Heaven Sent Page 5

  “It’s called tripping,” Polly said dryly. “On your shoes.”

  After helping Era up and combing the whole store, we had amassed quite a bit of food. I was ready to leave. Polly got in the longest line. “This one is shorter,” I said, moving to the one next to it.

  “No, it’s not,” she replied, a little out of breath.

  “Clearly it is. C’mon, I wanna get home and play with that microwave thing.”

  “This line is fine. We’re staying,” she said emphatically.

  “Ohhh, candy bars. I want some of these, okay, Polly?” asked Era.

  “Sure, go ahead.” Era grabbed like twenty of them and placed them in the cart.

  When we finally got up to the front of the line, the mortal who put our food in the bags commented on our choices. “Dude, what’s with all the cereal? You girls having a slumber party?” And then he laughed at his joke. I smiled to be polite, but I didn’t get why he thought his joke was so funny.

  “Whoa, do you girls really eat this stuff? Pickled pigs’ feet? Oh, man, that’s gross. Look at that. That’s so very gross. I am so glad I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Me too,” said Polly, very quietly. She didn’t even look up when she said it.

  “Hey, you’re in my lit class, aren’t you, the new girl, right?” he asked. His name was Tim—it said so on his bright red vest.

  “Yes, I’m Polly—it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah? Cool,” he said.

  She smiled. He sort of smiled. This was weird.

  “How will you be paying for this, ma’am?” asked the girl standing behind the counter.

  “Um, MasterCard?” said Polly.

  “Do you gals need help bringing the bags out to the car?” asked Tim.

  “No, we don’t have a car,” I said. Polly shot me the look of death.

  “We can manage, but thank you,” said Polly.

  “Cool. See you in school, eh?” And then he was on to other people’s food.

  As we walked out of the store, a thought pecked at my brain. Finally I had to ask her. “Polly, is that guy why you wanted to come to the market?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Thalia—what a ludicrous thought. How dare you insinuate such a thing!”

  “I think the lady doth protest too much.” I’d learned that in English today. Cool, huh?

  “What the heavens does that mean?”

  “You sure are making a bigger deal of it than I did. I just asked a simple question. You gave me more than a simple answer.”

  “These candy bars are so good. You guys wanna try these?” Era mumbled between mouthfuls of her favorite new food.

  “No!” we both answered in unison.

  Polly went on, “Boys are the last thing that should be on our minds. This shopping excursion has nothing to do with Tim. I just wanted some food, okay?”

  Aha, she had noticed his name, too.

  As we walked down the street, pushing our metal cart filled with Cocoa Lemmings and Sugar Nutz, pigs’ feet and Uncle Sal’s Vegetarian Bean Burgers, I could see splotches of color standing out on Polly’s fair cheeks. And she kept muttering softly to herself, “We are not here to meet boys, we are not here to meet boys,” as if she needed to be reminded.

  SIX

  Boys were the first thing on my mind the day after Daddy announced his ridiculous plan to make me marry Apollo. Well, namely, the stupidity of boys…

  That morning I jumped out of bed and headed straight to the Beautorium. I needed a steam bath to clear my aching head, and I needed to talk to my sisters—who’d already been asleep when I’d gotten the news the night before. I recounted the story to Polly, Era, and Clio*, fittingly in a roomful of hot air.

  Clio immediately put herself in charge of the engagement party. “Oh, it will be fun, Thalia. We haven’t had a good party in ages.”

  “How can you say that? This isn’t about a party—this is my life.”

  “Sorry, it’s just that I—I mean, we won’t have to sing at this party, just dance, with whomever we want. It will be so grand.”

  “Hello? You’re not thinking here.” I pleaded with her to see it my way. “This means I am getting married. As in marriage, as in I won’t be around here much anymore. Can I get a little help, please?”

  “I’m helping,” Clio said. “I’m crafting you the best party Olympus has ever seen!” And with that, she left the steam room to go get her nails done.

  “Era, Polly, what am I to do?”

