Three Girls and a God (2 page)

“T
halia, Thalia, are you with us? We’re talking about socioeconomic criticisms of the various forms of the media. Do you have anything to add to this discussion?”

“Wha?” was all I could muster. I sat there in an excruciatingly painful desk chair in my so-called media class, completely freaked out. How was I ever going to get good grades in a class I totally did not understand? I mean, socio what? And what had happened to school subjects over the last three thousand years? Science was still intact (although it didn’t rely on leeches as much as it had in the past), but now instead of history they called it “civilization theory.” And music classes were nowhere to be found. Needlepoint, gone. Greek, gone. Philosophy, gone. And now I was sitting in a class about socioeconomic
criticisms of various forms of the media, whatever in Zeus’s name that means.

“Let’s see if I can bring this down a few notches and engage you in the class at hand, Thalia.” This was Mrs. Tracy talking. “What’s your favorite movie?”

Movie, movie,
I thought. Hmmm, well, I had seen lots of movies on TV. They played this one all the time. I hoped it was a reasonable response, gulped, and said, “Nobody does it like Sara Lee?”

“Uh, no, Thalia. I said a
movie
. They do know the difference between movies and commercials in Europe, don’t they?”

I gulped again. How would
I
know what they knew in Europe? When my sisters and I arrived here on earth, I’d made up the whole we’re-exchange-students-from-Europe thing because I couldn’t think of another excuse. But the only things I know about Europe are based on facts about three millennia out of date.

Luckily the class just sort of laughed. They whooped, even. I breathed a small sigh of relief. Then I racked my brain.

“Clueless?”
I offered. Now that I thought about it, I was pretty sure that was a movie.

“Okay,” Mrs. Tracy said, her frown loosening up a bit. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Why is that your favorite movie?”

“Um, well, the girl lives in this amazing house. And she and her friends all talk cool.”

“So, you like the fantasies of wealth this movie offers. That and the slang. That’s reasonable.”

I sat back and smiled, pleased with my answer.
Take that, Hera,
I thought.
I will too pass this class.

“What about documentaries?” she fired off at me.

“Docu-what?” I asked, the smile no longer on my face.

People grumbled, but I didn’t know why.

“I see the class is just wild about documentaries.
Not.
” And Mrs. Tracy laughed awkwardly. “Well, tough. Because that is going to be our next focus. We’re going to make our own documentaries. And speaking of that, can I have everybody take a blank piece of paper and write their name on it? C’mon, right now.”

Everyone moved real slow. “Chop, chop,” she said. “Now fold them up and pass them forward.” She walked to the head of each aisle and dropped the folded squares of paper into a giant sombrero. “Thank you. I will fill you in on this at a later date. Now, who else wants to tell me their favorite movie?” Everyone’s hand went up, even of the kids who never answer any questions.

I knew I was from a different place and time, but this class was impossible. I wrote Claire a note and slyly passed it to her while Mrs. Tracy wrote some of the movies on the board.

Claire had on a shiny, flowing silver skirt…with her cool purple sneakers to match her purple, spiky hair. She wrote back:

What I want to know is, how are you supposed to have a class on “media” when the teacher doesn’t even explain what the word
means
? When I saw it on my schedule, I thought for sure it was a slight misspell and we would learn all about Medea’s
*
revenge and the glorious stories where she kicks some serious butt, but no. It took me almost three weeks to realize the class had nothing, zero, nada to do with Medea. Probably for the best. There was that whole Medea-Jason-Furies-Era conflict over his virtuous love and adoration, yadda, yadda.
**
No need to be reminded of the bad times. Course, it’s not like I can help it when the Backroom Betties, aka the Furies…oops, I mean the Blessed Ones…are just two classrooms over and
we’re all a few thousand years away from home.

The Furies. They were my real distraction in this classroom, not just my lack of a clue. How was I supposed to juggle school, Daddy’s challenges, and watching my back for evil guardians from Hades at the same time? I still couldn’t believe they were here, watching our every move. It was bad enough that we had to be so far from home, but to also have to deal with the pain and agony those girls wreak was almost too much. And the problems they had already caused us—Polly’s pride being dashed by that poser Tim, that draining power struggle at the Grit.
*
We should’ve known they’d follow us here to earth, but we just didn’t see it coming.

