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PSYCHODICTATION
SOURCE: ATHENA
The ability to communicate telepathkally, whether in words, feelings, orother ways, with another hematheos. Communication should not beattempted without proper training, because of rare but serious risk ofbrain aneurism.(See Psycbospection for the ability to read another'sthoughts.)
DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE * Stella Petrolas
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WHEN I PUSH THROUGH the glass door of the ice-cream parlor, the owner waves. "Afternoon, Phoebe."
I tell myself Demetrius knows my name because he prides himself on knowing everystudent's name-not because I have an ice-cream problem or anything.
"How was camp today?" he asks.
Demetrius, a descendant of Clio-the muse of history-and a major throwback to the fifties, keeps the place in perfect Happy Daysstyle. Chrome and sky-blue vinyl everywhere. A long bar with round, counter height stools. A pair of cramped booths in the back with mini-jukeboxes on the tables. And just about any ice-cream flavor you could ever imagine.
I shrug. "Fine."
"Phoebe," Nicole calls out from one of the booths.
Troy waves and says, "Hey!"
"Be right there," I say, then turn to Demetrius to place my order. "I'll have my usual."
My mouth starts salivating at the thought of that perfectly spherical scoop of mint chocolate chip perched on a crunchy brown sugar cone. Knowing Griffin is going to crack down on our training nutritional plan any minute now makes the indulgence even more enticing. Allure of the forbidden and all that.
"Not today," Demetrius says. "I've got something better."
Better? What could be better?
"Try this," he says. "On the house."
I take the cone and eye it suspiciously. It looks like pretty average ice cream-vanilla colored with little white flecks.
"Thanks," I say, a little defeated. But it's not like I can resent free ice cream.
"Try it."
With a shrug, I dart out my tongue for a quick sample. My taste buds explode with a long-forgotten flavor.
"Oh my gods," I gasp, staring at Demetrius. "You didn't!"
Me smiles smugly. "I did."
Nicole, tired of waiting for me, shouts out, "He did what?"
I stare, wide-eyed, at my new favorite person on the planet.
"This ice-cream genius," I say between licks, "re-created Ben Jerrys White Russian. Perfectly." I shake my head in awe. "My all-time favorite."
Demetrius winks at me. "You're welcome."
"I could just jump over this counter and hug you." I take another lick.
He actually blushes. "Go on," he says, gesturing me away. "Your friends are waiting."
"Thanks."
As I slide into the sky-blue booth next to Nicole, Troy asks, "Why are you getting apoplectic over ice cream?"
"This isn't just any ice cream," I explain. "This is the best flavor ever invented. BJ discontinued it years ago and I haven't had a taste since. "Here," I say, holding out the cone, "try it."
Troy turns kind of green and shakes his head adamantly.
"What's wrong?" I ask, jabbing the ice cream in his direction.
"Oh gods," Troy yelps, then claps one hand over his mouth and the other over my wrist, shoving me away.
"What's wrong with him?" I ask Nicole.
"When he was in Athens last week," she says, giving Troy a sympathetic look, "he finally told his parents he wants to be a musician."
"Good for you!" I congratulate Troy, who still looks more green than not. We've been trying to get him to come clean for months. He's from a long line of doctors-like millennia long-so of course that's what his parents want him to be. But music is in his soul. He'd be miserable as a doctor, and I know his parents would understand that. "What does that have to do with ice cream?"
"It's not the ice cream, exactly," she explains. "It's the sugar."
I give her a look that repeats, so?
"His parents were not exactly thrilled by the news."
"That's putting it mildly," Troy adds, returning to a mostly normal, mostly pinky-tan color. They hit the roof." He shudders. "Literally."
"I still don't-"
"They cursed my taste buds."
That sounds rotten. "What does that mean?"
"Until I agree to become a doctor," he explains, "every time I eat something sweet, it tastes like… something notsweet."
"That sucks." If this were anything other than White Russian, I'd toss it out in Friendship solidarity. But, as I said, it's Wbitc Russian'.I ignore my guilt, trying to be as discreet as possible about my icecream ecstasy.