  “Well, Apollo is really handsome,” said Era.

  “What? It’s just Apollo!” I said.

  “Are you going to tell me, Thalia, that you have not noticed his creamy, most perfect skin? Or his piercing dark green eyes that fall soft when you are around? Or his incredibly round and firm behind?” asked Era.

  “Stop! What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying he’s gorgeous, male perfection, smart, sassy, and stunning!” said Era.

  I was shocked, completely shocked that this was how my sister saw him. To me, he was the same boy I had played with in the clouds when I was five. The same boy who had eaten mud pies with me, courtesy of the Furies. Okay, so now that I thought about it, he had lost some of his baby fat. Maybe all of it. I wondered why I had never noticed.

  “And jeez, besides being extraordinarily handsome, he is so sweet to you,” said Era.

  “Yeah, well, yes, he is, but that, well, we’re friends. I am sweet to him, too.”

  “Not exactly,” said Polly.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “It’s just, well, you’re harsh with him; you tease him and make him do things for you. Thalia, you’re a little bossy,” Polly said.

  “No, I’m not. I mean, that’s the way we are. We tease,” I explained.

  “You still make fun of his lisp. He hasn’t had a lisp since you were eight!” Polly cried.

  “He doesn’t have a lisp? Not since we were eight? Nooo.” I surely would’ve noticed that.

  “It’s true,” said Era. “Apollo, he is fun, really fun. Remember that time that you and he and that Amazon from—”

  “Sure, whatever. I mean, I know,” I practically yelled. “But I want to have a life of my own. I want to run in the Caledonian boar hunt and go on Crusades. I want to swim with the mermaids and fly with the eagles. I want to go on adventures. I can’t do those things if I get married.”

  “But he’s so very kind, and wouldn’t he want you to go on adventures, too?” Era asked.

  “Doubtful. Once you’re married, life as you know it stops. Or so it is in all the books, right, Polly?”

  “Well, no, not always,” she said.

  “In all those books I read…” I went on.

  “All those books, eh? I can’t remember the last time I saw you pick up anything but that gossip scroll Hermes puts out,” said Polly.

  “Anyway,” I continued, ignoring my sister, “it’s different after you get married. Look around. Do you know any adventurous couples? Take Daddy and Hera, for instance. Daddy’s full of life and excitement, and Hera sits on her throne all day long, just getting her hair done and polishing her jewels….”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” asked Era.

  “Puh-lease! Haven’t you been listening?” I moaned.

  “You know, Thalia, I bet Apollo is different,” said Polly.

  “You don’t know that,” I said. “Apollo—Apollo is stubborn, and he’s pretty high up there as far as gods go. Don’t you think I’d be expected to be the good little goddess? Stay at home, look pretty, wait patiently for him to come back from fighting monsters and giants and flooding cities and all those sorts of things?”

  Era shook her head. “It’s just that, well, they’re not asking you to marry ol’ King Cepheus;* they’re asking you to marry Apollo, your best friend. Your very cute, very sexy best friend.”

  “I know, I know, I know, but boys and marriage are not the magical key to a happy life.”

  “Right,” said
Era, as if she didn’t believe a word of it.

  Polly had just been sitting there quietly, taking it all in.

  Still, I think she knew in her heart that I was born to run with wolves and laugh with centaurs and slay dragons. She hadn’t ever said as much, but we had an understanding. She, too, believed boys and marriage were not the key.

  “You really don’t want to marry Apollo, do you? I mean, are you sure as sure can be?” asked Polly.

  “Um, yes. Yes, I am,” I declared.

  “Well, maybe you can run away,” suggested Polly.

  But before I had a chance to even imagine it, she took her suggestion back. “No, Daddy would find you…anywhere.”

  “Maybe I could marry Apollo in your place,” Era said.

  “No!” I cried. That was not what I wanted, either.

  “It was just a thought. Maybe you do want to marry him after all.”

  “I do not. But you offering yourself to him is clearly not the answer.”

