Oh. My. Gods.

“Now calm down, after everything that’s-”

“Calm down? Are you crazy?” I jump up from my desk and start pacing. “You’re trying to ruin my entire future and you want me to calm down?”

“We are not trying to ruin your future.” She sits on my bed, the picture of calm and collected. “You could really benefit from another year of challenging academics.”

My pacing speeds up-if I had a rug I would probably burn ahole in it. I already know Damian wants this-Stella told me, after all-but my own mother? “Nola, Cesca, and I have been planning on going to USC together since junior high.” I stop pacing long enough to throw my hands in the air. “How can you ask me to just throw all those years of planning-not to mention my friendships-away?”

I resume pacing, my mind racing just as fast.

“I’m not asking you to do anything more than think about it,” she says calmly.

I hate it when she does the whole calm-Mom-therapy thing on me.

It makes me so mad I do things I might regret.

“It’s bad enough you marry a complete stranger,” I shout, “and you make me move halfway around the world without telling me I’ll be going to school with a bunch of kids with superpowers who can zap me whenever they want. But now, now after all this, you want me to stay even longer than absolutely necessary? This is all his idea, isn’t it?”

“Of course not,” she says, sounding all defensive. “He may be my husband, but I am still your mother.”

“Then why?” I demand. “Why this? Why now?”

“Because if you are-” She stops mid-sentence. Standing up slowly, she says, “All I ask is that you think about it.”

Aargh! She can’t even come up with a bogus excuse.

“Fine,” I spit out as she walks to my door. “I’ll think about it-and every time I do I’ll think about how much I hate you.”

Without another word she walks out, closing the door quietly behind her. Not satisfied, I march over to the door, pull it open wide, and sling it shut with a powerful slam.

Somehow that’s more appropriate for the end of my relationship with my mother.

Before the echo dies down I burst into tears.

I don’t even have Cesca and Nola’s shoulders to cry on.

How could my life possibly get any worse?

Chapter Eight

“PLEASE PUT AWAY YOUR BOOKS and take out several sheets of blank paper.” Mr. Dorcas’s voice is monotone. “We are having a pop quiz on The Republic.”

The whole class groans.

Me? I just carry out his instructions with the resignation of a beaten dog. Since the moment I thought my life couldn’t get worse, the world, this school, and everyone on this island have conspired to prove me monumentally wrong.

No one but Nicole and Troy are talking to me, though Troy hasn’t even been at lunch because he’s getting extra tutoring in Chemistry. I keep e-mailing and I Ming Cesca and Nola every night in the hope that I’ll eventually wear them down. Mom is giving me my distance, not that I mind, and Damian has been so busy with school business that I haven’t even seen him in days. And, though I’m not mourning the fact that Stella’s stopped speaking to me, I’m starting to miss our sparring sessions. They’re better than no human contact at all.

My running times have not improved, despite the millions of hours of extra practice. Coach Lenny assures me I’m just at a plateau and any day now I’m going to see major improvement. I don’t believe him.

I still haven’t figured out Plato and have given up all hope of ever understanding his concept of justice. Ironically enough, Physics II and Art History-the classes Nicole switched me to-are the only classes I’m actually doing well in. Everything else will be lucky to see a passing grade.

So, of course Mr. Dorcas is giving us a pop quiz on a Friday. It’s just the way my life is going.

“Answer the following question.” He tugs on the projection screen, sending it rolling into its case and revealing the pop quiz.

An essay question.

Hardly shocking.

Plato ends The Republic with the myth of Er, a story about the fate of men, both good and bad, in the afterlife. Why do you think he, a believer in reincarnation, chooses this tale with which to end his discourse on justice?

The first thing that jumps out at me is the word myth. After what Troy told me, I don’t think some story Plato made up about a guy visiting the afterlife qualifies as “explaining the unexplainable.”

This is more like a fairy tale, a story that Plato wanted to be true. He wanted to believe that good men would be rewarded and bad men punished because that would mean the world made sense.

Clearly, he’d been burned by the success of some undeserving people.

Half an hour later I turn in my “quiz,” my hand cramped from writing a mini-thesis in response. I sink back into my seat. I can’t even look forward to a mental break because I was the last person done.

Mr. Dorcas jumps right into his lecture.

He starts writing on the board, his back to the room.

“Pssst.” Nicole tosses a note on my desk.

I open the elaborately folded piece of paper.

Troy says he passed his Chem test. No more lunch tutoring.

I write, Good. I missed him. Then I toss the note back on Nicole’s desk. She opens the note, smiles, then glances to the front of the room and frowns.

Following the direction of her gaze, I see Mr. Dorcas scowling in our direction.

“The note, Miss Matios.” He holds out his hand expectantly.

Nicole rises slowly from her seat, leaning closer to me as she whispers, “Distract him.”

I nod, wondering what I can do to get Mr. Dorcas’s attention.

Not knowing what else to do, I scream, “Ouch!”

“What is it, Miss Castro?”

“I, uh, think something bit me.” Twisting around in my seat, I search the floor like I’m looking for the offending creature. “I think it was a scorpion.”

“Miss Castro,” Mr. Dorcas admonishes as he stalks to my desk, “we don’t have scorpions on this island.”

Eyes wide, I ask, “Really?”

From the corner of my eye I see the note paper in Nicole’s hand glow. She nods at me.

“You must be right,” I say to Mr. Dorcas, who eyes me skeptically.

“It must have been the elastic in my underpants.”

He gives me a solid glare before returning to the front of the room to take the note from Nicole. He then proceeds to read the note out loud.

“I can’t wait to read Aristotle. No, me either. It will be so much fun.” Mr. Dorcas stares at the note, like he can’t believe what he read. Then, with a scowl, he crumples up the note and tosses it in the trash. “Return to your seat, Miss Matios.”

As she slides back into her chair, Nicole winks at me.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for Nicole-she’s the best thing I’ve got going for me right now.

“Ha ha!” Coach Lenny, waving the stopwatch around like a flag, shouts as I cross the finish line. “I told