"So I can read minds?"

"Not likely." She snickers. "Only descendants of Hera can literally read minds. Most hematheos just sense basic emotions or general ideas."

Good. The last thing I need is everyone reading my mind. It's badenough if Stella can. Especially when I'm thinking about how much she-

"Wait," I say, remembering what caused the whole living-birthday-cake incident. "Does that mean you-"

One word. She didn't even hear the question, but I know she knows.

"I'm sorry," I say, meaning it. I may not like Stella all the time, but she is the closest thing to a sister that I have. Besides, I don't like being mean to anyone-except Adara, of course. It's bad karma or something. And 1 don't need to invite more bad luck than I already have.

"The bigger picture," she prods. "You can apologize profusely after you pass the test."

"Oh, right." I set aside my personal berating. "I'm superpowerful. What docs that mean?"

"It means your powers are harder to control. They work with very little effort." She flicks her highlight-heavy hair over her shoulder. "You need to learn how to control them properly so they stop unintentionally going off."

That makes my powers sound like a burglar alarm. Like if I accidentally open the door, I have three seconds to enter the code or the police will report to the scene. At least I don't have sirens blaring every time my powers mess up. Although that would at least let me know when it's happened.

"How exactly do I do that?" I ask. I've been training for months. and they're still out of control. "It's not like I haven't been trying."

"But you haven't had my undivided attention." She smiles smugly. "I can work miracles when I have full focus and a plan."

I shiver at the thought of being Stella's full focus.

"What makes you think you know the magic formula? No one else does."

"Because I've done it before."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Daddy told you there was another student who had to pass the gods' test, right?"

I gasp. "That was you?"

"No, of course not." She scowls, like how could I be so stupid? "Under my tutelage, that student passed the test."

Tutelage? That sounds too much like torture.

But it's kind of reassuring to know that other student passed the test. With Stella's help. Plus, that means she can dish some more details on the test. Like what that test will be like and what might happen if I fail the test.

"With this other student., I begin. "How did they-"

"I'm going to go through some of my old training lesson plans this afternoon." She cuts off my question and checks her watch. "Why don't we meet back home at six to discuss the plan?"

"Can't," I say, stifling a growl. She always acts so superior. "Griffin and I have a training run."

Stella turns on her stern face. "I really think this is more important-"

"No." As if anything is more important to me than running. "I'll do whatever it takes to learn to control my powers, but I am notgiving up running. The Pythian Games trials are less than two weeks away and I plan on qualifying. I can't do that if I don't train every day."

She looks like she wants to argue. Or like she's reading my thoughts.

Read this: No, no. no. no. no.

"Fine," she says, exasperated. "How about after dinner? You will be home for dinner, won't you?"

"Sure," I say, even though I wonder how dinner will go when it's just the two of us. We had plenty of dinner-table battles when our respective parents were there to intercede. Who knows what could happen when we're alone. Hesper might have to intervene.

"And if you're late," she says with a wicked smile, "I might reconsider my decision to not seek vengeance for my wedding hair color."

An image flashes in my mind, an image of me with hot-pink streaks in my dark brown hair. At this point, I'm not sure if the image is a result of my overactive imagination or if there's some power that lets her plant it in my mind-I needto read that study guide-but either way it's not very appealing.

I give Stella my best glare. "Oh, I'll be there."

* * *

"Did you have your talk with Adara?" I ask Griffin as we start our run. I swallow my irritation, trying for innocuous. After dwelling on my reaction all afternoon. I finally decide I have to face it head-on.

I can't pretend it never happened, but I will give him a chance to explain.

"Yeah."

That's it. No details.

"Was it something about school?" I probe. No response. "Or summer?"

"No."

We jog in silence for several long seconds. Just when I think he's not going to offer anything more, he says. "It's a personal thing, Phoebes. Adara's going through some stuff and I'm helping her out. There's nothing to it."

"Oh." His sincerity makes me feel like a jerk. "Okay."

I never wanted to be one of those jealous girlfriends, so I'm just going to let this roll off my back like trash talk on the racecourse. That doesn't mean I like it any better than I did two hours ago. But maybe that's my problem, not his.

Besides, I don't doubt his commitment. He can withstand her advances.

This time, the silence is comfortable. We're training on the crosscountry course today, a course we've run so many times we could make it blindfolded.

My thoughts drift-like always-to this kind of Zen-like state where my mind disconnects from my body. Not really, of course. but there's a distance that lets me think about whatever-usually Dad-and then link back in to check on my body. It's hard to describe, but it's what gets me through the long races. Only this time, instead of thinking about Dad's smoting and whether he knowinglymade that choice, my thoughts jump ahead to my own situation. To my out-of-control super-superpowers, to the test I have no idea how to take, to the camp where I will be spending my days for the next two weeks, the camp full of ten-year-olds, (sometimes) evil stepsisters and archenemies, and enigmatic rebel boys who are supposedly there for my sake-whatever that means.