  “Hey, I’m just trying to help,” said Era.

  Hmpf.

  “I’ve got it. You will get sick, really sick and horrid. And Apollo will not want you then,” suggested Polly.

  “But I don’t want to be sick as much as I don’t want to marry Apollo.”

  “Ah, but what if you weren’t really sick?” said Polly.

  “Okay, where are you going with this?”

  She paused, deep in thought, and Era and I both hung on her breath, waiting for her words.

  “What if you go and apologize to Daddy and what if you tell him you made a mistake, you will indeed marry Apollo. Then at the grand engagement party you become frighteningly sick with—with—with Scyllia disease! Oh, oh, oh, your head will sprout serpents and you’ll sprout extra limbs and you will be covered in the smelliest of sea scum and Apollo simply will not want you then.”

  “Polly, there is no known cure for Scyllia—even Daddy cannot cure it.”

  “Exactly!”

  “I’m still not following you.”

  “Me neither,” said Era.

  “The other day the Furies came to visit Hera. I overheard them talking and, well, Hera was out to punish Pegasus because he has repeatedly gotten into mischief at your orders instead of obeying hers. The Furies had brought Hera this book—it was a book of Hades’s secret spells, and they were showing her how she could freeze Pegasus’s wings without any of us knowing how or why it happened. I was shocked, and I just hid out of sight, listening in. They became distracted moments later when Hera had to show off her latest jewels Daddy got her, and, well, I—I sort of stole the spell book. I know it’s not right, and I was so sick with myself that I didn’t tell anyone. But you see, I’ve been reading it, I couldn’t help myself, and you know, it’s actually extraordinarily fascinating.”

  “You shouldn’t feel bad—you saved dear Pegasus from frozen wings!” I cried.

  “But stealing is not right. I still can’t believe I did it. Anyway, I do recall a spell contained in the pages of the book. I believe it went something like this—if three of us put our powers into Hera’s charmeuse bag with a snip of the hair of a young goat boy, we three could give you a proxy of the disease that will last but twenty-four hours.”

  “My smartest little white witch of a sister, you are a savior! It’s brilliant!” I declared.

  “Wait a second—I dunno. We could get in a heap of trouble for this,” said Era fearfully. “Maybe you can just leave me out?”

  “But we need you, Era,” I all but screamed. “The two of us alone cannot do it—we need a third, plus you are the only one of us who can get close enough to a goat boy to snatch a lock of hair.”

  “True, true. The goat boys do love me. But I just don’t know. If Father finds out, he will be so very angry.”

  “Please, Era, even Polly’s willing, and you know how straight and narrow she is. I mean, she’s like our most uptight sister and…”

  “Hey! Be nice. I came up with this ‘brilliant’ plan, remember?”

  “Right, sorry. So Era, please? For me? I cannot marry, I just cannot.”

  “Well,” Era said, breaking into a proud grin, “I really don’t see what the big deal is, but since you seem so adamant and, well, because I love you so very much and, well, since Polly is going along with it and, well, you do need me, don’t you?”

  “Thank you! You’re saving my life, really, Era, you are. Both of you are. You are saving my life.”

  A sense of relief flooded over me. Maybe there was a way out of this after all. But a nagging question stood out in the back of my mind. Didn’t Hera or the Furies notice that their spell book had gone missing? And if so, what were they doing about it?

  For some reason, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up at the thought. It made me wish I knew what the Furies were doing right at that very moment, just so I could make sure that, whatever it was, it had nothing to do with me or my sisters….

  We choose to pick on the Muses of nine,

  Not for their behavior, nor their bustlines,

  But because of their annoyingly sweet little actions

  And their loathsome and trite self-satisfactions.

  It goes but against our Furies credo:

  Be dark and mysterious complete with bad mojo!

  Are these three so foolish that they forgot to check

  Who was listening in on their devious dreck?

  Apollo was to be Tizzie’s love of her life,

  But now he wants Thalia to be his lil’ wife?