"That's not the worst of it," he says, sounding even more dejected. "They enrolled me in SIPP." When I look confused, he adds, 'The Summer Intensive Pre-med Program. Instead of writing songs and practicing, I'll spend all summer in class."
Nicole pats his hand. "You'll get through it, Travatas."
"There's a weeklong anatomy segment," he complains. "Anatomy! We're going to dissect… something. I just know it."
"Maybe you can do a virtual dissection or something," I suggest, taking a bite out of the sugar cone. "Nola and I did that in freshman biology."
"Whatever," he says, waving me off. "I don't want to talk about it. What'd you do in camp today?"
Popping the tail end of the cone into my mouth. I reach into my pocket.
"I earned my first merit badge."
I slap the little round patch onto the table.
At first I'd thought Stella was joking. A merit badge? For notcracking my skull on the tile? Wow, what an achievement. But then she'd handed this to me and said, "One down, eleven to go."
Just like the ones that covered Nola's Girl Scouts vest in elementary school, this merit badge is round with a thick ring of color surrounding the central picture. In this case, the ring is white, the background is sky blue, and the picture depicts a white whooshy wave of wind.
"Aerokinesis,"' Troy says. "Cool."
"Did you fly?"
"Not exactly." I pull the badge across the table and slip it back into my pocket. "More like hovered to keep from smashing my head against the courtyard floor."
Nicole and Troy exchange a look. They both say, "The trust fall."
I nod, pretending I'm not crazy proud of myself. But I am.
The study guide says-yes, I finally read it-aerokinesisis the ability to move air. In this case, moving enough air under my falling body to hold it suspended. That's pretty darn cool.
"Show us." Nic says.
"What?" My hand is still in my pocket and I smooth my fingers over the edge of the patch. "You want me to trust-fall in here?"
"Nah," She waves off my suggestion. She reaches across the table and grabs the saltshaker, setting it in front of me. "Move this using air."
"I don't think I should-"
"Come on," Troy says. "We want to see what you learned."
I hesitate. What if I can't really control that power? What if I send the salt flying all over the room? That probably means years of bad luck or something. Or what if I accidentally conjure an entire salt mine? Or if I zap us to the Dead Sea? Or-
"Stop dragging your feet." Nicole points at the shaker. "Go."
"Fine," I say, but not before throwing her an annoyed scowl.
Then I turn my attention to the salt. Keeping in mind what Stella said-I know, right?– concentrate on trusting the shaker to move. I'm not thinking about the salt or trying to move it or wishing it would move, I just picture it already there. In my mind, the shaker is in front of Nicole. I believe. I trust.
Everything glows. When I blink through the light, I see the little glass shaker slide smoothly down the table. The paper napkin from my cone flutters as the shaker passes.
Nicole catches the shaker as it slides to a stop.
"Nice," she says with a grin.
I release a huge sigh of relief. All I can think is, It actually worked!Sure, I'd caught myself before smashing skull to pavement, but it wasn't a conscious effort. This time I actually knew what I was doing. I had a goal. I met that goal.
And nothing blew up!
One step closer to not getting smoted.
"Maybe Goddess Boot Camp is the best thing that could have happened to your powers this summer," Troy says. "Zeus knows it's better than what's happening to methis summer."
"At least you're not stuck with Stella and Adara," I reply.
Okay, so Stella's not at the top of my evil-harpy list at the moment. But Adara's holding strong at number one.
"That reminds me," Nicole says. "I might know what happened to the record."
"The one about Phoebe's dad?"
I know, I know. We weren't supposedto tell anyone about going into the secret archives. But really, Troy is one of our closest friends. It's not like he'sgoing to tell anyone.
"What?" I ask.
"After you ran off to camp," she says. "Philipoulos was so mad about finding it gone that she ranted a bit. She kinda forgot I was there."
"And you didn't try to remind her."
