Goddess Boot Camp

he deserves the benefit of the doubt.

As we stroll past the bookstore, I resist the urge to look inside. Because with all the mounting evidence, it's getting harder and harder to accept that Griffin and Adara are nothing more than friends. I'm not ready to believe the worst. And the benefit of the doubt is hard to hold on to.

***

'You never told me you worked at the library,' I say when I get home. My voice, cool and collected, echoes in the silent kitchen.

Stella freezes, the refrigerator door open and an ice-filled glass in her hand, for a full five seconds. Straightening, she clears her throat-just like Damian does when he's nervous-and asks. 'Should I have?'

I shrug, playing it cool. If I've learned anything from years of Mom headshrinking me, it's that if you want to find out everything, keep your mouth shut. Guilty people love to fill a tense silence.

Grabbing the refrigerator-door handle from her, I pull it wide open. When I lean past her to grab a Gatorade from the stock Hesper keeps in the fridge for me, she says. 'I worked there Levels 10 and 11.' She fills her glass with water. 'I needed some legitimate work experience. I can't exactly put Hera's Personal Assistant on my resume.'

I ignore her awkward laugh.

We face off, her leaning against one counter sipping ice water, me leaning against the opposite counter chugging my Gatorade. We just watch each other. I'm waiting for her to crack. Zeus only knows what she's waiting for.

As I drain the last drop of Gatorade, I decide to break the silence.

She beats me to it.

'Mrs. Philipoulos called me.' Her French-manicured fingers tighten around her glass. 'She asked me about the stolen record.'

I toss my empty bottle into the recycling bin under the sink.

'And?'

'And nothing,' she says, looking affronted. 'I don't know anything about it. Why would I?'

She looks pretty innocent, but then again Stella's the queen of looking innocent. I can't count the number of times in the last year she's skated on stuff she did. Me? I always get caught. (Not that I ever do anything, of course.)

'But you do know about the secret archives.' I don't ask it as a question. 'You know how to access them.'

'Of course,' she says. She finishes her water and sets the glass in the sink. 'Everyone knows about the 'secret' archives. Mrs. Philipoulos deludes herself into thinking no one knows. It's the worst-kept secret on the island.'

That's true. There's still a lot about this island-about this world-that I dun't know, and even I knew about them.

'You could access them,' I repeat. 'If you wanted.'

'Of course,' she replies. At least she didn't deny it. 'If I wanted. I don't want, and I didn't access. Anyone who's ever worked in the library could access if they wanted. Are you going to accuse the entire former payroll staff? Better start with Daddy, he was an aide back in the day. Why don't we give him a call? I'm sure he and Valerie won't mind the interruption on their honeymoon.'

I roll my eyes at her melodrama.

Though I haven't got the best record for trusting people, I believe her innocence. Besides, if she'd done it, she'd be gloating about it all over my face. She would still deny it to the authorities, but she'd be taunting me to the ends of the earth.

Where does that leave me? If Stella didn't steal the record, then who?

That brings me back to the list. As soon as I'd seen Stella's name, I'd fixated on that. The rest of the list was pretty much a blur. I need to check out the other names.

'I'll see you at dinner,' I say, turning to go to my room and do a little research into my fellow students.

'Phoebe.' Something in her voice-something sad-stops me. 'Nothing in that record will change what happened. No one can reverse an Olympic decree.'

'I know that.' I keep my back to her. She doesn't need to see my tears. 'But it might give me some answers.'

I hear her sigh. 'Then I hope you find them. Everyone deserves answers.'

Her voice wavers with sympathy, like she understands where I'm coming from. Whatever. She has no idea what I'm going through.

Without responding, I rush to my room. I hate it when she acts like a human-it's so much easier to think of her as a vicious harpy.

At my desk, I pull the folded printout from my back pocket and smooth it out over my closed laptop. I scan the names on the list. Besides Stella, I only recognize three of them.

Katara, Xander

Roukas, Zoe

Martin, Christopher

I can't imagine why any of the three would do this to me. Sure, there are still some-a lot of- lingering ill feelings about me being at the Academy. Students who don't care that I'm one of them now, who hate outsiders or runners or Californians or whatever. Or that are resentful because I went from being nothos to being a third-generation hematheo sand therefore pretty powerful and apparently enviable.

But this seems kind of extreme, i mean, it's not like whoever it is won't get in trouble for stealing the record. Damian would probably put them in detention for a year.

Besides, no one on the list seems a likely candidate.

Xander didn't know I existed until camp started, so I doubt he'smasterminding the wild-goose chase. Zoe and Christopher are both on the track team. Christopher is one of the nicest guys in school- before I found out about my Nike heritage, he was the only one who would willingly pair up with me in practices. He would never do this. Zoe is one of Adara's minions-translation: she hates me- but she's off the island for the summer, visiting her family in Sweden or Switzerland or something.

I sigh, folding the list back up and slipping it into my desk drawer. No use beating my brain up against a brick wall. I'll have to do some investigating. Maybe Troy and Nicole know something about the other kids on the list. I can ask tomorrow. For tonight I'll do a quick search on the Academy Web site.

I power up my laptop and decide to check e-mail first.

Twelve new messages. And not one of them is spam. Maybe the gods finally developed a functioning spam blocker for the Academy e-mail system.

I quickly skim through my in-box.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Training Tomorrow

Phoebes.

Can we run in the morning again tomorrow?

Griff

No explanation. No apologies. No confession that he spent the afternoon at the bookstore with his