  Well, horrors on her and demons on him,

  We’ll turn their plan upside down and out on a limb.

  Those three can give Thalia the Scyllia disease,

  But the very first person she touches will feel dizzy,

  And then they too will turn all ugly and smelly,

  Their skin will become mutant green mint jelly,

  And that person will have Scyllia for good,

  Not some twenty-four-hour fake gobbledygook.

  And who do you think she shall touch that first time?

  Our dear Apollo for sure—we’d bet our fine rhymes!

  Apollo will never love anyone evermore,

  And on those three Muses we will even the score.

  SEVEN

  Anyway, back to the life on earth.

  We’d been in Athens, Georgia, for a week, and yet we’d had not one opportunity to complete Daddy’s challenge. No progress whatsoever. Zilch. Zero.

  “I just love these Pop-Tarts—we need to get more, okay?” said Era, sitting on the ground in the middle of the school quad, scarfing down cold Pop-Tarts one after the other.

  “I guess. Personally, I don’t know how you eat that stuff. And for lunch? It’s so sugary sweet. I think you need some more carrots in your diet,” replied Polly. “And something green, too.” Era rolled her eyes, but she picked a piece of celery off Polly’s plate and started gnawing on that—wincing the whole time.

  “So, we made it,” I said cheerily. “One official school week. How do you feel?”

  “I feel good. Although I wish we could eat lunch together every day like this. That part doesn’t seem fair,” said Era.

  On Fridays the whole school had lunch at the same period. Otherwise Era and I were together for the first half of the day, then from there we were all separated. It wasn’t that bad—I got to eat with Claire and her friends Pocky and Hammerhead, and they made me laugh.

  Era continued. “But, you know, I quite like it here. The scenery is nice. Very nice.” At that moment a young football stud, Jimmy J. Johnson, went walking by. I was plenty sure Era wasn’t speaking of the plants, which, while attractive enough, weren’t nearly as spectacular as back home. No, my bets were on Jimmy J.

  Jimmy J. took a seat with my backroom archnemeses, the three witches from science. “See those girls?” I said, pointing them out to Polly. “Claire calls them the Backroom Betties because they always sit in the back of the classroom and gossip. They hate me and Era, and for what reason
?”

  “They especially hate you,” Era said matter-of-factly.

  “But why do they hate me at all?” I moaned.

  “It’s simple,” Era replied. “You’re smart. And gorgeous.”

  “Really? You think I’m smart? And gorgeous? My beautiful sister, well, aren’t you just the sweetest. But those are not reasons to hate someone.”

  “Thalia, you know better than that. Jealousy is just as alive and well on earth as it was on Olympus.”

  These were wise words coming from my sister’s mouth. Especially that part about me being smart and foxy. Maybe this place was truly having a positive effect on Era. I couldn’t say the same thing for my elder sib, though. Polly was sitting with us physically, but her mind was obviously somewhere else.

  “Yo, Polly. What’s up?” I asked.

  Nothing. She said nothing.

  “Polly, hello, earth to Polly. What on earth has got you all mystified and tongue-tied?” I asked, making a little rhyme.

  “What? Oh, it’s nothing. Math. Algebra. That’s all.”

  “You’re daydreaming about algebra? You are not related to me,” said Era.

  My thoughts exactly.

  “Um, English. I have a big test in my English literature class,” Polly said distractedly.

  “Literature is your best subject. What’s the matter with you? Are you sick?” I wondered.

  “Fine, I’m…perfectly fine,” she muttered.

  I watched her eyes follow this young, black-clad guy with thick, long hair and one of those I’m-trying-to-grow-a-beard-but-I’m-just-too-young faces. He came out of the math building, crossed the quad, and went into the English building. There was a look of pain on his face, like the instrument he had slung on his back (which looked like some kind of wooden, oddly shaped harp or something) was just too heavy for his delicate frame. And something about him looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. In any case, he kind of seemed like a weenie to me. A moderately cute weenie. But then, Claire said half the boys at school were weenies.