She flashes me a mischievous smile. "She said the only way someone could have slipped past the security of the closet elevator without her knowledge was if they had been a library aide. Anyone who wants a book from the archives has to fill out a request slip. Since Mrs. Vis the only librarian on staff, once she has approved their request, she either sends an aide to retrieve the book or goes herself. Which means…"
"It had to be a student," I shake my head. "Why would a student want to steal my dad's trial record? Or any record? I mean, it's not like it's breaking news or anything."
"There could be dozens of reasons," Troy says. "Like someone looking for a loophole in an Olympic ruling, for example."
His hazel eyes flick to Nicole.
"Or someone wanting to uncover a secret," she snaps. "Or do a research paper. Or write an article for the Chronicle."
The Chronicle?The school newspaper? A puzzle piece falls into place.
"Adara writes for the Chronicle."It would be so typical for her to torment me like this. "She could have done it."
"Don't jump to conclusions," Troy says. "Don't accuse her without-"
"She never worked in the library," Nicole interrupts. "But there's another possibility." She pulls a computer printout from her back pocket and sets it in the middle of the table. "Read this."
Troy and I both lean forward to see where she's pointing.
Electronic Catalog and Historiography of Olympus REPORT
Search String: past student employees
Time Frame: 5 years
Query Results: 11 entries
"How did you get this?" Troy asks as I scan the list. "Access to ECHO is insanely restricted. You remember what happened in eighth grade when I tried to change my failing algebra grade." He shudders at the memory. "Sometimes my fingers still tingle when it rains."
"I didn't access the system," Nicole says. "Philipoulos left the printout on her desk when Mr. Sakola asked for help finding the Atlantis collection in the map room. You'd think he was Adonis, the way she dropped everything and-"
My eyes pop out when I see the third name on the list.
"Did you sec this?" I point at the third name.
Nicole breaks off and says, "Yeah.,I thought that was kind of interesting."
"What?" Troys spins the paper around. After a quick glance, he says, "Holy Hades!"
"Tell me about it." I slump back against the vinyl seat. "And just when I thought we were getting along."
The third name on the list is Stella Petrolas.
As we walk through the village-a little aimlessly because I'm not so eager to go home and face Stella-I know I shouldn't jump to conclusions. Just because Stella could have stolen the record doesn't mean she did. I mean, she was with me when the note arrived. Even Stella isn't powerful enough to be in two places at once. Of course she could have gotten someone else to leave the note. Or she could have stolen the record, but not have been behind the note. Or she could have nothing to do with anything. Or-
"Let's go to the bakery," Nicole says.
"No thanks," Troy grumbles, looking miserable.
"Come on," Nic says with a smile. "If anyone can make delicious sugar-free treats Lili can."
"Huh-uh," I say, pulling myself out of my Stella ponderings. "Bakery's closed. Griffin and Aunt Lili went to Serifos today to get a fresh stock of berries."
"That's weird," Nicole says. "I could have sworn I saw…"
She trails off, her dark blonde eyebrows scrunching down into a frown.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing." She shakes her head, like she's trying to forget whatever she thought she saw. "Never mind."
"What, Nicole?" I demand. I can tell from the way she's evading that it's bad. A burning ache starts low in my stomach, "tell me what you saw."
"On my way here"-she gives me an apologetic look-". . . . I saw Griffin."
No. That's not possible. He's at the farmer's market on Serifos. That's why we rescheduled our run for this morning. That's why I got up early on my summer vacation. Griffin wouldn't have done that to me for no reason. He wouldn't lie to me. Even when he wanted to hate me when I first got to Serfopoula, he didn't lie to me.
But Nicole wouldn't lie to me, either. Not about this. There must be a reasonable explanation.
Confused, I look up at her. Her blue eyes look sympathetic and a little wary. Nervous.
"What else?" I ask.
She shakes her spiky blonde head, like she doesn't want to tell me. The burning ache takes over my entire stomach, making me regret my hasty consumption of Demetrius's White Russian.
"Just tell me." I take a deep breath. I know she wouldn't be all concerned like this for no reason. "Where did you see him?"
"Going into the bookstore." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "With Adara."
"Oh," I say quietly.
