Heaven Sent Page 7

  “Remember that day, Thalia, the one where we hijacked Pegasus from your sister Calliope* and we took off on his back, racing through the clouds and down into Athens?” he said softly.

  “How could I forget?” I said.

  “It was my most favorite day ever.” And as he said those seven words I thought them in my head: It was my most favorite day ever.

  “Pegasus never saw us coming,” I remembered.

  “He was so stunned and didn’t want to go, and then you sang to him, you sang ‘Souvlaki Con Grakki’ so beautifully, it was like magic, and you convinced him and that was that, and we were off. I don’t have that kind of power over him. Only you.”

  “You teased me about it that whole day—you said that my voice cracked when I sang and that I was an evil trickster….”

  “Don’t be foolish, Thalia. That was my way, my way of avoiding what was really on my mind. Love. Pure, incredible, soul-deep, fantastical, crazy love.” He was standing closer now, his lips almost touching mine. Was he actually going to try to kiss me? I jumped back, laughing nervously.

  “I like the teasing,” I said, trying to gain control of my spinning brain. “It’s how you and I talk. I don’t like this serious Apollo.”

  And it was true—I did like the teasing and the sarcasm. I liked it all. Apollo made me feel so good when we hung out. When we were together, I didn’t feel like just one of nine Muses; I felt special and smart, and I even sometimes felt like a beautiful only child.

  So what was I doing? Marrying him? Not marrying him? Lying to him! Giving myself a disease! It was too much. I felt like I was falling down some crazy spiral cloud; I felt dizzy; I felt out of control. Apollo made me feel so special and smart, and he was fun. Fun! I felt so confused. I was lying to my best friend, and for what?

  Suddenly everything went black. I must’ve fainted because the next thing I knew I was flat on the cold, hard ground, dirty and sore. Apollo was kneeling over me, stroking my hair. “Thalia, are you okay? Thalia, Thalia!”

  I looked up at those deep green eyes, eyes that looked right back at me. Eyes that were filled with worry and panic and love. I nodded to let him know I was okay and thought, I cannot do this. This couldn’t be more wrong. I cannot lie to him. He’s the most wonderful and beautiful person in the whole universe.

  But as I lay there on the floor, my heart and head racing with confusion, Apollo continued to speak.

  “Thalia, from now on you will never lift a finger again. I will take care of you forever and ever. You can live your life as a lady, as you deserve, with no cares in the world. You will live your life like a queen.”

  And he went on and on with this ludicrous talk. What was making him say such things? Was he just worried about me? Did he think this drivel was what I wanted to hear? Or could this be the real Apollo? I felt truly, genuinely ill. I felt nauseous. I felt angry. He knew me better than this, didn’t he? Or did he? Was his love blinding him so badly that he actually thought I wanted to live like some stuffy old queen on a hill?

  Perhaps, I thought, I hit my head when I fell. This has got to be some horrible, horrendous bad dream. I shook my head hard, but Apollo was still droning on, “And you will only wear the finest lace and corsets and jewels. And you will have ladies to wait on you for everything, everything—”

  “Enough!” I almost yelled. “Shush. Fine, I will marry you,” I said with not so much as a smile.

  TEN

  It’s really quite scary how you can get caught up in TV. Era, Polly, and I sat in front of it mesmerized all weekend. We watched stories about snakes in the wild, romances gone wrong, and even cooking shows. Polly liked those best. And we barely left the house. I didn’t even shower. We wore our sleeping gowns all day long. It was heaven!

  Still, it was nice to be back at school on Monday.

  “Hey, Thalia, what are you doing tonight?” asked Claire. We had just gotten out of our last class, and the school day was officially over.

  “Watching TV and eating cereal,” I answered. “The usual.” Isn’t that sad—I’d been here only a little over a week, and already I had a “usual.” Forget Polly; I needed a life. It didn’t help that most people at school seemed to be steering clear of me, and I was sure it was thanks to the Backroom Betties.

  “Wanna come with me and the boys to the Grit tonight? Pocky’s gonna get up and do his one-man punk-rock-rap show. It’s a riot.”

  “Oh, wow, I would love to, but I dunno. My sisters will probably never go for it.”

