“We thought you needed a little . . .” Cesca grins. “. . . extra support.”

Nola hugs me. Again.

“Damian and I made the arrangements with their parents,” Mom says. “They have to return on the ferry tomorrow, so they don’t miss any more days of school.”

“Only one day,” I cry. It’s not enough. But it’s way better than nothing.

Damian walks up next to me. “We also thought it might be easier for you to . . . explain your situation in person.”

“Explain my—” I stop cold. Is Damian saying what I think he’s saying? “You mean?”

He nods.

I’m floored by how much trust he just put in me. He doesn’t know Nola and Cesca from anyone, but he trusts me enough to trust them.

“Thanks,” I say. Then, I can’t help it, I fling my arms around him and give him a big hug.

“You are more than welcome,” he says in his typical, formal voice. But there is a warmth in there that I never noticed before.

I can’t believe he’s really letting me tell Nola and Cesca about the school, the island, everything.

Now, all I have to do is figure out how to tell them.

“First, however,” he says in full on principal mode, “we need to have a discussion.”

Right. I knew this trust thing was too good to be true. My shoulders slump. I glance ahead at Mom and the girls who are getting ahead of us.

“Phoebe,” he says, laying a hand on my shoulder, “this has nothing to do with your friends.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “All right.”

“Why don’t we go to the school and your friends can look around while we talk?”

I nod, sensing that what he wants to tell me is a pretty big deal. Considering all the major life-flipping news I’ve gotten lately, I’m a little nervous about what more he could possibly have to talk to me about. Maybe he knows that Troy cheated to help me win.

“Hey girls,” I shout, running to catch up with them. “Wanna see my new school?”

We detour across the central lawn toward the front steps.

“PacificPark hasn’t been the same without you,” Cesca says.

“Did she tell you what she did to Justin?” Nola asks.

“No,” I say, grinning at my girls. “What?”

“It’s nothing,” Cesca says with a wink. “Really.”

Nola rolls her eyes at the understatement. “She pantsed him in front of the whole school at the homecoming assembly.”

I’m so not surprised. Cesca is not the sort of person whose bad side you want to be on. She’s vindictive as—well, as Stella, I guess. I never really noticed it before, but Cesca can be a real bi’atch to people who cross her. Or who cross her friends. If I were on the other side of her anger I might feel the same way about her as I do about Stella.

And if I were on the other side of Stella’s anger, I might feel the same for her that I do for Cesca.

Huh. Stella as my best friend. Not likely. But still, I feel like maybe I understand where she’s coming from a little better.

“Suffice it to say I think he’ll have a hard time finding a date anytime soon.” Cesca checks her nails likes it’s no big deal. “Power Rangers boxers aren’t exactly en vogue right now.”

I laugh at the thought of Justin exposed to the entire student body.

“How old is this school, anyway?” Cesca asks, staring up at the massive templelike façade of the Academy. “This building looks ancient.”

“It is,” I say. “It’s fifteen hundred years old.”

“Holy hot tamale,” Cesca gasps.

“They have excellent landscaping,” Nola says. “I can’t believe the grass is so healthy in such an arid climate.”

“Yeah, well . . .” I glance back over my shoulder at Mom and Damian, following us across the lawn. “There’s a very good reason

for that.”

“Phoebe!”

I spin around, looking up to see Troy standing at the top of the steps. He’s grinning like a crazy person. Maybe he is.

“You!” I shout.

“Where’d you go?” he asks, standing with his fists on his hips. “You took off so fast I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you.”

I turn to the girls. “Give me a minute?”

“Sure,” Cesca says.

Nola nods. “No problem.”

Leaving them at the base of the steps, I stomp up to meet Troy. “I can’t imagine why I’d want to get away quickly, can you?”

“What?” He looks genuinely confused. “You’re not making any sense.”

“What? What!” I jab my finger into his chest. “After what you did, you have the nerve to ask what?”

“What I did? What are you talking about?”

“I know what your ‘good luck charm’ did, Troy.” I cross my arms across my chest. “I saw the glow.”

“The glow?” He frowns. “I saw it too, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Look, I know you were just trying to help. But cheating is cheating. You humiliated me. I can’t even face the team, let alone look at myself in the mirror.”

“Cheating? You cheated?” He shakes his head, as if he doesn’t understand. “You’re not making any sense.”

In all my years of running I’ve never cheated. When other racers were trying anabolic steroids, synthetic hormones, and amphetamines I just trained harder. I focused on perfecting my technique, improving my endurance, and obsessing about my nutrition.