Heaven Sent Page 6

Surely my sister was not looking at this guy. No, it was impossible. I didn’t even bother to pursue it.

  “So, what do you both think I should do about those torturous Backroom Betties? Polly, they taunt us and tease us throughout class, especially me. Mr. Zeitland is simply clueless. They pass notes around making fun of my clothes, and they’ve begun to start rumors about my past. Oh, this one was rich—on Wednesday the ‘note of the day’ said, ‘We heard Thalia was born of freakish circus stars. Pass it on.’ I got it from Claire; she intercepted. I swear, it takes all my willpower to keep from turning them into black-footed frog-lizards.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Polly absentmindedly.

  “But they’re making fun of you, too, when they say that. If my parents are freakish circus stars, so are yours.”

  “What are freakish circus stars?” asked Era.

  “Well, I had to ask Claire that, too, and she said they are traveling performers who live out of trailers and juggle balls and wear clownish makeup and train lions and stuff.”

  “That doesn’t sound all that bad to me,” said Era.

  “Yeah, I know. But Claire made it sound like it was awful, so I assumed it must be. I swear people have started to look at me funny in the halls,” I said. If only they knew who our real father was.

  “You know,” I mused. “It’s only been a week since we were banished, and I’ve sort of forgotten Daddy. It’s not like he ever spends time with us, anyway, since Hera came along. And he never lets us have any fun.”

  “Well, on Olympus we got to dance and sing and play twenty-four hours a day. What about that don’t you call fun?” said Era. Then she added, “I miss home.”

  I expected Polly to mimic Era, like my old parrot Wilhemina, but she didn’t. She didn’t mention home. She looked off, toward the English building, in a daze.

  “’Course, home doesn’t come with Jimmy J. Look at his fine behind. Even the gods back home don’t have rear ends like that.” Era’s homesickness had lasted all of five seconds.

  “Beware, though, after spending ten minutes with those Backroom Betties, Jimmy J. will think you not only have circus freaks for parents, but that you smell of cabbage and don’t wash your socks. That would be Tuesday’s and Thursday’s Thalia-bashing notes. And, well, you are my sister, a geek by association.”

  “You don’t wash your socks,” said Polly, back from some other universe.

  “Nice of you to join us,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Polly, can you pay attention to us for, like, five whole minutes?”

  “Oh, right, the world revolves around Thalia; I must pay attention to Thalia. So sorry, Miss Thalia, high priestess of the galaxy.”

  “Okay, I did not deserve that. What is the matter with you, Polly? Why are you so—so—so on edge?”

  “I’m simply not in the mood to chatter on about silly spiteful girls or cute-butted Johnny Jims or cabbage breath,” she said defensively.

  Well, she was sort of paying attention.

  But then he walked by. Out of the English building, through the quad, and right by our bench. The long-haired guy with the pained look. He waved coolly at the Backroom Betties, winked at a pretty cheerleader, slapped high five with a random jock or two, and then pitched his chin my sister’s way. My big sister’s way. And Polly’s eyes followed him every step of his journey. He nodded at her, smiled a sly sideways smile, and kept walking. My sister never blinked. She watched him, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. And I swear, right when he passed our bench, she gasped quickly and quietly for air.

  Era didn’t notice him. She was too busy straining to hear what the Backroom Betties were saying to Jimmy J. But I saw him. And I saw my sister see him.

  It was the same guy, the very same guy from the grocery store.

  “You like him,” I blurted out.

  “What? Who? No,” she said, unconvincingly, I might add.

  “Yes, you do. Oh my gosh. Polly, you like him.”

  “Thalia, I’m not here to meet boys. I just want to make Daddy proud and go back home. I do not like him. I don’t.” This time she said it firmly, but then she smiled a teensy, tiny little smile. My heart clenched.

