera.�
―I�Śve known Hera for hundreds of years, Zoe. Do you have any idea what it�Śs been like for us?�
―You�Śre not going to tell me how hard it is to be beautiful and powerful, are you?�
―I don�Śt know why you want to pretend that you�Śre bitter. I see you, Zoe. And I know you�Śre not really like that. You�Śre too smart for that. You have too much to give.�
There is the sound of enraged impact as the Minotaur hits a nearby wall. It�Śs still coming after us. It will never stop trying to kill us. And Zeus is right. There�Śs a part of me that�Śs no different from a bloodthirsty, yellow-eyed Minotaur. There�Śs a rabid part of me that wants to keep everyone at a distance, everything good; there�Śs a fear that if I let it in, it might go away. ―You�Śve only known me a few days.�
―Well, let me tell you what I�Śve seen. I�Śve seen someone special, a survivor, someone who�Śs had it rough on her own but can still laugh and have fun and find the good in life.�
―Like rabid Minotaurs?�
He shakes his head. ―Zoe,�
he says, ―you�Śve had it rough, I understand. But I�Śm standing here, telling you that you don�Śt always have to be alone. Not anymore. Let me in, Zoe. Please.�
He means it. I know it because my shoulders have relaxed. I know it because there are tears in my eyes and I�Śm not trying to cover them up. I know it because he hasn�Śt looked away from me since he stopped talking. And then, just when my life is about to begin, the Minotaur arrives. Zeus leans forward and whispers, ―On three, Zoe.�
But before he can count to one, the Minotaur lunges for us. One of its claws catches my pants as I fling myself backward with a scream, and Zeus grabs my hand and we take off together, racing down the dark corridor hand in hand. My pant leg has been ripped in half and flaps as we run through the maze, sprinting without destination. And already I�Śm getting tired and there�Śs no way out and we�Śre going to die before we get to kiss and I�Śm stumbling to keep up with Zeus and the Minotaur roars again and I�Śm losing it and I snap, ―Why can�Śt you use your powers?�
―The labyrinth, Zoe. It�Śs made of Lioste.�
―I don�Śt care if it�Śs made of strawberry shortcake. We�Śre gonna die!�
―You don�Śt understand. Lioste negates the Petros. My powers are nothing without the Petros.�
I tug his hand and he stops. ―Up there,�
I whisper, and we climb up and then we�Śre on top of the wall, scrambling to flatten ourselves out. We face each other, flat on our bellies, as the Minotaur creeps, sniffing, sensing it won�Śt be long now, won�Śt be long at all. ―But you still have power, Zoe,�
he whispers. ―Use your powers.�
―I can�Śt.�
―This is no time to be shy about your powers.�
―I�Śm not shy,�
I whisper. Moving as quietly as possible, I reach into my pocket and pull out the obolus. I can see it in his eyes. He knows. There is nothing to say, nothing to do. The Minotaur approaches, sniffing along the base of the wall. We hold our breath, trying not to make a sound. But it�Śs too late. The Minotaur has seen us. I feel the horn strike the top of the wall before I see it, and then we�Śre falling through the air, wild and helpless. Zeus disappears over one side and I land on the other. Alone. At the Minotaur�Śs feet. Chapter 34 Although it looks like an animal, the Minotaur has the instincts of a human. This I know because I am curled into a ball on the ground and it could kill me right now. But it doesn�Śt. Like a stalker in a horror movie, it stands over me, drooling. It wants to see me suffer. It wants to see me quake with fear. I wish it were an animal, because then I wouldn�Śt have to wait like this, tortured by the knowledge that I�Śm about to be eaten alive. I hear Zeus running along the opposite side of the wall, but there�Śs no way he can make it back here in time. I hear his frustration, the way he pounds at the wall and calls for me. Now I�Śm the one who can�Śt answer. I can�Śt breathe or speak or move. I can only stare. I can dream of being rescued. In my fantasy, Zeus appears, a single finger at his lips, sssh, and just as the Minotaur goes in for the kill, Zeus slices it in half with a lightning bolt. And in reality, I know that I am again being tested. I see now that life is a test and that Zeus was right; I am afraid of letting in the good. I do expect the worst and I do hide from joy but I have a chance now. I can make my own dream come true. I look beyond the Minotaur and gasp, pretending to see something, and fake a big smile of relief. The Minotaur turns around to see what�Śs behind it and that�Śs all the diversion I need. I�Śm up and on the run again. The Minotaur growls, realizing it�Śs been duped, and then it�Ś s chasing me, and Zeus is chasing the Minotaur, and it feels like we could go on like this forever. Every time I start to flag, I hear that roar and I smell the violence and I�Śm moving again. And then, suddenly, I stop. I don�Śt know what I�Śm doing. It�Śs as if my feet decide for me. I can�Śt outrun the Minotaur and I won�Śt run myself into the ground trying. Something inside me takes over and my legs lock and I turn and stand and wait. It is better to die fighting than running. It is better to die because I was trying to live. I don�Śt want to escape anymore. I want to attack. Stomp. Stomp. I can hear the Minotaur closing in. Hesitation seizes me. What was I thinking? I should start running before it�Śs too late. You can�Śt beat a monster like this, not without powers. No, that�Śs not the way to think, Zoe. There has to be a way. I lower my body to the floor and lie flat, pretending that I�Śve fainted, given up. I can feel every hair on my body rising. I can feel my eyelashes fluttering as I desperately plead with them to be still. My leg is exposed where my pants are torn and I can feel the heat of the maze prickling the scraped skin. My mouth is close to the dirt floor, and when I exhale, dust rustles. In my heightened state of anticipation, it seems as loud as a nor�Śeaster bashing at the rickety windows in my old room at Greeley. Stomp. Stomp. I hear the Minotaur round the corner. It can see me now. It slows down but doesn�Śt approach. The Minotaur is no fool. It�Śs not going to run up to me and kneel over my body, stupidly exposing itself to an attack. This isn�Śt a horror movie, and playing dead was a very bad idea, Zoe, your very last bad idea. Stomp. Stomp. It�Śs too late. I won�Śt cry. I won�Śt try to run. Not that I could now, anyway. The Minotaur is too close. And each approaching step shocks the ground and vibrates my ears. Its heavy feet seem to rattle the whole floor of this maze. If I had my powers, it would be so easy. I�Śd split the ground apart. He�Śd be swallowed up in an instant. I try again to use them, out of desperation, concentrating as hard as I can, but nothing happens. The powers were the best thing that ever happened to me; they saved me. And the powers were the worst thing that ever happened to me; they spoiled me. Stomp. I�Śm starting to hallucinate because my eyes have been closed for so long, because the darkness is too dark and the nearness to death is too real, realer than it�Śs ever been. A drop of Minotaur saliva lands with a plop on my shirt. Don�Śt flinch, Zoe. Even though you�Śre officially about to become a meal, you must not flinch. It�Śs lowering its head. I can hear it more clearly. Its breath is loud and hot. It�Śs here. There�Śs no way out now. There are no more stomps to be heard; the only sound is my heart, beating so fast it might give me away. I don�Śt open my eyes to see what happens. I just kick. As hard as I can. The Minotaur squawks and I shove off the ground and I�Śm up and I kick it again, even harder this time, but it just rocks back and looks at me. I was silly to think that one kick would knock it down, and insane to think that two kicks might do it in. ―Zoe!�
Zeus races around the corner and charges at the Minotaur. The creature spins and Zeus hurls himself at it, yelling, ―Run, Zoe!�
―No!�
I won�Śt leave him. I�Śll never leave him. The Minotaur has its back to me now, and it�Śs so wide I can�Śt see what�Śs happening on the other side. Is Zeus punching it or is it punching Zeus, pounding him into the ground? I kick again but the Minotaur doesn�Śt even seem to notice. My feet have never felt so weak and I wish this were a battle of the psyches, a battle of wills. It seems unfair that it could all be so purely, lamely physical. And then Zeus spins away, knocked to the ground. The way the Minotaur is moving now I can see that it is fed up with our scrappy ways and will do whatever it takes to kill us quickly; it is plowing toward Zeus with its horns down, ready to impale him, and before I know what I�Śm doing, I jump onto its back. I hold on tight as it spins in circles, roaring, trying to shake me off, but I won�Śt let go, no matter how hard Zeus pleads with me. ―Zoe, you�Śll die! Let go! Let go!�
I�Śm clinging to its hairy muscled back, unable to tell up from down, left from right, as it whirls and bucks with terrifying speed, and then I remember the most important thing about a Minotaur is that somewhere deep inside of it, it is part human. I had forgotten that. I have no idea if it will work, but it�Śs worth a shot. I let my left hand go. I�Śm hanging on by a thread now, dripping with sweat and anxiety and fear and reaching for the beast�Śs armpit, missing once, missing again, grazing it but not close enough. ―Let go!�
