To: losiphoebe@Iheacademy.gr

From: valeriepetrolas@hotmail.com

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.


To: lostphoebe@theacademy.gr

From: cheergirl@theacademy.gr

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: tyrovolas@theacademy.gr

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.


To: lostphoebe@theacademy.gr

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?

Chapter 7

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


VISIOCRYPTION


SOURCE: HADES


The ability to hide, mask, or cloak an object. Duration of effect and size of object affected varies depending on strength of powcr. Effect is temporary and does not affect the physical characteristics of the object.(See visiomutation for permanent changes of appearance.)


DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE * Stella Petrolas

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


WHEN I WALK THROUGH THE TUNNEL and out onto the stadium field the next morning, Griffin is waiting for mc next to the soccer goal-sure, in Greece they call it football, but my dad played football. The sport with a round, black-and-white ball will always be soccer to me. Griff smiles that heart-melting smile, gives me a quick kiss, and says, "I missed you, kardia tis kardias mou."

Until that moment I have every intention of letting the whole Griffin-and-Adara-in-thc-bookstore thing go. Not every guy is a cheating jerk like Justin.

But when he says he missed me, I wonder, Did he really?

I can't stop myself from asking, "How was the trip to Serifos?"

"Oh," he says. "We had to reschedule. The freezer malfunctionedand flooded the cellar. Aunt Lilli and I spent the morning rearranging the stockroom."

So he hadn't left the island yesterday. "Is that why we're running in the morning again?"

"Didn't I say that?" He bends over, reaching for his toes.

No, he didn't say that.

Joining him in the stretch, I ask, "What did you do in the afternoon?"

I feel I like the Inquisition.

He's not avoiding eye contact, I tell myself. He can't exactly look me in the eye when he's hanging upside down and pulling himself into deeper extension.

"I stopped by the bookstore." He spreads his feet and twists to reach for one ankle. "Wanted to see if they had anything on endurance conditioning and nutrition."

Of course it was something innocent-he was researching our training.

I smile as I mimic his stretching, mentally whipping myself. Clearly, I need to get a handle on that jealousy monster-which Nicole insists has red eyes, not green. Sometimes I wonder how she knows so much about mythological beasts. Other times I don't want to know.

"Did they?" I lift my foot behind me and grab my ankle, stretching my quads.

"No." He smiles and says, "But Iona said they would order some for us."

Why am I so eager to assume the worst about Griff?

As the daughter of a psychiatrist, I do not go in for the therapy thing. After a lifetime of psychoanalysis, I'm immune. But I'm starting to think that maybe I need some help on my trust issues. I mean, I shouldn't be so quick to doubt Griffin, Especially not after what we went through to get together.

We're fated by an oracle, after all.

If the prophecy says Griffin will "find his match in a daughter of victory"-aka the goddess Nike, aka my great-grandmother-then our relationship, our future is secure, right?

The red-eyed monster needs to take a hike.

"So what's our training plan for today?" he asks, interrupting my self-exploration.

I give him a wicked grin. "Steps."

"Excuse me?"

I nod in the direction of the stadium stands. "We're going to run steps."

Hie looks warily up at the stands.

The stadium is a smaller version of the Roman Colosseum-or maybe the Colosseum is a bigger version of the Academy stadium?– but it's still several stories high. From field level to the top row of bench seats is probably around one hundred steps. I don't know what Griffin is worried about. This is nothing. It's my dream to run the steps of the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, and the Empire State Building. Stadium steps are no big deal.

"All right," he says, without enthusiasm. "Let's do it."

After a quick four-lap warm-up and another round of stretching, we tackle the steps. There are ninety-six, to be exact, and I know this because we run them a dozen times. I count them aloud each time.

As we turn around for our final climb, I begin counting down. "Ninety-six, ninety-five, ninety-four…"

"How many more?" Griffin gasps.

"Ninety, eighty-nine, eighty-eight," I pant, keeping my count. "Last one."

"Thank the gods," Griffin gasps as we keep climbing.

I manage a smile that probably looks more like a wince. Griffin doesn't notice-he's too busy trying not to die.

"Sixty-three, sixty-two…" I manage, though my lungs and my quads and my everything are burning. Every last muscle in my body is screaming, desperately begging me to stop this insanity, to just drop down and die like a normal person.

But I'm not a normal person,I tell my body. I'm a runner. Pain is my fame.All this bodily rebellion tells me I've let my endurance go. Cutting back on my running time for the last few months to work on controlling my powers has made my running suffer-and it hasn't done wonders for my powers, either.

A wave of endorphins washes over me, bringing that familiarfeeling of invincibility. With crystal clarity, I know that somehow-I'm not sure exactly how, but somehow-everything will work out.I'll get a hold on my powers. I'll keep my race training on track. AndI'll learn to trust Griffin . . .somehow.