Somehow I make it through the school day. Not without a lot of help from Nicole in Algebra and Physics and meeting Griffin between every class. He’s a wonder at calming my nerves, but every time he leaves they come back.
At least my nerves keep me from paying attention to all the whispers. I hear the occasional “Blake,” “kako,” and “outsider,” but mostly my nerves block it all out. I know the entire school must be humming with gossip about us and if not for the race I would probably be embarrassed that everyone from the Hades harem to the Zeus set is hungrily gossiping about us. Right now, the race consumes all my attention.
And when I’m with Griffin, everything else fades away.
Too bad we can’t race together.
By the time I walk to the locker room to change and get the pep talk from the coaches I’m all nerves. I’ve never been this nervous before a race. Nothing I’ve tried seems to help—not even the aromatherapy sachet Nicole gave me during lunch. I’m pretty sure it’s full of dead flowers that can’t help me from the grave.
I’m on my way through the door when I hear Troy.
“Phoebe!”
He runs down the hall—pretty fast for a guy who claims to hate running more than Brussels sprouts—and slides to a stop in front of me.
“Hey.” I wave. “What’s up?”
“I just . . .” He smiles wryly. “. . . wanted to wish you luck.”
“Thanks,” I say. “That means a lot.”
“I have something for you,” he says, stepping back. After fishing around in his pocket, he produces a long braided string. “It’s a—”
“Friendship bracelet,” I say. Just like the one Nola gave me in kindergarten—the one that finally wore off in third grade after more than three years of continual wear.
Sticking out my wrist, I let him tie on the bracelet.
Looking at Troy with thoughts of Nola in my head I wonder what she would think of him. With his tie-dyed Grateful Dead T-shirt, well-worn blue jeans, and leather-free Vans he’s like her male mirror image.
Maybe they will meet at the wedding.
“It’s not just a friendship bracelet,” he says as he finishes tying off the ends. “It doubles as a super-duty good luck charm. With this . . .” He lets go of my arm and grins. “. . . you can’t lose.”
“Thanks, I—”
Coach Lenny sticks his head out in the hall. “Hurry up, Castro.”
I tell Troy, “I gotta get changed. Thanks.” I give him one more hug. “Really.”
“Good luck,” Troy says. “See you at the finish line.”
I turn and run into the locker room wondering how my nerves just disappeared. Then again, I don’t need to know why. They’re gone and I’m ready to race.
There are three other schools in the meet today. The team from Lyceum Olympia is the strongest. Coach Lenny told me their lead runner—Jackie Lavaris—is going to be on the Greek team next Olympics. She’s my stiffest competition.
But the racers from Academia Athena—an all-girls military school—look pretty tough. Their camo uniforms might have something to do with that impression. Some of the HestiaSchool girls look like their preppy softness could be a veneer. I’ve learned to never underestimate a runner based on appearances—the pink shorts could be a disguise.
I’m standing in our starting block—the painted square where all the runners from the Academy will start—taking deep, calming breaths and shaking out my legs.
Under the light blue shorts of my uniform I’m wearing my lucky underwear. Since I can’t wear any of my running t-shirts on race day I always wear my DON’T WORRY--YOU’LL PASS OUT BEFORE YOU DIE undies. They are just a reminder not to leave anything on the course. Running won’t kill me, but losing might.
“Oh no!” Zoe cries.
“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
She points at her foot and the broken lace on her left shoe. After a quick glance around to see if anyone’s watching she points her
finger at the offending lace.
Nothing happens.
She frowns and points again.
Again, nothing.
“What the—”
“Surprise,” Coach Lenny says as he walks up.
“Coach,” Zoe whines. “My powers are—”
“Grounded,” he says.
“B-but—” Her lower lip pouts out and starts to quiver. Totally fake and totally not working on Coach Lenny.
“We just finished going through the roster. Everyone on the team is grounded for today,” he explains. Then, looking at me, adds, “We want this to be a fair race.”
Zoe scowls at me but doesn’t say anything.
I watch her stalk off to find the supply box to get a replacement lace. Why does everyone have to blame me for everything? I didn’t ask them to do this. Sure, I knew they were talking about it, but it’s not like I could do anything either way.
Besides, if anyone’s to blame it’s Griffin. He’s the one who zapped me in tryouts. He’s really, really sorry now, but that doesn’t change the fact that he did it.
But does anyone blame him? Nooo. Why would they? He’s one of their own.
That’s when it hits me. No matter what I do—no matter how hard I race, how much Griffin likes me, how much I try just to stay out of everyone’s way—I’ll never fit in here. There’s only one requirement to belonging at the Academy and I can’t fill it.