  “They don’t have to come. Don’t get me wrong, they’re welcome, but you can go out without them, can’t you?”

  “Yeah, well, our host dad likes us to stick together.

  He’s sort of a freak about it.”

  No one would understand three girls, even three exchange students, living parentally free. So, I’d learned quickly to go along with the whole exchange-host-parent thing. Even though it made me feel bad lying to Claire.

  “That’s cool. Well, we’re going down around seven or so; it’s down on Prince Street. Give me a jingle jangle if you wanna join us or just show, sweetie. We’d love to see ya. ’Specially Pocky.” And then she gave me a sly smile.

  “Okay,” I called after her halfheartedly. “If I change my mind, I’ll give you a, uh, jingle jangle.”

  Yikes. Please do not let that mean Pocky has a crush on me, I thought. Pocky is one of Claire’s best friends and a funny, funny guy. Well, looks aren’t everything, I told myself. But still.

  Really, Pocky’s cool. And oddly charming. He has this awesome fuchsia Mohawk, the color of blooming bougainvillea. And a whole bunch of freckles across his upturned nose. He’s just kinda goofy and a little clumsy and not really my type. Plus boys were the very last thing I was interested in at the moment.

  “Thalia, over here!” yelled Era. She was standing in the middle of the quad with Polly and—and—and…Tim! Hooray! I ran over.

  I’d thought a lot about the Tim situation over the weekend and had decided that my extreme faith in my sister’s taste outweighed all my misgivings about him. He did have cute dimples, I told myself. And most important, he could be our ticket to pleasing Daddy.

  “Well, okay, nice talking to you, Tim. See you tomorrow,” said Polly, obviously trying to rush him off as I arrived.

  “Wait, Tim, is it? Hi, I’m Thalia.”

  “The alien, right?” he said, and then he laughed.

  “Right, the alien, that’s me,” I replied, slightly annoyed. “So, um, where do you live?”

  “Thalia!” scolded Polly.

  “It’s a fair question,” said Tim. “I live over on Jackdaw. Between Hollings and Jennings.”

  “Isn’t that near us? Right, isn’t it, Polly?” I’d seen those streets on our map.

  Polly didn’t answer me. She simply glared at me. That piercing heart stare. Well, she could thank me later.

  “Um, would you like to walk us home? We don’t live too far from you,” I suggested.

  Era just mouthed the word home over and over my way, reminding me that we couldn’t exactly have people over. Besides the fact that the place was a mess (we hadn’t quite mastered the whole cleaning-up-after-ourselves thing yet), it would be pretty obvious that we didn’t have anyone looking after us. But Claire’s parents both worked and were never around when she got home from school, so I thought if anyone asked, we could just say our host parents were working. Or on vacation. Or something.

  “Sure, I’d be happy to,” Tim replied. I wanted to go find Claire right then and there and show her—Tim wasn’t a full-on poseur; he was nice. He had to be.

  Polly threw me some eye daggers, and we were on our merry way.

  “So, Tim, did you know that my sister Polly here has an exceptionally gorgeous voice? It’s true.”

  “Thaliaaaaa,” Polly said through gritted teeth.

  “She can also play most any instrument. You play guitar, right?”

  “That I do.”

  “Maybe you and she sh
ould collaborate, start a band, play beautiful music together.”

  “Oh my God, you are so dead,” she whispered my way.

  “It’s okay, Polly. Obviously your sister is very proud of your talents,” said Tim. “I would love to hear you sing sometime. And I would love for you to hear me play. I’m rather good, if I do say so myself.”

  Okay, so he’s a little egotistical. That never hurt anyone. Perhaps he’s just confident and proud, I thought.

  “I’d love to hear you sometime, Tim. I’m sure you’re divine.”

  Polly had spoken! Thus far she had mostly just been full of trembling sighs and angry whispers. Hooray!

  Maybe she needed just a bit more help. “So, Tim, Polly is also very good at writing poems. She’s a master with words.”

  “Yes, I know, I heard her poem in class just the other day. It was quite good. Did you think mine was any good?” he asked, turning back to Polly.

  “Oh yes, very good,” said my sister.