  Why did I feel so protective all of a sudden? It wasn’t like me to worry about my big sister. So what if Polly had a crush on someone? It might loosen her up a bit. Besides, I reasoned, Polly’s smart enough to handle a little romance. He wasn’t that bad. He was kinda cute in a scruffy sorta way. If Polly liked Mr. No Shave, I decided, it was her right, and I would help her have him. Then another thought occurred to me. Daddy had said I should put others before myself. And he did say that Polly should find a life of her own. Maybe we could slay two dragons with one stone. Maybe we’d be on our way home sooner than we’d thought. And even though I kind of liked it here, I had to admit it wasn’t as exciting as I’d hoped. I missed using my powers. I missed Apollo. Not that I thought he would ever talk to me again.

  “Well, I gotta get to class. I will meet you two after school right here, okay?” I said. I needed to get started on my new mission ASAP.

  “Why are you going to class so soon, Thalia?” asked Era. “We still have ten minutes before the dingdong rings.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I have some stuff I must do for, uh”—I looked down at the folded sheets of paper lying on the table in front of me—“the school paper. See you girls later,” I said, and I dashed.

  As I walked away I could hear Era wondering aloud, “Since when is she on the school paper?”

  EIGHT

  I tried to catch up with the black-clad grocery boy named Tim but lost him in the crowd. Well, he may not be my dream guy, but he gets points for being fast, I thought.

  After losing him, I looked for Claire but couldn’t find her. And so I spent the extra ten minutes just chasing people to no avail. I finally had to give up and go to class. Which, by the way, was exceedingly boring, excessively boring, more boring than I ever thought possible. I doodled and thought about all the ways Tim was probably fabulous. He had to be: My sister, my keep-her-nose-in-books-all-day-long sister, was attracted to him. I daydreamed that he was supersmart and worldly and poetic. I thought about how he and Polly would look walking down the halls of Nova High together. I thought about all the attention they might get as the coolest couple in high school and how I, as her adorable little sister, might reap some popularity benefits.

  At the end of class I found Claire and finally got to ask her…

  “So, who is that guy who’s always wearing black, the hairy one?”

  “You mean old man Fisher?”

  “No, the student, the one with the scruffy face who seems to know everyone?”

  “Oh, you mean Tim Rhys? Why do you want to know about him? He’s a full-on poseur.”

  “What’s a full-on poseur?”

  “Heh, heh, heh. A poseur is someone who pretends to be something he’s not. That Tim guy pretends to be some worldly poet and musician, but really he’s just a popular jockey, playing each group, attempting to climb the social ladder to complete studdom. But truth be told, he’s a fake. Please don’t tell me you find him attractive?”

  “No, no, not me,” I said, fiddling with my notebook dejectedly. This was really not the kind of guy I wanted for my sister. But then, who was I to say who she should be dating? It was all about getting her own life, right? I looked up from my notebook to see Claire staring at me curiously. I decided to change the subject.

  “So you didn’t tell me, what did today’s Backroom Betties note say about me?”

  “Oh, that. You shouldn’t let it get to you—those girls are worse than poseurs. They’re downright mean little witches.”

  “I know, but what did it say?”

  “It said, ‘Thalia and her sisters are aliens. Pass it on.’ But you know no one believes a word they say, right? And the people who do are so clueless, they’re not worth your time.”

  “Uh-huh, right.” I paused. “What’s an alien?” Claire tilted her
head and squinted at me, then she started giggling.

  “Oh, Thalia, you are too much. Aliens? You know, little green guys from outer space? You guys don’t talk about aliens in Europe?”

  “Oh, nah,” I replied, a little embarrassed. But it was impossible to feel all that embarrassed about that kind of stuff around Claire. She seemed to think all my little questions and dumb mistakes were funny and kind of cool.

  “Well, thanks for being my friend, anyway. Even though I am a dirty, smelly, circus-freak alien.”

  “You’re the nicest dirty, smelly, circus-freak alien I’ve ever known. See you tomorrow. And stay away from Tim Rhys.”

  I didn’t bother to set Claire straight. I wished I could tell her it was Polly who liked Tim and I agreed he was a poseur, but that it was really important for Polly to find a boy of her own. But telling Claire why that was would mean telling her about Daddy’s challenges, and telling her about Daddy would mean…well, I just didn’t want to get into it.