Tizzie, Meg, and Alek had this period at school with my sister Era. She’d come home crying at least half a dozen times already because of their little pranks, like zapping her with this huge cold sore when no one was looking and shrinking her shoes two sizes too small (they’re already teensy). I could not shake those girls from my brain. Their sole purpose in being here on earth was to torture us. To stop us from fulfilling our challenges. To hurt us in any way possible. And they—they were apparently allowed to use their magic without a care in the
world, while we were restricted to plain old ho-hum human abilities. What would their next move be? How would we handle it?

I was up for a good challenge, but paranoia was beginning to set in.

Luckily my dark and doomy train of thought was interrupted when the VP, Mrs. Haze, entered the classroom and walked over to Mrs. Tracy. They whispered; they tittered and tattered. And then Mrs. Tracy announced a new student.

In walked a guy, the student, wearing a helmet, a number shirt, tight (ahem, yes, I noticed) pants, and goofy tube socks. He had black paint under his eyes. He was dressed head-to-toe in football gear. He was carrying a football. Even I knew about Halloween, and it wasn’t for another month.

His name? Dylan. From Denver. That is how he introduced himself to Mrs. Tracy. And that is exactly how Mrs. Tracy referred to him. “Dylan from Denver, please say hi to the class.”

“Dylan from Denver, we’re discussing hidden themes in Jim Carrey movies.”

“Dylan from Denver, please, grab an open desk, have a seat, join us.”

I looked at Claire. She rolled her eyes and smirked. She was tolerant of weirdos (hence our friendship) but not when they were of the jock variety.

Dylan from Denver grabbed the empty desk three
rows behind me and sat down. Then he proceeded to scoot the desk, while still sitting in it, very loudly, three rows up. His final destination? Squarely between Claire and me. Everyone laughed. The teacher barely noticed all the commotion till the laughter.

When she finally realized what Dylan from Denver had done, she looked like she was going to say something. But she didn’t. She just turned toward the blackboard and began writing. I, on the other hand, was mildly creeped out. Hello? Didn’t anyone think it was odd that he was wearing his whole football uniform in school? Or that his uniform wasn’t even from our own Nova High? Or that he just moved his desk a good six feet from its original spot to be right next to me?

The class wouldn’t stop talking and laughing.

I guess everyone noticed.

“A
nd then he leaned in and just stared at me. He had these big, black greasy lines under his eyes, just painted on. I’d never seen anything like it. And he just stared. I tell you, girls, first Pocky and now ‘Dylan from Denver.’ In this world, I am what Claire calls a serious geek magnet.”

Era and Polly laughed. We were on our way home, and this day felt like one of the longer ones. I was ready to crash.

“So does he have a ‘real’ last name?” pondered Polly. She was pinning her long, straight hair up in a bun while we walked. With a few dignified nods, she was acknowledging the students who waved to her and said hi as we passed them. Ever since Polly had launched her singing career at the Grit, she’d become quite the celebrity. I would’ve been jealous, but she totally deserved it.

“I can only guess it’s ‘from Denver,’” I answered her with a giggle.

“You must admit, those football pants are something else, aren’t they? Beats the robes back home any day.” And we all laughed because while it was a very typical thing for my sister Era to say, it was true, all too true.

“An occasional tight pant isn’t a bad thing, I guess,” said Polly, “but I do miss the robes back home. They were more comfortable. And easier, too.”

“Well, I like the clothes here on earth,” said Era matter-of-factly.

“Me too,” I agreed. “When we go home, I’m bringing every pair of sneakers back with me. I’m through with rope sandals.”

“
If
we go home,” said a pessimistic Polly.

“Of course we’ll get home, Pol. We just need to focus. You’re doing amazing in school. Era’s doing okay. And, well, I’m passing. We need to remember to enjoy the time we are here. Besides, it’s only been a month.”

“A month! Already?” cried Polly. Her pale, round face went from sour to sick.

“You know, it hasn’t been that bad. I’m a little homesick, just a little freaked out over my grades, and this certainly hasn’t been the wild adventure I was hoping for, but this place is pretty amazing. I mean, where else can you just go and buy food, whatever you
want, just buy it? And the television. Are you forgetting about the television?”

“Are you forgetting about the Furies?” asked Polly very defensively.