  “And Polly is also an incredible dancer, be it ballet, folklorico, waltzes, you name it,” I added. I didn’t look at her for fear of her angry stare.

  “Is that so? Huh. Folklorico. What is that exactly?” he asked.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” Polly said all too modestly.

  “It’s an ancient dance—it’s very intricate and graceful. She’s a master,” I proclaimed.

  “I’m a really good dancer, too,” pouted Era. I tripped her and then gave her my patented single-arched-eyebrow glare that says, “Not now.” She yelped. And then pouted some more.

  I fell a few steps back and yanked Era back with me so Polly and Tim could have a few moments alone and I could scold Era for not being as “thoughtful” as I was.

  “What are you doing? Leave him alone—Polly likes him,” I said.

  “I don’t want him. He’s a poseur. Puh-lease. So what are you up to, anyway? You’ve been acting really odd around him yourself,” said Era.

  “He’s not a poseur, and he’s perfect for Polly—he likes a lot of the same things she does. She needs to find a life—you should be encouraging her.”

  “What, like you have been? She doesn’t seem too interested in your so-called encouragement.”

  “Oh no? Look!” And I pointed to Polly and Tim walking a few steps in front of us, laughing and giggling and sharing an obviously rich joke.

  I continued. “Polly’s finding her own life, and I’m helping her get it, which—if I have to spell it out for you—is a selfless act.” I raised my eyebrows. “So that means that we are both working on completing the tasks Daddy gave us. Have you even thought about your task in the past week? I’m pretty sure you’ve been too busy thinking about boys, as usual.”

  “Um, w-well…” Era stammered, her face softening. “I guess I kinda forgot about that,” she said apologetically. “I’m going to try harder.”

  “I hope so.” I sighed, cringing with guilt. Why had I snapped at Era like that? Sure, so she wasn’t the most ambitious of us three when it came to getting home, but still.

  Polly stopped. She thanked Tim for walking us home but told him we could go the rest of the way ourselves. I didn’t push it. See, I know when to back off.

  He thanked her for the pleasant company and kissed her hand. She turned three shades of pink.

  “You know, you might enjoy coming to the Grit this evening,” suggested Tim. “It’s a funky little dive down on Prince. Monday’s open-mike night. It’s definitely a hoot. Some folks read a little poetry, sing a little. It’s all very dark and hip. I think you’d really enjoy it, Polly. Plus I’ll be there.” And then he flashed her his pearly whites. I had to admit, they sparkled. He wasn’t so incredibly clean, but his teeth sure were.

  “Thanks, maybe we will see you there. Thanks again for the company,” she said. Tim winked and turned on his heels. Again, not even a bye for us sisters. He was a little rude, but I’d deal.

  “So, are we going?” asked Era.

  “Where?” countered Polly.

  “To the Grit!” said Era. “Everyone from school goes.”

  “Well, I guess so,” said Polly, although she was obviously more excited than she wanted to let on.

  “Cool,” I said. I would have to suffer the potential wrath of Pocky’s crush, but it would be for a good cause—my sister’s happiness. Gosh, look at me, I thought, perking up a little. I had become so very, very selfless in such a short amount of time. That had to count for something.

  ELEVEN

  We spent a lot of time primping. It was fun, too. So we didn’t have handmaidens any longer—we just took turns fixing one another’s hair and putting on a little makeup and helping one another pick out clothes.

  We had watched a brilliant story on the TV just two days before. It talked about these models, women who get all dolled up and walk the catwalk in fabulously crazy clothes. It had inspired us that night to play with one another’s hair and makeup, so now, two days later, we were all pretty good at it.

  “Now, here’s Polly, wearing a long plaid skirt to the floor and a man’s shirt buttoned and tied, sleeves rolled. Her hair, done exclusively by Thalia, is rolled into oversized, incredibly soft curls and pulled back off her face. The shoes? Courtesy of the Greek goddess of speed, Nike.

  “Enter Era, who’s wearing a flirtatious little number covered in polka dots and trimmed with a sassy kick pleat. Her hair, full and natural, is filled with soft, wavy curls and falls easily down the center of her back. Her shoes are strappy and painfully pointy, and we still don’t know how she walks in them.

