I shrug. Great. “Then trust me,” I say to Troy. “Stella is the least of my challenges.”
“Yeah, I guess it would be hard to get dropped into this world.” His eyes—a really pretty green with bright gold flecks in the center—are warm with sympathy. “Don’t worry. . . . you’ll get through.”
He’s sweet, which may be why I confess, “It might be easier if I had found out about this whole ‘the gods are real’ thing before the yacht docked on Serfopoula.”
Troy’s jaw drops. “They didn’t tell you?”
“What,” Nicole says, rolling her eyes, “like you’re surprised? You know how Petrolas is about security.”
“I know, but—” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe it.
Join the club. “Let’s just say this has been a summer of shocks.”
“What did they tell you?” Nicole asks.
“Pretty much that the school was founded by Plato, moved here ages ago, and protected by the Greek gods. Oh, and that all the students are related to them.”
She snorts, clearly not impressed with how little I know. “Leave it to Petrolas to give you the history without any real, useful info.”
“Like what?” I ask, trying not to sound nervous.
I’m not sure I want to know how much more I need to know.
“Any use of powers that breaks school rules,” Troy says, “like cheating or skipping class or altering a teacher’s memory, is forbidden and earns serious detention time.”
“No one wants a Petrolas detention,” Nicole says, sounding grim. “They make the Labors of Hercules look like kindergarten homework.”
“You should know,” Troy teases. “You’ve done more detention than anyone else in our year.”
“Are you volunteering to take my place next time, Travatas?”
Troy turns white. “N-no, I mean, I was only—”
Nicole throws a roll at him.
I laugh because this reminds me so much of the sparring matches between Nola and Cesca. For a second I feel like I’m back in L.A. with my best friends. Until Nicole says, “And whatever you do, don’t go into the last stall of the girls’ bathroom on the second floor.”
“Why,” I ask, afraid of the answer, “does it open a portal to a parallel universe, or something?”
“No,” Nicole says with a laugh. “It backs up all the time and makes the Physics room smell like a sewer.”
Troy hands me a roll and I toss it at Nicole.
“Don’t worry,” he says when we all get done laughing. “Nic and I will teach you the ropes. You’ll be a world-class social navigator before we’re done.”
“We’ll at least make sure you don’t run your ship up on the rocks,” she adds. “Lunch is the perfect chance to see all the little gorgons in action. Where should we start?”
The pair of them look around the dining hall, searching out examples for my education.
“How about with you?” I suggest. “What, um, gods are you related to?”
Nicole points at Troy. “Travatas is around fifty generations removed from Asklepios.”
“Who’s Askilopus?” I ask.
“Asklepios,” Troy corrects. “The god of healing.”
“That’s neat,” I say.
“Right.” Troy rolls his eyes. “I’m just dying to follow in that millennium-long line of doctors and nurses.”
Talk about pressure. I guess maybe that’s not so great, after all.
Turning back to Nicole, who is looking around the room again, I ask, “What about you—”
“That’s the Athena table,” she announces. “They’re all brainiacs, like Tyrovolas.”
Troy leans closer and whispers, “Nerds.”
Like I couldn’t tell. As if the thick glasses and pocket protectors weren’t clues enough, they’re huddled around the table and bickering over trading cards. The cards flash and sparkle with every movement. I have a feeling these aren’t your typical Pokémon.
“Those girls.” Troy nudges me, pointing to a bunch of blondes standing near the door. “They’re the cheerleaders.”
Where does this guy think I’m from? Siberia? Southern California is the cheerleader capital of the world—well, second maybe to Texas—and I have no problem identifying them. The blue and white uniforms are a dead giveaway. Even in street clothes, the matching hair ribbons mark them as the cheer squad.
But, Troy is cute and I don’t want to make any enemies on the first day—Stella is already enemy enough—so I just ask, “Whose are they?”
Troy frowns, confused, but Nicole understands.
“Aphrodite’s.” She does not hide the disgust in her voice, rolling her eyes as she adds, “You’d think she was the patron goddess of athletics instead of love, for all they throw her name around.”
“Athletics,” Troy explains, “fall under the patronage of Ares.”
Looking up, I follow the direction of his gaze to a table in the center of the room. While I’m watching, the cheerleaders approach the table and fill some of the empty seats.
One, the blondest of them all, walks up behind a boy. His back is to me, so all I can see is his black curly hair. He stands up to embrace Blondie, settling his mouth over hers and smoothing his hand over her butt.