“How could I forget about them? How? I think about them all the time. I’m obsessed. I think about them even more than my stupid grades! But what can we do? We can’t use magic. We can’t call on Daddy’s help. We just have to keep our eyes and ears open and our guard up. But darn it, Pol, if we let them rule our every move, we might as well be in Hades right now, washing their dirty dishes.”

Polly looked close to tears. “I just think we need to take them more seriously.”

“I take them plenty seriously. And so does Era. But that doesn’t mean we should stop all adventure, all fun. If you ask me, I love modern mortal life.”

“I love modern mortal boys,” said Era. Then she added straight-faced, “And, of course, seeking out my own personal strength.” And then she giggled quietly, as if she didn’t quite believe it herself.

“It’s not a laughing matter, Era,” scolded Polly, who was in her most serious mood. “If we’re going to get home, all three of us must complete Daddy’s challenges. That means you, too.”

“I know, Polly, but I think we can work hard and have fun while we do it, can’t we? Please don’t be so serious.”

“I’m not being serious,” said Polly very seriously.

And we laughed, even Polly.

“Anyway,” said Era, “I
am
becoming more self-sufficient and stronger. I’m taking a survival class.”

Neither Polly nor I could speak—we were too stunned. In the silence Era rambled, “You know, I thought the boys in the class would be wearing those tight pants, like that football guy in your class. But no,” she said rather wistfully.

Both Polly and I found our voices at the same time, and in unison we both squealed, “Survival class?”

Then Polly asked, “Since when are you in survival class?” The class was notoriously hard. Supposedly it involved dirt and mud and sweat and a million other things that, while they may sound like fun, would not at all suit my delicate, sweet sister.

Era tried to look cool, calm, and collected. But her right hand began to twitter so fast, and her left hand started twirling a strand of her hair to the point of near breakage. She didn’t answer just yet.

“You’re going to break that hair off. Icky split ends. Stop. Now, what’s this about survival class?” I asked.

“I’ve been in this class all along,” she said. But the right hand kept twitching. Our expressions clearly questioned this fact, which just seemed to make Era extremely nervous.

“All along?” asked Polly very suspiciously.

“Well, mostly along,” said Era.

I got hardball with her. “Since when, mostly?”

“A few days. Or so.”

“You just joined today, didn’t you?” accused Polly. “And why did you join, exactly?”

“Well, no, not today. I joined, um, yesterday. I, um, I told Mrs. Haze I was allergic to the mats in gym, and she let me switch. Anyway, what difference does it make to either one of you?” I could tell she meant to sound tough, but it came out sounding sort of like a question.

“Well,” said Polly, “it makes a world of difference. First, you have to get good grades, just like the rest of us. And I don’t see you doing well in this kind of class. Sorry. And second, you are a goddess, not used to physical labor of any kind, and I’ve heard that class is sweaty, dirty, and just plain hard.”

“There is your answer—she did this because of sweaty boys,” I said as I threw my hands in the air.

“Not nice,” scolded Era, pouting her rosy mouth and crossing her arms. “I thought the class would be good for me. Like Daddy said, I need to learn more willpower. I thought this class would train my mind to be more survivalist, to be stronger and more self-reliant. I thought you’d be really, truly proud.”

“Then why did you keep it a secret?” asked Polly.

We were on our block now, and Era seemed to be picking up speed. It was obvious she wanted to be
done with this subject. We were only a couple of yards from our own cute little house when she got her wish. There was suddenly a blinding flash of light, followed by a humongous crash. A puff of silver smoke rose up from behind our house. Era and Polly looked at each other, their eyes wide. I got chills.

Then I started running.

It had only taken me a split second to figure it out. Obviously the light and the crash meant something big. And the fact that it all seemed to be coming from our backyard meant something big and probably otherworldly…something that had to do with
us
. I felt it in my bones, too—that it had to be Apollo. That he had come to earth to find me. He still wanted to be my best friend! Even after all the seriously horrible stuff I’d done to him. And he’d come to earth to tell me so—I just knew it!

My bouncy sneakers carried me around the bend at what felt like lightning speed. All my anger at Apollo for trying to force me to marry him and at Daddy for being so bossy and even at Hera for being so evil just vanished. Now that Apollo was here, everything would be great, fantastic, magnificent. As I turned the corner, I looked up toward our favorite tree, which was rustling all around. There was someone in it. The leaves were scorched.

