Goddess Boot Camp (16 page)

“Blocked sender.” Troy moves farther into the room and sits on the unmade bed, on the edge nearest the desk.

“Impossible.” Dark-haired boy clicks rapidly on his keyboard.

“
Not
impossible,” Troy says, leaning forward so he can see the monitor. “I’ve seen it.”

Nicole leans close to my ear and whispers, “Urian’s a little psycho, but he knows computers better than anyone.”

Dark-haired boy stops typing. “Additional inconsistencies?”

“The message won’t print.”

Dark-haired boy grunts and starts typing faster than ever. Images flash across the monitor at warp speed.

I feel like I’ve entered nerd-ville.

I stick to my spot just inside the door. From what I can see in the flickering light, the rest of the room looks like a hurricane, tornado,
and
tsunami took turns messing with the contents. I’m suddenly very glad I had to wear pants and closed-toe shoes for camp today. Who knows what’s living in those piles.

“Access codes?” dark-haired boy finally asks.

“Phoebe,” Troy says, “tell Urian your user name and password.”

“No way,” I say. I don’t know this guy. I’ve read about those identity thieves who hijack your e-mail and use it to send spam about discount prescription drugs and pirated computer programs.

“Urian’s all right,” Nicole says.

I stand my ground. “I don’t know him.”

“Phoebe, this is Urian Nacus.” She nods at the dark-haired boy. “Urian, Phoebe Castro.”

Urian spins in his chair faster than an Olympic sprinter. “Castro?” he asks, brows raised. “The
aponikos
?”

“The what?” I asked, thinking I might need to get offended.

“Descendant of Nike,” Troy says quickly, as if he can sense I’m upset.

Urian leaps to his feet and bows politely. “A pleasure.” Flashing me a smarmy smile, he takes my hand—which I
didn’t
offer—and kisses my knuckles.

“Uh, thanks,” I say, retrieving my fingers.

I glare at Troy over Urian’s head. What has he gotten me into?

“Please,” Urian says, waving at the flickering computer screen. “Key in your user name and password. Your access codes shall remain your own.”

After giving Troy one more who-is-this-guy? look, I plop into the desk chair, and access my e-mail. A split second later, my in-box is on the screen.

“That was
fast,
” I say, impressed.

“I installed a signal enhancer,” Urian says, leaning over my shoulder to read the screen. “It quadrupled my connection speed.”

Figures. He probably spends all his time downloading episodes of
Hercules
and
Xena
.

Before Urian the Curious can read all my other messages, I click open the blocked e-mail.

“There it is,” I say, nodding at the screen.

Urian studies it for a minute. His bushy eyebrows keep scrunching and unscrunching, as if he’s physically processing with his forehead. Weird.

“May I?” he asks, nodding at the chair.

I shrug and get up.

“First, I need to access the Academy mail server,” he says. A new window opens up on the computer. “The original file might still contain the metadata from the—” He smacks his mouse down on the desk. “Blast! It’s blocked, as well.” More furious typing. “The source file didn’t even log the originating IP address.”

Before my eyes permanently roll back in my head from trying to follow the computer-speak, I ask, “What does that mean?”

“In plain English?” He glances up at me. “Whoever sent this is very, very smart.”

“Or very, very powerful,” Troy says. “Bypassing Academy e-mail security is anything but easy.”

“True.” Urian squints at the screen. “This isn’t a simple hack job. It’s going to take me a while.”

“Sometime before midnight Tuesday would be nice,” I say. “I’d like to know who I’m meeting.”

“You’re not seriously going?” Troy asks.

As if there was any doubt?

“Of course I’m going,” I say. “What other choice do I have?”

“Um . . .
not
going.”

“Troy, I have to find out what happened to my dad.”

“We
know
what happened to your dad. He got smoted. End of story.”

“Not,” I snap, “end of story. At least, not anymore. I can’t just let this go.”

“Fine.” Troy crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll go with you.”

“Chill, Travatas,” Nicole says. Then to me she says, “I think what Tarzan here is trying to say is that whoever pulled off this e-mail stunt—and snuck into the secret archives—has to be pretty powerful. And pretty devious. You shouldn’t meet this person alone.”

