Oh. My. Gods.

takes the discarded color schemes and drops them in the wastebasket in the kitchen.

“That doesn’t mean that you’re not a major part of that life, even when you choose to return to the States. You are my daughter. My love. My everything. That will never change. But don’t you think I deserve a little happiness after all these years?”

We were happy. In California.

Mom had her practice and Aunt Megan and Yia Yia Minta.

I had Nola and Cesca and a track team full of friends.

Everything was great. So why did we have to move all the way around the world just for a guy? “Besides,” she says, her voice all wistful. “I like Greece. It makes me feel closer to your father to be in his homeland.”

“Homeland?” I ask, shocked. “Dad was from Detroit. Motown is his homeland.”

“His family is Greek. In his heart he was always Greek.”

“That’s creepy.” I stand up and start pacing. “You marry this new guy and move to Greece to be closer to your dead husband?”

She gasps as I say it. I know that was pretty harsh, but it’s the truth.

“Phoebe,” she begins, and I know she’s serious because she uses my real name, “what your father and I had was very special.

Nothing-not his death, not my remarriage-will ever change that.

Damian understands.”

Well, I don’t understand. Mom may think it’s fine to snag a new husband, but I don’t need a new father. And being in Greece will never make me feel closer to the one I had.

Sure, I’ve been thinking more about Dad since we got to Serfopoula than I have in ages, but that’s because of the stepdad thing.

Mom is probably going through the new husband thing. It’s displaced guilt or something because she feels bad for remarrying.

That’s her baggage.

Dad was perfect and now he’s gone. I can’t get him back and don’t want to replace him.

“Fine.” I stalk into the kitchen, wiping at the tears I don’t want Mom to see, and refill my glass of water. “You stay here and become Greek. I’ll send you a postcard from USC when I graduate.”

With a satisfying slam, I shut myself in my bedroom and fling myself on the bed. I can picture Mom watching me storm away, shrugging at my infantile behavior, and going back to planning her wedding.

It’s like I don’t even matter anymore.

Rolling to the edge of the bed, I reach over to the desk to grab my Physics II book. If it’s like everything else at this school myeight homework problems are going to turn into a major scientific treatise.

When Mom knocks on my door to call me to dinner I ignore her.

The last thing I want is to face another meal of goo-goo eyes and green sea slugs-even though Stella’s powers are grounded, I don’t put it past her to bring real ones this time. Besides, I still have half a book to read for Ms. T.

My door swings open. “Phoebe, dinner is-”

“Mom!” I shout, jumping off my bed. “You can’t just barge into my room. Don’t I get any privacy?”

“I’m sorry. When you didn’t answer I-”

“Look, I don’t want dinner. I’m not hungry.” Actually, I’m starving, but I would rather go hungry until lunch tomorrow than have a family dinner. “I have a lot of work to do, so just leave me alone.”

The hurt in her green eyes makes my heart ache. Not enough to take back what I said, though.

I’m surprised she’s not shouting right back at me.

“All right,” she says softly. “I understand your need for distance.

I’ll ask Hesper to leave a plate of leftovers in the fridge.”

I shrug, like I’m not interested. Like I’m not already plotting to sneak out and consume that plate after everyone’s in bed. “Whatever.”

Her sad smile says she already knows what I’ll do.

Without another word, she turns and walks away.

Animal Farm in hand, I collapse on the bed.

All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

Sounds like my life.

Maybe this book won’t be so bad, after all.

Two hours and forty-seven pages later I’m still twenty pages from being done with my reading assignment.

I can’t face another page of Animal Farm without a break, so I head to Damian’s office to check e-mail. He’s there, bent over a stack of papers. It’s a really big stack and I wonder if he has to get through the whole thing tonight.

He sure seems to be busy all the time.

I’m not sure if I should interrupt, so I hover in the doorway. He looks up and smiles.

“Good evening, Phoebe.” He pushes his papers aside and smiles at me. “How is the homework coming?”

“All done,” I say cheerfully.

Okay, so I still need to read another twenty pages of Animal Farm and choose a painting from the Art History book to study for the semester, but everything else is finished.

“Please,” he says, gesturing to the computer, “feel free to check your e-mail. But be sure and leave enough time to finish your reading.”

How did he know? Either I’m that transparent or he can read minds.

“I don’t read minds so much as I read emotion,” he says. “I sensed your guilt over lying to me.”

“I wasn’t ly-”

“You were stretching the truth.” He gave me a disapproving principal look.

“Fine,” I relent. “I’m almost done.”

He points to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

Nervous about his “discussion” tone of voice, I sink into the chair with a sense of despair. I’m about to be lectured, I just know it.

“Don’t worry,” he says, again reading my mind-or emotions, or whatever. “I know this is a difficult transition for you. There are many changes occurring simultaneously. Whatever your opinion of me and my relationship with your mother, I would like you to trust me. No matter what problem you are having you can discuss it with me and I will advise you as best I can. In the strictest confidence.”

I nod, knowing this is a really kind offer. There is still some part of me that won’t just open up and accept his help. Not out loud anyway. But it’s good to know it’s there. If I need it.

“You should know,” he adds, pulling his pile of papers back over and starting to look through them again. “Ms. Tyrovolas frequently gives a detailed quiz over reading assignments.”

“Oh.” Cool. Insider information. I’m beginning to see how having Damian as an ally could be really useful. “I’ll just check my e-mail real quick, then.”

He nods and keeps reading his papers.

Anxious to see if Cesca and Nola e-mailed me and get back to finishing the Animal Farm pages, I jump into the chair in front of the computer and log on to my account.

I have two messages.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Training Meeting

Phoebe,

As you overheard, your place on the team is conditional on your placing in the first meet. That is in three weeks.

Come by my office after school so we can talk about your training schedule.

Coach Lenny