“But she wasn’t—”

“I begged for help,” Adara coos, apparently recovering from her shock. “My arms were all quivery and shaky, like they were going to give out. But she refused. She said she wouldn’t lift a finger to help anyone on this team.”

“That’s a lie,” I shout. “I never—”

“In my office,” Coach Z says, his voice low and serious. “Now.”

Great, there goes cross-country. I’m about to get kicked off the team, and lose any chance at getting that scholarship.

“I saw it happen, Coach.”

Everyone turns to look at Griffin. He’s looking right at Coach Z—not at me, not at Adara.

“Adara didn’t ask for help,” he continues. “She just let the weight drop.”

I dare a glance at Adara, who is turning an unflattering shade of red.

“Right then,” Coach Z stammers. “Everyone back to work.”

The weight room returns to the bustle of the workout. Except for Adara, who is glaring at me, me, staring at Griffin, and Griffin, staring at the floor.

“Oh, and Blake,” Coach Z says. “Switch places with Spencer.”

Stomping across the weight room, Adara takes her place with Vesna—who is now bench-pressing a small car. I walk slowly to the biceps curls station and pick up a pair of dumbbells. Without saying a word, Griffin takes his place at my side, holding his hand beneath mine to spot my movement.

He doesn’t say a single word to me the entire workout, and by the time practice is over I’m more confused than ever.

“This Plato is kicking my ass,” I grumble, staring blankly at the pages full of philosophical words.

Mr. Dorcas wants us to read The Republic and write a ten-page response paper when I don’t even understand what the book is about. Like I don’t have enough going on in my life.

“You’ll get through it,” Nicole promises.

“I’m not so sure.” I flip the book over to the back cover—something I can actually understand—and read the two sentence bio on Plato. “Too bad he died twenty-three hundred years ago.”

She laughs, then goes back to reading.

“You’ve got powers, Nic.” I sigh, slamming the book down on our table. “Can’t you summon him back to life so I can ask him to clarify?”

“We can’t bring people back from the dead,” she says. “Big no-no. In the sixties someone tried to bring back Clytemnestra to star in the school’s production of Agamemnon. Everyone in the cast aged fifty years in a day.” Then, pursing her lips and looking thoughtful, adds, “But hey, Hades is my great-uncle. We could take a field trip to the underworld to find Plato.”

“Really?” I ask, brightening.

Maybe there are benefits to going to school with the relatives of Greek gods. Something to offset all the unfortunate zapping.

“Sure.” She frowns. “Of course, there’s always the chance we won’t come back. People get lost down there all the time. And it smells like rotten eggs.”

“Great.” I flop back in my chair. “My options are: fail the class or spend eternity in the stinky underworld. I’m not sure which one is worse.”

Nicole leans across the table and places a hand on my arm. “Don’t worry,” she says. “You won’t fail.”

I am just about to let her know what I think of her reassurance by snorting when Mr. Dorcas walks up to our table.

“Miss Castro,” he says. “Headmaster Petrolas wants to see you in his office.”

Everyone in the class starts oohing like I’m in big trouble.

Considering recent history, maybe I am.

“He asked you to bring your things.”

Maybe I’ve been expelled?

Hey, a girl can dream.

I quickly gather my stuff and head for the big dog’s office.

Damian is pacing behind his massive desk when I get there.

“What’s u—”

“Who have you told?” he roars.

I jerk back a little at his harsh tone. “Told about what?”

“The school. Who have you told about the school?”

He’s speaking quickly, with an urgency he hasn’t shown before.

“If you mean the Big Secret, I haven’t told anybody.”

I may have let half a detail slip to Cesca the other night, but that in no way constitutes telling the secret.

Damian runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair as he sinks into his chair. “Phoebe, please. This is no time for playing games. The safety of the school and everyone on the island is at stake.”

If he sounded even a little melodramatic I might have dismissed this line of questioning as paranoid. But he doesn’t. So I don’t.

“All right.” I take a seat across from him. “In an IM chat on Sunday night I accidentally sent my best friend a line about using supernatural powers. I meant to send it to Nicole—I got the windows confused is all. But Cesca won’t tell anyone. I’m one hundred percent certain.”

Except for maybe Nola—but she wouldn’t tell anyone, either.

Only, if Cesca didn’t tell anyone, how did Damian find out?

“What happened?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, Damian sighs. Loudly.

“The island itself is safe, protected by the gods. The shield, however, only prevents nothos from accidentally witnessing something supernatural. If they know what they’re looking for the gods cannot stop them.” He runs his hand through his hair, messing it up. “If even one untrustworthy nothos knows the truth, we are vulnerable to discovery.”