The other girls all laugh.

Stella tsks. “You most certainly will not learn that.”

“Fine, then.” Pandora crosses her arms with a little pout. “Since I live in the nothos world, I want to learn how to keep my powers hidden.”

“Very good.” Stella nods in approval.

Everyone else claps.

I’m secretly relieved, because I need to learn that, too. As much as I love Mom and Damian—most of the time—I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life on this tiny island. If I am ever going to return to the nothos world, as Pandora put it—a world I happily inhabited until a few months ago—then I have to not only learn how to control my powers, but also how to conceal them.

Xander leans forward and says, “When camp is over, I can help you out with that toad thing.”

He seems completely serious—no hint of a smile or anything. That earns him a scowl from Stella, a giggle from Pandora, and an eye roll from Adara. I’m definitely intrigued. This is the most he’s said all morning. Up until now it’s been nods, raised eyebrows, and—when forced—a grunt of agreement. He’s definitely got the whole mysterious thing working.

I never knew Stella went for the jaded rebel-boy type.

“Next,” Adara says, moving the introductions along.

“I’m Gillian and my mom teaches here at the Academy. I’m a descendant of Athena, and I—”

“Sorry I’m late.”

Everyone turns to look as a woman rushes toward the circle, her sandals smacking on the stone floor with every step. Halfway to the circle, the strap on her tote bag breaks, sending the contents flying everywhere. She drops to her knees, gathering the stray papers back into a pile.

Next to me, Stella huffs.

“Everyone,” she says, her voice full of barely disguised exasperation, “this is our faculty sponsor. Miss Orivas.”

As Miss Orivas looks up and, still on all fours, waves, Stella points at the papers. They glow for a second and then are suddenly back in the tote bag. Another quick glow repairs the broken strap.

“Thank you,” Miss Orivas exclaims, climbing back to her feet. “Don’t mind me. The girls are in charge.” She points at Stella and Adara. “I’m just here to make sure no one blows up the school.”

“Lucky us,” Stella mutters under her breath. Then to the group, “Miss Orivas is an academic counselor here at the Academy. She advises A through H students in Level 13.”

“I’m a descendant of Harmonia on my mother’s side and Eris on my father’s,” she says cheerfully. “Which makes me a little conflicted.”

Everyone laughs. I force a laugh, too, even though I don’t get what’s so funny. I mean, I can guess that Harmonia is the goddess of peace and harmony or something, but I can’t remember who Eris is.

My total confusion must show, because the girl on the other side of Xander—who seems a couple years older than the rest—leans around him and whispers, “Eris is the goddess of discord.”

“Thanks . . . um . . .”

“Tansy,” she offers, then leans back into her spot.

Okay, I get it. Miss Orivas descends from war and peace. Major conflict.

“My family history made for good conflict-resolution training.”

I think she expects us to clap or ask questions or something, but we all look at her kind of confused. Well, except for Xander, who is leaning back on his elbows and looking up at the sky. At the unexpected response, Miss Orivas giggles uncomfortably as she takes a seat in the circle between me and Stella and says, “Please, continue with the introductions.”

“Of course,” Stella says, but I can tell she’s annoyed. Maybe because Miss Orivas separated her from Xander even farther, or maybe because Miss Orivas seems kind of nutty. Or maybe Stella’s cheerful veneer is finally wearing off—I knew it couldn’t last. In any case, she smiles at Gillian, and says, “Continue.”

The rest of the ten-year-olds introduce themselves in that painful, first-day-of-class way. Like you’re crazy nervous because you know everyone in the circle is staring at you. That was always my least favorite part of back-to-school.

When the last ten-year-old finishes, everyone’s eyes turn on me.

I blank.

“Phoebe . . .” Stella leans into the circle and gives me a fake encouraging look. I know it’s fake, because she looks totally innocent—and I know she’s not totally innocent.

“Um, hi,” I say, brilliantly. I’ve never been big on public speaking, even if the public in question is just a small group of ten-year-olds. But if everyone else can do it, so can I. “I’m Phoebe Castro. I just moved here last year. Actually, I just found out about this whole hematheos world last year. And then I found out that I’m a descendant of Nike—which totally makes sense, because I’m a runner and I love to win. But that’s a whole other story.”

I know I’m babbling.

I know I’m facing a whole circle of blank stares.

I know I should stop.

“Ever since I found out,” I continue, “I’ve had an awful time controlling my powers. I mean, it’s like they have a life of their own. They do things all the time without my even meaning to and now the gods are making me take some stupid test, so I really need to get my act together—”

“Your powers act independent of conscious effort?” Miss Orivas asks.