Tera Childs - Goddess Boot Camp

Damian holds up his hand and takes a deep, deep breath. He lets it out super slow, with a little bit of a growl from the back of his throat. And then he takes another. And another.

I've really done it this time. I mean, the palm tree in the living room had been bad enough, but he is clearly beyond furious at the moment.

Instinctively I inch back a step… right into a growing puddle. The sloshing sound of me smacking into the water breaks his deep breathing.

"I am not angry with you," he says, carefully enunciating each word. "Truly."

I'm not convinced.

He runs a hand through his wet hair, sending a fresh spray of water droplets everywhere.

"Oh for Hera's sake," he mutters. For a second I'm nearly blinded by a bright glow, and when I open my eyes again, Damian is back to his dry, fully clothed self. The puddles are still there. "Let us speak in my office, shall we?"

I hang my head and follow Damian through the house. Why do these things keep happening to me? I mean, you'd think after all these months I'd have improved a little. At least enough so that things wouldn't go haywire when I'm just randomly thinking about completely non-powers-related stuff.

"Please," Damian gestures at a chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat."

Sinking into the soft leather-hard-core-hippie Nola would have a field day with the cruel and unnecessary use of animal hide-I try to clear my mind of all thoughts. It's thinking that gets me into trouble. If I could go the rest of my life without thinking, then-

"I know you are using your powers neither carelessly nor intentionally," Damian says as he lowers into his chair. "But in the several months since your powers first manifested, your control has not improved. In fact"-he pinches the bridge of his nose like the idea of my uncontrolled powers gives him a headache-"it may have gotten worse."

Worse ? My heart sinks. I've been spending hours upon hours working on controlling my powers. All right, some of those hours-okay, many of those hours-were spent with Griffin. And maybe we don't always spend every second on my training, but hey, a girl can't focus on work all the time when in the presence of such a god. Can she?

"I don't blame you, Phoebe. We both know that, since you are the third generation removed from Nike, your powers are stronger than most. It is not surprising that you are having difficulty controlling them." He smiles kindly and my stomach kind of clenches.

I don't need pity… I need help.

"I don't know what else to do," I say, trying not to whine. I am so not a whiner. "I'm sorry. I've been working hard. Maybe I just need a little more time."

"Unfortunately," he says, "we have little time left."

Little time left? What is that supposed to mean? No one ever said anything about a time limit. No learn-to-use-your-powers-by-summer-or-else speech. Suddenly I have an image of myself, chained to the wall in the school dungeon-not that they have one, but this is my nightmare and I can be as creative as I want-being tempted by cheesy, yummy bougatta I'm not allowed to eat until I learn to-

"Phoebe." Damian says, interrupting my fantasy of torture and bringing my attention back to his desk-which is, I realize with sad resignation, now covered in the cheesy pastry treat. Damian waves his hand over the bougatta, erasing it as quickly as it came, and says, "Please, try to restrain your rampant imagination. No one is going to torture you for your lack of control."

"Sorry," I say for like the millionth time. I don't mean it any less, but it's starting to feel like the only thing I know how to say.

I shake off the self-pity. Feeling sorry for myself is not going to solve the problem.

Damian leans forward, resting his elbows on his pastry-free desk. "I was hoping this would not be an issue. That you would harness your powers in your own time without intervention from the gods, but-"

"Whoa!" I jump forward to the edge of my seat and wave my hands in front of me. "The gods?"

Damian smiles tightly and tugs at the knot in his tie.

Oh no. In the nine months since Mom and I moved in, I've learned that an uncomfortable Damian is never a good sign.

"Since we discovered your heritage, the gods have been closely monitoring your dynamotheos progress."

"My dyno-what?"

" Dynamotbeos," he repeats. "The official term for the powers derived from the gods. They've been observing you-"

"Observing me?" My teeth clench. "Like how?"

I imagine the sneaky gods spying on me in the shower or the locker room or when I'm "studying" with Griffin.

"Circumspectly, I assure you."

I am not assured.

Damian shuffles papers on his desk. "In any event, they are… ab-hem… . concerned about your progress."

Not the ab-hem. I have a feeling I'm in big trouble.

"The gods have decreed that you must… ab-hem … pass a test of their design before the upcoming summer solstice."

"And what exactly does this test entail?'" I ask, already fearing the answer. Whenever Damian breaks into ah-hems and nervous shuffling, it always spells bad news for me.

My introduction to this nervous Damian was last year when he told me the Greek gods-you know, Zeus, Hermes, Aphrodite… those gods-were real, not myth. So there's probably something major-and majorly unpleasant-coming my way.

"I couldn't say, exactly. In my time as headmaster, they have only demanded such a test from one other student." His mouth tightens a little around the edges. "It will be designed with your personal strengths and weaknesses in mind. I can tell you, however, that it will put your powers-and your control of your powers-to the ultimate test. That is why I would like to accelerate your training."

"Why?" I shift nervously in my seat. "When exactly is summer solstice?"

"The precise date is… ah-hem… the twenty-first." He readjusts his tie. Again. "Of June."

"The twenty-first of June?" I leap out of my chair and start pacing. "That's only…" I count down on my fingers. "Sixteen days away."

"The gods do not prize patience as a great virtue."

"You think?" I ask, pulling out my best sarcasm.

I am not even pacified by the fact that he looks embarrassed.

He should be embarrassed. Even if this isn't his fault.

Why does this stuff happen to me? I mean, I barely make it through what should have been my skate-through senior year with a B average. Now, after deciding to stick around an extra year to work on my powers-and to spend another year with the previously mentioned amazing boyfriend, Griffin-I find out I have to pass a test that proves I know how to control my powers first. T alk about a contradiction.

"What happens if I fail?" I ask. "Do I have to repeat Level 12, or what?"

"You will not fail," he says, way too eagerly. "You have my word."

"Okay," I agree. "But what if I do?"