Oh. My. Gods. omg-1 Read online

The Zeus set? I guess I can see how being related to the ruler of all the gods would come with extreme popularity. Who would dare to cross them when you might wind up with a thunderbolt in the back?

  One of the boys shifts, opening my view to the other side of the group. Stella stares back at me, willing one of those thunderbolts to hit me, I’m sure.

  “Stella’s one of them?” I ask, looking away before those gray eyes turn me to stone or something.

  “Not exactly.” Nicole flicks a sneering glance at the group. “She’s one of Hera’s.”

  “So then why-” I begin. Then I remember Hera’s role on Olympus-Zeus’s consort.

  “There are alliances,” Nicole explains. “Zeus-Hera is the strongest.”

  Figures. Not only is Stella a colossal evil, but she’s got the popularity and the genes to back it up. I am more than thankful her powers are grounded right now. Otherwise Nicole would be carrying me to class in a baggie.

  Looking around for something other than the evil stepsister to talk about, I ask, “What about them?”

  Another group of students, all with sun-bleached hair, is gathered around a water fountain. They look like they washed up in the last wave. A lot of pooka shell necklaces and flip-flops. The guys are wearing brightly colored boardshorts and Hawaiian print shirts.

  Some of the girls are in sundresses, some in camisoles and breezy skirts. One of the girls looks just like a picture I saw once of Cameron Diaz surfing.

  “That,” Nicole says, pointing at the surfer crowd, “is Poseidon’s posse. Most of their brain cells have burned off from too much time in the sun.”

  At the center of the circle I notice a guy with white-blond hair that looks a little like Heath Ledger in A Knight’s Tale.

  “Forget it,” Nicole warns when she sees me looking. “Deacon’s dumb as a box of rocks.” She tilts her head, as if considering him for a second. “Actually, that’s an insult to rocks.”

  From the other end of the hall I hear a boy squeal, “I got it! I hacked into the Olympic mainframe!”

  He’s obviously a geek-complete with thick black-framed glasses and high-waisted pants. He’s clutching a calculator-sized PDA in his hand, jumping up and down and revealing a total lack of coordination as he practically trips over his own feet and falls into the rest of his group.

  “Geeks?” I ask.

  “Hephaestus,” she replies with a sigh. “I think he’s embarrassed by them. I know I would be. Not one of them has a chance of scoring an Aphrodite like he did, but I bet one day they make Bill Gates look poor.”

  I always thought it was romantic how the deformed god of fire married the beautiful goddess of love. Kind of like a mythological Beauty and the Beast. Looking at his descendants, however, I’m thinking more along the lines of Weird Science -but these guys don’t look coordinated enough to build the perfect woman.

  Seeing all the cliques grouped according to ancestral god makes me wonder about Nicole. Seems like she doesn’t hang out with anyone but herself-and now me. But she’s part immortal, too.

  “So, which god are you-”

  She suddenly jerks me across the hall toward an open door, almost sending me sprawling on the floor.

  “What the-”

  “The Hades harem,” she explains. “You do not want to mess with them.”

  And, peeking back out the doorway, boy can I see why.

  The group just rounding the corner look like your average Goths-black hair, black clothes, black eyeliner-but with an edge.

  Pretty fitting for the god of the underworld’s descendants.

  Shoulder-to-shoulder, they stride down the hall, daring anyone to get in their way. The Zeus set stares them down, but most of the other students in the hall scamper out of their path. As they pass the doorway, a tall, thin girl with pale skin, shoulder-length black hair, and piercing pale blue eyes, stares at me with intimidating intensity. I know I must be a novelty and all, but she really doesn’t need to look like she wants to melt me with her eyes.

  “Who is that?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

  “That,” she says, grabbing my shoulder and dragging me into the classroom, “is Kassandra. Trouble on a cosmic scale.”

  I don’t need her warning to know that.

  “This is Cornball’s class,” she says, flopping into a desk in the last row. “Make it through this and it’s all downhill until lunch.”

  “Great,” I say, dragging my fascinated thoughts back from Kas64 sandra and the Hades harem and following her to the back of the room.

