Oh. My. Gods. Read Online Free PDF Page B

‘other’ then one only knows what the object is and what the other is not.”
    Stella rolls her eyes. Damian nods. I have learned—after many years of theoretical nonsense talk—to ignore the psychobabble. Trying to follow along only ends in headache.
    “Besides,” Damian says, giving Stella one last disapproving look before smiling at me, “you are not the only non-Greek to attend the Academy. We are primarily a boarding school and many, if not most, of our students are from abroad. Our ancestors were not, shall we say, confined to a particular geographical area.”
    Right. I remember all those stories about Zeus and Apollo and the other gods jumping around from one seduction to the next. There are probably little mini-gods all over the world.
    Stella smiles tightly, as if saying, Whatever.
    “You must be Phoebe,” she says, stepping forward and offering me a hand. “I’m Stella . . . your new sister.”
    Now, I’ve always wanted a sister, but not one like this. In my mind I picture a little girl with ringlets and dimples who follows me everywhere and copies my every move to the point of driving me crazy. Stella is not a follower. That much I can see in the icy gray shallows of her eyes. She crushes those foolish enough not to fall into place behind her. I am not that foolish.
    “Yeah,” I say, taking her hand and letting her pull me up. I’m shocked when she doesn’t let go halfway and send me falling back on my butt. “Nice to meet you.” The words choke out around the gagging sensation in my throat.
    Then she shocks the living crap out of me by pulling me into a hug. Over her shoulder I see Mom take Damian’s hand and look at me with pride, like they can already see us having sleepovers and sharing secrets and painting each other’s toenails. She thinks we’re halfway sisters already.
    Only she doesn’t hear what Stella whispers in my ear.
    “I hope you’re ready for a living nightmare, kako, because this school will chew you up, spit you out, and smite the tiny pieces of whatever’s left all the way to Hades.”
    Mom smiles at me.
    I whisper back, “I’ve survived beach bunny cheerleaders, a slut-hunting ex-boyfriend, and five years of cross-country camp. I’m not afraid of some throwback to ancient myth with atrocious highlights and a Barbra Streisand nose.”
    Catching Mom’s eye I smile big, even as Stella squeezes me way too tight around the ribs. One stomp on her pedicured toes and I’m free.
    “All ready,” I say, snatching my backpack off the deck.
    As I sling my pack onto my shoulder I see a spark out of the corner of my eye, just before the strap breaks, sending the bag flying right into Stella’s nose. Sure, it was an accident—you can’t exactly anticipate strap failure—but I couldn’t have aimed better if I tried.
    Too bad, though. This is a brand-new backpack.
    Hand cupped over her injured nose, Stella’s face turns bright red. She growls and lifts her other hand like she’s going to point at me—way rude, by the way.
    “Stella,” Damian warns as he points a finger at my broken strap. The torn fabric glows for a second before magically repairing itself.
    I grab my backpack off the ground and check the strap. It’s perfect, like it never broke in the first place.
    Stella jerks her hand back to her side before turning in a huff and stalking off the boat. I glance back and forth between Damian’s steaming look and Stella’s retreating back.
    Wait a second. . . . Did she do that to my strap? That must have been the flash of light. Serves her right getting bonked in the nose.
    Next time she’ll think twice about zapping my stuff.
    Dinner at the Petrolas house is unusual, to say the least.
    Mom and I usually set up a pair of TV trays in the living room so we can watch the latest reality show while we eat. Not the best idea with some of the ubergross stunts they pull, but it was our nightly ritual.
    Not only do we not even have TV on Serfopoula, but Damian and Stella