I don’t have to say it out loud to confirm she’s talking about Ursula. There are a million questions I’d like to ask. Where is she? How do I find her? Is she safe? But I ask the one that answers them all. “Can I save her?”
“You can,” she says, and I release a tight breath. Then she adds, “But it has yet to be written whether you will.”
I take a shaky breath. I could be terrified by that prediction, by the fear that I might not save Ursula in the end. But I’m not. The bottom line is: I
Chapter 20
When I showed up at Gretchen’s on Saturday morning, the first thing she told me was what the oracle said. That the immortal Gorgon Sthenno is at my school.
Now, I don’t know if that means she’s a teacher or student or staff or administration or what, but I’ve spent all day Monday studying every single female at Alpha to see if anyone, I don’t know,
By the time Lulu and I walk out of Computer Science after the final bell, I’m starting to think the oracle was wrong. Gretchen is adamant, but maybe she just wants to believe her.
“Do you think Miss Mota is ever going to notice that Orson hid that perverted message in his web page?” Lulu asks, pulling a compact out of her giant tote bag and checking her fire-engine-red lipstick.
“She hasn’t so far,” I say, relieved to think about something other than searching out my immortal ancestor.
“Well she obviously adores you.” Lulu drops her compact back into her bag. “You could create a page about cow manure and she’d still call us all over to admire it.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “She’s kind of over the top.”
Maybe she—
“Grace,” I hear a woman call behind me. When I turn, I see Miss Mota running after me. “You forgot your handout.” She’s panting and a little out of breath, but with a huge grin on her face. “Can’t do your homework without the style guide, can you?”
“Thanks,” I say, taking the handout.
She has been kind of over-nice to me. I thought it was just because I’m a solid computer geek—aka her ideal student—but maybe it’s something more. Could she be Sthenno?
As she turns and walks back to her classroom, I start to analyze everything I know about her, to see if anything fits.
Before I can think back to the first day of Computer Science, I sense Miranda marching up behind me and Lulu. I catch sight of her a split second before she moves to Lulu’s side and rushes forward, knocking into my friend, sending her stumbling forward and her bag flying.
I have an instant flashback of my first day at Alpha.
Only instead of acting like an entitled brat, Miranda spins around and says, “Omigosh, I am
I help steady Lulu on her feet and we give each other a confused look. Apologies are very un-Miranda-like behavior.
“Yeah,” Lulu says hesitantly. “It’s fine.”
My jaw drops as Miranda actually squats and helps gather Lulu’s belongings back into her bag. Part of me hopes she’s realized that being mean and nasty doesn’t get her very far. But I’m not the same naive new girl who started here less than two weeks ago. So much can change in a short time. Miranda’s up to something.
I bend down to help, snatching Lulu’s bag back when Miranda tries to pick it up.
She gives me a hurt look. “I was trying to hand it back to her.” She huffs out a breath that sends her bangs floating. “Jeez, sorry.”
I hand Lulu her purse and watch as Miranda turns and stalks away. Okay, maybe I was wrong. I feel a little guilty about jumping to—
As Miranda rounds the corner into the next hall, I see her pull something out of her back pocket.
Lulu’s phone.
I have had more than enough of this girl.
“Here,” I say, shoving Lulu’s bag into her arms.
I start after Miranda, ignoring Lulu as she asks, “What’s wrong?” Her peep-toe pumps clack on the floor behind me as she hurries to keep up. “Where are you going?”
“Miranda,” I call out as I catch up with her, dodging around a couple of jocks who are throwing a football back and forth. When she doesn’t stop, I shout, “Miranda!”
She spins around so fast, I’m surprised she doesn’t keep going full circle. She demands, “What?”
My hand is shaking as I hold it out, palm up. “Give it back.”
She throws an incredulous look at my hand. “Give what back? What nonsense are you—”
“Cut the garbage,” I interrupt, drawing on my inner Gretchen for the courage to carry out the confrontation. “I saw you with Lulu’s phone. Return it now and I won’t report the theft.”
Next to me, Lulu digs through her bag. When she finds her phone missing, she says, “You’re right. It’s gone. I know I had it before Computer Science, because Jax asked me to look up the Kiss Me Kitties concert schedule.”
Miranda looks like she wants to deny it again. I take a step closer, let my fangs drop a fraction, and say, “Now.”
Her eyes roll halfway around the hall, and her jaw clicks to the side, like she’s going to gnaw on the inside of her cheek a little before telling me where to step off.
My fangs drop a little more. “Miranda . . .”
She huffs out another breath. “Whatever.” She pulls the phone out of her purse and slaps it into my palm. Then, spinning on her heel, she calls out over her shoulder, “Losers.”
As soon as she’s out of sight, my fangs suck back into place and I gasp in a shaky breath.
“You,” Lulu says, grabbing the phone off my palm, “have backbone. Vail will be so proud.”
Every limb is shaking with the aftereffects of my confrontational adrenaline. I can’t believe I stood up to Miranda like that. And
“Holy goalie,” I whisper.
Not only will Vail be proud, so will Gretchen. And, if I think about it, so am I. I never knew I had it in me. Maybe doormat Grace is finally stepping aside. Monster-hunting, Miranda-confronting Grace is welcome to take her place.
“Go long, dude!” one of the football jocks shouts.
The other one takes off at a run, racing down the hall . . . and directly toward Ms. West, who is heading this way.
“Watch out!” I call out.
But it’s too late. The jock turns, sees Ms. West, but can’t stop his runaway forward momentum.
“Whoa there,” she says, taking half a step to the side and reaching out her arm right as he passes by.
I wince at the certain disaster, but instead of jock boy taking Ms. West down with him, she manages to bring him to a dead stop without even losing her footing.
“No running in the halls, gentlemen,” she says, catching the football that jock-boy was supposed to grab and handing it to him. “That includes chasing footballs.”
“Yes, Ms. West,” the one who threw the ball says.
The other one blushes. “Sorry, Ms. West.”
“Just don’t let it happen again.” She grins at them, waves at me, and then walks away.
It takes about ten seconds of me standing there, jaw dropped, to realize what just happened. Ms. West
