His grip on my arm tightens just a little when I start to turn away.
“Okay,” he says, his voice low. “I’ll explain. Let’s get back to your cooldown and I’ll tell you why I’m here.”
I nod my head and follow him back to the track.
“I should—” His pace is brisk, and I walk faster to keep up. “I’m sorry for not talking to you all week. That wasn’t fair.”
“No,” I say as we walk even faster, “it wasn’t. But by now I’m pretty much used to your unfair treatment.”
I’ve had lots of practice.
“I just . . .” He kicks our pace up to a jog. “. . . get uncomfortable when people know my weaknesses.”
“Weaknesses? What are you talking about?”
“My being related to Hercules.”
“Surely other people know about th—”
“Only Headmaster Petrolas,” he says quietly. “And you.”
“What about Nicole?” I ask. They’d been friends when they were kids, she had to know.
“No. Even I didn’t know until I was thirteen.” He stares straight ahead. “By then we weren’t speaking.”
Wow. Instinctively, I inch a little closer so our arms almost brush with each step. “Still, I don’t understand how that’s a weakness.”
“Sometimes his blood controls me. Like last week when I had to carry you home—”
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“I know. That’s what I’m saying. I had to. I couldn’t help it. It’s not your fault—or mine.” His fists clench. “I hate being weak.”
“Weak?” I give him a sideways glare. “You’re crazy. Any compulsion to help people—voluntary or not—is a strength. It’s noble.”
“You don’t under—”
“There’s nothing to understand, Griffin. You help people. That’s the bottom line. There are a lot of people in the world who don’t help anyone but themselves. And a lot more who wish they could do something—anything—to help someone in need, but can’t or won’t. The fact that you have to help people doesn’t diminish the fact that you do help them.”
We walk quietly for a few seconds. I give him time to let what I’m saying sink it—if he’s felt this way his whole life then it might be hard to accept. And it might explain why he’s such a jerk half the time. A little rebellion against his heroic blood.
Not that this excuses his behavior.
As we pass the finish line of our sixth lap, he says, “I guess I never looked at it that way.”
“Well,” I say, speeding up to a full run, “you should.”
He falls silent for a few seconds before blurting, “I broke up with Adara yesterday.”
“Oh really?” I ask, trying for cool, disinterested calm when my insides are jumping for joy. “That’s too bad.”
“No, it’s not,” he says, not looking at me but smiling just the same. “I never realized what an awful person she could be until I saw how she treated you.”
Though my heart is pounding like a bongo, I don’t say anything else. I just let the excitement over the possibilities crackle in the silence.
Together, we half-race around the track a few times before doing another cooldown. Racing Griffin in a good-natured competition feels good—like a kind of freedom I haven’t felt before. I want to win, but at the same time I’m just having fun. And if the big smile on his face is any sign, he’s having fun, too.
When we finish our last lap, he teases, “Race you to the water fountain.”
“No,” I reply, swatting him on the arm. “Then we’d have to cool down again.”
“Afraid you’ll lose?”
I look him straight in the eyes. “I won’t lose.”
Then I take off for the water fountain in the tunnel at full speed. Griffin is fast on my heels as I skid to a stop, bending to take my victory drink.
“Well, well, well,” a girl’s voice echoes through the tunnel. “Aren’t you two having fun.”
“Quite the pair of running buddies,” another girl—the voice sounds like Stella, but I can’t be sure with the echo—says.
Griffin moves closer to my side, like he has to protect me from something. Must be that hero instinct in him. Seconds later, Adara and Stella step out of the shadows at the top of the tunnel, heading straight for us. They come to a stop, posing with hands on hips, directly in front of me.
“Looks like you won the bet,” Adara says, looking right at me.
“What bet?” I ask, genuinely confused.
If she’s talking about my deal with Stella there was no bet involved. That must mean—
“Dara, don’t,” Griffin says.
“Sure does.” Stella looks me up and down like I’m something stuck to the bottom of her ballet flats. “I believe you owe me a latte.”
“What bet?” I repeat.
“It’s nothing,” Griffin says—not that I believe him.
“Nothing?” Adara looks at Griffin, shocked. “I think this was a major coup.”
“And I thank you for it.” Stella gives Griffin the most evil looking smile I have ever seen.
“What bet!?”
Adara answers, “It’s quite simple, really.”
“Griffin said he could get you to fall for him,” Stella says, “even though he treated you like trash when you first got here.”