“No.” I can’t believe she’s siding with him. “The e-mail says I have to come alone. I’m not going to blow this.”

Troy glares at me, looking like he
really
wants to say something more. But, instead, he turns to Urian and asks, “Can you find out before then?”

“One hundred and twenty hours, give or take?” He looks like he’s crunching numbers in his head—my brain hurts just thinking about it—and then finally says, “That’s cutting it close. Fifty-fifty chance.”

“Great,” I say.

“I copied the source file into my e-mail account,” Urian says. “But I may still need to access your—”

“No way.” He may be helping me out, but I still only met him like two minutes ago. Besides, a girl needs her privacy.

“Not a problem,” he says with a grin. “My computer recorded your keystrokes. If I need access, I have your codes.”

“Great,” I say, less enthusiastically than before.

“Let’s meet here on Tuesday night,” Nicole suggests. “Eleven o’clock?”

“Excellent,” Urian says.

“Fine by me,” I say, still annoyed at Troy. Since when did he become my guardian and protector?

“See you Tuesday,” Troy says as we leave.

“The countdown has begun,” Urian returns.

Geek melodrama. I roll my eyes.

“And, Urian,” Nicole says, “you might try doing laundry once in a while.”

As we step into the hall, she pulls the door shut with a slam.

“Phoebe,” Troy says as we walk back to his room, his voice low and serious, “if Urian hasn’t figured out who sent the e-mail in time, I
will
go to the courtyard with you.” Before I can argue, he adds, “You’re my friend and I couldn’t stand it if you got hurt.”

My argument dies on my tongue. It’s hard to be mad at concern like that. But that doesn’t change what I have to do.

“If the computer genius hasn’t figured it out,” I say, “you can walk me to the courtyard. But I’m going in alone.” When he starts to argue, I say, “I appreciate that you’re worried about me, but I won’t let anything jeopardize finding out the truth about my dad.”

I can tell he still wants to argue, but I can also tell that he gets how important this is to me. He nods. Reluctantly.

I just hope I’m not doing something stupid. Again.

When Nic and I walk out of the boys’ dorm, the sun is riding low in the sky. I check my watch. It’s six o’clock. If I’m quick, I can run home and grab some dinner before I have to meet Griffin at the dock.

As I step off the front stairs, about to say good-bye to Nicole, movement to my left catches my eyes.

Griffin.

I smile automatically and am about to call out to him when I realize something very important. It’s Griffin. Going into the girls’ dorm. And Adara is standing on the front step to greet him.

Suddenly I’m not so hungry anymore.

CHAPTER 8

AUTOPORTATION

SOURCE: ZEUS

The ability to move oneself to a different location through nonphysical means. Maximum distance traveled depends on strength and skill of powers.
Autoportation
to a previously unvisited place is prohibited because of the inherent risk of arriving in an undesirable, perilous, or public location.

DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE © Stella Petrolas

WHEN THE LAST RAY of sunlight disappears, I’m planted on the couch reading last month’s
Runner’s World
. Well, I’m
pretending
to read last month’s
Runner’s World
. My eyes are skimming across the pages and everything, but my mind hasn’t taken in a single word. It’s too busy screaming,
Griffin is back together with Adara!

Through some major act of willpower—or hopelessness—my eyes aren’t even full of tears.

I hear giggling seconds before the front door opens. “You are so right,” Stella says, looking over her shoulder as she walks in. “I’ll have to add that to my résumé.”

I don’t feel like facing Stella right now. Wishing I’d retreated to my room earlier, I bury my face in my magazine, hoping I can blend in with the unfortunately white couch. Why did the MY SPORT IS YOUR SPORT’S PUNISHMENT tee have to be cherry red?

“Phoebe,” a rebel-boy voice says in greeting.

I peek over the top of an article about avoiding knee injuries. The recipient of Stella’s giggling is none other than Xander. Great. All I need is him taunting me at home, too.