  Ugh. I let out a sigh. The only shot I had at fulfilling those challenges was to help Polly find love. And that didn’t seem so appealing now.

  Both Polly and Era were already at our meeting spot on the bench outside when I got there. As I approached them, so did another. One Tim Rhys.

  “Hi. Polly, right? I’m Tim. I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your poem today in lit class. It was very powerful. You have a true gift.”

  Polly looked at him, wide-eyed and stunned. She didn’t say anything, just smiled.

  “Hi, I’m Era. Do you play that thing or what?” Era said, nodding at the instrument Tim had strapped over his back.

  “Um, you mean the guitar? Yes, I play some tunes,” he said, smiling as if he was trying to look modest but failing miserably. “So, Polly, what do you say we share our Rossetti notes? I’d really love to hear what you have to say about her feminist themes. I have a real postmodern take on her work that you might enjoy hearing. I rather pride myself on being a cultured guy. Yep, I have to admit, I’m a rootin’ tootin’, red-blooded feminist.”

  My sister just stood there and nodded.

  “Okay, then. How about we talk Monday after class? Have a great weekend.” And he left. Without saying so much as a good-bye to Era or myself. Maybe he was as smitten with my sister as she was with him. And why not—she is supersmart and incredibly beautiful. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe Claire was wrong.

  “What’s a feminish?” asked Era.

  “I have no idea,” said a flushed Polly. Her cheeks were beet red, the color of the most brilliant hibiscus flowers.

  “Well, he seemed to be hot for Pol, eh, Thalia?” Era said, poking Polly.

  “Wha?” Polly asked, still in a daze.

  “He was practically drooling over you,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

  “No, he wasn’t,” said Polly, snapping back to her own practical self.

  “Yes, he was!” both Era and I screamed.

  “No, no, no! And besides, I have no interest in him.”

  “How on earth do you expect us to believe that, Polly? If you’re going to lie, you’d better start trying a little harder to conceal your real emotions. You actually trembled when he was talking to you.”

  “Okay, fine, I think him cute. And smart. And worldly. But that’s all.”

  “That’s enough,” cooed Era.

  “Anyway, he’s very popular here. I’m quite sure he has no interest in me outside of my English notes,” said Polly.

  “You are being way too modest here,” I said truthfully. “But don’t worry—leave it up to me, and you shall have your unshaven man.”

  “No! Thalia, no! I beg you, no. I forbid you to interfere.”

  “You can’t forbid me. Forbid me? Forbid me from doing you a favor. Oh, please, Polly.”

  “I’m serious, Thalia—don’t do anything. Anything at all. Don’t you remember, you’re the one who’s always saying that we did not come here to meet boys? Don’t start making efforts for love on my part. I’m perfectly happy just as I am, just as things are.”

  “You’re clearly not. You’ve been mooning around the house since we got here. You’ve been dazed and confused. You’ve been…”

  “Lovesick,” said Era.

  “Take it from someone who knows,” I said, putting my hand on Era’s elbow. “You are lovesick.”

  “Stop! I mean it. You are to do nothing. Leave him be.” Polly sighed. “Let’s just get home—I’d like to watch that TV thing some more.”

  “All weekend!” enthused Era.

  I, too, had become totally addicted to TV during the short time we’d been on earth. The talk shows, the reruns, the WB. I loved the drama, the clothes, the way people talked. Not to mention it helped me pick up all the modern words and phrases.

  “TV works for me,” I chimed in.

  Just then a shiny jet-black chariot, which I now knew was called a car, slowed down alongside us. Inside were my least-favorite girls: You guessed it, the Backroom Betties. The three evilest ones from science. They just stared us down as they drove on by. I felt that familiar tingly feeling again, like something bad could happen at any moment, and I had no idea what it was or how to stop it. The feeling went away, though, as the car pulled out of sight.

  “Yep, those girls are evil,” said Era.

  I couldn’t have agreed more. In fact, something about them reminded me of home.

  Yes, we three Furies have a brand-new name,

  The Backroom Betties, we are one and the same.