I heard a moan. And there, right there on the
very branch where we liked to sit sometimes, was…well…was…not.

Not Apollo.

I stopped short. My shoulders slumped.

Polly and Era caught up to me just as the figure shimmied the last few feet to the ground.
Not Apollo.
My sisters rushed forward and tackled him in the biggest, tightest hug of all time.
Not Apollo.
Era showered tons of sweet kisses on his face, his helmet, laughing and chattering a thousand miles a minute. I just plopped to the ground, panting.

Hermes was blushing like crazy.

“I’ve never been so glad to see someone in my life!” gushed Polly.

“Have you lost weight?” enthused Era.

And a million other flatteries, which Hermes just waved away with his hands, saying, “Oh, nooo…stop…go on…” and so forth.

I waited a few more minutes, catching my breath and hoping that the love fest would soon be over with. Once the three had had some time to exchange their pleasantries and hellos and blah, blah, blah, I stood up and said, “Hey, Hermes. What are you doing here?”

I didn’t mean to be rude, and I like Hermes okay, but while I certainly like his stories, he was no Apollo.

“Oh, er…hi, Thalia. Ugh. Um.” He cleared his
throat, backing up from Polly and Era a little and straightening his armor. “Well, yes, I have to admit, this isn’t a social visit, girls.” I joined my sisters, and we all stared at him expectantly.

“The thing is,” he stumbled, taking in our surroundings with a wandering and eager eye, “I’ve just come to check up on you, which your father has asked me to do from time to time, and, um, I’m to tell you that you must be extra careful not to use any more of your powers, as Hera was quite upset about the last…incident.” And with this he paused and looked at me. So Hera had heard about what happened at the Grit.

“And furthermore, your sisters
*
have asked me to request that you pick up a few things, which,” he said, pulling a scroll out of a hidden pocket, “I will read to you now. Are you ready?” Without waiting for a reply, he cleared his throat. “For Calliope, one lock of fur from an abominable snowman, three bottles of the best hair conditioner you can find, one—”

“Wait, wait, wait—” I said.

“What about the part where they tell us hi and say that they miss us?” Era interrupted, her eyes seeming to turn a shade bluer, if that’s possible.

“Or say that they’re worried about us and wondering if we’re okay?” I added.

“Um, well.” Hermes scanned the page, but I knew
that he knew what we all suddenly knew. There was no part like that.

“Yes, and how in Zeus’s name do they expect us to find an abominable snowman when we’ve got our own problems to—” Polly said.

“And didn’t anyone else send word?” I asked, thinking of one person in particular.

“Or at least a nice care package?” Era continued. “You know, I would really love some ambrosia or some supplies from the Beautorium or even…didn’t they even…” She stopped short. She looked like she was going to cry.

“Look…look, girls,” said Hermes, shrugging and holding up his hands in a stop signal. “I’m just the messenger. And my instructions were to make sure that you were all fine, read you these requests, and be off. Now, I’m very busy. I’ve got to head over to your school and get your class transcripts for Hera. Then I really must make this delivery in Hades by dusk, and you know I have to deal with that nasty Cerberus
*
on the way, of course, which always takes forever. But I assure you, your sisters and your father miss you very much. Now, here.” He leaned forward and handed Polly the scroll he’d been reading. “You three look very healthy and safe and well dressed”—he looked me up and down—“for the most part, and I’ll be happy to report that to your father. You can gather these items at your own leisure. And I’ll see you again soon.”

Hermes stepped forward and gave us each a little hug. “Good-bye, girls.”

Then, before we even knew what was happening, before we could even really say good-bye back, there was another flash of light and he was gone.

Polly, Era, and I stood there for a moment in silence. Seeing Hermes had been our first connection with home (besides the Furies) since we’d gotten here, and it had happened just like that. In a matter of minutes.

My heart hurt. Now that we’d seen him, I missed Olympus terribly. I
wasn’t
fine. None of us were
fine
. We missed our family and our home. One look at my sisters’ faces told me they felt the same way. And the thing that really stunk was, nobody seemed to miss us back.

“C’mon. Let’s go inside,” I said, tugging Polly’s elbow. Sagging like a set of wet dishcloths, we straggled on up the back stairs, through the door, and into our house. Home. Our only home for now.

I dropped the scroll into the garbage on my way through the kitchen.