The paper glows again.

And don’t tell anyone you’re doing this for me or you’ll never get off

this island!

As soon as I finish reading the last word, the note glows again and I’m there holding a blank sheet of paper.

If she doesn’t have her powers, how did she zap the note?

I look up and another highlight-heavy harpy is huddled close to Stella, her finger pointing at me. Guess it pays to have supernatural friends. Before Stella’s friend can zap me into a bat or something, I stand up abruptly, knocking my tray and sloshing orange Fanta all over my meat loaf.

That could only be an improvement.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, throwing Stella a good scowl so she knows how unhappy I am about being forced into action.

I have my own reasons for doing this, but if doing this her way keeps her from suspecting my motives then I’ll go along. No point in antagonizing her when I just got her off my back.

“Something wrong?” Troy asks.

“No,” I assure him. “Just something I have to take care of.”

My stomach rolls as I approach them—I’m not sure if it’s because I’m nervous or repulsed about what I have to do. I glance quickly over my shoulder. Stella nods encouragingly. Nicole and Troy stare at me like I’ve lost my mind.

But sometimes a girl has to make the tough choices.

Deep down inside I know this is more than just a deal with Stella. In spite of all the warning signs that keep flashing GRIFFIN BLAKE IS A BAD IDEA, there is something about him that I can’t resist. Something I saw that first morning on the beach before he knew who I was. Something that even his sabotaging my tryout didn’t completely erase. The runner in me wants to believe that someone who loves the sport as much as he obviously does—who loves it as much as I do—has to have a pure heart in there somewhere. I can’t let go of that hope, so I have to go after it.

Sucking up all my courage, I reach out and tap Griffin on the shoulder. At this point I really have no idea what I intend to say, but just hope that something intelligible will come out of my mouth when the time comes.

Without releasing Adara from his embrace, Griffin turns to look over his shoulder.

Behind him I can see Adara glaring at me with deadly daggers in her vapid gray eyes. I think I’m probably lucky there aren’t real daggers slicing through me right now. Pissing her off is definitely a bonus.

The look Griffin gives me isn’t much more inviting.

“Well, nothos,” he snarls, “what do you want?”

Chapter 6

GRIFFIN’S FLAME-BLUE EYES glare a hole in me.

My knees go a little weak at being so close to him. No matter how many times I tell myself this one is a L-O-S-E-R, my heart still beats faster whenever I think of him. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my body—prepared to flee if the embarrassment meter reaches the warning zone.

“Um, I, uh . . .” Great start, Phoebe. Why don’t you just sink into a puddle at his feet? Then he can rinse off his shoes in your pathetic—

I lurch as I feel a sharp pinch in my butt. Spinning around, I see Stella and her friend laughing uproariously.

Grrr.

“Did you want something?” Adara asks, her voice dripping with disdain. “Or did you just want to stand close enough for us to see the pathetic look in your eyes?”

That does it! Suddenly, I know I am going to relish stealing Griffin away from her.

“Actually,” I focus my attention and my gaze on Griffin, batting my eyelashes at him like a flirting fan-girl. I tell myself Adara isn’t even there. “I wanted to ask for your help.”

Bat, bat, bat.

Biting my lip, I try for my most seductive girl pose.

Griffin snorts. “With what?”

“With the cross-country course,” I say as I step closer and increase my batting speed to mach two. “You must know all the bumps and . . .” I place my hands on my hips, tugging my T-shirt tighter across my chest in the process. “. . . curves.”

The corner of his kiss-begging mouth lifts up in a smirk. “Why would I want to help you?”

He talks tough, but his eyes never leave mine—like he’s really trying to figure out why I’m asking for his help.

Time to play my blackmail card. Stepping forward, I place my hands on his shoulder and lift up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, “Because you don’t want me to tell Coach Lenny about the shoelaces.”

I can hear his jaw grind in frustration.

Lowering back to my heels, I add, “But if you’re all talk about running, then I guess you can’t help me after all.”

With nerves of steel, I turn away. My heart is racing and I can’t feel my hands or my feet. But somehow, I start walking and keep moving forward. I take three steps before he calls out.

“Meet me at the starting line at noon on Sunday.” His voice is cocky—without turning around I can tell he’s acting like this is some big joke. “I’ll show you how to run the course.”

“See you there,” I say casually and then keep walking.

Stella, who has been watching the entire show, smiles and nods at me. I guess she approves of my first effort. Hopefully, that means I won’t have to worry about her zapping my food into something from the low rungs of the animal kingdom anytime soon.

But if she knew how much I am looking forward to the meeting with Griffin, she wouldn’t be smiling at all. Back at my lunch table, Troy is intently focused on his tapioca