  I can do this. With Nicole’s help I’ll be in sync with the social patterns in no time, and all I have to do is get my Bs. No prob“I assume you all practiced the quadratic formula over the summer holiday,” the big, beefy teacher at the front of the class says.

  “Take out a sheet of paper, solve for x and graph the solution.”

  He turns to the board and writes a list of ten equations, each one longer than a long distance phone number. Crap. Maybe USC will accept a solid C average.

  Maybe I should have sat in the front row.

  “How has your day been thus far, Phoebe?”

  I look up at the sound of Damian’s voice. What a question. It’s a miracle I’ve made it to lunch, and the last thing I need is his interference in my half-hour of education-free time. My brain seriously needs to decompress.

  “Fine,” I say.

  Really, though, my brain is on fire. I made it through Algebra on sheer luck-and a few answer prompts from Nicole. Cornball might have gotten his nickname from all the stupid jokes he makes during class, but when it comes to math he’s as serious as an 8.0 on the Richter scale.

  Modern Greek had been a little easier-being a first-year language class and all-but I was the only one in the class on thedownhill side of puberty. You don’t know how immature fourteenyear-olds can be until you’re stuck in a room with a bunch of them for an hour.

  The only thing that made World History, my last class before lunch, bearable was hunky Mr. Sakola. He looks like some fifties movie star, with a bright white smile, perfectly combed hair, and a really cute dimple in his left cheek. He’s also as charming as Will Smith-with an equally beautiful wife, if the framed pic on his desk is any indication. The class, however, was another dumpload of information. I took enough notes to fell an entire forest.

  So, by fine I mean exhaustingly rotten, but I don’t say it.

  “Good.” He smiles like a principal-wide and proud, his sophisticated face cracking into sophisticated lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Any problems or questions?”

  “No…” I say, but even that’s not true. “Actually, there is one thing.”

  He nods, encouraging me to clarify.

  Though I have seriously considered not telling him this, I think it’s in my best long-term interest to be as forthright as possible. After all, I don’t want him out to make my life more miserable than it already is. So, I suck it up and say, “I, um, tweaked my schedule a little…”

  He nods again. “In what way?”

  “Well-” I swallow, hoping he doesn’t question my prerequisites.

  “I traded Computer Applications and Biology for Art History and Physics II.”

  More nodding. What’s with all the nodding? “As long as you keep up with your assignments, I don’t foresee a problem. I just want to see you happy in your time here.” Now hissmile is more parental, small but still reaching his eyes to crinkle up the corners. He leans across the table to Nicole and whispers, “Miss Matios, the last student who tried to zap Philosophy out of their schedule spent a week as a pile of sand.”

  Then, without another word, he stands up and walks away, surveying the lunchroom like a General watching his troops.

  “Man,” Nicole says when Damian’s out of earshot, “I’m glad I’m not you. I wouldn’t want Petrolas for a dad.”

  “He’s not my dad,” I snap. I feel instantly guilty. It’s not her fault I’ve been tossed into this little dysfunctional family.
“Sorry. My real dad died a long time ago. Damian is just my stepdad.”

  She shrugs like I haven’t just bitten her head off or she could care less that I did. I’m just relieved she doesn’t make a big deal of the dead dad thing. I’m not always so touchy about it-therapist Mom head-shrank me through the whole grieving process-but I’ve been thinking about him more than usual since the whole stepdad thing started. Having a fake dad makes me miss my real one more.

  Great, another thing to look forward to for the next nine months.

  At least Nicole doesn’t seem to care if I’m a moody psycho.

  Something over my shoulder catches her attention. “Travatas!” she shouts across the dining hall, waving her arm in the air to catch someone’s attention.

  At the head of the lunch line is a cute boy-blond and wholesome in a Chad Michael Murray kind of way-with dark gold hair and wearing aMY CHEMICAL ROMANCET-shirt. He looks up at Nicole’s shout and smiles.

  “Hey Nicole,” he says, carrying his tray over to our table and taking the seat next to mine.

  “Phoebe,” she says, pointing her fork at cute boy, “this is Troy.”