"What's the deal with Xander Katara?" I ask before I realize I'm going to.

"Katara?' Griffin gets that adorable scowl between his brows. "Why do you want to know about him?"

"He's one of the counselors." I remember him leaning back on his elbows, staring at the sky while everyone else did introductions. "All he said about himself was, 'Xander Katara. Level 13.' Didn't even say who he descends from. Total enigma."

"Sounds like him."

Our arms brush as we squeeze through a narrow section of the cross-country course. Glancing down at where the brief contact left little tingles, I realize I forgot to start the stopwatch…again. Quickly clicking it on, I make a mental note to add three minutes to the time from when we started. Where is my head, lately?

No, I know where it is.

"So… " I prod when Griffin doesn't say more about the mysterious Xander. "Who is he descended from?"

Griffin shrugs. "Who knows? He's kind of a loner, like Nic."

She's an enigma, too.

"I still don't know her god." She's avoided the question more times than I can ask, sly girl. "Who is she descended from?"

"If she hasn't told you," he says with a laugh, "then I won't. She just started speaking to me again. I'm not about to piss her off."

"Why the big secret?" Seems like everyone in this world has some whoppers. "What difference does it make who Nicole or Xander is descended from?"

"To some people," he explains, "it makes a huge difference. You know how most descendants stick to their own kind?"

I nod, remembering last year when Nicole and Troy gave me a crash course in the Academy cliques. Aphrodites stick with Aphrodites. Zeuses hang with other Zeuses and, because of the Olympian marriage, Heras. And those are just the populars. Breaking those cliques is practically impossible.

"Well, some associations work opposite," he continues with a heavy tone. "There are some gods and heroes that no one is proud to descend from."

"Is that Nicole's situation?" I ask in a near whipser.

"No, that's just an example." His fists clench, a sign he's processing some serious emotion. "There are thousands of years of history in our world, Phoebes. Not all of it honorable."

We run in silence for a few minutes. I focus on my steps and my breathing, on feeling my core muscles react to the faster pace. Step, step, step, breath. My rhythm. Step, step, step-

"That's weird about Katara, though." Griffin says suddenly.

"What?"

"I wonder why Petrolas made him a counselor?" Griffin shakes his head. "He's not exactly a model student. He got expelled inLevel 10. He's actually a year older than the rest of the Level 13s because he was gone for an entire school year."

Hmm. The mystery-shrouded rebel boy gets even more mysterious. Maybe that's why Stella's attracted to him. He's the complete opposite of her kiss-up preppy-girl style.

"What did he do?"

"Petrolas kept it quiet." Griffin wipes a sheen of sweat off his forehead, then runs his hand through his lush curls. "No one thought he'd ever be back."

I wonder how someone gets expelled from the Academy-where students zap one another (secretly) every day-and then readmitted? Maybe Stella knows what happened. She can be deviously determined when she wants to be. And where Xander is concerned, she is clearly motivated. I don't really get the attraction, though. I mean, he has that rebel-boy image going for him, if you like that kind of thing. Which she clearly does. Me? I prefer the heroic athlete type. I mean, how many girls get to date a descendant of Hercules? One. Literally. Griffin's the only one, and he's all mine.

Of course at first I thought Griff was the bad-boy type, but that turned out to be only one thin layer of his personality. Maybe there's something deeper in Xander, too.

Watching Griff from the corner of my eye, I smile. I don't think I could have dreamed up a more perfect guy.

"Can we run in the morning tomorrow?" he asks.

"Sure," I say, though I'm a little disappointed at the thought of getting up early. It's bad enough I have camp every day on my summer vacation. But better to run early with Griffin than alone at any other time. "Any particular reason?"

"Aunt Lili wants me to go to Serifos with her to stock up on fresh berries."

As we kick up our pace a notch, I try to ignore the sour feeling in my gut. Maybe I just imagined the hint of guilt in his voice.

* * *

"I found several promising exercises in my files," Stella says as we stack up our dishes and carry them to the kitchen.

I quickly rinse mine off and set them in the near-ancient dishwasher-seriously, it's amazing this thing even has electricity. When it runs, the whole house roars like we're keeping a Cyclops in the basement.

Turning and leaning a hip against the counter as Stella adds her dishes next to mine, I wait for her to say more. She carefully rearranges my dishes in the bottom tray. Like the dishwasher cares if the plates are all in the same quadrant.