―Never!�
I thrust my hand into the leathery crevice that serves as an armpit and I tickle it and the beast stumbles with confusion. It loses its balance, jerking backward, and the suddenness of the motion throws me off its back into the air. But before I hit the ground, I see Zeus charge the beast, which is flailing with confusion on its back. Zeus doesn�Śt go for the jugular and he doesn�Śt punch or kick it. He lassos a chain around the beast�Śs neck. ―Where did you get that?�
―In the maze. But it won�Śt matter unless we find a way to tie it down.�
I grab the other end of the chain and look around. The walls are too big. The chain is useless without an anchor. Without a way to trap the Minotaur, we�Śll never get out alive. I�Śm panicking because I know we have only seconds before it figures out the chain is untethered, that it isn�Śt trapped, and I�Śm so intent on finding a way to chain the beast to the wall that I don�Śt realize that Zeus is on his knees, leaning over the Minotaur. ―No! Watch out!�
I shout. ―Yes,�
he says, yanking the nose ring from the beast�Śs monstrous face. Dark blood spills from its nostrils. I watch in amazement as the Minotaur transforms, gradually changing from a fearsome hybrid creature into a simple bull. The light of intelligence goes out of its eyes. ―What happened?�
I ask. ―It�Śs from the Petros,�
Zeus replies, holding up the thin, luminous ring. ―It affects animals too. Changes them.�
He hands it to me. ―But once the ring was out of its body, the Lioste canceled the effect.�
―Well,�
I say, pocketing the ring. ―I know it�Śs really tempting to hang out in this charming, Minotaur-free maze, but, um, would you maybe wanna help find the way out of here with me?�
He smiles. God, how I�Śve missed that smile. ―Why not?�
Chapter 35 I�Śm different now. I don�Śt know how to explain it. It�Śs not just because I�Śm holding hands with Zeus. I mean, that�Śs part of it�"I�Śve never felt so linked with someone, so connected and in step and matched�"but it really begins with me. I�Śm walking with a different stride. I�Śm confident. I helped defeat a four-hundred-pound beast. Nobody can ever take that away from me. I�Śve always felt like I really know who I am, but I�Śve never had a moment when what I actually do feels representative of what I know I�Śm capable of doing. And then I realize that once again we�Śre standing in front of the giant iPhone door at the center of the maze. I won�Śt cry. I will not cry. This is just a misunderstanding. Boys usually shy away after they�Śve confessed a lot of feelings. At least that�Śs what CeeCee says. I haven�Śt thought of her in so long, and the thought of going back to all that brings me even closer to tears. ―But I don�Śt want to leave you,�
I say. ―Zoe, we�Śll always be together.�
―That�Śs a load of crap. You mean you�Śll be with Hera out of sheer convenience and I�Śll be back where I�Śm from, all alone. I�Śm not leaving you, Zeus. I don�Śt care if I sound like some stalker and I�Śm ruining everything there is between us by making myself all available and desperate. It doesn�Śt matter.�
―What matters is getting you home safely. From the moment I met you, this is what you�Śve been fighting to find.�
I�Śm pacing. I�Śm trying not to look at my reflection in the giant iPhone. This isn�Śt right. None of it. We just beat the Minotaur and he wants me to hop back to my boring life without him? Then it hits me. Why he�Śs acting so resigned. He�Śs trying to save me before I realize that he�Śs trapped in here. ―Zeus, you can�Śt get out of here, can you?�
He shrugs. ―What were you going to do? Just let me leave and strand you here?�
―You have a chance to escape, Zoe.�
―I won�Śt leave you,�
I tell him. ―And I won�Śt let you rot in here with me. You have to promise you�Śll save yourself,�
he says. I can feel the tears coming. ― Promise,�
he says. I blink away the tears, faintly nodding my head. He smiles with relief and takes my hand in his. ―Tell me about your home,�
he says. ―What it�Śs like. The future.�
―How do you know that�Śs where I�Śm from?�
I sniff. ―Hera told me.�
―Hera has a big mouth.�
―Is it true that in the future we gods are nothing but a myth?�
he asks. ―People dress up like you for Halloween.�
―What�Śs Halloween?�
Of all the things to talk about right now, I can�Śt believe I�Śm going to spend my last moments with Zeus explaining that kids put on costumes to go door-to-door begging for candy. ―It�Śs just a holiday.�
He smiles. ―I would love to live in a world where there are no gods. Where nobody worships anybody.�
―Oh, don�Śt go putting it on a pedestal. People still do a lot of worshipping. They just worship humans instead of gods.�
He looks down. I can tell that he�Śs about to ask me something important. It�Śs one of my favorite things about our dynamic. I never feel like I�Śm waiting for my turn to talk, never feel like a springboard for his ego.―If the gods are just myths in your time,�
he says slowly, ―what are the myths? How are we remembered?�
―Okay, don�Śt take this the wrong way�Ś�
―What?�
―Well, you�Śre, um, you�Śre kind of a legendary bad guy.�
―Me?�
I laugh. I can�Śt help it. The notion of explaining the mythical Zeus of books�"the grumpy old egotistical dude with a scraggly beard and a quick thunderbolt trigger finger�"to him is just too much. I temper the description a little, out of kindness, but he still shakes his head in horror. ―I�Śm nothing like that! I don�Śt mean to say that I�Śm perfect�Ś�
―Because you did kiss Hera.�
―�Śbut I�Śm not an ogre.�
I sit down. ―Everyone changes. Maybe�Śmaybe you�Śre not there yet.�
―And I never will be. I have eternal youth.�
―Well, who knows? Maybe Hera kills you and rewrites history.�
He doesn�Śt laugh at that theory. He just sits down next to me. We�Śre like any couple in any high school in America, leaning against a wall, killing time before we have to be apart. And that�Śs when I remember that we�Śre not in America, that magical things are possible here. I pat his leg and say, ―Let�Śs go.�
―Yes, the time has come,�
he says sadly. ―You�Śre leaving.�
―No,�
I tell him. ― We are leaving. Follow me.�
Chapter 36 We�Śve spent hours searching the perimeter of the maze for a second door. We�Śre looking everywhere�"on the ground, by the ceiling. I�Śve scoured on my hands and knees and Zeus has climbed the walls, like a ship captain searching for land. ―I don�Śt know, Zoe�Ś�
―It�Śs here. It has to be. Hera explained it all to me, the way everything comes in pairs. There is another door.�
―But you said she�Śs wrong.�
―Well, right now I want her to be right.�
―Zoe,�
he says. He stops walking and shakes his head. ―There is no truth in what she says. You taught me that. I�Śve long suspected it, but I�Śve pushed it away, in part because I�Śve felt guilty watching her try to make something between us that isn�Śt there. The poor girl is exhausted from her conviction that everything is symmetrical, even, predictable.�
―Hera just loves you, Zeus. And it�Śs terrible when you love someone and they don�Śt love you back�"whether it�Śs because they can�Śt, or don�Śt, it doesn�Śt matter. But I like her theory. I mean, I get where she�Śs coming from. She wants to think she has a destiny and that destiny includes you.�
He takes my hand. He�Śs not afraid that anyone will see us anymore. I know that even if all the gods were to pop up on the horizon right now, he wouldn�Śt let go. He would only squeeze tighter. For some reason it makes me sad, to be coming together like this in quite possibly the most isolated place in the universe. Will anyone ever see us together? Will anyone ever know that I found someone, even if it only lasted for a few days, in another dimension? They just might, because when we round a corner�"a corner I�Śd swear we�Śd already covered�"there it is: a second door. Because love has turned me into some airhead, I�Śm squealing and clapping and jumping up and down while Zeus rushes up to the door, feeling around for the handle. Only he�Śs not clapping. He�Śs not even smiling. He�Śs almost crying. ―There�Śs no handle.�
―So we�Śll push.�
―We can�Śt push, Zoe. It doesn�Śt work that way.�
―Well, we can try.�
―Don�Śt you see? This is the moment I was trying to avoid. I�Śm nothing without the Petros. And this ring isn�Śt enough to counter the Lioste from the maze. We�Śre trapped.�
―Forget the Petros.�
―Forget the Petros? Oh sure. The source of all my power.�
―Listen,�
I tell him, ―I have made it seventeen years on my own. My parents died when I was eight. I was shipped off to boarding school where I didn�Śt fit in. I�Śve struggled my whole life to find my way in the world. Whatever power I�Śve got, it comes from within. And you�Śre no different. The greatest power you have, god or man, is not in the stupid Petros. It�Śs in you. So do something with it already.�
―Like what?�
―Like accept the fact that we might die but we�Śre here now, right here, together, just me and you and�"�
But I don�Śt get to finish what I�Śm saying because he rushes at me and my lips part and his chest heaves into mine and his arms take me, all of me, and he smiles and then, at last, at long last, the kiss. And there�Śs no room for thought. There�Śs just warmth and eternity and the way his hands hold my back, the right kind of hold, both of us moving toward each other at lightning speed, yet there�Śs a slowness to it all, as if we both want to stay here forever. I never understood that Aerosmith song about not wanting to miss a thing. Though I�Śve wanted to feel it, though I�Śve hoped that I might someday, I�Śve never really truly believed that life could ever match the potency of Norah Jones when she sings, ―Come Away With Me.�
This isn�Śt a kiss; this is the kiss. This is the Klimt painting and the black-and-white photo of that soldier back from the war embracing his beloved in Times Square, and I�Śm part of it now, we�Śre part of it now, and nothing else could or will ever matter again. Until the walls crackle. It�Śs the noise that breaks us apart. I have a feeling neither one of us ever would have noticed the light shining on us. The door has cracked open and sunlight blasts into the maze. I could tell him that I was right; there�Śs a power greater than the Petros. But I don�Śt need to tell him. His smile tells me that he knows. We�Śre free. Our love set us free, because we let it, because we grabbed it, because love is more powerful than anything, even the gods. Part 5 Love Is A Battlefield Chapter 37 From the moment we step out of the labyrinth, everything is different. Nothing can go wrong anymore. The labyrinth deposits us within sight of the vale of the nymphs, which is the first good omen. Blinking to adjust to the bright daylight, I realize that my skin is starved for the sun. Something I hadn�Śt even noticed while underground, so happy was I kissing Zeus. I imagine that�Śs all we�Śll do together for the rest of our lives now, but Zeus has other wants. ―I�Śm starving.�
Sigh. Men. ―Well, my backpack is empty,�
I tell him. ―We could go to town. We have to go by there anyway to reach the temple and get you home.�
Home. I almost forgot. I don�Śt want to think about it. We only just kissed; I can�Śt imagine leaving. Distract him. I change the subject and go a little mommy on him because I�Śve always read that boys hate that. ―We could go to town, but would that be safe for you?�
―You take down one Minotaur and suddenly you�Śre worried about me,�
he says. Girly now, like a cheerleader (who knew I was so good at this game?). ―Oh, come on, Zeus. You know what I mean.�
He smiles. ―If we stick together, I think we�Śll be okay.�
It feels like butterflies live in my stomach now. Delicate, dancing, candy-colored butterflies. ―Zoe!�
Apparently we�Śre both still a bit scarred from the Minotaur, because the sound of another creature in our midst startles us. Zeus yelps and I crouch in a bad attempt at hiding. You can imagine how silly we both feel when we hear laughing and look up in the tree. Sitting on a branch is Creusa. ―You�Śre alive!�
she squeals, hopping onto the grass. I run to my little frail friend and hug her. How strange to have a reunion. How strange to think of someone I met less than a week ago as a long-lost friend. I haven�Śt just traveled through time; I�Śve lost all sense of time, its meaning, its weight. The few hours I�Śve spent with Creusa could be a few years. ―Creusa,�
I say. ―I�Śd like you to meet my boyfriend: Zeus.�
He doesn�Śt beam and confirm that I�Śm his girlfriend�"and oh god, I shouldn�Śt have said that. What�Śs wrong with you, Zoe? One kiss, okay, one great kiss, but still, you can�Śt go around calling some guy your boyfriend after one kiss. ―I didn�Śt, um, I didn�Śt mean �boyfriend.�Ś I meant he�Śs a boy. And he�Śs my friend.�
I must sound even stupider than I feel because Zeus and Creusa are both laughing now and I�Śm too afraid to say anything else idiotic so I just stand there squirming. Zeus extends a hand to Creusa, but she bows and flutters excitedly. ―Please,�
he says. ―You don�Śt have to do that.�
Creusa looks at me and I nod and Creusa stands and reverts back to her normal spunky self. ―Well, Zeus,�
she says, ―I, for one, think you seem quite content with your new friend. Who is a girl. And a friend. But not a girlfriend.�
I�Śd jab her in the ribs if I weren�Śt afraid of accidentally breaking her little nymph bones, so instead I just ask, ―How are you, Creusa?�
―Why not come to the vale and see for yourself.�
I look at Zeus. ―You did say you were hungry...�
―I surely did.�
―Thanks to Goddess Zoe, we have more than enough food to accommodate you.�
―Sounds great,�
he says as he takes my hand. ―But I think my girlfriend prefers to be called Zoe. Minus the �goddess�Ś part.�
When Creusa shakes her head and smirks, a cloud of sparkles floats off her and I can�Śt help but see it is a sign that everything is going to be okay. Of course, I would be wise not to be so eager to see everything as some sort of a sign. Finally, for the first time since arriving in ancient Greece, I get to be the tour guide. Zeus has never been in the vale of nymphs. He didn�Śt know the code to get into the tree and the reversal of roles is exciting. For once, I�Śm not the one staring in awe and I get to see this whole other side of him, the wide-eyed boyish side. Creusa is running up and down the tree as he watches in fascination and we�Śre going to Candy Land together any second now.―You�Śre going to love it in here,�
I tell him. ―I just love that you�Śve been here. Five hundred years and I�Śve never been invited.�
―Oh, Creusa was just, well, she felt sorry for me, you know, lost and wandering and all.�
―She didn�Śt feel sorry for you, Zoe. She just saw how great you are.�
Creusa backflips toward our feet, spraying us with sparkly dust. ―Actually, I felt sorry for her,�
she says. ―Very funny, Creusa,�
I tell her. She shimmies. ―Just kidding.�
Zeus and I stand there like a new couple on their second date at a county fair. I swear I can smell cotton candy and roller coaster grease and I hear the Tilt-A-Whirl grinding in the distance. Our whole lives are in front of us and this one night is just as exciting as the hundred years to come. ―My goodness,�
she says. ―Do gods require engraved invitations? Come inside!�
And we�Śre off. It�Śs all even better than I remember. Or is that just because of the way Zeus�Śs eyebrows arch when he feels the velveteen floor with his hands? Is that because I�Śve found someone appreciative, someone who sees things the way I see them, who isn�Śt afraid to feel things? We belong here in the vale of the nymphs, where bright colors and plush surroundings seem even brighter and plusher now that we�Śre sharing them. The hours�"or is it minutes?�"play like a montage of iridescent, wonderful moments, both blurry and distinct at once. I can�Śt think of a more perfect place to go with someone you�Śre falling in love with and I can�Śt believe my good fortune that I get to be here with Zeus. There�Śs the pack of nymphs we pass, who gather around us, holding hands and dancing in a circle. When we kiss, they cheer and the sparkle dust descends on the tips of our noses, sticking to our eyelashes. There�Śs the time I�Śm distracted, talking to Creusa, and almost miss the sight of Zeus cradling a baby nymph in his arms. He has a gentle hold on the baby. He is trust personified. There�Śs the joy that springs in my heart when we reach the pasture and find it flush with unnameable fruits, giant orange oblongs, vines ripe with tiny striped pellets that you chew like gum, and all of it, insists the lead gardening nymph, because of my help. And I�Śve finally learned how to accept a compliment; I did help them, even if at the time I didn�Śt know how I�Śd helped. As we stroll hand in hand through the rainbow Candy Land, I�Śm tempted to stay forever. We get on well with the nymphs and they love having us here. It�Śs safe and protected. The fruit is delicious and filling. If we wanted, we could easily make our home here. I plead my case to Zeus. ―But this isn�Śt where we belong,�
he says. ―I don�Śt belong anywhere.�
―Zoe�Ś�
―What if something goes wrong. I mean, once we get out there, anything could happen.�
―You must imagine good things.�
―But I have a bad feeling.�
―You thought we would die in the labyrinth.�
―I know but�Ś�
―You thought I was in love with Hera.�
―Yes but�Ś�
―Zoe, don�Śt you understand? We�Śre safe now. We have each other.�
And so I hug Creusa and vow to come back, somehow, someway, and she presses the lever. I know leaving is dangerous. But staying isn�Śt possible. As the bark slowly crawls up and the forest comes into view, I hold tight to Zeus�Śs hand. He looks over at me and I nod and smile, preparing to exit. But I still have a very bad feeling. Chapter 38 Minutes later, when the most dangerous thing to have crossed our path is a surly striped squirrel, I am forced to admit that I was wrong. My so-called bad feeling was totally off base and I was probably just woozy from all the sparkles and colors. ―One more time, for me,�
Zeus says. I roll my eyes. ―Fine. I was wrong and you were right.�
He pumps his fist. If he wasn�Śt so cute, I might have to hit him. ―So, tell me more,�
he says. ―You know, about your world.�
I jab him. ―You�Śre supposed to say �Tell me more, you know, about you. �Ś�
He picks me up and spins me around and around and kisses me and it�Śs still there, that charge. He holds me close and whispers, ―But I already know about you, Zoe. You�Śre amazing.�
I can�Śt blame him for wanting to know about the future. I mean, that�Śs normal, right? There�Śs so much I could tell him. I don�Śt know where to begin�"with electricity and cars and global warming or Newton and Darwin and Freud, and it feels like my head might explode. I remember the first time I felt this way on this trip, when I was really nervous and scared and overwhelmed, when I didn�Śt know what those feelings even really were. ―Do you like to sing?�
I ask. ―Sing what?�
―I�Śll start. And you�Śwell, you�Śll see.�
He�Śs hesitant. I�Śve found Zeus�Śs weak spot. ―Okay.�
―You can�Śt sing, can you?�
He�Śs blushing, and it�Śs a relief that even a god is human sometimes. I start low and soft, and probably really off-key. I�Śm not sure exactly when he starts singing along. I only know that he does join me, and we�Śre almost dancing here in the woods with the music we�Śre making, singing Rihanna�Śs ―Umbrella.�
I�Śve never felt closer to anyone in my life, and never more far away from the rest of the world. And I think that�Śs how I would describe love right now if someone asked me: You�Śre so connected to someone else that the world and all its cliques and challenges and traumas and mysteries can�Śt hurt you that much. ―You never could carry a tune,�
Hera says. We break off singing and spin around to see her, standing with a metal spear in her hands, hate practically steaming out of her ears in devil-red clouds. Zeus moves his body in front of mine. ―Hera, what is this?�
―Oh, this is really very simple, Zeus. This is the end.�
―The end of what?�
―The end of Zoe,�
she says, and she steps forward. She growls. The Minotaur was nothing compared with this. Naturally, Hera didn�Śt come alone. Girls like Hera never do their dirty work by themselves. She has roped in five of the gods to be on her side. I nudge Zeus and ask, ―Where are the other five?�
―They must have refused to be a part of this,�
he says. ―I don�Śt need all the gods to take care of one ratty-haired human,�
Hera hisses. Ares whispers something into Hera�Śs ear and she laughs. Of course he’s here, the one who looks like he�Śd catch the winning touchdown pass with one hand and wedgie a band nerd with the other. He�Śs the god of aggression. His muscles are all that matter to him. And I�Śm not surprised to see that his girlfriend, Artemis, is here too. Those hippie-dippy privileged types with over accentuated cheekbones and aristocratic noses and handmade clothes that drape on their narrow frames are never as sweet as they seem. Maybe in the 1970s, when hippies were still about love, those hippie chicks were nice. But Artemis isn�Śt a nice girl. And the new me isn�Śt afraid to put that knowledge into action. I stare her down. She looks away. I win. ―Your pants have torn.�
It�Śs Athena. I bet I can turn her. Deep down, she�Śs not bad. She�Śs just jealous, insecure of her powers. She�Śs only here because Poseidon is here. I bet she wouldn�Śt have come if she wasn�Śt in a relationship with him. I won�Śt let her get to me. ―You�Śre right, Athena. That�Śs why we both know that clothes would have been a better gift.�
She has to know what I�Śm talking about. Granted, it�Śs not like we sat and bonded for hours, but we did have that moment together about footwear and gift giving. She looks away quickly. For a moment I think she�Śs gathering her courage, ready to be her own person at last. But then she looks back, and her face is all scrunched up, as if I smell, as if I�Śm poison. ―Huh?�
she says. ―What are you talking about?�
I simmer, fighting back my anger. ―Never mind,�
I say. ―Athena didn�Śt come here to help you,�
says Hades, god of fire, the one who casually wipes out entire villages just because he can. I scan the group. Persephone isn�Śt here. ―And I see that Persephone didn�Śt come here to help you,�
I say to Hades. ―Guess you couldn�Śt keep that fire lit.�
But Zeus squeezes my hand and I know I should stop barbing them. We have no chance as it is, six against two, and we have less of a chance if I poke them and tease them, but it�Śs hard to be quiet when you know you�Śre about to suffer and die at the hands of people like this, people who believe they are nothing without their collective power. My arms are shivering and my eyelids are twitching and my cowlick is back with a vengeance, tickling the bridge of my nose. How weak I must look now. Meanwhile, Zeus and Hera are holding their respective grounds, having an irritatingly measured debate about what to do about me. I�Śm starting to think that we�Śll spend the rest of our lives standing here and debating the situation. I guess the main difference between humans and gods is that the gods have a lot more time on their hands. They don�Śt have homework or curfews or swim practice or TV; this is what they do. They�Śre like a super powered debate club. ―Hera, there is no theory of twos. Zoe poses no threat to us.�
―You�Śre wrong, Zeus. Until she is gone, there is no peace to be had.�
―Hera, please. If this is about us, let�Śs talk. Let�Śs just you and I go and sit down and you can say whatever it is you need to say to me.�
―I have nothing to say to you.�
―I don�Śt think that�Śs true.�
She huffs, ―You really are arrogant. You think this is all about you? Oh, Zeus, I am done with you. You�Śre nothing but a fool and I see that now.�
―I understand you�Śre hurt. It�Śs natural that you feel hurt right now.�
I�Śm about to elbow Zeus in the gut. How can he know so little about girls? That was pretty much the worst thing he could have said to a scorned girl. I almost don�Śt blame Hera for growling. First she gets dumped. Now she gets pitied? ―I am not hurt, Zeus. I am disgusted. She has come here to strip our powers and dethrone us all and you are too blind and stupid to see it.�
―She has done no such thing.�
―Oh, is that so?�
―Yes, it is so. She jabs her spear into the ground. ―In the future humans worship each other instead of the gods!�
―I know,�
he says. ―And you don�Śt care? The thought of a world without us doesn�Śt bother you?�
―The future is not ours to decide, Hera. It�Śs larger than us.�
―Well, I don�Śt want to die. All of us don�Śt want to die. We want to maintain our power and our order and preserve our authority for hundreds of years to come.�
―Are you really that happy, Hera? Does power actually mean that much to you?�
It�Śs the wrong question. The answer is yes, because clearly Hera cares about her power very much. I feel sorry for her, I do. I feel sorry for all the lonely queen bees out there who care more about how they�Śre perceived than about how they actually feel when they climb into bed at night and switch off the lights. She has nothing but her authority. And there�Śs nothing more dangerous than an opponent whose only source of power and confidence has been threatened. I roll my shoulders and let my backpack fall to the ground. It�Śs time for some tough love. Zeus looks at me and I know what he wants. I reach into my pocket for the Minotaur�Śs nose ring from the Petros and slip my hand into his. ―I wish you didn�Śt need this.�
―Me too.�
―Are you ready?�
He nods. The second we break hands, his wings swell and soar, so fast that a breeze rustles my hair and I focus on a valley in the distance and see the dirt crest like a wave and crash. We�Śre back. We have power. And we have each other. ―I�Śll never leave her,�
he says to Hera. As she runs forward, thrusting her spear at me, she hisses, ―I know. Chapter 39 Hera and I are two giant tumbleweeds rolling at each other with a vengeance, and then suddenly we collide, and I am inside a blinding and binding typhoon of darkness. I can�Śt move. I can�Śt see. I can barely breathe. What energy I do have left I�Śm using to contain Hera, coring her in a giant ball of dirt. I hear her scream with trapped rage and I push the dirt harder at her with my mind. I hope to smother her�"but it�Śs not true, is it, Zoe? You don�Śt have enough venom in you. You�Śre still missing that bloodthirsty gene. You�Śre still you, hoping for some kind of reconciliation. It feels like I�Śve been trapped in this dark rolling place for hours even though I know it can�Śt have been more than seconds. ―Hera!�
I shout. I hear nothing at first. And then she mutters something, sounding choked. ―You can�Śt breathe and I can�Śt see. I think we can work this out.�
She emits a high-pitched growl. I take it as a sign of agreement. ―When I say �go,�Ś we�Śll both drop our powers. Okay?�
―Yes!�
―Go!�
As soon as I release her, the darkness begins to lift. It�Śs slight, but I think I can see my own hand. And then I can�Śt see anything again. The darkness rushes in, tighter this time, and my body hurls backward. Trapped inside the black, impenetrable ball of darkness, I feel myself soaring up, up, higher and higher, and Hera�Śs cackle will be the last thing I hear before I�Śm dead. Boom! Thunder cracks all around me. The ball shakes and starts to drop. ―Zoe, I�Śm here!�
―Zeus!�
―Hang on.�
He�Śs pushing me back to earth. The darkness crackles and vibrates from the bolts of lightning he�Śs sending at it. I�Śm like a chicken inside an egg, watching as the egg cracks, revealing sky. Sky? ―Zeus!�
―What?�
―You have to stop! If you crack this open all the way, I�Śll fall and die!�
―Trust me.�
―But we�Śre going so fast!�
―Trust me!�
I trusted Hera, who was plainly rude to me the first time we met, who excluded me and took advantage of my neediness and plied me with ambrosia to get the truth out of me, then tricked me into entering the deadly maze. And I trusted her to release me from her powers. But why is it so hard for me to trust Zeus? Zeus, who has saved me time and again, who has been there for me and who opened his heart to me. It�Śs funny that all this time, I�Śve thought of trust as a symbol of greatness. Like, if I could trust Hera after all the bad things she did, I would know that I�Śm a better person, forgiving and accepting. But trust isn�Śt about being better than someone. Trust is about faith. And I have faith in Zeus. I close my eyes because I don�Śt want to see the walls around me crackle and splinter and disintegrate. I just want to feel his wingspan save me When I open my eyes, we�Śre about to touch down. The sweetness of the rescue is overwhelmed by the sight of the gods surrounding us. They�Śre circling like sharks. Hades throws fire at Zeus but I throw dirt to put out the fire. Ares throws a punch, but Zeus deflects it with a bolt of lightning, making him vulnerable to the wild-eyed dogs that have appeared, courtesy of Artemis, their teeth gnashing. They�Śre about to bite him but I call upon a hail of stones and they duck their heads, whimpering from the assault, and retreat in fear. But it�Śs far from over because then Poseidon raises his hands and water comes rushing toward us, hard as a fist, and I�Śm struggling to escape and through the surge of gushing water I see Zeus wrestling Ares, for me, for me, and I can�Śt let him die. I crack the earth to swallow all that water, and as the forest floor splinters apart, the gods are all thrown off balance, and Zeus seizes the moment and grabs my hand. ―Zoe, run!�
―Are you kidding?�
I reply. ―Fly!�
He scoops me up and we take off. In seconds we are soaring above the land, speeding away from the gods. ―Are you okay?�
he asks. ―I�Śd be better if those things weren�Śt chasing us.�
Behind us come the bats. A dark swarm of them catches up to us and they surround us, flapping and biting at us with their protruding shark like jaws. My stomach flips and twists as Zeus zigzags to avoid them. ―We can�Śt stay up here with them, Zoe.�
There is fear in his voice. It�Śs my turn to rescue him. ―We need a wall.�
―We can�Śt fly into a wall!�
I shriek as a bat-shark catches my boot and I kick it off. My boot is torn. The bat-sharks know they�Śre winning. ―Just trust me,�
I tell Zeus. ―Get low to the ground. As close as possible.�
Instantly we�Śre plummeting down, like the airplane that took my parents, like an elevator without the hope of pulleys. Zeus pulls up at the last minute and we are skimming the ground, feet above the earth. I stare ahead, fixing my eyes on the ground. I can�Śt do it all at once, fight off the bat-sharks and cling for dear life and conjure a wall. Again I must let go of the fear. I cover my ears so that I can�Śt hear the bat-sharks screeching right behind us, lusting for my blood, and I focus as hard as I can. Now. A twenty-foot wall of rock erupts out of the ground. We are headed straight for it. ―Keep flying!�
I scream. Zeus shakes his head and, trusting me, bears headfirst for the wall. Just as we smash into it, I soften the center of the wall into sand, and we fly right through it without impact. Instantly I seal it back up behind us, as hard as stone. The bat-sharks slam into it. They die en masse, exploding against the rock wall, their blood scattering into the blue sky. We�Śre flying fast, and I should be cold but feel hot, and when I look back, I see a column of fire tunneling toward us. The fire burns and chases faster after us, closing in. There�Śs no time to tell Zeus what I�Śm going to do, and when I smell the smoke, I push aside my fear and stare at the ground. The specks of dirt rise up until I can see the variations of colors that make up the clutching strands of soil, and then we are swallowed up by the earth, plunging through the darkness, falling into a deep black tunnel, going where, I do not know. Chapter 40 We�Śre both on all fours, blindly crawling. Zeus leads the way so I can just follow and concentrate on moving the earth out of our way, pushing the tunnel forward to safety. We don�Śt know where we are or where we�Śre going and the quiet is eerie. We can�Śt stay down here forever and we don�Śt know how long we have. And it�Śs my responsibility to get us out of here because there�Śs nothing Zeus can do about the dirt. God, I definitely prefer flying to tunneling. Imagine how he feels, being dependent on a new girl and her mastery of the dirt? The dirt. I don�Śt know if it�Śs because I�Śm nervous or scared or annoyed at the fact that I am, once again, caked in filth, but suddenly I�Śm doubting everything and I know it�Śs only a matter of seconds before I pick a fight with him. I lose focus and he crawls smack into the dirt. ―Sorry,�
I say. He�Śs coughing. He�Śs probably going to bite my head off. ―It�Śs okay, Zoe. You�Śll get your concentration back.�
Why does he have to be so calm? How can he be so calm when we might die any second? ―Well, that�Śs easy for you to say.�
―Zoe, what�Śs wrong?�
―Nothing. Just let me focus.�
And I try, but my head is clouded with doubts. Every time I lose focus and he bumps his head, he doesn�Śt jump all over me and get mad. I don�Śt understand why he�Śs so patient with me when I�Śm losing patience with myself. ―Zoe,�
he says. ―Remember, we�Śre deep in the earth, surrounded by land that you, and only you, control. So just relax.�
And that does it, because I hate when I�Śm nervous and someone tells me to relax. ―It�Śs not that easy for me, Zeus. You know, I�Śve only been at this for a few days. I haven�Śt had five hundred years to perfect my powers. So it doesn�Śt really help when you tell me to relax.�
―I�Śm sorry.�
―God! Why do you have to be like this?�
―Like what?�
―So�Ś nice.�
He stops moving. I wish I wasn�Śt a crazy person. I really do. ―I�Śm sorry, Zeus.�
He doesn�Śt say anything. He probably hates me. It�Śs probably over. He probably curses the day we met. ―Zoe,�
he says, after what feels like years. ―You know there�Śs nothing arbitrary about our powers.�
I remember that we�Śre on the run from gods who want to kill us and I know I must really be in love because I don�Śt care about the pack of seething enemies. It�Śs far more important that my new boyfriend and I get to the bottom of this mess. Oh lord, if I die, I�Śll know it�Śs my own fault. ―I thought I got earth because everything else was taken. Isn�Śt that how it works?�
―No, not at all.�
Oh good. He�Śs going to tell me that I�Śm beautiful and blessed and otherworldly and amazing and special and then I�Śm going to feel all good again and I�Śm going to dig us out of here and then we can kiss again. ―You see, you�Śre the most�Ś�
Beautifulblessedotherworldlyamazingspecial�Ś ―Grounded girl in the whole world. And we�Śre under ground. So we�Śre okay. We are.�
Grounded? Is he kidding? ―Grounded�
isn�Śt a compliment. ―Grounded�
is something that your guidance counselor writes on your college recommendation. ―Did you hear me?�
―Yeah.�
―Well, we should go.�
―Fine,�
I say. But I don�Śt do anything. I�Śm frozen. I�Śm on the verge of tears. Grounded. ―Zoe, what�Śs wrong?�
―Nothing, it�Śs just, well, I don�Śt know, Zeus. Maybe I�Śm just too grounded to focus on my ethereal powers right now.�
―You know that was a compliment.�
―Oh sure. You�Śre the god of the skies, who can soar anywhere in the world, and then Hera�Śs all exotic with her power of darkness, and your friend Dio there, well, he�Śs Mister I-Can-Make-Champagne-Flow-Out-the-Pipes, but yeah. I�Śm supposed to be convinced that you�Śre all into the dirt girl.�
―Of course I am.�
―Sure. Dirt is really glamorous. I mean, every guy dreams of being in the center of the earth where he can�Śt see or move without getting dirty. Now that’s a hot date.�
―Zoe,�
he says seriously. ―I wouldn�Śt want to be anywhere else right now.�
I feel tears well up in my eyes. ―Someone like Hera,�
he says, shaking his head, ―she�Śs not grounded at all. She hides in the dark where nobody can ever see her, not really anyway.�
I think of Zeus chasing her for hundreds of years, trying to catch a glimpse, and I might cry so much that this place floods. ―But that�Śs why I never loved her. See, I�Śm like you. You�Śre so grounded that people are afraid of you. And I�Śm so�ŚI dunno, open, that people are afraid of me. Your feet are on the ground and my head is in the clouds, and as long as we�Śre together, I know we balance each other out.�
I can�Śt speak. The claustrophobia that overwhelms me has nothing to do with the fact that we�Śre in a tunnel, in the dark, where the boundaries are shifting and invisible and the air thick and the end virtually nonexistent. The claustrophobia I feel is located in the deepest place in my heart, the place where all my fears of love and death and life lie low and quiet, so latent that I�Śve gone through years not even knowing they were there, thriving and growing. Zeus is my soul mate and he�Śs right. We are exactly alike, and we are exactly opposite and the idea of someone�Śs personality dovetailing with mine in this very specific and irreplaceable way is scary because it means that I�Śm�Śme. ―It�Śs okay, Zoe. You don�Śt have to say anything.�
―Zeus,�
I say. And that�Śs all I need to say. I have my focus back and the dirt is crumbling and we�Śre moving ahead. I�Śm dreaming about the babies we�Śll have one day, in, like, a hundred years of course, and about all the things we�Śve yet to do together, and my dreams are so intense that I know we�Śll survive and nothing will ever go wrong again. And then he barks at me. ―Slow down!�
―Huh?�
―Zoe, you�Śre moving way too fast.�
Oh no. Was he reading my mind? Should I tell him I was kidding about the babies and am in no way ready to be a mom? ―I�Śm sorry.�
―Zoe, you can�Śt think that running away is just going to solve everything. It doesn�Śt. I mean, when you met me, I was hiding my wings and thinking I�Śd just stay there, pretend to be mortal. I thought that�Śs what I wanted. And now you tell me that I may as well be mortal because in a few hundred years I�Śm just a joke.�
―You�Śre not a joke.�
―Not now.�
―Zeus, you know how you just picked me up? I was freaking out�"�
―What does that mean?�
―It means I was scared. Anyway, you have to let me be there for you too.�
―Well, look how it all worked out for you, Zoe. Trapped underground and under attack and outnumbered.�
I lay a hand on his closed wings. I feel them flutter and I put my other hand there too and wait for his wings to settle. ―It worked out great, Zeus.�
He won�Śt look at me. ―I�Śm sorry, Zoe.�
―I�Śm not sorry. I never would have found you if I hadn�Śt broken the rules.�
―Look around, Zoe. It�Śs not looking so great for us.�
―We made it this far. And maybe the others will help us if we go back to Olympus.�
He turns now. I can barely make out his face in the dark. He says, ―They won�Śt, Zoe.�
―But they didn�Śt follow Hera before. There�Śs no reason to think they�Śll follow Hera now.�
He stretches out and lies down. ―Come here.�
There is just enough room for us to lie side by side. He pulls me in and his arms circle my body and he holds my hands on my stomach. We don�Śt say anything for a few minutes. We just breathe each other in. We just memorize the way our bodies feel together, his sweet breath on my neck. His lips find my ear and he opens his mouth. Softly, he sings me the chorus from Rihanna�Śs ―Umbrella.�
I laugh and he lets go of my hands. We both know that we can�Śt stay here forever, that it�Śs time to move on. We start crawling through the tunnel again. Within two feet we hear them. We�Śre not alone. Chapter 41 The invasion starts mildly enough. I feel something on my leg and I swat it away and then it�Śs gone. It�Śs okay, Zoe. You�Śre in a fresh tunnel a few hundred feet below the surface. Of course there are going to be a few critters. Like the one squirming across your forehead right now. I scream and flick it away. I�Śm embarrassed by my response. I�Śm usually not that prissy, like those Greeley girls who climb on top of a desk if a silverfish tries to make a run for the closet. ―Worm?�
he says. ―Just a bug, I think.�
―Nothing bit you though.�
―No, I�Śm fine.�
We move forward. Trudging through the dirt. And it happens again. Only this time it�Śs Zeus who screams. A waterfall of worms pours over us from every direction. I would scream, but if I open my mouth, they�Śll get in there. The worms are on my thighs and in my hair and wriggling onto Zeus�Śs wings. We�Śre not in a tunnel of dirt anymore. The worms are bursting out of the walls and the floor and the space for us is shrinking every second. ―Artemis is sending them after us,�
Zeus says, his words garbled. He ducks his head and shakes off more of the foul creatures. ―We have to get out of here!�
I cry. ―If we dig to the surface, the other gods will be right there, waiting for us.�
―Zeus,�
I shout, having shed every notion of myself as some unafraid, canyoneering type of nature girl. ―Please just go! �
I grab on to him, hoping that I have a hold on his wings underneath the worms, and he yelps as we tunnel up through the dirt. I am pushing the dirt aside in a panic, shifting directions whenever boulders appear. But still we�Śre moving too slowly to strip the worms from us. They keep trailing along with us, squirming sickeningly against our skin and hair, and suddenly I remember the trick from when I was running, using the dirt to propel me forward faster. I concentrate and use the dirt beneath us to launch us upward; we rise up as if in an elevator, and the earth is wetter and heavier and goopier and finally the worms are losing their grip. They can�Śt move as fast as us. Up, up we go. There are no boulders anymore. Soon we reach the open air, and I have the fire of vengeance in me. I, Zoe Calder, will show Artemis that you can�Śt choke us out with worms and get away with it. ―Take a deep breath,�
Zeus says. There�Śs no time to ask why because all at once the goop thins out and with a crash we burst into a world of water. We�Śre at the very bottom of a lake�"I can taste the freshness of the water�"and it�Śs dark and deep and I�Śm flailing and short of breath. My eyelids flutter and I�Śm panicking and Zeus swims to me and cups my face in his hands and brings his lips to mine. Oxygen. I inhale the lifesaving air and then we part and, joining hands, kick our way toward the surface. Our eyes are fixed at the darkness above. It can�Śt stay that dark forever. Every lake has a surface and we�Śll be there soon. But the light won�Śt come and my lungs are straining, threatening to pop. I can feel death coming for me, for both of us. Then Zeus shakes his arm and I look up and there it is: the light. We�Śre floating and we�Śre breathing and air has never tasted so sweet. Still gasping, I manage a smile. ―We made it.�
His face darkens and he says, ―So did they.�
I turn around and see them, the six angry gods all lined up on the shore of the lake where Zeus and I first met. They stand side by side, waiting for me to try to escape. I�Śm treading water and it�Śs harder every second to stay afloat. My boots are heavy and my lungs are shot and I don�Śt want to fight anymore. ―Can�Śt we just fly away?�
I whimper. ―They�Śll just come after us.�
―But they can�Śt fly.�
―But they can do other things, Zoe.�
He shakes his head. ―There�Śs no way out.�
I don�Śt like this. I don�Śt like Zeus scared and I don�Śt like being trapped in the water. Stone lily pads won�Śt do much against the full power of Poseidon. ―Zoe,�
he says, grabbing both my arms. ―You have to stay calm. We�Śre about to begin a battle.�
Before I can tell him that the battle began a while ago, when I first met these obnoxious, cliquey gods, I feel something wrap around my leg and I groan and lunge for Zeus, shaking myself free. ―I swear there was something on my leg.�
I want him to tell me I�Śm just paranoid and nervous but he looks at me with fear in his eyes. ―An octocost.�
―You mean �octopus�Ś?�
―I wish.�
And it�Śs back again, yanking me below the surface. I try to break free but its grip is strong and it�Śs pulling me down fast. It looks like an octopus crossed with a piranha, and one of its toothy appendages retracts and hurtles toward me. Oh god, I�Śm going to die, here it comes. I swerve with all the power I have left and the toothy thing grazes past my neck, just missing me. Now I�Śm flailing my arms in a helpless panic, trapped in the water, unable to breathe or scream or save myself. I�Śm too worked up to hold my breath and I see Zeus�Śs wings span and rise and he�Śs gone, swoosh, out of the water. He�Śs left me. He�Śs left me to die like this? I feel my lungs compress and my eyes start to drift shut. I think of those pompous gods on the beach, and with my last breath I will all the sand to rise and choke them. And then, without explanation, the octocost suddenly explodes, blasted to bits. I�Śm free and Zeus is sweeping me into his arms. ―Lightning?�
I say. ―You�Śre welcome.�
Chapter 42 While the gods are struggling for air in the sandstorm, Zeus and I swim for the shore. I�Śm going as fast as I can but I�Śm lagging way behind. Why didn�Śt I stay in swim class? I think of all those times at Greeley when I pretended I was sick to avoid wearing a bathing suit in front of the other kids. You really can�Śt live life worrying about what other people might think of you, because then you find yourself swimming to save your life and knowing that you would be swimming a lot faster if you had mastered the crawl. But it�Śs no matter anyway because now the beach is on fire�"Hades has ignited the entire span of it�"and the gods are bounding into the water, where, awaiting them, are six bobbing dolphins. ―Dolphins? Zeus, dolphins are good animals.�
―There�Śs no such thing as a �good�Ś animal, Zoe. They all worship Artemis.�
―But dolphins are smart. You know, the way that monkeys are smart. They know good from evil.�
―Maybe in the future,�
he says. ―Hold on to me. Tight.�
I wrap myself around him as the gods ride the dolphins like Jet Skis, racing toward us. ―Are you good?�
―Yes! Go!�
We zoom out of the water and fly up into the air�"but the water is coming with us. Poseidon is manipulating it, sending it up after us, and it�Śs gaining. I�Śve never seen anything so beautiful and ugly all at once, almost an entire lake on edge, like saltwater taffy stretched longer and thinner; the dolphins are nearly perpendicular to earth as they soar up the lake toward us, toward the sky that we can�Śt seem to reach, that we won�Śt reach because the water is at our feet, then our ankles, then our knees�Ś But before the water can take us, the darkness swallows us whole. We are falling. I reach for Zeus and he�Śs not there. He�Śs gone. Did Hera get him? I don�Śt know. I can�Śt know. I can�Śt see and I can�Śt hear and I can�Śt think, not with the wind whipping at me and carrying me away. Athena. Of course. At least their arrogance means that I have one chance after another to survive. Athena is the goddess of wind. When she blew me away from Zeus, she could have just thrown me against a cliff. She could have ended me right there. Just splat into a wall and gone once and for all. ―Why didn�Śt you just throw me into the wall, Athena?�
―I�Śd never,�
she says. ―I�Śd rather kill you myself.�
―Why? So you can feel superior to Hera?�
―Of course.�
The top of the cliff is no bigger than a boxing ring and we�Śre circling each other like fighters. There is no protective perimeter of rope and to fall would mean to die. I have to keep her talking. ―That�Śs the problem with you kids and your cliques,�
I say. ―You don�Śt have any real friends. You�Śre all just trying to be the boss.�
―The only person here who doesn�Śt have any friends is you, Zoe.�
I stop walking. I�Śm not afraid anymore. ―You could have been my friend. You still could. I know you�Śre not like her. Not really.�
And for a moment, Athena is still. The wind stops and the air clears and everything might be okay. Really, it might. I�Śm still an optimist at heart, still believing that people can change, that we all have goodness inside us. ―Zoe,�
she says. ―I�Śm sorry.�
Now the hail comes, blowing just for me, and I�Śm running and using the earth to make me run faster but I don�Śt seem to be getting anywhere. The wind grows stronger and my cheeks burn from the friction and my skin feels like it�Śs cracking into pieces and my ribs are pressed into my back and I could do a marathon in three minutes at this pace. The only reason I know that my brain hasn�Śt been blown back into my skull is that somehow, someway, even though I�Śve only been moving for minutes, I�Śm on Olympus. I�Śm catching my breath, looking around, trying to figure out where exactly I am. I can see the river leading up past the garden and toward the small natural pool where I found Hera kissing Zeus. I start to run downhill, but the ground doesn�Śt feel right and I still don�Śt have my bearings, not completely. I take a step but it�Śs too crackly. I look down. I see something golden, something I�Śve held before. It�Śs a piece of Zeus�Śs wing. ―No.�
The wing is hot in my hands, which makes no sense because it came from the ground and the ground�" Is on fire. I scream. But the only answer I get is the howl of a wolf, a wolf I can�Śt see because I am plunged into pitch-black darkness. Hera. Chapter 43 She lifts the darkness but there is no relief in the light. I�Śm surrounded. We are at the top of Olympus now, in the courtyard with the natural pool, and Hera leans against a skinny marble column, a few feet away from the giant rock, the Petros. She yawns, filing her nails, as if this is just another ordinary day. Athena and Poseidon wait attentively by her side. Ares and Artemis stand a few feet behind me, blocking the pathway, and Hades circles the grounds. I�Śm trapped in a ring of fire that grows tighter with his every step. They�Śre going to burn me alive and it�Śs going to be long and slow and painful. ―Where is he?�
I shout. Hera tilts her head and says, ―Where is who?�
―Zeus.�
―You�Śre still asking about him. Oh dear, what will it take for you to understand?�
It�Śs getting hotter. Sweat is trickling down my neck and I can�Śt help but flinch from the crackle of the oncoming flames. I can�Śt believe it�Śs all going to end this way. I will the earth to put out the fire but every time a layer of dirt rises to quench it, Athena blows it away. I try to will some nearby rocks onto the flames to stamp it out but Ares is quick on his feet, and smashes the rocks away. The power of numbers is not to be underestimated. ―It doesn�Śt have to be this way,�
I shout. ―Hera, I know you�Śre a good person deep down.�
―What�Śs that, Zoe?�
She�Śs mocking me, pushing her ear toward me. ―I can�Śt hear you over the sound of your imminent death.�
In the distance I see the other five gods approaching. They look scared and nervous, unwilling to challenge Hera in her moment of power. Soon all the gods but Zeus are watching me with a mixture of gloating and disquiet. ―Hera, you can do the right thing.�
―This is the right thing, dear. For us.�
With a sneer, she gestures to Hades, and the circle of fire closes in on me. I�Śm drenched in sweat, and I can�Śt help but wonder what will happen when the flames reach my skin. Will I see my own flesh set on fire, or will Hera use her powers to let me burn in darkness? That�Śs it! Her powers. I close my eyes and concentrate, reaching out with my mind, ignoring the snakelike flames nipping at my boots. It�Śs a dangerous move. It might not even work. But I have to try. After all, I�Śm not one of them. I�Śm a human. I�Śm used to not having any powers. I picture the Petros, the source of all their wrongs and abuses and powers. I can feel it nearby. It�Śs just a big rock, like any other piece of earth. Why didn�Śt I realize it before? It�Śs rock. I reach deep into the center of it with my mind, the heavy, luminous strangeness of it. Then I blow it up. I drop for cover just before tiny shards of the Petros fly outward in a wild explosion, piercing all the gods, knocking them to the ground like bowling pins. But it is Hera, standing only feet away from the Petros, who receives almost the entire brunt. She lets out a horrifying scream as thousands of Petros slices embed themselves in her body. She collapses in a heap. The fire is out. I know I should run for my life but I can�Śt move yet. Right now I can only bow my head in silence, mesmerized by the sight of the fallen gods. Olympus is different. I can feel it; the explosion has changed the electricity in the air. Without the Petros, things will be forever different. All that fighting wasn�Śt really about me. They don�Śt hate me. Even Hera doesn�Śt hate me. They�Śre all just sadly dependent on their powers and now I�Śve made their worst fears come true. I�Śve stripped them of their powers. I run my hand over the piece of Zeus�Śs wing. Then I hear a scratching noise and I look at the ground and it�Śs his hand; I�Śd recognize it anywhere. He�Śs covered in rubble and dirt, but when I try to part the ground, nothing happens, so I dig him out the old-fashioned way, by hand. He struggles to come up for air, and at last he breaks through the surface and his beautiful face is caked in dirt but I don�Śt care and I kiss him. ―It�Śs fine now,�
I say. ―We�Śre safe. The Petros is gone.�
―No, Zoe,�
he says. ―It�Śs all in Hera.�
We�Śre running. Fleeing. We don�Śt have powers. We don�Śt have anything but each other. The foliage is thick and Zeus is explaining that what I�Śve done isn�Śt as simple as I�Śd hoped. Now there is a grave imbalance. Now Hera is more powerful than ever. With all that Petros in her, she�Śll be unstoppable when she wakes up. ―If you thought she was bad now, just wait.�
―Where are we going?�
―To the temple. Where you first appeared.�
―Wait,�
I say, putting my hand on his arm. ―When did I tell you about the temple?�
―You didn�Śt,�
he says. ―Hera did. She told me everything you said to her. Why do you I think I had to let her kiss me? Zoe, she didn�Śt mean to, but she was telling me how to save your life.�
―Zeus,�
I say. I know it�Śs really not the time for kissing or hugging or anything like that, what with the temporarily unconscious killer ex-girlfriend goddess and the whole I-almost-just-died vibe that won�Śt quite go away�Śbut I kiss him anyway. You only live once. ―We have to go,�
he says. ―How much time do we have?�
―Not enough,�
he says. The image of a vengeful Hera crackling with power from the freshly blasted Petros is a strong motivator, and I�Śm sprinting for the temple. We�Śre retracing my first steps in ancient Greece and seeing it all again is dizzying�"the bustling village, the men and women zipping around in their togas, the togas I thought were costumes once upon a time. I see the boy I met that first day and he looks up from his ball game and I smile at him and open my mouth to say hello but there�Śs no time and he waves, and I�Śll remember that confusion on his face forever, the way he doesn�Śt even flinch when the ball hits him square in the belly, how stunned he is to see me, the strange girl from the other day, the one who made the earth open up. And as we near the edge of the village, I smile in anticipation of who I�Śll see next, and there she is, the old woman with the crazy teeth and her gaggle of friends, gossiping and whispering the same as ever, but they don�Śt notice me this time and they�Śll only hear about this later, in awe that I fled town with Zeus, never to be seen again. I realize that I am very afraid right now. It�Śs not just the possibility of Hera coming after us. It�Śs the quiet, simple understanding that I will never see any of these people again, that my life here is quite literally flashing before my eyes as we run toward the pasture, toward the temple. And everyone knows what it means when your life flashes before your eyes. It means you might die. Zeus trips and falls and in seconds I�Śm right there with him. ―Are you okay?�
―I�Śm okay.�
We�Śre low to the ground and we see it now, something we haven�Śt seen before. It looks like the tip of a paintbrush that spins onward for miles. It�Śs following us and the townsfolk are parting and bowing. Only it�Śs not a paintbrush. It�Śs Hera�Śs mane, slick and sharp, and it�Śs on a warpath and it�Śs headed our way, slithering like a snake. I wish it was a snake. This hair monster is infinitely scarier than any poisonous snake. And how appropriate that my ultimate enemy would be the long, thick mane controlled by a mean girl. I live my whole life fussing with my hair, unable to get my cowlick out of the way. Of course my death will come at the hand of a girl with supernatural control over her superior hair. That�Śs why I�Śm so afraid right now. It feels as though not just my time here but all of my life has led to this one battle. But there�Śs no more time to think. Hera�Śs swath of hair is sharp and vicious and coming for me. On all sides it cuts, like a creature with a hundred mouths�"it bites; it chomps. It is the darkness. It is the very essence of Hera�Śs power and it razes the earth and casts shadows that stamp out the life. Anything that doesn�Śt get out of its way is cut to pieces, and it never stops moving. It won�Śt stop swerving and careening and thrashing until it catches the one thing that it really wants: me and my stupid little cowlick. And if Zeus stays with me, it�Śs going to take him too. Chapter 44We don�Śt seem to be moving fast enough. We can hear the tendrils gaining on us and we�Śre struggling but the path is windy and we�Śre on the steepest part. The tendrils are thickening and spearing the air to warn us, Here we come. They own the ground and they cut the sky and they�Śre gaining on us�"they�Śre better than us. They don�Śt get sidetracked because of cumbersome feet that can�Śt make it around sharp turns without slipping. They shine and sharpen and are designed to travel and they don�Śt have to grab on to olive branches for balance. Those black tendrils may have gotten a late start but they�Śre catching up. There�Śs no way around it. Hera isn�Śt drunk with power anymore. She�Śs sober with it. She�Śs smart. And there is nothing more dangerous in this world, in any world, than someone calm, clear and angry. We make it to the top of the hill, where I first emerged from the temple and saw the smoke in the distance. Only now we can�Śt see the village. The tendrils are eating the sky. They�Śve eviscerated the view and they�Śre swirling and tangling their way toward us. The patches of darkness have cut the air itself. There is no sky in some places. There are only voids. But we�Śve made it here and I can�Śt help but hope that there is a way. There must be a way. ―Maybe we can fight her.�
―We can�Śt, Zoe.�
―You don�Śt mean that.�
The tendrils are almost upon us now, snapping and whipping at the ground. But I feel something much worse than any strangle or chokehold that those tendrils could do to me. I feel Zeus�Śs hand on my back and he�Śs pushing me into the temple. ―I won�Śt leave you,�
I say. ―Zoe, go. You can live. You can go home.�
―But what about you?�
―She�Śll lay off once you�Śre gone. That�Śs all she wants. She wants you to go home.�
Don�Śt cry, Zoe. You�Śll have a whole long and lonely life to cry. Soon you�Śll be back at the base camp, trying to explain where you�Śve been to Sophia and Alex. Probably they�Śll ship you off to one of those resorty mental institutions for the rest of the summer. And then in the fall you�Śll be back at Greeley hearing all about CeeCee�Śs summer of fun on Martha�Śs Vineyard. You�Śll check your Facebook�"no messages�"and when you try to tell people about your boyfriend, Zeus, you�Śll sound like the female version of an outcast geek boy who claims to be dating half the supermodels in Canada. In other words, you�Śll be home soon. ―Zeus, you�Śre my home.�
―Zoe�Ś�
―I�Śm not going without you. I don�Śt care if I die. I�Śd rather die next to you.�
I don�Śt know what he�Śs going to say. The tendrils are snarling and rising and tangling and they hover over us blocking the sun. At any moment they could come down and wipe us both away. He takes my hand and says, ―Then I�Śm going with you.�
―What?�
―We�Śll go together.�
―You can�Śt!�
I exclaim, genuinely surprised. I had never even imagined this as a possibility. Zeus coming with me? ―This is where you live. You�Śre�Ś you�Śre Zeus.�
―I�Śm Zoe�Śs boyfriend. That�Śs who I am.�
I see it before he does, the tendrils rising and coiling into one monstrous thick braid. Before it can lash out at us, I grab him and pull him through the door of the temple. The braid is too thick to make it through the entryway and I swear I can hear Hera shrieking in the distance as she tries to untangle her black braid. As we rush through the unfinished temple, I try to remember where the room I found the obolus is, but so much has happened since then that it�Śs almost impossible to backtrack and�" Wait a minute. Does he really mean he�Śs coming with me? ―Zeus, it�Śs okay. You don�Śt have to come along.�
―I�Śm not staying here without you.�
―But I�Śm just a student. I mean, I�Śll have to go back to school and you don�Śt go there and you don�Śt know how to live in the future.�
―So you�Śll show me.�
I try to picture holding his hand and strolling to the cafeteria. Would he be wearing pants? Would he not have his wings? How long would it take for some pretty sophomore to bat her eyelashes at him? Ah, but all these thoughts and worries are irrelevant. I don�Śt have those insecurities anymore, not really. ―Zeus, are you sure?�
―I�Śm sure.�
I stop short. I see it, the landmark. ―Scaffolding!�
He follows me to the door and we hear a crash behind us. The tendrils have broken through the entryway and are winnowing down the corridors toward us. They�Śll be here soon. I pull him left and then right, and when I duck into a high-ceilinged room, I see it in the corner, the giant iPhone. And I understand now why it wasn�Śt here when I first arrived. They hadn�Śt built it yet. Sometimes, you just need to be patient. I take the obolus out of my pocket. ―If you hate it in the future,�
I tell Zeus, ―I�Śll feel terrible.�
―I won�Śt hate it.�
―Well, you might�Ś�
―How bad can Bookface really be?�
I laugh. He laughs. We needed to laugh. Black hair is slithering around the corner and it won�Śt be long now. ―It�Śs Facebook,�
I say softly. He takes my hand. ―I�Śm never changing my mind about you, Zoe. I love you.�
Hera�Śs black hair bursts into the room and rolls and twists and swats. Something even more ferocious has come for us: Hera herself. She�Śs peering out through all that hair, piercing us with her frustrated gaze. As I watch her literally hiding behind her hair, I feel myself forgiving her for all that she has done. She doesn�Śt know love. All she knows is power. And like her hair, it�Śs too much�"it�Śs literally swallowing her. She could kill us right now. She has the power and she has us cornered. But there�Śs no venom in her eyes anymore; there is only a loneliness that is almost tangible, a yearning to feel accepted. She just wants to be loved, and deep down she knows she cannot find that love in this room. She would be better off if we were both gone. She would be free. I look into Zeus�Śs eyes. I look at the giant iPhone. I motion for him to kneel down with me and he does and I bring the obolus close to the circle. I look at him one last time. I�Śm going to ask him if he�Śs sure about this, about a whole new world, about holding my hand for the rest of his life, about there suddenly being such a thing as ―the rest of his life,�
because in all probability, where we�Śre going, we won�Śt be immortal. All these questions swirl in my mind and I need to start asking them, but as it turns out, I don�Śt need to ask him anything at all. His eyes are an answer. He�Śs ready. I�Śm ready. Love is real and it changes people, if they let it. I bring the obolus to the circle and I whisper, ―Hold on tight.�
Light flashes and a wall of water surges over us. It�Śs just like the storm that carried me off the first time, the storm that brought me here. The swell is sudden and the wind is sharp and cold and the lightning is so close it�Śs blinding. And then it�Śs too dark to see but I know I�Śll be okay because his voice is the last sound I hear before I drift away, muffled by the wind and the rain and the thunder, but undeniably, absolutely his voice, speaking only and with certainty to me, ―I�Śm here, Zoe. Forever.�
About the Author Audrey Hart came up with the idea for The Dig while visiting the Minoan ruins in Crete. The Dig: Zoe and Zeus is the first book in a trilogy. Table of ContentsPrologueChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Part TwoChapter 12Chapter 12Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapters 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Part 3Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Part 4Chapter 32Chapter 33Chapter 34Chapter 35Chapter 36Part 5Chapter 37Chapter 38Chapter 39Chapter 40Chapter 41Chapter 42Chapter 43Chapter 44