I'm not surprised. After the way he's been behaving-to me and to Adara-this is not completely unexpected. He's been spending as much time with her recently as he has with me. I've been busy the last few weeks-forced into servitude over Stella's graduation, helping get Mom and Damian out the door for their honeymoon, learning how to wield my powers while surrounded by ten-year-olds. He's been busy, too-helping out Aunt Lili in the bakery full-time, getting math tutoring so he can take calculus next year, swapping spit with his ex-girlfriend.
Stepping back from the ledge of conclusion, I make myself consider other possibilities. It could be totally innocent-they could have coincidentally arrived at the bookstore simultaneously and decided to walk in together.
Or, the part of me that still stings from jerky Justin's betrayal screams, it could be totally notinnocent.
Griffin, I tell myself, is not Justin.
"I'm sure it's nothing," I say, trying to sound like I believe it. They probably just ran into each other."
"Yeah," Troy says.
He's a horrible liar.
"I'm sure you're right," Nicole agrees. "It's nothing."
She's a much better liar, but has much lower tolerance for self-deception. The friend part of her wants to reassure me. The Nicolepart of her wants me to be prepared for the reality of the situation.
But whether he ran into Adara or was actually meeting her, the truth is Griffin didlie to me. I try to convince myself that he wouldn't. Maybe they got back early. Maybe there was a change of plans. Maybe Aunt Lilli decided to go another day. Or alone. Or maybe she didn't want the berries after all. For the moment I am not going to jump to condemn Griffin. After everything we've been through, he deserves the benefit of the doubt.
As we stroll past the bookstore, I resist the urge to look inside. Because with all the mounting evidence, it's getting harder and harder to accept that Griffin and Adara are nothing more than friends. I'm not ready to believe the worst. And the benefit of the doubt is hard to hold on to.
Stella freezes, the refrigerator door open and an ice-filled glass in her hand, for a full five seconds. Straightening, she clears her throat-just like Damian does when he's nervous-and asks. "Should I have?"
I shrug, playing it cool. If I've learned anything from years of Mom headshrinking me, it's that if you want to find out everything, keep your mouth shut. Guilty people love to fill a tense silence.
Grabbing the refrigerator-door handle from her, I pull it wide open. When I lean past her to grab a Gatorade from the stock Hesper keeps in the fridge for me, she says. "I worked there Levels 10 and 11." She fills her glass with water. "I needed some legitimate work experience. I can't exactly put Hera's Personal Assistant on my resume."
I ignore her awkward laugh.
We face off, her leaning against one counter sipping ice water, me leaning against the opposite counter chugging my Gatorade. We just watch each other. I'm waiting for her to crack. Zeus only knows what she's waiting for.
As I drain the last drop of Gatorade, I decide to break the silence.
She beats me to it.
"Mrs. Philipoulos called me." Her French-manicured fingers tighten around her glass. "She asked me about the stolen record."
I toss my empty bottle into the recycling bin under the sink.
"And?"
"And nothing," she says, looking affronted. "I don't know anything about it. Why would I?"
She looks pretty innocent, but then again Stella's the queen of looking innocent. I can't count the number of times in the last year she's skated on stuff she did. Me? I always get caught. (Not that I ever do anything, of course.)
"But you do know about the secret archives." I don't ask it as a question. "You know how to access them."
"Of course," she says. She finishes her water and sets the glass in the sink. "Everyone knows about the "secret" archives. Mrs. Philipoulos deludes herself into thinking no one knows. It's the worst-kept secret on the island."
That's true. There's still a lot about this island-about this world-that I dun't know, and even I knew about them.
"You could access them," I repeat. "If you wanted."
"Of course," she replies. At least she didn't deny it. "If I wanted. I don't want, and I didn't access. Anyone who's ever worked in the library could access if they wanted. Are you going to accuse the entire former payroll staff? Better start with Daddy, he was an aide back in the day. Why don't we give him a call? I'm sure he and Valerie won't mind the interruption on their honeymoon."
I roll my eyes at her melodrama.