“I didn’t know you were home,” Stella says, looking like a kid caught sneaking an extra cookie. Yeah, a Xander-shaped cookie. Her two-shades-darker-than-her-hair eyebrows draw into a frown. “I thought you were meeting—”

“I’m not,” I interrupt. She knows exactly where I was supposed to be right now. I don’t need the reminder. I don’t even want to hear his name.

She looks surprised, but doesn’t comment. Smart girl. In my present mood, I’m itching to test my current powers control. She would make the perfect guinea pig. In fact—

“Xander and I were just talking about you actually,” she says, giving him a warm smile and distracting me before I actually try to turn her into a rodent. She is blissfully unaware of how close she came to becoming someone’s pet. “Discussing that exercise I was telling you about earlier.”

I glance at the object of her adoration. He’s standing just inside the door, like he’d rather keep out of the line of fire, with his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans. Watching me with those unusual lavender eyes, he doesn’t move a muscle. Like a statue. His face remains unreadable.

Typical guy. Keeps everything hidden so you have to guess what he’s thinking. So a girl’s imagination can run rampant until confronted with incontrovertible proof of her suspicions.

“Good for you.” I snap my magazine shut and get up from the couch. If they’re going to be here, giggling and talking about me, I’m locking myself in my room. Figuratively, of course, since my door doesn’t lock.

“Actually”—she glances at Xander—“we could try that exercise with the glass of water—”

“Not,” I say, my pent-up emotion barely contained, “tonight.”

I can practically hear her mouth drop.

She’ll get over it. Or not. Either way, playing counselor and camper is not on my agenda for the night. The last thing I want is to be around people. Solitude and the comfort of my bed are calling. That, and a box of tissues.

I’m almost to my room when I feel a hand clamp over my shoulder.

“Running away isn’t going to help,” Xander says.

“I’m not running away from anything.” I spin around, shrugging off his hand. “I’m going to my room for some privacy, thank you very much.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his brows, like he dares me to lie again. “Denying your feelings can affect your powers.”

“Oh yeah?” I snap brilliantly. “You don’t know anything about my feelings. Or my situation.”

“I know more than you think.” He steps closer, his voice barely a growl. “You mentioned my expulsion earlier. Do you know
why
I was expelled?”

I shake my head.

“Because three years ago,” he whispers, “
I
had to take the test.” His mouth is right next to my ear when he adds, “And I
didn’t
pass.”

My heart thwacks against my chest.
Xander
is the other student who had to take the test.
Xander
failed the test.
Xander
got expelled for a year.

“What did you—” I shake my head and start over. “What happened when you failed?”

He leans back, his lavender eyes completely blank.

“I hope you never find out,” he says. Then he turns and stalks through the kitchen and out the back door.

Stella stares at the door for several seconds, before turning on me. “What did you—”

“You couldn’t have told me earlier?” I snap.

Her cheeks flush and I think, for the first time since we met, she’s actually embarrassed about something. Good.

“You lied,” I accuse. “About your student passing the test.”

“I didn’t,” she insists. “I was Xander’s tutor
after
he failed. I helped him pass on his second attempt.”

“Whatever.”

I spin and head for my room.

The roller coaster is finally getting to me. Thankfully, I make it to the safety of my room and collapse on my bed before the tears start. I think I’m going through what therapist Mom would call an emotional release. More like an emotional flood. Between the looming test and my dad’s missing record and Griffin, it’s amazing my emotions are holding together at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if they just gave up on me altogether and—

Knock, knock.

Over the pounding beat of my heart, I wipe at my tears and say, “I’m not here.”

Whoever it is doesn’t wait for a response.

“Phoebe?” Griffin asks. “I thought we were meeting at seven.”

His voice sounds perfectly normal.

Of course it does. He doesn’t know what I know—what I saw, what I felt. Why should he even suspect that I know he’s back with his ex-girlfriend? He must think he’s kept it a pretty tight secret.

I squeeze my eyes together for a second, willing—begging—my unshed tears to disappear. They are a weakness I can’t afford.

“Yeah, well,” I say, pushing up to my feet while keeping my back to him, buying myself a few more seconds. “You thought wrong.”