  “Hi.” I wave in greeting.

  He smiles, showing straight white teeth and says, “Hi back.”

  “He’s pretty much the only person in this school worth knowing.”

  She starts to take a sip of her Dr Pepper, but then adds, “Besides me, of course.”

  Nicole is not short on confidence.

  “Has Nicole been showing you around?” he asks, his mouth curling up at the corners.

  “Yeah.” I nod.

  Nicole is way better as a guide than Stella would have been. I can just imagine my day as Stella’s puppy dog, forced to trail after her and lick her boots when she got a scuff.

  Even across the crowded dining hall, I can feel her glare.

  She is at a table at the opposite side of the hall-far, far away from ours-sitting with the rest of the Zeus-and-Heras. She’s sitting next to a boy with short, rusty blond hair who, from the confident way he is holding himself, is the leader of their pack. Tan, slick, and arrogant, he looks like her perfect match.

  Troy must see me staring at her because he says, “I hear Stella’s your stepsister.” He takes and swallows a bite of vegetable lasagna.

  “Sorry.”

  What, did they have a school-wide briefing about me? It seems like everyone knows who I am, where I came from, and how I got here. Right now, about half the cafeteria is looking at me while trying not to look like they’re looking. I’m like a celebrity, but not in a good way.

  Don’t they have better things to talk about? “Am I the school’s only gossip?” I ask.

  “Pretty much,” Nicole says.

  I shrug. Great. “Then trust me,” I say to Troy. “Stella is the least of my challenges.”

  “Yeah, I guess it would be hard to get dropped into this world.”

  His eyes-a really pretty green with bright gold flecks in the center-are warm with sympathy. “Don’t worry… you’ll get through.”

  He’s sweet, which may be why I confess, “It might be easier if I had found out about this whole ‘the gods are real’ thing before the yacht docked on Serfopoula.”

  Troy’s jaw drops. “They didn’t tell you?”

  “What,” Nicole says, rolling her eyes, “like you’re surprised? You know how Petrolas is about security.”

  “I know, but-” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe it.

  Join the club. “Let’s just say this has been a summer of shocks.”

  “What did they tell you?” Nicole asks.

  “Pretty much that the school was founded by Plato, moved here ages ago, and protected by the Greek gods. Oh, and that all the students are related to them.”

  She snorts, clearly not impressed with how little I know. “Leave it to Petrolas to give you the history without any real, useful info.”

  “Like what?” I ask, trying not to sound nervous.

  I’m not sure I want to know how much more I need to know.

  “Any use of powers that breaks school rules,” Troy says, “like cheating or skipping class or altering a teacher’s memory, is forbidden and earns serious detention time.”

  “No one wants a Petrolas detention,” Nicole says, sounding grim.

  “They make the Labors of Hercules look like kindergarten homework.”

  “You should know,” Troy teases. “You’ve done more detention than anyone else in our year.”

  “Are you volunteering to take my place next time, Travatas?”

  Troy turns white. “N-no, I mean, I was only-”

  Nicole throws a roll at him.

  I laugh because this reminds me so much of the sparring matches between Nola and Cesca. For a second I feel like I’m back in L.A. with my best friends. Until Nicole says, “And whatever you do, don’t go into the last stall of the girls’ bathroom on the second floor.”

  “Why,” I ask, afraid of the answer, “does it open a portal to a parallel universe, or something?”

  “No,” Nicole says with a laugh. “It backs up all the time and makes the Physics room smell like a sewer.”

  Troy hands me a roll and I toss it at Nicole.

  “Don’t worry,” he says when we all get done laughing. “Nic and I will teach you the ropes. You’ll be a world-class social navigator before we’re done.”

  “We’ll at least make sure you don’t run your ship up on the rocks,” she adds. “Lunch is the perfect chance to see all the little gorgons in action. Where should we start?”

  The pair of them look around the dining hall, searching out examples for my education.

  “How about with you?” I suggest. “What, um, gods are you related to?”

  Nicole points at Troy. “Travatas is around fifty generations removed from Asklepios.”