Though I haven't got the best record for trusting people, I believe her innocence. Besides, if she'd done it, she'd be gloating about it all over my face. She would still deny it to the authorities, but she'd be taunting me to the ends of the earth.
Where does that leave me? If Stella didn't steal the record, then who?
That brings me back to the list. As soon as I'd seen Stella's name, I'd fixated on that. The rest of the list was pretty much a blur. I need to check out the other names.
"I'll see you at dinner,' I say, turning to go to my room and do a little research into my fellow students.
"Phoebe." Something in her voice-something sad-stops me. "Nothing in that record will change what happened. No one can reverse an Olympic decree."
"I know that." I keep my back to her. She doesn't need to see my tears. "But it might give me some answers."
I hear her sigh. "Then I hope you find them. Everyone deserves answers."
Her voice wavers with sympathy, like she understands where I'm coming from. Whatever. She has no idea what I'm going through.
Without responding, I rush to my room. I hate it when she acts like a human-it's so much easier to think of her as a vicious harpy.
At my desk, I pull the folded printout from my back pocket and smooth it out over my closed laptop. I scan the names on the list. Besides Stella, I only recognize three of them.
Katara, Xander
Roukas, Zoe
Martin, Christopher
I can't imagine why any of the three would do this to me. Sure, there are still some-a lot of-lingering ill feelings about me being at the Academy. Students who don't care that I'm one of them now, who hate outsiders or runners or Californians or whatever. Or that are resentful because I went from being nothos to being a third-generation hematheo sand therefore pretty powerful and apparently enviable.
But this seems kind of extreme, i mean, it's not like whoever it is won't get in trouble for stealing the record. Damian would probably put them in detention for a year.
Besides, no one on the list seems a likely candidate.
Xander didn't know I existed until camp started, so I doubt he'smasterminding the wild-goose chase. Zoe and Christopher are both on the track team. Christopher is one of the nicest guys in school- before I found out about my Nike heritage, he was the only one who would willingly pair up with me in practices. He would never do this. Zoe is one of Adara's minions-translation: she hates me- but she's off the island for the summer, visiting her family in Sweden or Switzerland or something.
I sigh, folding the list back up and slipping it into my desk drawer. No use beating my brain up against a brick wall. I'll have to do some investigating. Maybe Troy and Nicole know something about the other kids on the list. I can ask tomorrow. For tonight I'll do a quick search on the Academy Web site.
I power up my laptop and decide to check e-mail first.
Twelve new messages. And not one of them is spam. Maybe the gods finally developed a functioning spam blocker for the Academy e-mail system.
I quickly skim through my in-box.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Training Tomorrow
Phoebes.
Can we run in the morning again tomorrow?
Griff
No explanation. No apologies. No confession that he spent the afternoon at the bookstore with his ex. I take a deep breath. Benefitof the doubt, I tell myself. Benefit of the doubt. I shoot back a quick message saying I'll meet him in the stadium at eight in the morning. I'm sure there is a perfectly rational reason. I click to the next message.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Good News
The grant committee reconvened early. No decision yet, but I'll find out sooner rather than later whether I get it.
Peace and love,
Nola
Crossing my fingers and toes, I send a silent plea that the grant committee gives Nola her research grant. Just the thought of hanging out for a couple of weeks-instead of the couple of days we've spent together since I left LA.-makes me forget all the craziness of the day.
If Nola comes to visit, then all will be right with the world.
Or half right anyway. If she and Cesca both come it will be perfect.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Paris Is Calling
Hey hot stuff. Just a quick e-mail to update my sched. I've got to be in Paris, like, yesterday. I'm on a plane tomorrow and have to report to work at six the next day-that's six in the *moroing*! Ugh. I'm busypacking. Don't know when I'll be able to e-mail, but I'll get in touch as soon as I can. Want anything from the city of lights?
XOXO Cesca
Cesca is even less of a morning person than I am, but I know that she'll do anything to spend the summer traipsing around after fashion designers in her personal holy city. One day her designs will grace the covers of every major fashion magazine.