  “And then there is the vision of Thalia.”

  “Gosh, you’re not going to let us announce you?” asked Era.

  “Oh, sorry. Okay, announce me.”

  “And there is Thalia…”

  “The vision of Thalia, please,” I said through gritted teeth. I would have announced me better.

  “And then there is the vision of Thalia. Shorter than the rest of us…” and then she laughed.

  “C’mon, not fair, I gave you guys a great entry,” I whined.

  “It’s not like anyone is watching,” stated Era.

  “Doesn’t matter, c’mon.”

  “Okay. And there is the vision of Thalia. She is dressed in an exquisite pair of green-and-brown paisley pants that hug her petite frame effortlessly. The shirt? Why, it’s an orange sweater of cashmere and something else soft and fluffy. And her shoes already look ratty and old, but she likes them; they are purple and turquoise and flat. Her hair looks divine, and why not? I did it. Pressed perfectly flat and straight in a perky bob, it is adorned with a single glittering headband.”

  “You look cute,” said Polly.

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “So let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” said Era.

  We were off on our first real night out in Georgia. And we were going to ride in one of those racy chariots.

  Honk, honk!

  “That’s Claire—come on!”

  I grabbed a small stack of the money under the sink, and we all made a run for the door.

  “Hop in,” said Claire. Pocky and Hammerhead were already filling up the backseat. I ran around to the front and got in next to Claire. Polly followed and sat next to me, and Era carefully climbed in next to Hammerhead. With a slam of the door, we were off.

  “So, like, the big guy eased up on you all, huh?” asked Claire.

  Before I had time to answer for us, Era said, “Oh, Zeus would want us here.”

  “Zeus?”

  “Um, Jesús. He’s, uh, Spanish,” I covered.

  “You should let me meet him. Daddies love me,” boasted Pocky.

  “Um, yeah, maybe sometime. He changed his mind and thought we should get out more,” I explained.

  “So, Thalia, you will never be able to get rid of me now. I know where you live,” said Pocky quietly.

  I smiled and laughed nervously.

  “He’s just messing with you, Thalia, don’t take him seriously. I
know you dig that poseur dude, and that’s cool, you know—I thought about it and…”

  “Ix-nay on the oseur-pay.”

  “Oh, you got that pig-Latin thing down, girl,” said Claire.

  “What’s she talking about, Thalia—do you like someone?” asked Polly.

  “No!” I yelped.

  “Whoa, it better be me, sweetheart—please let it be me,” Pocky said again.

  “No!” I yelled.

  Claire went on. “I just want you to know that as your friend, I thought I had to warn you, but—”

  “No!” I screamed.

  Just then Hammerhead started to hum this awful tune, louder and louder. Everyone stopped focusing on me to focus on him.

  “Dude, stop!” yelled Pocky.

  “Thanks, Hammer,” I said, very, very quietly.

  “No prob, Thalia,” countered Hammerhead even more softly. Hammerhead didn’t ever say that much, but he always seemed to know what was going on.

  A little more bickering back and forth and we were at the Grit.

  The room was totally dark with these red lanterns glowing in every corner. It wasn’t exactly clean. But it did have this deep, I’m-on-an-adventure sorta smell that I liked.

  “Hey, Thalia.” A gal from my algebra class waved. I waved back and smiled. Another girl, this one from my phys-ed class, waved and said, “Yo.” All in all, I saw, like, seven people from my classes, most of whom said hello. Two girls, who I recognized from the group of Backroom Betty groupies, just laughed. But I didn’t care. I felt cool. I felt happening. I felt with it.

  “Hey, beautiful, come watch me perform.” I felt dorky. It was Pocky, breathing down my neck.

  I latched on to Era and Polly. Polly’s eyes were darting everywhere through the darkness, looking for Tim. We three sat down, Claire followed, and Pocky took the stage. It was just him and this guy named Guy up there. Guy had a ratty old guitar that plugged in. Pocky just held this small black object in his hand that made his voice sound extra loud.

  “Hey, that thing’s pretty cool,” I said to Claire, pointing to the object. “What is it?”