Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly
Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly
silently over the waves to rescue Helen from Troy—whether she wanted to be rescued or not. “The island is pretty romantic at night,” Troy says from behind me. I turn, surprised to see him after he stormed off at lunch— not that I blame him considering the fool I made of myself over Griffin. Only a great miracle of willpower kept me from losing my own lunch. “Yeah,” I say brilliantly. “It’s beautiful.” Boy is it. Nicole and I had gotten to the beach just before sunset, so I am watching the sun turn the Aegean into a sea of flames. Everything glows in a million shades of orange. Even the village buildings— walls of the same white plaster as Damian’s house—perched on the cliffs above the water reflect the warm light, turning them a pinkish shade of peach. It’s breathtaking. For a few seconds I am even thankful to be on this stupid island, just so I could watch this sunset. “They say that Leda, a handmaiden of Helios who was in love with the sun god, built this island by hand,” he explains. “She carried soil from Serifos one fistful at a time.” “Why?” I ask, wondering what would possess someone to undertake such an overwhelming task. “Each night, when Helios drove his chariot below the horizon, she wept for the loss of him.” Troy’s voice is soft and hypnotizing. “She built this island so she could watch him until the last ray of his light disappeared from view.” “Wow.” That’s devotion. And one of the most romantic things 134
I’ve ever heard. I turn away from the waning sunset to look up at Troy. “So the island was built for watching the sun set?” He shrugs. “It’s just a fairy tale. A bedtime story men made up to tell around the fire at night.” From the far-off look in his eyes—which are not looking at me—I can tell he’s still hurt. “Until a few days ago,” I return, “I thought you were a fairy tale.” “There’s a difference. Myths and fairy tales aren’t the same thing.” “Then explain it to me.” Still gazing at the water, he says, “A myth is a tradition, a legend created to explain the unexplainable. The gods are unexplainable, hence they are myth.” “And fairy tales?” I watch his face closely, looking for a reaction. Finally, after several long seconds, he turns to look down at me. He meets my gaze head on, concentrating like he’s trying to figure me out. Good luck with that. Eventually his features relax and he smiles a little. “A fairy tale,” he says, “is a story we wish were true.” I smile in relief. Whatever Troy and I are destined to become, I know we’re friends. And I’m glad my stupid deal with Stella hasn’t come between that. Which reminds me . . . “There’s something I need to tell you.” His eyebrows lift. I stand up so I can tell him eye-to-eye. “It’s about me and the evil stepsister.” “I’m listening,” he says. It’s better he knows what’s going on so next time I make a fool of 135
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- Page 125 and 126: What can I say about Griffin Blake?
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- Page 135 and 136: much as I do—has to have a pure h
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silently over the waves to rescue Helen from Troy—whether she<br />
wanted to be rescued or not.<br />
“The island is pretty romantic at night,” Troy says from behind me.<br />
I turn, surprised to see him after he stormed off at lunch—<br />
not that I blame him considering the fool I made of myself over<br />
Griffin. Only a great miracle of willpower kept me from losing my<br />
own lunch.<br />
“Yeah,” I say brilliantly. “It’s beautiful.”<br />
Boy is it.<br />
Nicole and I had gotten to the beach just before sunset, so I am<br />
watching the sun turn the Aegean into a sea of flames. Everything<br />
glows in a million shades of orange. Even the village buildings—<br />
walls of the same white plaster as Damian’s house—perched on the<br />
cliffs above the water reflect the warm light, turning them a pinkish<br />
shade of peach. It’s breathtaking.<br />
For a few seconds I am even thankful to be on this stupid island,<br />
just so I could watch this sunset.<br />
“They say that Leda, a handmaiden of Helios who was in love<br />
with the sun god, built this island by hand,” he explains. “She carried<br />
soil from Serifos one fistful at a time.”<br />
“Why?” I ask, wondering what would possess someone to undertake<br />
such an overwhelming task.<br />
“Each night, when Helios drove his chariot below the horizon,<br />
she wept for the loss of him.” Troy’s voice is soft and hypnotizing.<br />
“She built this island so she could watch him until the last ray of<br />
his light disappeared from view.”<br />
“Wow.” That’s devotion. And one of the most romantic things<br />
134
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