Oh. My. Gods.

Sigh. Nice is not necessarily boyfriend material.

Not even crush material.

At least not for me.

LostPhoebe: Troy is just a friend

GranolaGrrl: boy friends make the best boyfriends

PrincessCesca: rolls eyes what about the other?

LostPhoebe: the one that hates me?

GranolaGrrl: he doesn’t hate you

PrincessCesca: yes, him

What can I say about Griffin Blake?

That he zapped my shoelaces together? Oops, can’t reveal the whole secret-island-of-the-Greek-gods thing.

That he makes Orlando look like a Troll? Nope, that would give away too much of my unwanted interest in him-why do I always crush on jerks?

That I’ve been commissioned by my evil stepsister to break up him and his girlfriend? Stella is the last thing I want to chat about.

Besides, that leads me down the path of thoughts about my real reason for accepting her deal-something to do with how my heart pounds like a bongo every time I see him-and those are thoughts best left unexplored.

Somehow, none of these seem appropriate.

LostPhoebe: nothing to tell

LostPhoebe: promise

PrincessCesca: you only promise when ur keeping a secret

GranolaGrrl: we should respect her privacy

PrincessCesca: for crying out loud

PrincessCesca: don’t you want to know about the guy our best friend is crushing on?

GranolaGrrl: of course, but that doesn’t mean we have to pry

LostPhoebe: I’m not crushing on him

PrincessCesca: yes it does

PrincessCesca: that’s exactly what it means

GranolaGrrl: she has a right to her privacy

PrincessCesca: she has to tell us, we’re her best friends

LostPhoebe: stop!!!

The rapid-fire IMs stop. I stare at the blinking cursor, thinking how much I miss hearing them argue in person. It’s just not the same on the computer. The scrolling IM chat is making me dizzy.

GranolaGrrl: are you all right?

LostPhoebe: why does everyone keep asking me that?

PrincessCesca: well are you?

LostPhoebe: I’m fine

LostPhoebe: it’s late and I’m tired

GranolaGrrl: you should get your rest

PrincessCesca: what time is it there?

I check the clock on the computer. It’s after eleven. Crap, I have to meet Coach Lenny at six.

LostPhoebe: almost 11:15 and I have to get up early

GranolaGrrl: we’ll let you get some sleep

PrincessCesca: but don’t think we’re letting this crush thing go

LostPhoebe: thanks

LostPhoebe: I miss you guys

GranolaGrrl: we miss you, too

PrincessCesca: Pacific Park is the pits without you

PrincessCesca: Justin acts like king of the school

PrincessCesca: he’s an a$$

LostPhoebe: not sorry to miss that!

GranolaGrrl: ’night

PrincessCesca: good night

LostPhoebe: bye

I sign off, sad to be so far away from my friends when I need them the most.

I am lying in my bed, almost ready to drift into blissful sleep when I remember Coach Lenny’s exercises. He’ll kill me if I don’t do them. Jumping out of bed, I dig the note card out of my backpack and start counting sit- ups.

“One, two, three…”

Who knew it could take an hour to do one hundred sit-ups, sixty push-ups, and two hundred jumping jacks. By the time I collapse back in bed I’m exhausted. I fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.

When my alarm goes off I feel like I’ve slept all of five minutes.

It’s going to be a rough day.

“You look like Hades,” Troy says as he sets his lunch tray next to mine.

Through some great miracle of adrenaline or alpha waves, I am still awake despite a pop quiz in Algebra and a documentary on the Ancient Egyptian practice of mummification. But it’s a near thing.

“Thanks,” I mumble, struggling to keep my head from dropping onto my plate of hummus-smothered meat loaf. And I thought there was no way to make meat loaf worse.

Food is the last thing on my mind, though. We are doing pendulums in Physics today and I just know the swinging and circling is going to trigger my motion sickness. I’m trying not to consume anything I don’t want to see again.

“I had a late night,” I explain. “And early morning practice.”

“I thought practices were after school?” he asks.

“They are,” I say. “But I have to practice extra.”

“Why?” Nicole prods her meat loaf like she’s afraid it might get up and walk off the plate. “You made the team.”

“Only if I finish top three in the first meet.”

Nicole lets out a low whistle. I’ve always wanted to be able to do that. I can’t whistle at all, despite years of secret training and even a hands-on lesson from Justin that I’d rather forget.

“I have faith in you,” Troy says. “I’ll help any way I can.”

I smile at him. He’s so sweet and looks really cute with that goofy grin on his face. And that golden blond hair spiking off in every direction doesn’t hurt his star quality good looks. And he seems to like me. Maybe Troy could be more than a friend, after all.

“Thanks.” I blush even though I know he can’t read my thoughts.

His grin deepens.

Oh yeah, he’s part god… maybe he can. Which leads me to wondering…

“I have a question,” I say to both of them.

“Shoot,” Nicole says.

I think about it for a few seconds, trying to get the words right.

Trying to figure out how to ask what I really want to know.