  With some crafty time travel, we arrived first

  To ensure that the Muses’ bubble is burst,

  Which will be easy, we cannot tell a lie,

  Since the eldest has fallen for that unshaven guy,

  And, of course, poor Polly will not make such a match

  For this is our plan, which we have just hatched:

  Thalia’s efforts will all amount to a sham,

  And Polly will be betrayed by her man.

  She’ll be so ashamed, she’ll give up on school

  And break one of Hera’s strictest earth rules,

  For we know something that the Muses do not

  Since Hera confided to us three her plot

  That if the Muses give up on going to class

  A new punishment will soon come to pass,

  The streets of earth they will no longer roam,

  Tartarus will become their permanent home.

  Now let us get back to our craft, our own little coup,

  We need to make more trouble so there is a book two!

  NINE

  “Your father, he said you wanted to see me,” Apollo practically whispered. I had been waiting for him in the Prism Gardens, and he had snuck up on me from behind. I could feel his breath on my neck. The little hairs at my nape tingled. I was most certain it was a draft, because I had never noticed that happening around him before. Surely I had been this close to Apollo in the past.

  I turned around quickly and found myself just inches from his face. His face, which at that moment in time looked nothing like the Apollo I knew. His jaw was clenched tight, his gaze cast down his perfectly straight nose at me solemnly.

  “Your father said you had something to tell me,” he said stiffly.

  “Yes, I have something to say.”

  I tried to manufacture a smile. This was far harder than I thought. And not just because I didn’t want to get married. I hated lying to Apollo. He was my best friend. And right now he looked so serious, so foreign to me.

  “Thalia, now first, listen to what I have to say, please,” he said, his eyes softening into the eyes of the Apollo I knew, only warmer, deeper. You’d never have known that he was a brave, adventurous, rabble-rousing god.

  “Thalia, I can’t imagine what you’re thinking. I’m sorry I didn’t express my feelings to you first, before I went to your father. I thought it was proper, and I thought, well, truth be told, I didn’t think.” He paused, taking my hands in his. Brea
thlessly he said, “While the fact is, I do think—I think of you all the time. Thalia, I’ve been in love with you my whole life.” His deep, dark green eyes bored into mine, but I looked away. This didn’t make any sense to me. We were friends, capital F.

  “I—I—I,” I stuttered, pulling my hands out of his and stepping back, right into a potted rhododendron. I stumbled backward, and Apollo grabbed my shoulders, pulling me upright in one powerful tug. I could feel my face turning bright red as he held on to me a moment longer than he needed to. Then he started to laugh. And I started to laugh. It wasn’t really that funny, but the laughing made a lot of the tension in the air go away. And I loved to listen to Apollo laugh.

  I finally caught my breath and straightened up a bit. Apollo looked at me expectantly, and I cleared my throat. “Apollo, you are my friend, my very favorite friend. I thought, well, I thought that was all. You just never let on that you felt more than friendship for me.”

  “Come on, Thalia. Surely you’ve felt it. Some part of you must have known.”

  “Um, no,” I said. “How? Why? I mean, what makes you think you want to marry me?”

  “Why,” Apollo replied, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are the funniest, brightest, silliest girl I know. You are beautiful and exciting, no, thrilling, and creative. These are things that you, singularly, are to me. Not one of nine Muses, but Thalia.”

  Boy, he was in love. Even on my best day I’m not thrilling. Or beautiful. Cute, maybe. I looked at Apollo, really looked at him maybe for the first time ever, and realized he was the beautiful one. You’ve never seen lashes like his. And his skin—it was milky pure with just a splunket of rosiness at the apples of his perfectly formed cheekbones. He was perfect.

  So perfect.

  Too perfect.

  And his lips. Come to think of it, his lips were perfect, too. I couldn’t stop staring at them. But his lips weren’t the point. Not at all. “A-Apollo,” I stammered, trying to stay focused on why I’d come here in the first place, “I think…well, maybe I might…marry you.” That was all I could get out—it was hard enough deceiving my friend. I couldn’t go overboard.