  “Who’s Askilopus?” I ask.

  “Asklepios,” Troy corrects. “The god of healing.”

  “That’s neat,” I say.

  “Right.” Troy rolls his eyes. “I’m just dying to follow in that millennium-long line of doctors and nurses.”

  Talk about pressure. I guess maybe that’s not so great, after all.

  Turning back to Nicole, who is looking around the room again, I ask, “What about you-”

  “That’s the Athena table,” she announces. “They’re all brainiacs, like Tyrovolas.”

  Troy leans closer and whispers, “Nerds.”

  Like I couldn’t tell. As if the thick glasses and pocket protectors weren’t clues enough, they’re huddled around the table and bickering over trading cards. The cards flash and sparkle with every movement. I have a feeling these aren’t your typical Pokemon.

  “Those girls.” Troy nudges me, pointing to a bunch of blondes standing near the door. “They’re the cheerleaders.”

  Where does this guy think I’m from? Siberia? Southern California is the cheerleader capital of the world-well, second maybe to Texas-and I have no problem identifying them. The blue and white uniforms are a dead giveaway. Even in street clothes, the matching hair ribbons mark them as the cheer squad.

  But, Troy is cute and I don’t want to make any enemies on the first day-Stella is already enemy enough-so I just ask, “Whose are they?”

  Troy frowns, confused, but Nicole understands.

  “Aphrodite’s.” She does not hide the disgust in her voice, rolling her eyes as she adds, “You’d think she was the patron goddess of athletics instead of love, for all they throw her name around.”

  “Athletics,” Troy explains, “fall under the patronage of Ares.”

  Looking up, I follow the direction of his gaze to a table in the center of the room. While I’m watching, the cheerleaders approach the table and fill some of the empty seats.

  One, the blondest of them all, walks up behind a boy. His back is to me, so all I can see is his black curly hair. He stands up to embrace Blondie, settling his mouth over hers and smoothing his hand over her butt.

&n
bsp; Holy crap!

  Next to me, Troy says, “Looks like Griffin and Adara are on-again at the moment.”

  “Who?” I ask absently.

  “Griffin Blake and Adara Spencer. They get back together every summer,” Nicole says. “Never lasts more than a week into school.”

  Griffin Blake. The name rolls through my mind like gentle thunder. He is a god-okay, bad choice of words, but even with his face hidden behind the cheerleader he is the most beautiful specimen of boyhood I have ever seen.

  After a brief fantasy about his luscious hair, I take in the rest of him, starting with his height-all six-foot-plus of him. (Wait, do they use feet and inches in Greece? Maybe I should say all two meters of him.) Tall and broad-shouldered, but with the lean, sleek athletic build of a runner. Which instantly appeals to me, of course.

  There’s something vaguely familiar about him.

  His coal black hair curls over the white collar of the navy and sky blue striped rugby shirt he wears. Lifting his head from kissing Blondie, he turns to laugh at something someone at the table says.

  It’s him! The guy from the beach.

  Those full and soft lips spread into the most beautiful, open smile I have ever seen. So much more than that half smile he had given me that morning. And I know, absolutely 100 percent know, that one day I want him to smile at me that way.

  Then I see a girl at the table-one of the lesser blondes-pointing a finger in my gawking direction. Griffin’s gaze turns on me, sees me openly staring at him, and erupts into laughter.

  Winning that smile is going to be much harder than I thought.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “What?” I turn back to Nicole to find her glaring at me.

  “Trust me,” she says with her customary bitterness. “You want nothing to do with Griffin Blake.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Nic and Gri-” Troy begins.

  “Shut it.” She gives him a warning look and then turns back to me, her bright blue eyes steady and serious. “Because no girl should leave the Academy with a shattered soul.”

  Without another word, she drops her gaze to her food and resumes eating. I look to Troy for answers, but his attention is fully on his plate, too.

  Nicole’s warning doesn’t make any sense. Sure, he’s with the cheerleaders and the jocks-normally a formula for making a jerkbut when we met on the beach this morning he was totally nice. He even got me home in time to clean up before school.