From: [email protected]
Subject: We've Got Mail
Phoebola,
Sorry we haven't called, International rates from Bangkok are phenomenally expensive. But e-mail is not. They have a business center in the hotel lobby, so here I am. We arrived safely and will stay in Bangkok for two more days before setting out on the guided tour of the rest of the country. We're actually going to be in Phuket for their international marathon. We'll get you a souvenir t-shirt.
Is everything going alright at home? You and Stella haven't strangled each other, have you? How were your first days of boot camp? Make any new friends?
I know that controlling your powers is an unfamiliar challenge, but you are the strongest, most dedicated, strong-willed young woman I've ever known.You have your fathers drive to succeed, and that more than anything else will see you through this trial. I have absolute faith in you.
Damian and I are on our way to a traditional Thai dance performance, a style called khon.I will write more when I can. Call if you need anything.
Have fun and don't murder your stepsister.
Love,
Mom
That's pretty cool that they'll get to see an international marathon. I wish I could go. Before we moved to Serfopoula, I never had a burning desire to be anywhere but Southern California. Now I wish I could go everywhere. It's like if being in Greece changed my perspective on the world so much-for the better-then I can only imagine how different I would be if I saw even more of it.
I send Mom a quick reply-mainly because I think she'll brave the cost of a phone call if I don't. My mind is such a mess right now I know she'd pick up on it and the last thing I need is her turning into therapist Mom from thousands of miles away.
I don't want to open the next e-mail, but know I should.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Boot Camp Update
Greetings Campers
PROPER CAMP ATTIRE: Please wear closed-toe shoes and long pants every day. NO SHORTS or SANDALS!!! This is for your own protection.
Tomorrows boot camp will be something SPECIAL! Meet in frontof the maintenance shed at the north end of the quad at 10 A.M.! Latecomers will be left behind and this is a day you will not want to miss!
–Adara-
I roll my eyes. Besides her overuse of exclamation points and her tendency to yell, the idea that we're doing "something special" in camp tomorrow is not exciting. It's terrifying.
Next is an administrative message from Ms. T, the Level 13 coordinator.
To: Level 13 Students
From: [email protected]
Subject: Upcoming School Year
Attention all returning Level 13 students:
Summer is not too early to begin planning your academic future. You will meet in individual sessions with your assigned adviser at the end of August, but I encourage you to review the course catalog and make a list of those you would like to schedule. Because many Level 13 classes have restricted enrollment, you should also list second and third choices for every period. Any advance preparation will make your advising session go far smoother.
I appreciate your efforts in this endeavor.
Tanya Tyrovolas
Level 13 Coordinator
Professor of Literature
The Academy
Serfopoula. Greece
Ms. T is a bit of a nutcase. She wears togas to school and I think she's a strong advocate of reinstating trial by combat-as in gladiatorial combat, which was banned in the sixth century. I make a reminder in my Academy calendar to look at the course catalog before August. The last thing I want is to spend my (second) senior year enrolled in classes I hate.
I skim through the next few messages.
An automated system message reminding students that Academy e-mail is rigorously scanned and violators of the terms of use will be required to take a forty-hour 'Responsible Electronic Communications" course.
Three e-mails from school clubs, encouraging new members to join now to beat the fall rush-yeah, like Mock Government is going to be turning them away at the door.
An e-mail from the maintenance staff, asking students to remove personal items from lockers before the buildingwide clean-out next week.
The last e-mail-with no sender and no subject-piques my curiosity.
From: [Blocked]
Subject: [Ho Subject]
Curious about the contents of the missing Olympic record?
Be in the courtyard at midnight on Tuesday.
Come alone.
My heart starts racing. My mind starts racing. So whoever sent me the note already knewthe record was missing? Then why did they send the note? Is this the same person who stole it? Or do they know who did?
What if they are just trying to mess with me? Or hurt me? It wouldn't be the first time someone at the Academy went out of their way to make me look and feel like an idiot. Would I be totally stupid to agree to this meeting?
And if I don't, will I ever find out what really happened to Dad?